“If you want to speak to Tommy, you’ll have to head over to the Bluffs at Breakwater Beach. He’s always down there with his watercolor set since Cheryl left.”
“Thanks, but since we’re here, could you two spare a few minutes?”
Tate parked and climbed out of the truck. He lowered the tailgate and sat down. His legs swung back and forth beneath him. Keri leaned against the rust-speckled rear tire well.
“Have you two seen or heard anything unusual over the past few days? We’re looking for anybody with information about the three missing people,” Delaney said.
“Nothing more unusual than usual,” Tate laughed. “This place is all kinds of weird, but it’s usually in a mysterious sort of way. Nothing on the level of swallowing people whole.”
“What do you mean by mysterious?” Casper asked.
“Well, we used to have a few horses back there, as you know, Del. But we could only take them so far into the trails. Once they’d hit the center of the Punkhorns, they’d both buck and panic like they’re being chased or something. It was just spooky,” Keri said.
“We’ve tried different trails around Brewster and haven’t seen them panic like that. So, we’ve stopped bringing them in altogether. And to be honest, we’ve stopped hiking ourselves. Even got rid of the horses,” Tate added.
Casper wrote in his notepad and then looked back up. “Anything else?”
Keri chuckled, “There was a dog that used to wander these trails with a bell around his neck. That sure knocked us out of our boots the first few times, but then he just stopped coming around.”
“Doesn’t sound all that spooky when you say it like that, Keri,” Tate added. “Something just feels off in there. Everything is weird; creepy, almost. With stuff like the dog, it’s not so much the events that scare us, it’s the lack of explanation.”
Delaney pressed her friends. “Do you two believe in these legends? What do you think happened to those folks?”
Tate slid off the tailgate and put his hands in his front pockets. “Del, when I first moved here, I would have called you a wacko if you tried to sell me those urban legends. But after living here for a while, I’ve decided it’s better to live my life as if those acres are haunted than to assume they’re not and suffer the consequences.”
Casper mumbled, “Pascal’s wager.” The other three looked at him in confusion. “Pascal’s wager is an old adage that it’s better to live as if God exists and find out he doesn’t than to live as if God isn’t real and find out he’s real. People tend to apply that same rationale to spirits and ghosts, kind of like you did, sir,” Casper continued. “But, if I can restate Detective Shepard’s question, what do you think happened to those people?”
Tate shook his head and pulled the loose-fitting cap from his head. He looked over at Keri and frowned. “They’re suffering the consequences of Baxter Construction’s greed. The wrath of The Punkhorns has overtaken them. You’re not going to find a thing in those woods.”
Casper had trouble deciding if Tate’s confidence made him a suspect, or an expert on the Punkhorns. Either way, he knew better than to push. Delaney seemed to agree.
“Well, I sure hope you’re wrong, Tate,” Delaney said.
“I’m with Del, I’ll take hope over fear any day of the week,” Keri said.
Tate flashed a gap-toothed smile and turned to face his truck. “We better get going, I was hoping to get the last of our equipment out of the horse stalls so we can put our boxes in there as we pack up. We’ll see you around, Del. Probably sooner rather than later, if Baxter keeps tempting the Gods,” Tate waved a hand and winked at Casper. “See you around, Pascal.”
Casper chuckled, but Tate’s earlier words echoed in his ears. You’re not going to find a thing in those woods. Baxter keeps tempting the Gods.
Delaney nodded and waved as her friends left them in a dust cloud and headed up the road toward their home. She looked back to Casper and tried to translate the look on his face.
“What’s with the face? Are you trying to do a ghost impression on me, Casper?” she poked.
“How well do you know Tate Archibald?”
“Fairly well, although I’m much closer with Keri. He’s harmless. All that voodoo talk is just that. Talk. He’s a softie. Keri said he cries at the end of movies.”
“He just seemed so, well, confident,” Casper said.
“He’s pissed at Baxter for taking his land. Can’t really blame him for that, if you ask me. But I think any suspicions you may have are going to fall flat. Plus, Tate was on the beach when Grace Lee went missing.”
Casper’s eyebrows shot up. “And why should that clear his name? That’s quite a coincidence.”
Delaney chuckled, “How would he take a woman from the pond or a man from the trails if he’s sitting on the beach with a cooler and a book?”
Casper felt Delaney had a point, but the coincidence still ate at him. His middling career as an amateur sleuth had solidified a belief that there was no such thing as a coincidence. There was always a reason. Delaney stepped back towards her cruiser and Casper followed. As he sat in the car next to her and gasped in the boiling air the sun had left in the car, he dropped the subject for now, but made a mental a note to pursue it on his own.
“So, Del, huh? That’s a new one,” Casper joked.
“Nice try. You’re lucky I don’t make you call me Detective Shepard,” she teased as she started the car and pointed it towards the Punkhorns. “I’ll drop you at your car. First thing tomorrow, we go see Tommy Renard.”
TWENTY-THREE
Wednesday, August 8th
“Hi, everybody! Thrilled to see such a turnout on a weekday morning. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your bosses! We’re at two hundred viewers. Tell your friends, tell your family, tell your dog!” April Patel’s sunny smile filled the screen of her iPhone. At the bottom of the screen, she watched the viewer count tick up slowly and the comments began to flow in.
Butterfly42: InstaFan since 2018!
PineBluffBetty: #AprilExplores #obsessed
RandyEvans: Excited for this one!
April was thrilled by the turnout, especially considering the last-minute nature of this stream. She’d been doing live streams of nature expeditions for three years and had slowly built a following that allowed her to go part time with her job at the YMCA. She put the phone back on the mount that was attached with a suction cup to her windshield. The green light above the screen reminded her she was live-streaming directly onto phones all over the country. As she drove, she narrated her surroundings for the growing audience.
“Okay, so I’m calling today’s adventure Butterflies and Birds of Brewster. So many B’s, I hope we don’t run into a hive! I’ve been on the Cape most of this summer and this is my first time exploring this plot of land. I’d never been to Brewster before, but I’ve heard the stories. People have called the Punkhorns haunted and spooky!” April faked an exaggerated shiver and then giggled at the camera. Over the last few months, she had mastered a tactful balance of ditzy cuteness and professorial lecturing. She’d touched up her makeup for an hour before turning the camera on but had spent twice as much time researching the area.
“I’m pulling off Run Hill Road now, I should be able to turn into a lot that’s down a dirt road up ahead. Post in the comments if there are any species or particular fauna that you’re looking to see today!”
NatureLova: Gossamer wing please!
CptnPlanet23: Bohemian Waxwing would be legit
MWesterly: arent you scared of the stories? Be careful!
“Alright, here we go! Remember to like our page and subscribe so you get updates for each future trip like this. I’ll turn the camera now so you don’t have to see my silly face and can watch the wildlife!” April wondered if she sounded too juvenile by using the word ‘silly.’ She had been attempting to push off the ‘little girl’ stereotypes and make it clear she was a fully grown independent woman. Fans, particularly the older men, seemed
to belittle her efforts by calling her ‘cute’ and saying ‘aww’ when she posted. She brushed it off as a lost generation, out of touch with the world.
April locked the car and headed into the trails. She had taken only fifteen steps down the snake-like s-shaped path before she was completely lost in the sickly trees around her. She felt her arms grow heavy and drop to her side as she stared up in astonishment. Her eyes followed the skinny pale-gray trunks of the trees upward as they featured thick slimy moss. The spongy growth seemed to latch on at random heights and in quantities that painted the aspens like a coral reef. The dense forest and stark trail engulfed her so deeply that she felt like she’d entered a different world altogether. April wondered if she’d somehow stumbled into Narnia or Oz.
The ping of comments woke April from her somber daydream and reminded her she was here for the viewers. She raised the phone back up so that the camera faced the forest. She cleared her throat and did her best movie-voiceover impression. “Welcome… to the Punkhorns!”
HulaHeather: Um, is it halloween yet? This place is creeeeeepy
PickleTony: More birds, less talking please
Chefgumdrop: Keep an eye out for Beetlejuice!
April continued down the path and let the audience take in the surroundings. A white-tailed deer scampered away to her right, and she moved the camera to follow it. A pine warbler chirped a greeting as she stepped into an opening in the trees. A stump sat towards the center of the clearing, and April approached to set up her tripod.
“I’m going to set this up here and step in front to give you all some friends to keep an eye out for. Bear with me a moment,” She said as she fumbled with the clunky plastic tripod that never seemed to open correctly. After resting the phone on the stump and using both hands, she pried it open and position it on the flat splintered surface of the stump. “Alright, here we go.”
April stepped out in front of the camera and looked at herself on the screen. She brushed down her wrinkled t-shirt and pushed her cheeks up to force a smile. “Okay, so here we are! The haunted Punkhorns of Brewster. There’s no known history of why this land has such a funny name, but it’s likely attributable to the Native Americans who once called this area home. Although they were sadly and brutally pushed out of this space, their legends and lore still live with us today. Lucky for us, since this area has been undeveloped for so long it has become an incredible habitat for all sorts of rare birds.”
April twisted to face the trees behind her and turned her back to the camera. She scanned the branches above, hoping to see a familiar face fluttering about. “Tons of fun critters live here, but today we’re looking for some friends we haven’t seen in a while! I’m looking for you, Blue Jay. I’m inviting you, Titmouse and Towhee. How about you, Ms. Goldfinch? And don’t forget our polymorph friends! There have been sightings of brushfoots, swallowtails, and even a clouded sulphur. You’ll recognize that one because of its fluorescent yellow wings.”
The once-active area around her had gone quiet as she spoke. Panic set in, as April knew that any lull in activity would cut her viewership in half. She turned back to the camera and grinned.
“It’s likely that I’m scaring them away with all of my chattering! I’m going to step off to the side here and stay still. Don’t worry, you’ll still see me hunting right alongside you on the corner of the screen!”
April stepped aside and looked back to ensure she was still on screen. She pointed up at a canopy where a pine warbler had decided to sit and watch from above. She could see comments trickling in but was too far away to read them. She looked back up at the trees.
Sixty seconds went by before another bird joined their group. April squinted to see what it was and reached down for her binoculars. She spoke to the camera as she sorted through her bag.
“I think this may be a goldfinch, but she’s pretty far up there, so I’m trying to find my binoculars. Hope she doesn’t fly a-”
April interrupted her running commentary with a piercing scream. She was dragged away from her bag and the camera’s view. She screamed between gasps for air, “Help me! Somebody help! Something has me! It’s— it’s—” April felt a hand over her mouth before she could utter another word.
Comments flooded the abandoned cell phone sitting in the middle of the clearing.
CptnPlanet23: Calling 911
BriGunderson: What did she say? Did anybody hear that?
MorknMindy: She said something has her and to call for help. Calling 911.
CptnPlanet23: Police are OTW, I told them to look for her car.
Chefgumdrop: Curse of the Punkhorns strikes again!
TWENTY-FOUR
Wednesday, August 8th
The cramped apartment in the mayor’s basement was, well, cramped. Casper had been grateful for windows and a glass sliding door that opened with a screen behind it. The fresh air that trickled in through the tiny holes had allowed him enough of a breeze to survive the night without spiraling. He’d walked in after parking his car on the nearby street, and the mayor’s wife, Ann, had led him to the basement. He recognized her once she opened the door, but she didn’t seem interested in a conversation. She’d smiled and said, “Thank you for being here. You must have had a long day; can I show you downstairs?”
As Hoagie emerged from the back seat, Ann’s mood perked up. She knelt down and let Hoagie lick her face, letting out a hearty chuckle. “He looks just like that old RCA dog. No, more like the one from the Little Rascals. Petey!”
“He hears that a lot, actually. But he sure likes you!”
“Well, if you need your hands free for a day or two, let me know. I haven’t been able to convince Peter to get another dog since our last one passed years back. Maybe Petey here will change his mind. What’s his name again?”
“Hoagie. And I’m Casper. I think we met a while back in the –”
“Of course I remember you, Casper. Thanks for coming. We sure needed a breath of fresh air, and I think you’re just what the people around here need. Some answers.”
“Well, I hope to provide some soon.”
“Me too. Now, let me show you two to the basement. It’s not much, but it’ll do for the time being.” Ann hurried down the stairs as her voice drifted off.
Casper sat on in the rock-hard bed and wondered if the mayor had children. The books on the shelves in the basement were predominantly self-help and political thrillers. There wasn’t an old version of Nancy Drew or The Hardy Boys, Casper’s preferred genre, anywhere in sight. Two stacks of journals sat on the top shelf. The taller stack was mostly brown leather books with lined pages. As Casper snooped through, he saw notes of meetings with names he’d recognized from years past. There was one dog-eared page that had POTUS written a handful of times. It didn’t take a detective to understand that the first stack of journals belonged to Peter Peck from his days in the Senate.
Politics had never pulled Casper’s attention as it did for some others. He cast that stack aside and moved onto the other, which had a mix of gray and blue books of varying widths and levels of wear. Flicking through the pages, he saw that it was a book diary, kept over years of reading. There was a synopsis of each novel, and a description the strengths and weaknesses of the story. Casper read through one that reviewed Gone Girl.
A twisty whodunit where you’re not sure a crime even happened. Switches back and forth between two narrators and has lots of predictable, yet satisfying twists. Solid ending that you couldn’t quite predict from the start. 8/10.
Liked: Strong female lead, cursing, narrative structure
Disliked: Mistress side plot, naming a bar “The Bar”, always seen Ben Affleck as Nick because of movie posters
The last line made Casper chuckle. He hadn’t read Gone Girl, but he had seen the movie and agreed with most of the sentiments written on the page. He assumed these books must belong to the Mayor’s wife but couldn’t pull her first name out of his memory. He’d opted to just use “Mrs. Peck.” He noted that if convers
ation ever stalled, he could bring up the book, but then realized how creepy it was that he was reading his graceful hosts’ old journals.
Instead, Casper had opted to read from the Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The world of magic and spells had an obvious alignment with his work, and the books reminded him of his younger days, when he had fewer concerns in the world. He’d chosen Goblet of Fire because it had the Tri-Wizard Tournament, which spilled out for pages and pages. The story was so familiar to Casper that he figured it would lead to an early bedtime. At dawn, he woke with the book face-down on his chest and saw Delaney had texted him.
D: Going to see Renard at 8. I can pick you up at the Mayor’s. Hoagie is welcome.
Casper typed a quick response and considered whether it was appropriate to add an emoji. He wanted to show his lighter side but didn’t see an opening that wasn’t clumsy. He opted for cool and breezy.
C: Great. See you then.
When Casper opened the door that led to the basement, he was surprised to find a full breakfast spread waiting for him. It even had a French press full of hot coffee. Casper stepped over the tray and poked his head into the kitchen, where he found Ann Peck working on a crossword puzzle.
“Good morning, Casper. I hope you’re okay with a croissant. I can whip up eggs, if that’s better.”
“No, no. This is great. Too much really.”
“Oh, great! Anything I can help you with?”
“Actually, Hoagie was wondering if that offer to spend the day together was still on the table.”
Ann’s eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”
“Great, I’ll bring him up when I head out. Just call if he gets to be too much to handle. I don’t mean to be a burden.”
“Not at all. Go unravel this mystery. Me and Hoagie will be just fine.”
When Casper heard Delaney’s car veer up the gravel driveway, he gave Hoagie a pat on the head and walked out to meet her. As the door bounced shut behind him, he could hear Hoagie let out a whine. Casper hated leaving him out, but he also feared something happening to Hoagie on the job. Plus, it seemed like Ann needed a friend more than he did today.
Welcome to the Punkhorns (Shepard & Kelly Book 1) Page 12
