Horribly Haunted in Hillbilly Hollow (Ozark Ghost Hunter Mysteries Book 1)

by Blythe Baker

  I could’ve been wrong, but I was sure one of these three people was responsible, one way or another, for Preacher Jacob’s death. The old fort was closed for the funeral, and I intended to get there just about nightfall to see if the murderer had taken the bait and returned to the scene of the crime.

  Chapter 18

  We spent the rest of the afternoon at Suzy’s house. Suzy and I talked about her wedding plans, and Brian and Billy watched baseball. As the late afternoon wore on, I knew I had to get back to the farm. Billy offered to drop me off, and we headed out to the edge of town.

  “Emma, I’m serious,” Billy said when he dropped me off. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t do anything risky or stupid, okay?”

  “Billy, seriously – I can take care of myself,” I said, then put on my thickest fake New York accent. “I’m practically a New Yorkah! Fuggedaboudit!” We both laughed.

  “That was genuinely the worst New York accent I ever heard.” He gave me a quick hug. “G’night, Emma,” he said, then turned back. “Text me tomorrow, okay?”

  I went to the front door and acted as if I were unlocking it until he got down the driveway. I had wanted to change, but it was starting to get dark, and I had to get to the fort before night fell. I threw my house keys back in my bag and dug out the key to the farm truck. I waited two more minutes until I was sure Billy would be past the turnoff for the fort and started down the highway toward town.

  When I got to the old fort, the wooden CLOSED sign was up, but there was nothing blocking the entrance. I drove in quietly and turned off my headlights. I pulled the truck around the end of the armory building, out of sight. Grabbing my phone, I stepped out of the truck and carefully pushed the door shut until it just clicked.

  I walked around the back of the armory building until I got to the barracks. There was no sign of anyone, so, cautiously, I crept inside. I got a cold chill as soon as I stepped into the building, just as I had before when Mr. Littman had shown me around.

  I thought I heard a noise at the back of the barracks near a gun rack, and walked back, staying quiet, just in case. I didn’t see anything. I walked over to the cannonball on the stand in the corner and looked back to the dent in the floor. A few seconds could have made all the difference. If Commander Stapleton had slept just a few minutes longer, or that shot had misfired just a few minutes sooner, he would’ve been a goner. The sign on the display stand read, “Stapleton’s Cannonball,” but I thought that was wrong. It hadn’t been Stapleton’s. If it had struck him, the fort might have fallen to rebel advances. Who knew? So many skirmishes and battles could have come out differently. But it didn’t do him in – it missed him.

  My hand instinctively went to the spot on my head where my skull had connected with the hood of the taxi.

  If I had walked a minute slower, I thought, that taxi might have been going fast enough to do some real damage. A minute faster and I could’ve been through the crosswalk without incident.

  Then I thought about Preacher Jacob. What had he been doing here so late that night? What had he been bending down for? If he had come earlier or later, he might not have run into his killer.

  Again, I heard the sound, almost like creaking floorboards. I started to investigate once more, but heard something outside. After a moment, I realized it was the sound of tires on gravel. There were some mattresses stood up along the right side wall, so I hid behind them. As the headlights shone through the window, they illuminated the gun rack. At the very bottom, on the facing, I saw a small carving. It was two letters. U-S.

  I heard a door slam. A car, I thought, not a truck.

  In another moment, whoever it was had entered the building.

  I held my breath as a narrow beam of light pierced the darkness of the room, sweeping back and forth. I heard the sound of footfalls growing closer. They passed by me, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  I couldn’t see the figure in the dark but heard the clanging of metal as they pulled swords from the weapons rack, one by one. They seemed to hold each one for a few minutes before replacing it hastily as if aggravated.

  What could they be looking for? I wondered.

  I tried to peer further around the corner of the mattress without shifting it and giving away my location. It was no use – I couldn’t see who it was.

  Again, I heard the creaking of floorboards near the weapons rack as I had heard before, and felt a chill.

  “Who’s there?” I heard a man say. “I said, who’s there!” He said it again, angrier, this time.

  I made myself as small as I could. Luckily, he didn’t see me.

  “Old fool,” he said to himself. “Getting jumpy!” I heard the electronic swish of a phone being activated then the sound of dialing.

  “I thought you said it was here!” he said angrily. “Yes, I have looked. Yes, at all of them!” He muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like an expletive. “You said…YOU said it would be here!” He paced back and forth for another minute or two, listening to the person on the other end of the line. “Okay. Okay, I’ll keep looking. I’ve gotta go.”

  With a click, I knew he was finished with his call. He seemed beyond frustrated that he couldn’t find whatever he was searching for, and walked over to the weapons rack, leaning his hands on the railing.

  Wait, is that…is that a pinky ring? I asked myself as I looked at the thick fingers grasping the railing of the weapons rack. Is that…

  My train of thought was interrupted as the figure kicked the base of the wooden rack. As he did, the front facing fell down.

  He gave an angry yell. Then he bent down with a heaving breath, to try to put the piece of wood back. After all, murderers who creep around in barracks in the middle of the night looking for evidence they’ve left behind certainly don’t want to be given away by having damaged the scene of the crime.

  He was turned away, and I still couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was a larger man, and he moved as if he were older. As he got down on all fours to assess the damage, I got an unfortunate view of his backside, along with the soles of what looked to be quite expensive cowboy boots.

  “Well, well, well…what have we here?” he said, a note of glee in his voice as his hand disappeared under the weapons rack. I heard the scraping of metal against wood as he pulled the item out.

  With a great deal of effort, he stood up, moving closer to the window on the other side of the barracks. Light glinted off the item as, presumably, he moved it back and forth in the glow from the headlights. I heard his phone click again.

  “You won’t believe it,” he said into the phone. “I did. It’s…it’s so much more beautiful than I could’ve even imagined!” He continued, “Oh yes, six figures at least…They are – his initials are right here on the hilt. U-S-G.”

  USG? I wasn’t sure what it meant, but I was certain it had to do with the letters near the outhouse.

  It sounded as though my suspect was beginning to taper off his phone conversation. I might have a few minutes while he made repairs to the board he had kicked loose, but he would be gone soon, and I still wasn’t sure who it was. As he hung up the phone, I decided to text Billy to get Tucker down here to arrest him. First, though, I decided I had better try to snap a photo in case he left before they arrived.

  Cautiously, I slid my phone open, making sure it was on silent mode and set to airplane mode to be sure I didn’t get a call that would give me away. I slid the edge of the phone, camera side out, just about half an inch from the edge of the mattress. I tried to zoom in on the little screen to see if I could tell, for certain, who it was, but it was just too dark. My heart pounded, and my breath was ragged. Each time I inhaled, the goat-shaped bruise on my side hurt more. I finally summoned up all of my courage and hit the button to snap a picture.

  As my phone came to life, the color drained from my face.

  “What? Who’s there?” The man’s voice boomed in the empty building as the pinpoint of light fro
m my phone’s flash illuminated his face, giving away my location.

  The shutter clicked just as he turned around, and there, on my phone, was a clear photo of Mayor Teller, holding an antique saber.

  He took a lumbering step toward me, and I slid out the other side of the mattresses, putting one of the bunks between us for protection. He stood at the opposite end of the bunk, but I was too far for him to reach. I stepped around the other end, and he struggled to get closer.

  “Emma, I don’t know what you think is going on here, but it’s nothing. Nothing, do you hear me? Let’s talk about this. We can work this all out.” His teeth were showing, but it was less of a smile and more of a growl.

  “I know it was you!” I snapped. “I know you killed Preacher Jacob!”

  “What are you talking about? Why, I was just here checking on the place. With a murderer running around, folks can’t be too careful. Just because I’m no longer the mayor, doesn’t mean I don’t feel a deep responsibility to the people of this town!”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m the one who started the rumor that the killer left something behind. I was waiting to see who would show up, and here you are!”

  I jumped back, stepping behind another set of bunks. It was hard to keep my footing on the uneven hardwood floors, especially in heels, but if he got his hands on me, there was no telling what he might do. I fumbled with my phone, trying to call 911 or text someone, but it wouldn’t work.

  “I don’t know what rumor you’re talkin’ about, Ms. Hooper. Now, one rumor I did hear, and I heard it from your own grandma. I heard you hit your head back in the city and came home to recuperate. Maybe you aren’t thinkin’ too clear.” He shook his head menacingly.

  “Oh yeah?” I said, taking another step backward. “Well that hardly matters because I have a picture of you stealing that old sword!”

  Sugar! Why did I tell him that? He’s never going to let me out of here now!

  But I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Is that thing what you killed Preacher Jacob over? Some rusty old relic?”

  My comment ignited something. In the light pooling in from his car, I could see his pale gray brows furrowed into a deep V, and his complexion turned crimson. I had made him very angry.

  “You have no idea what this is!” he exclaimed. “This is not some rusty old relic, as you say. This sword belonged to none other than Ulysses S. Grant himself! He lost it in a skirmish at this very site! By the time Stapleton’s men found it, he was down around Savannah, burning the path that would clear the way to this country’s reunification!” He thrust the sword into the air for emphasis.

  I continued trying to get my phone to work, and again, he lunged toward me. This time, I backed up farther, beyond the last bunk. When he lunged again, I jumped back with my legs wide, trying to gain some stability. The thrust of the sword went right between my knees, slicing through my dress like butter. The proximity was terrifying.

  As I leaped backward, all I could think of was to stall for time. “Why did Preacher Jacob have to die?” I demanded.

  That slowed him down for a moment. He hefted the sword, as if considering whether to give me an answer. He must’ve decided the truth couldn’t do him any harm, since I was about to be dead.

  He said, “That fool didn’t understand what he’d found! He came down to the antique shop and described the sword to me, but then he wouldn’t sell it. He wanted it to stay at the fort. Wouldn’t even tell me where it was! I arranged to meet him here that night to examine the sword for authenticity, but things went wrong. It was only after I killed him that I realized he still hadn’t told me exactly where the sword was, only that it was somewhere in the fort. I couldn’t look for it right then. I panicked and cleared out.” He tilted his head to one side, as he remembered the events of that night.

  Then he continued, “But once I heard I’d left a clue to my identity behind, it seemed like a good time to beat the police here. Find whatever the evidence was and look for the sword again at the same time. It was Sadie who got the idea the sword would be in plain sight in the weapons rack.”

  The explanation had made him pause for a moment, but now he was advancing once more.

  I stepped back again, and my high heel hit the dent in the floor, causing me to tumble backward. My phone flew out of my hand, just out of reach as I tried to use my palms to crawl away in a crab walk.

  Teller reached me, standing over me with the sword in his hand.

  “Help! Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, desperate for anyone to hear my pleas.

  “Sorry, darlin,’ but that won’t help you. A city ordinance has kept anyone from building within a thousand yards of the fort. An ordinance that I passed through as mayor. All the good I did for this city over the years, but these people don’t appreciate anything! They run me out of town for making a few deals that are in my favor. How’s that for gratitude!” He shook his head at the past injury of having to step down from office.

  “No matter, though,” he said, a smile creeping across his face. “This sword, the very one that my own three-times great granddaddy pulled out of the gut of a rebel traitor, is worth a small fortune. I’m going to sell it and head off to South America, where my type of skills are appreciated!”

  “So that’s what this was all about? Money?” I asked, trying again to buy time until I could figure out what to do.

  “Of course it was about money, you stupid girl! Why does anyone do what they do? Two reasons: love or money. Sometimes both. Well, I’m gonna have both, but first, I have to take care of an unexpected problem.” He raised the sword over his head.

  “Please, please, please,” I muttered as I shut my eyes tight. “Somebody – anybody! Help me!”

  I could’ve sworn I heard the creak of floorboards behind me as a cold shiver ran across my skin.

  Out of nowhere, the pedestal in the corner, the one upon which Stapleton’s cannonball was perched, tipped forward. The cannonball went flying, landing squarely in the middle of Teller’s shoulders.

  He let out a pained oomph as he fell. The sword flew out of his hand, sliding across the floor, out of his grasp. I quickly stood and grabbed it in one hand, my cell phone in the other.

  Teller lay on the ground, writhing in pain, barely conscious. I tried my phone again, finally remembering it had been in airplane mode. I dialed 911 and told the dispatcher where I was. Next, I texted Billy.

  ME: Old fort – bring your doc kit – i’m ok

  BILLY: ?! B right there

  I stood over Teller with the sword in my hand, though I wasn’t sure what I planned to do with it if he suddenly recovered. A few minutes later, the sheriff’s department cars came roaring into the fort parking lot, sending gravel flying. Billy was right behind them in his truck.

  After the police burst in, everything happened quickly.

  Tucker took the sword from me, and he and one of the deputies I didn’t know pulled me aside to take my statement. I explained how I had spread the rumor about the piece of evidence, then waited to see who would show up.

  “That was a very foolish thing to do, Emma,” Tucker said. “It was very dangerous, and I won’t have vigilantes out here runnin’ around, ya understand?” He was scolding me as if I were a child. Apparently, he had forgotten that we were only three years apart. He told the deputy to go shut off Teller’s car and have it impounded as evidence. After he walked off, Tucker leaned in close. “But…even though that was foolish, it did help us find the killer. So, thanks, I guess.” He winked and touched the front of his hat as he tipped his head to me slightly before walking away to check on the rest of the deputies’ activities.

  I sat on one of the cots as Billy finished examining Teller. After he was through, the deputies handcuffed Teller and put him in the car. Billy immediately came to where I was sitting. He squatted down in front of me.

  “Are you alright? Did you get hurt? Anything I need to check?”

  I shook my head no. “I fell on my backside, but t
hat’s about it. I’m fine, Billy, really.”

  “You do realize how mad I am at you right now, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Probably?” I shrugged playfully, but he was still frustrated.

  “What if you had gotten yourself hurt? Or worse? Can you imagine me having to roll up on a crime scene with you as the victim? I’d…I’d…” He stopped and took my hands, pulling me to my feet, and hugged me tightly. “There’s no such thing as two musketeers, ya know. It’d be impossible. We need to keep you around for a while.” He stepped back and looked me up and down. “By the way, I didn’t notice that vent in your skirt before. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

  I looked down at the slash in the fabric and rolled my eyes. “What are you, a fashion critic now?” We both laughed.

  Tucker gave me the okay to leave, and I headed back to the farm and went to bed.

  Chapter 19

  The following morning, I told Grandma and Grandpa what had happened. They were shocked at the events of the night before but proud of me for trying to do the right thing. I also decided to tell them the truth – the whole truth – about my accident and the after effects of my brain injury.

  “So, you see,” I said as we spoke, “the doctor in New York thought it was just some sort of electrical impulses, misfiring in the brain. He said if I took it easy, went someplace where I could rest and recuperate, I’d get better.”

  “Well, Emma, now I don’t know about all that. Seein’ ghosts and such,” Grandpa said in a serious tone.

  “You mean – you mean you don’t believe me?” I asked, incredulously. I had just poured out my heart, told them my whole story. I couldn’t believe that he would doubt my sincerity.

  “Oh, no. I believe you see the ghosts and whatnot. I’m just not sure some rest will make a difference. My cousin John, he got kicked in the head by a mule on his farm. Probably about your age, come to think,” he said. “Anyway, he said the same as you. After a few days he started seein’, well, spirits, he called ‘em. Not all the time, but a lot of the time.”