The Chupacabra Catastrophe

by Amanda M. Lee

  “Thank you, but Jack found some for me and left it on my nightstand. I’ve already taken some.”

  “Wait a second … does no one care that I wasn’t invited to the bar last night?” Laura challenged.

  “Obviously not,” Jack answered, pouring me a glass of orange juice from the pitcher at the center of the table. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  I was happy to have something to do with my hands, so I eagerly obliged.

  “I went down to The Watering Hole after I ran into you guys on the street,” Zach said. “You were quite the talk of the establishment.”

  “What is this bar’s name so I know to look for it?” Laura asked.

  “The Watering Hole,” Zach replied, his face blank. “I just told you that.”

  “Yes, but I thought that was … you know what? Never mind. I’m totally going to that place tonight if anyone’s interested.” She said the words for Zach’s benefit, but he only seemed interested in embarrassing me.

  “I thought for sure you were going to pitch forward into the dirt, but luckily Jack was there to catch you,” Zach said. “I would’ve given it a hearty effort if he didn’t.”

  “Yes, my two heroes,” I intoned. “Jack and Zach.”

  “You’re a poet and you didn’t know it,” Millie offered, smirking when my eyes lit up. “I believe you realized that last night, too.”

  “Let’s just nip the rhyming game in the bud, shall we?” Jack urged. “Hannah, I believe you were telling us about Wendell Morrison.”

  “Wendell?” Zach obviously didn’t care that he was interrupting as he leaned forward. “What about Wendell?”

  “He’s the owner of the body found in Hooper’s Mill,” Hannah replied. “He was exsanguinated, and I don’t know that the sheriff has any information on why he was out there.”

  “I can’t believe it was Wendell.” Zach looked lost in thought as he rubbed his chin. “I thought for sure it would be Mr. Sully. Wendell’s a local. He’s been here for a long time.”

  “Did you know that he was interested in buying the property?” Jack asked.

  Zach nodded, his face drawn. “Wendell has been interested in the property for a long time. I believe he wanted to do the same thing that Mr. Sully wanted to do, only Wendell didn’t have deep pockets and had trouble securing financing.

  “The last time I heard Wendell had any interest in the property was at least a year ago,” he continued. “I thought for sure he gave up the idea when Mr. Sully started talking publicly about his plans.”

  “Do you think Wendell would’ve kicked up a fuss if Sully secured the property?” Jack was in full investigator mode.

  “I don’t think he would’ve been happy, but Wendell was the type who wanted what was best for the community,” Zach replied. “He would’ve helped however he could if it meant jobs for people. I just can’t believe it was Wendell.”

  “Did you know him well?” Chris asked.

  “Well enough, although it’s not as if we spent a lot of time together. It’s still a shock.”

  “I’m sure,” Jack said, leaning back in his chair. “What else can you tell us about Wendell?”

  “He owns a huge ranch about ten minutes outside of town,” Zach answered. “He has a few workers out there – and he paid a fair wage. My guess is his daughter Naomi will step up and take over, so it shouldn’t be too much of a change.”

  “What about Dominic Sully, Hannah?” Jack asked. “Has the sheriff mentioned tracking him down yet?”

  “Not that he told me, but I didn’t specifically ask,” Hannah replied. “I can call back.”

  Jack shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. I have plans to touch base with them this afternoon.”

  “So you’re not going to the site with us?” Chris was surprised.

  “I might stop in this afternoon, but I have errands to run this morning,” Jack replied. “I want to check out Wendell’s ranch and talk to the sheriff’s boys. I’m sure I will make it to Hooper’s Mill after lunch.”

  “That’s not too bad then.” Chris was seemingly happy with the answer. “You can take Laura or Bernard with you on your errands if you think they’ll be helpful.”

  “I’ll take a pass.” Laura feigned sweetness. “I missed out on the haunted town yesterday. I’m not missing it today.”

  “And if Jack isn’t going to be around, I probably should,” Bernard supplied. “Someone needs to be able to repair equipment if necessary.”

  “Oh, well … .” Chris broke off.

  “It’s fine,” Jack said, flashing a smile. “I don’t need Laura or Bernard.”

  Chris wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure?”

  Jack nodded. “I’m taking Charlie.”

  Oh, well, that was nice. Wait a second … . “Me?” I swiveled quickly. “I want to go to Hooper’s Mill.”

  “I know, but you’re still dehydrated, and I think it would be good for you to stay out of the sun for a bit,” Jack said. “You can go with me and hydrate through the morning while sitting in an air-conditioned vehicle. I’m sure you’ll feel better after lunch.”

  “Now that right there is a good idea.” Chris waved his fork. “It works out well for everyone.”

  Everyone but me, I internally groused.

  “It definitely works out for everyone,” Jack agreed, grinning. “I think it’s going to be a fine morning.”

  That made exactly one of us who believed that.

  9

  Nine

  I was still pouting when Jack pulled into the drive-through at a fast-food restaurant one town over. Despite my agitation, I couldn’t keep my internal promise to freeze him out.

  “What are we doing here?” I asked, peering through the window.

  Jack kept his face placid, though I was certain the corners of his lips curved. “I thought a malt would make you feel better.”

  “A malt?”

  “You need the sugar to fight off the hangover, and a malt will help settle your stomach.”

  “Fought a lot of hangovers, have you?”

  Jack nodded without hesitation. “When you spend your life running, that’s often what happens.”

  It was an odd statement, and I filed it away to ponder later. “I don’t feel all that bad. You could’ve let me go to Hooper’s Mill with everybody else. I would’ve survived.”

  “I have no doubt, but I needed someone with me and my options were limited.”

  I rubbed my hand over my chin, debating whether that was an insult or simply the truth. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” I offered after a beat.

  “Oh, well, don’t turn all martyr on me,” Jack instructed. “I’m fine being stuck with you.”

  “Thanks so much for the compliment.”

  “You’re welcome.” Jack pulled up to the microphone and glanced at me. “What’s your flavor?”

  “Whatever is fine.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes and ordered a butterscotch malt when the woman asked what he wanted. The choice took me by surprise and I waited until we were free of the microphone to ask the obvious question. “Why did you assume I’d want butterscotch?”

  “If you want something else, tell me now.”

  “That wasn’t really an answer to my question.”

  Jack heaved a sigh, his frustration evident. “Perhaps you strike me as a butterscotch girl. Have you considered that?”

  I shrugged, noncommittal. “Butterscotch is my favorite.”

  “I know. You suck on those hard candies all the time and leave the wrappers around the office so I have to throw them away.”

  He was stern when he said it, yet I had to purse my lips to keep from laughing. “Sometimes you come off as a mother hen. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Just you.”

  “Perhaps I’m the smartest one in the room.”

  Jack shook his head as he paid for the malt and handed it to me. “I think you’re definitely smart, Charlie.”

  “Really?” I scr
atched my nose as I studied his serious face. “You don’t treat me like I’m smart.”

  “There’s a difference between book smart and street smart,” Jack noted. “You’re book smart.”

  “Does that mean you think I’m not street smart?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  It was an honest answer, so I decided to let it go and focus on our morning trip. “So we’re going to a ranch to ask questions about Wendell Morrison?”

  “We are.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe we’ve been over this.” Sometimes I think Jack has infinite patience. This was not one of those times. “I know you want to believe the culprit is paranormal … or weird … or rare. More often than not, though, the answer is human when it comes to murder. I’m trying to narrow down our suspects.”

  “But you’re not an investigator,” I pointed out. “You’re part of the Legacy Foundation. The entire purpose of our group is to discover proof of the paranormal.”

  “I know. I get that. You probably think I’m an idiot for being part of this group.”

  “An idiot?” I cocked a dubious eyebrow. I sipped my malt for a moment to collect myself. “I am curious about you, Jack. If you don’t care about the cause … .”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t care about the cause,” Jack countered, his temper flaring. “I merely prefer looking for the obvious answers before jumping to the conclusion that we’re dealing with something otherworldly. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing.” The edge to his voice made me nervous. “I was just curious.”

  “I know, and I don’t mean to snap at you.” Jack adjusted his tone. “I forget you’re sensitive.”

  “I’m not sensitive.”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult – and cripes, you take everything I say as an insult – but you are sensitive,” Jack argued. “You can’t help it. You don’t know us yet. You’re new to the group. You’re still feeling your way around. It’s to be expected.”

  That didn’t make things sound better. “But?”

  “But nothing. I worry you’re going to jump in headfirst before thinking things through. You speak before you think. I’m hoping you’ll grow out of that.”

  “You’re only four years older than me,” I reminded him. “You’re not that much older and wiser than me.”

  “We’ve lived different lives, Charlie,” Jack countered. “I had a wild childhood and then joined the Marines. I learned how to follow rules quickly. You, on the other hand, apparently had a quiet childhood and were thrust into adulthood as soon as your parents died.

  “That wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right that you had to grow up so fast, but you weren’t out of control to begin with,” he continued. “In some ways I think that was a benefit to you. You never had to hit rock bottom. In other ways, you insulated yourself. You were protected from the hard things that might’ve roughened your edges.”

  Whether or not he meant it as an insult, that’s how I took it. “You think I was protected from the hard things?” My voice hopped as I fought to control my emotions. Losing control of my tears – or inadvertently my magic – while trapped in a vehicle with Jack would certainly be a bad idea. “I wasn’t protected.”

  Jack slid me a sidelong look. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

  “I don’t care.” I knew it was unfair to turn on him. He’d been giving and generous with me the past two days. He didn’t know what he was talking about, though. Sure, he couldn’t fathom how hard it was to grow up with magic and always wonder what I was capable of – including hurting those I loved the most – but I was angered by his ignorance all the same.

  “Charlie, whatever I said … .”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I sucked hard on my straw. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’m just overly sensitive because of my hangover.”

  Jack didn’t look convinced. “If you want to talk … .”

  “I don’t want to talk,” I repeated. “Let’s just get these interviews over with. We’re talking to Morrison’s daughter, right? I think Zach said her name was Naomi. Let’s get it done.”

  “Yeah, let’s get it done,” Jack echoed, focusing his attention on the traffic.

  “I didn’t have it easy,” I said, my voice low. “I know it probably looks like I did, but I didn’t.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Jack matched my tone. “I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.”

  “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

  “Good.”

  “Great,” I agreed, staring out the windshield. “So, what do we know about the daughter?”

  NAOMI MORRISON WAS one of those women who was effortlessly beautiful and cool. She wore simple jeans, a set of amazing cowboy boots that set off her shapely legs, and her long blonde hair was pulled back in a stylized ponytail.

  It was clear she’d been crying, notification coming from the sheriff’s office only an hour before, but she ushered us inside and ordered iced tea before sitting to discuss her father’s death.

  “We’re very sorry for your loss,” Jack started, his expression sympathetic. “I know this must be a terrible time for you, but we have a few questions.”

  “And you’re the group investigating Hooper’s Mill because everyone thinks a Chupacabra is running around, right?” Naomi’s expression was hard to read, but I felt a bit silly asking her about the Chupacabra given her loss.

  “That’s one of the reasons we’re here.” Jack chose his words carefully. “Our foundation is often called in on situations like this. It’s our job to ascertain the truth, whether it be otherworldly or something more … human.”

  “You think my father was murdered,” Naomi surmised, leaning back in her chair. The ranch was impressive. It boasted thousands of acres and a house straight out of that old television show Dallas. There were cows in the fields when we drove up, and the vaulted ceilings in the foyer were like nothing I’d ever seen. It was a long way from the middle-class suburbs where I grew up, and I felt mildly out of place.

  “We can’t say that,” Jack cautioned. “We merely want to eliminate every possibility we can to narrow our focus.”

  “To the Chupacabra?”

  Jack’s shoulders hopped. “If the Chupacabra is guilty, then hopefully we’ll be able to ascertain that.”

  “And yet you’re obviously not sure,” Naomi mused, thoughtful. She flicked her eyes to me. “You’re more open to the possibility of it being the Chupacabra.”

  I was surprised to be addressed. Naomi had paid very little attention to me since I had entered the house. That was hardly a surprise. She was dealing with the loss of her father. Plus, well, Jack exuded a certain presence. Most people gravitated toward him when it was time to discuss serious issues.

  “I guess I am more open to it,” I conceded. “It’s easier for me to believe a creature killed your father than another human being. That probably makes me naïve.” I shot a weighted look in Jack’s direction. “Or young and dumb. That’s simply how I am.”

  “Well, I’m with you,” Naomi said. “I want to believe an animal did this rather than a human. I’m not sure if that makes it easier, but the notion doesn’t turn my stomach quite the way the idea of a man or woman purposely murdering my father does.”

  “I have a few questions for you on that front,” Jack said. “We don’t want to take up much of your time. I understand you have other things to focus on.”

  “If I can help, I want to help.”

  “Good.” Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “We’ve heard that your father was interested in purchasing Hooper’s Mill. Is that true?”

  “I think he’s always been interested in buying Hooper’s Mill,” Naomi replied. “As far back as I can remember he’s been obsessed with that piece of land.”

  “Why?” I asked. “I mean, it’s a cool piece of land, but it doesn’t strike me as a solid investment.”


  “Which is exactly what I told him,” Naomi replied. “He wanted the property because his father always took him there to explore when he was a kid. He loved the property … and he loved his father. He took me there when I was a kid, too, although I wasn’t nearly as fond of the property as he was.”

  Naomi’s voice cracked on the last sentence and she swiped at falling tears as she struggled to remain in control. “I’m sorry. I just … I wish I would’ve been more interested in Hooper’s Mill. If I knew he was going to take off and hang out there, get himself killed, I would’ve gone with him. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t alone.”

  “That’s another question I have.” Jack’s voice was gentle. “Do you know what he was doing out there?”

  “No, but it probably had something to do with Dominic Sully. My father was angry when he found out Dominic had the inside track on the purchase.”

  “No offense, but this place is huge,” I noted. “If your father wanted to buy the land, surely he had the money before Sully started showing interest.”

  “You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Naomi chuckled harshly. “The thing is, the house looks impressive and the land is sprawling. We take in a fair bit of money on the ranch. We also have huge bills that have to be covered.

  “My father inherited the ranch. The original parcel was well managed and turned a tidy profit, which allowed my grandfather to build this house,” she continued. “My father wouldn’t leave things be. He took out a mortgage and bought ranches to the east and west of us.”

  “And that was a mistake?” Jack prodded.

  Naomi shrugged. “I don’t know if ‘mistake’ is the word I’d use. It does add to the value of the ranch in theory. The problem is, we’ll be paying off the mortgages for another twenty years.”

  “So you went from owning property that was free and clear and making a profit to owning more property, potentially bringing in more profit, but you owe on it,” Jack mused.

  “Exactly, and we can’t separate the property now because my father used our ranch as collateral to buy the other ranches.” Naomi rubbed the spot between her eyebrows, as if she was warding off a headache. “I don’t want to speak ill of my father. It’s the last thing I want. But I pointed out to him on multiple occasions that if he hadn’t bought the other ranches that he would’ve had plenty of money to buy Hooper’s Mill and do whatever he wanted with it. It was something of a sore spot between us.”