by Bill Crider
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This one’s for Seepy Benton, always an inspiration.
I look for ghosts; but none will force
Their way to me: ’tis falsely said
That there was ever intercourse
Between the living and the dead.
—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,
“THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET”
Chapter 1
Sheriff Dan Rhodes had a feeling he was in trouble when Seepy Benton announced that he had a summer job.
“You’ve given up teaching math?” Rhodes asked.
“No,” Benton said. “I’ve just decided not to teach summer school.”
Seepy Benton, or Dr. C. P. Benton as he was known to his students, taught math at the community college branch in Clearview. He also considered himself an official member of the Blacklin County Sheriff’s Department because he’d gone through a law enforcement academy for the local citizens.
“I thought you liked teaching,” Rhodes said.
“I do,” Benton said. “It’s the best job in the world. I just thought I needed a change, some time to expand and grow.”
Rhodes glanced at Benton’s waistline. “I’d say you’re off to a good start.”
They were sitting at Rhodes’s desk in the county jail early on a warm Tuesday evening in late May. Rhodes had been called to help Alton Boyd, the county animal control officer, deal with a dispute between a couple of neighbors about some dogs. Diane Kelley had accused one Theodore Hertel of stealing four of her dogs. Mr. Hertel claimed that the dogs came over to his house all the time and ate the food intended for his own dogs and that he didn’t want four more mangy hounds hanging around, mooching food, and giving his dogs fleas. He’d called Boyd to pick up the dogs, and when Boyd arrived, Ms. Kelley had shown up and asserted her claim. Boyd had called Rhodes, and between the two of them, they’d straightened things out. Rhodes had stopped by the jail to fill out the paperwork, and Benton had found him there, though Rhodes suspected he’d dropped by hoping to find Deputy Ruth Grady, whom he’d recently started dating. She was on patrol, however, so Benton had settled for Rhodes.
Benton ignored the remark about his waist, which was just as well, Rhodes thought. To tell the truth, Benton was looking better than usual. His beard was neatly trimmed, and so was the half circle of hair that had formerly been rather shaggy. His old straw hat looked as disreputable as ever, though, as it rested on his knees. Benton had a hand on the brim to keep it from slipping to the floor.
“Don’t you want to hear about the job?” Benton asked.
Here it comes, Rhodes thought. “Does it involve investigating?”
Benton looked surprised. “How did you know?”
Rhodes hadn’t known, but he’d been afraid something like this was going to happen. Benton thought of himself as a fine criminal investigator, and he was probably going to set himself up as a private eye. Just what Blacklin County needed.
“Well?” Benton said when Rhodes didn’t say anything more.
Rhodes gave in. “You’ll be sort of like Sam Spade?”
“Oh,” Benton said. “I thought you’d guessed it, but you’re wrong. I’m not going to be a private eye. Try again.”
Rhodes was relieved. At least he didn’t have to worry about Benton nosing into his investigations and trying to solve crimes. He hoped.
“I can’t think of any other kind of investigator,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me what kind you’re going to be.”
“A paranormal investigator,” Benton said.
Rhodes started to say that while Benton wasn’t normal, he didn’t appear to be paranormal, but he knew that wasn’t what Benton had meant. What he had meant sounded to Rhodes as if it might be even more trouble than if Benton had decided to become Sam Spade.
“You’re going to be a what?” Rhodes asked.
“Paranormal investigator. I’m going to open my own office. Clearview Paranormal Investigations. Or CP Investigations. Get it?”
Rhodes got it, but he didn’t want it.
“You gonna be a ghost hunter?” Hack Jensen asked from across the room.
Hack was the dispatcher. He was tall and thin, with a little mustache like the kind worn by characters in 1940s movies.
“Well, you could call it that,” Benton said. “I’ll have to hire a couple of assistants, of course. I can’t do everything alone.”
“Who did you have in mind as an assistant?” Rhodes asked, thinking that it had better not be Ruth Grady.
“Harry Harris, for one,” Benton said. “He’s interested in the paranormal.”
Rhodes didn’t say anything, but Benton must have noticed something in his look.
“All that other stuff is over and done with,” Benton said. “I think Harry and the dean got it all straightened out.”
That “other stuff” was something Rhodes and Benton had discovered in the course of an earlier investigation. Harris had somehow found a way to fake his evaluations in ProfessoRater, an online tool for students. There was also the little matter of his not having reported a dead body he’d seen.
“You think he’ll be reliable?” Rhodes asked.
“Sure. He’s made mistakes, but he’s repented and been scolded by the dean. And by you, too, I believe. Now he just wants to hunt ghosts.”
“We had us a ghost right here in the jail once,” Hack said.
“No, we didn’t,” Rhodes said. He looked at Benton.
“Did so,” Hack said.
Rhodes wasn’t going to get into that kind of argument. “Some of the inmates thought we had a ghost,” he told Benton, “but there wasn’t one. We don’t need you to perform an exorcism or anything.”
“I won’t be doing exorcisms,” Benton said, “but I could locate the ghost for you.”
“There wasn’t any ghost,” Rhodes said. “It was purely imaginary. Like all ghosts.”
“That’s what you’d like us to believe,” Hack said.
“Only because it’s true.”
“If you say so. I remember we looked up jailhouse ghosts on the Internet. Couldn’t find much information, though, just something about some jail in Australia or somewhere.”
“I remember that,” Lawton said, coming in from the cellblock. Lawton was the jailer, and he was Hack’s opposite in appearance, rounder and smoother-faced, though almost as old. “I was hopin’ we had us a real ghost, but I never saw it. You oughta take another look on the Internet, Hack. When we had us that ghost, or thought we did, it was before the Google. Might find more stuff now.”
Hack was already at the keyboard of his computer before Lawton finished talking.
“Lord a-mighty,” Hack said after a few key taps. “Look at this.”
Lawton looked over his shoulder. “Who’d’ve thought it? Look at this, Sheriff.”
Rhodes wasn’t inclined to get up. “Just tell me.”
“I typed in ‘jai
lhouse ghost’ just like I did the other time,” Hack said. “Guess how many hits it got.”
Rhodes wasn’t inclined to guess any more than he was inclined to get up. He’d already used up his daily capacity for guesses when he’d guessed about Benton’s job. “Just tell me.”
“It’s a mighty big number,” Lawton said, and Rhodes knew he was in for it. Those two couldn’t resist delaying any kind of real answer for as long as they thought they could get away with it.
“Sure is,” Hack said. “A great big one. I don’t think you’d ever guess it, even if you was to try.”
“Just tell me,” Rhodes said.
“Bigger than the population of Clearview,” Lawton said. “Bigger than the whole county. You reckon it’s bigger than the population of Houston?”
“Nope,” Hack said. “Not that big.”
“How many people live in Houston, anyway?” Lawton asked.
“I don’t know,” Hack said, “but it’s a whole lot. I could look it up on the computer.”
“It’s over two million,” Benton said before Hack could click the keys. “So how many hits did you get?”
Rhodes grinned. Lawton and Hack might not tell him, but they wouldn’t play their little game with Benton.
“It’s less than two million,” Hack said.
Or maybe they would.
“It’s over a million, though,” Lawton said.
“One million four hundred and ten thousand,” Hack said, giving in. “About. And you know how long it took to get that many hits?”
“Not long,” Benton said.
“Three-tenths of a second,” Lawton said.
Hack turned away from the computer and gave Lawton a look. “I’m the one who did the Googlin’.”
“I’m the one suggested it,” Lawton said.
“Never mind,” Rhodes said. Those two would argue for the rest of the day if he let them. “That’s a lot of jailhouse ghosts.”
“Some of those hits are repeats,” Benton said. “Maybe most of them. Those don’t count.”
“Still a lot of ’em, no matter how many repeats,” Hack said, turning back to the computer. “Wonder if our ghost is in there.”
“We didn’t have a ghost,” Rhodes said.
“Maybe you did,” Benton said. “Maybe you still do. Why not let me check it out? I have some equipment out in my car.”
“You need equipment to hunt ghosts?” Hack asked. “What kind?”
“More than you might think,” Benton said. “That’s why I’ll need assistants. I can’t carry all of it. You wouldn’t be interested in a second job, would you?”
Hack laughed. “Not me. It’s all I can do to hold down this one. Lawton, now, he could use some work. Get him on his feet, get him some exercise.”
“What?” Lawton said. “Exercise? I’m the one keeps this place clean while you sit in that chair and play solitaire on the computer. If anybody around here needs exercise, it’s you.”
Rhodes cut in again before the argument could start.
“The county won’t let them take second jobs,” he told Benton. “You’ll have to look somewhere else for your pack mules. Now tell us about the equipment.”
“Bet it’s just like Ghostbusters,” Hack said. “Ecto-goggles, ecto-containment unit. All that stuff.”
“And a slime blower,” Rhodes said. “Can’t forget the slime blower.”
“That’s not exactly what I have,” Benton said.
“Next you’ll tell us you don’t have clients who look like that Sigourney Weaver did thirty years ago,” Hack said.
“You seen her lately?” Lawton asked. “Looks just the same. I think she’s some kind of secret servant to Gozer the Gozerian her ownself.”
“If Seepy got hired by somebody looked like that, he’d be in trouble with Deputy Grady, anyway,” Hack said. “Best to stick to clients that look like me and you.”
“Getting back to the equipment,” Benton said.
“Yeah,” Lawton said. “If you ain’t got ecto-goggles, what do you have?”
“Well,” Benton said, “to start with I have a couple of really good flashlights.”
“Heck, ever’body has a flashlight,” Hack said. “What else?”
“I have a digital recorder, the thermal scanner, the motion sensor, and the EMF meter.”
“Hold on,” Hack said. “What’s that last one again?”
“The EMF meter,” Benton told him. “It detects electromagnetic fields.”
“Ghosts are magnetic?”
“It’s not the same thing,” Benton said. “It’s complicated, but let’s just say that there are electromagnetic fields all around us. The presence of a ghost can disturb the field. The EMF meter I have is a combination meter and thermometer, since ghosts can cause a sudden temperature drop in a room or a building.”
“Kinda like the PKE meter the Ghostbusters had,” Lawton said.
“A little,” Benton said. “If there are ghosts around, they might register on it some way or another.”
Rhodes resisted the temptation to say there was no such thing as ghosts. It seemed obvious to him, but it was equally obvious that Benton was serious about all this.
“We don’t want to disturb the customers back in the cellblock,” Rhodes said, “and I really don’t want to get that ghost rumor started again. I think we’ll take a pass on the ghost hunt.”
“You’ve always been a killjoy,” Hack said.
Rhodes nodded. “True, but somebody has to be the voice of reason. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
“You’re not a believer, are you,” Benton said.
“He’s hardheaded, all right,” Hack said.
“I used to be,” Benton said, “until I started reading Stuart Hameroff. He’s a professor at Arizona State, and he uses quantum physics to explain that life after death might be possible.”
“Let me guess,” Rhodes said. “It’s complicated.”
“Not really,” Benton said. “The idea is that there are structures called microtubules in our brain cells and that our consciousness—”
“Never mind,” Rhodes said, holding up a hand to stop the flow of words.
“Microtubules?” Lawton said.
“That’s right,” Benton said. “You see—”
“Never mind,” Lawton said. “I need to stick to simple stuff, like Casper, the Friendly Ghost. Him, I can understand.”
“Figures,” Hack said. “Him bein’ in a comic book and all. That’s about your speed.”
“I guess you know all about microtubes and such,” Lawton said.
“Microtubules,” Hack said.
“Whatever. I guess you know all about ’em.”
“More’n some people I could name. Know as much about Casper as you do, too.”
“Bet you can’t sing the theme song.”
“How much?”
“Can’t bet money.” Lawton indicated Rhodes. “It’s illegal, and the sheriff’s sittin’ right there. Anyway, I’d win.”
“Not a chance,” Hack said, and he launched into an off-key rendition of the theme song from the cartoons. After a couple of bars, Lawton joined in.
Rhodes looked at Benton. “See what you’ve done?”
Benton stood up. “Time for me to make my exit.”
“Me, too,” Rhodes said. “I could use a good night’s sleep.”
“I hope you get it,” Benton said, “and that you don’t have that theme song stuck in your head. Like I do, now.”
* * *
Rhodes was well into his good night’s sleep when the phone beside the bed started to ring.
“Don’t answer it,” Rhodes’s wife, Ivy, said, her voice thick with sleep.
“I have to,” Rhodes said, turning on the light on the nightstand. “It might be an emergency.”
Ivy rolled over onto her back and put her arm over her eyes. “It’s always an emergency.”
Rhodes grinned and answered the phone. It was Hack, calling from the jail.
> “Got a little problem,” Hack said. “Deputy Grady can use some backup.”
Ruth Grady was sensible and level-headed. If she said she needed backup, she had a good reason.
“Who else is on duty?” Rhodes asked.
“Don’t matter,” Hack said. “They’re all too far off. This is on the north side of town, where Ruth was patrollin’.”
Rhodes sighed. “What’s the problem?”
“You ain’t gonna believe it,” Hack said.
“Just tell me,” Rhodes said.
“You don’t put much stock in coincidences.”
“Just tell me,” Rhodes said again.
“Much less the other thing,” Hack said.
“Hack,” Rhodes said. “It’s late, and I was asleep. Now tell me what the problem is.”
“Well,” Hack said, “It seems like there’s somethin’ goin’ on at the haunted house.”
Chapter 2
Rhodes held the phone away from his ear and looked at it. Ruth Grady was dating Seepy Benton. Rhodes hoped there was no connection between this call and Seepy’s new enterprise. He put it back to his ear and said, “Does this have anything to do with Seepy Benton?”
“Not as far as I know,” Hack said, “but then I don’t know very far.”
Rhodes sighed and said he’d look into it. He hung up the phone and got dressed as quickly and as quietly as he could, but Yancey, the little Pomeranian, woke up and came into the bathroom to see what was going on. The dog was too sleepy even to make a single yip, and because he wasn’t the one who had to go check out a haunted house, he just watched Rhodes for a couple of seconds, then went back into the spare bedroom to get cozy in his doggy bed.
The two cats, Sam and Jerry, were a bit more curious, but not much. Rhodes had thought cats were nocturnal animals, but as far as he could tell, Sam and Jerry enjoyed sleeping just as much at night as they did during the day, and during the day they really enjoyed it. Or appeared to, since that was about all they did.
Sam was solid black, and Jerry was black and white. They purred and rubbed against Rhodes’s legs when he went into the kitchen to get himself a drink of water from the refrigerator before leaving. They didn’t purr and rub for long, however. They’d lost interest in him and lain back down on the floor by the time Rhodes put his empty water glass on the counter. They were both asleep by the refrigerator, and it was as if he’d never been there.
