by Sue Clifton
Sniffing again, she caught the faint scent of Johnny’s cologne, the brand she had bought him for his birthday. Billie made herself think back to that happy time. It seemed a forever ago, although it was only a few months. She needed to think good thoughts.
What will I get Johnny? What will he like? What will he want? What will he even use?
She remembered how she had agonized over what to get this gorgeous guy who had everything, this guy she had just met but who she already knew was the one. She had decided on cologne, a safe gift, and picked out her favorite scent. It was a sweet yet hardy smell, warm and electrifying—manly, but not macho. She could see herself wrapping it in a black box with a blue bow and attaching a silly, sweet card, and then remembered the moment when Johnny had anxiously unwrapped the present. How she’d wished she had come up with something more original.
Cologne! What was I thinking?
But it proved to be the perfect gift. Johnny had smiled when he saw the bottle. He’d sprayed it, breathed in the aroma, and closed his eyes as if being transported to another time and place. It was the same cologne his mom had bought his dad for a wedding anniversary gift. His dad had loved it and wore it to work, church, dinners, football games, and everywhere he went. The pleasant scent brought back his father, who had died when Johnny was fifteen. Johnny told her how safe and happy he’d felt with his dad, the way he wanted Billie to feel when she was with him. She remembered his sweet kiss as he thanked her for the gift. Johnny wore the cologne every day after that.
Billie breathed deeper, the only way she could be close to Johnny as she lay unable to move, unable to reach out to him. It was the scent of the man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with—the loving, protective Johnny. She could only hope Johnny would be able to save them both.
Her good thoughts fell prey to the present as she returned to how this terrifying ordeal had begun.
They had sped along on his Harley across Montana and Idaho, feeling alive and free—a false illusion. The last she remembered was using the outhouse at one of the campgrounds in the wilderness section of Idaho. When she came out of the outhouse, someone had grabbed her from behind and put a bad-smelling cloth over her mouth and nose, instantly suffocating her. When she awoke, she was captive to pitch black terror.
Her heart pumped violently; the veins in her neck felt as if they would explode as the vehicle slowed to a creep. The road changed from smooth pavement to a bumpy road that spit gravel under the wheels. She was being taken deeper into the isolated wilderness.
I won’t think of it!
Her mind commanded, but she was not convinced.
I’m not going to be raped or murdered! Johnny will save me!
More sobs were absorbed by the duct tape.
After a few jarring minutes, the vehicle stopped. The driver exited and opened the door behind his seat, putting Billie on high alert. The groans and heavy breathing of the man fueled more fear in her as he pulled and lifted something from the back. The scent of Johnny permeated her surroundings, heightening her sense of smell. But his cologne became overpowered by a different smell.
Metal…iron, maybe.
The scent wafted through the air and into her nostrils; a strong smell that found its way into the back of her mouth, giving her a taste she did not want to experience.
Blood!
The vibrato of the man’s whistle was interrupted by the burden of what he lifted. Even though she recognized the tune as one she had often sung in church, she found no comfort in it and began to sob and tremble. Her thoughts turned from the head-game she played to the worst possible scenario. Then she heard the heavy object being dragged away from the vehicle, and the whistling was replaced with more heavy breathing.
Dull terror sharpened to fierce realization as she heard the unique ring tone of Johnny’s cell phone, the distinct base rumble of a Harley starting up followed by Steppenwolf bellowing out “Born to be Wild.” The words faded, becoming less and less distinguishable as if the cell phone had been hurled away from the scene. They ended short seconds later in a shatter followed by silence. She strained her ears but could not discern the new sounds she heard behind the labored breathing of the kidnapper.
Then came sounds of small rocks avalanching down a cliff or embankment, and she heard the footfalls coming closer. Her heart somersaulted as the back door opened at her feet. She tensed, sure she was about to be dragged out like Johnny, and began to gasp and cry behind the duct tape, but he did not move her. He took out something from beside her that gave a deep scraping noise and then a ping as it hit the vehicle bumper. The door slammed shut, and footfalls crunching gravel moved away from the vehicle.
A long time passed before the man returned to the vehicle where Billie lay drifting in and out of exhausted sleep. She had lost all track of time. He whistled the tune that seemed to dominate his thoughts as he opened the door behind the driver’s seat and threw something into the backseat that hit the opposite door with the same pinging sound she had heard earlier. Whistling gave way to jubilant singing of words of praise as the man took his seat in the SUV.
New tears soaked the blindfold as Billie realized the truth.
Johnny would not rescue her. She could only pray death would not follow her and the small life forming in her body, all that was left of Johnny, the life Johnny had demanded they end. She closed her eyes as the drug- and terror-induced drowsiness took control.
Chapter One
Montana, A Few Weeks Later
“I can’t believe we’re riding in eighty-degree weather with no air conditioning. You have gone completely insane this time, Cayce. Actually, I’ve gone insane to be riding with you in this old truck. What year did you say it is?”
“It’s a fifty-two, too near our age to criticize, I’m afraid.” Cayce smiled, then gave Harri a quick glance. “And we’re still going strong.”
“Easy for you to say, dear sister. You run a ranch and throw fifty-pound bags of horse feed over your shoulder. I run The Teacake, a very genteel teahouse, keep the air conditioner set on sixty-eight degrees, prefer silk to denim, and don’t lift anything heavier than my make-up bag.” The truck hit a pothole and knocked her against the door. With a deep sigh, she stared at the side of Cayce’s grinning face. “Take a lesson—you’re a woman first, a cowpoke second, or make that last.”
“Yes, but not a weak damsel. One of us has to be strong, considering the messes we get ourselves into. Actually, it’s our connection with the living dead that gets us into messes.” The sisters’ father had been the giver of their “Gift” that often landed them in trouble.
“Speaking of messes, what mess is it your lover boy is getting us into?”
“Joshua is a best friend—you being first best as well as sister—and he is lover boy second, although that identity could move up if he’s ever available. Anyway, he wants us to check out this ghost town in Idaho he has purchased. He’s restoring it, making it into a place where lovers of the Old West can come and relive history.”
“And that involves us how?” Harri gave her sister the questioning sideways stare, her eyebrows wrinkled.
“Joshua has had workers up there for months restoring three of the old buildings, but the crew has run into a few problems of the paranormal variety.” Cayce pulled her sunglasses down her nose and gave Harri the look that yelled, “Here we go again!”
“Before you even begin to tell me what’s going on there, what’s the name of this ghost town, and what’s the history? I can probably surmise who is lingering from that.”
“The name of the ghost town is Bar None. Catchy, huh?” Cayce lifted her eyebrows, matching Harri’s cynical look. “Actually, I’ve got a document from the County Historical Society that pretty much covers the history, but since I know you hate to read while riding—especially in a bumpy old truck—I’ll hit the highlights for you.”
As if Cayce needed justification for her statement, she swerved the old truck, but not soon enough to prevent hitting anothe
r pothole in the highway.
Harri clenched her lips and held a death grip on the seat and door.
“Dear Lord! I don’t know if my bladder can adapt to this.” Harri lifted herself to sit with one leg under her. “Keep quiet while I count. If I start the Kegel now, maybe I can make it for two weeks, or however long we’re out here.” She counted while Cayce shook her head and laughed. “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. How about we stop and rent a nice SUV? I’ll spring for it.” Harri put on her best begging look, hoping her sister would run with it.
“My trip, my choice, and you already know what the answer is. Besides, Hawk, here, has taken me on much worse trips than this and made it just fine.” Cayce rubbed her hand across the dashboard as if caressing the old truck.
“You named your truck after Hawk, the hero from your favorite romance novel? Sounds just like you.”
“You need a different adventure, Harri. Something other than all the comforts of home such as riding around in a BMW convertible.” Cayce kept her eyes on the road and hesitated before continuing, “And, while we’re on the subject of comfort, I need to tell you Joshua specifically wanted you along because there is a cooking element only you can handle.”
“Putting cooking and ‘other than all the comforts of home’ in the same context has me really worried.” Harri kept her eyes straight ahead as apprehension circled head to stomach.
“You are so right. As in cooking on a fireplace, a wood stove, and even over a campfire—pioneer cooking, so to speak. In fact, Joshua wants to keep the experience as close to the nineteenth century as possible for those brave enough to come.”
“Stop right there! If there is no air conditioning and no indoor plumbing, I’m on the next plane out of here. I didn’t sign on for roughin’ it.” Harri set her jaw, struggling not to yell expletives at her sister for coercing her into this craziness. “And the mention of campfire cooking sounds like roughin’ it to me.”
“Oh, don’t be such a sissy, Harri.” Cayce dismissed Harri’s argument with a wave of her non-driving hand. “The work crew has already installed indoor plumbing of the communal type, with shared showers and toilets on the top floor of the hotel. However, there are cabins that have outhouses in case some tourists want a true historical experience. And before you ask, we have rooms in the upstairs of the hotel.”
“That doesn’t explain campfire cooking.” Harri folded her arms and shook her head, disliking the potential hardship suggested. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
“Okay. I might as well get this over with. Joshua is coming out in a few days, and he has a guy lined up to take us on a wagon train trip, something he will include in the guest package. He wants you to come up with the meal plan.” Cayce kept her eyes straight ahead and sped up.
“Whoa, Cayce! Turn this thing around and take me back to the airport. I don’t do dirt, insects, or hanging your butt over a felled tree limb to do your business. And I will not afflict my nice makeup bag with a small handheld spade for burying such business.” She couldn’t believe Cayce had planned something so extreme without giving any initial warning of what all it entailed. Panic formed a hard ball in Harri’s throat, leaving her feeling sick.
Cayce refused to look at her.
“I mean it, Cayce, I’m not doing this!” She shouted to bring home her point.
“Don’t get your thongs…or whatever…in a tiny, lacy knot. There will be some really nice streams to bathe in, and I’ve already purchased you a battery-operated blow dryer and curling iron. As for the business, there’ll be plenty of outhouses for that, except maybe when you’re between outhouses.” Cayce smiled her mischievous smile.
“That is so disgusting!” Infuriated, Harri shuddered and turned away, looking out the side window with her arms crossed. Dollar signs replaced her angry thoughts. “What’s in this for me? He’s bound to have something in mind, or he knows I wouldn’t consider this.”
“I knew I could count on you, and Joshua did, too. He wants you to do a cookbook for the ghost town. He’ll pay you to do it, and you’ll be able to sell it other places for profit.” Cayce risked looking at her sister, knowing the cookbook idea would cause a change of attitude.
Harri stared straight ahead, her elbow rested on the other arm crossed over her waist while she tapped an index finger against her top lip. This pose always meant deep financial contemplation.
“Hmmm. You know, I did do a campfire-cooking lesson for a troop of girl scouts in Germantown, Tennessee one time. I just need to find a nineteenth-century substitute for aluminum foil.” Harri’s lip tapping returned, and Cayce knew she could count on her sister regardless of her earlier misgivings. Cayce remained quiet, ready for Harri’s brainstorms.
“We need to stop at some antique shops. I need to buy a couple of Dutch ovens and some cast iron cookware. Maybe I’ll luck up and find some frontier cookbooks, too.”
“We’ll wait until we get closer to Bar None. Joshua told me when the word was out that Bar None had been sold, someone went in and ransacked the buildings, taking everything that might be of value. Joshua hired Steve, a man who owns one of the old cabins in Bar None, to watch over the town. Steve is the only full-time resident there.”
“It’s time to fill me in on the history and the paranormal activity at the town. I might as well know who or what we’re up against.” Harri turned her whole body toward her sister, settling her shoulder into the seat.
“Okay. Here goes.” Cayce leaned back in her seat and lifted her left leg to rest her foot on the edge of the driver’s seat. She moved her hands to the bottom of the huge old steering wheel, her “long haul position,” as her sister called it, her storytelling position or “plotting” position.
“Bar None sprang up in 1867 with the discovery of gold. By 1900, it was a fairly large town, though remote, with close to nine hundred people living in it. A railroad was built with part of it running right through the middle of town, but only one piece of track remains, a track going nowhere. Most of the railroad ties probably now outline flowerbeds in the yards of local lovers of antiquities. Make that pilferers.” Cayce glanced at Harri to make sure she was listening and saw she had her sister’s full attention.
“In the early nineteen hundreds, most of the town burned, and by then, the vein of gold was running out, so Bar None was never rebuilt. All that remains of the town is a hotel and the building that once housed the town newspaper, The Bar None Sentry, plus a few small, rundown—or make that falling-down—cabins and homes, and a large two-story building called The Nugget, with a saloon on the bottom floor and a famed house of ill repute in the back and upstairs sections. The Nugget provided entertainment for the mostly male population of Bar None. The local clientele called it by a different name—the cat house.”
“Sounds appropriate.” Harri gave a one-syllable mini laugh.
“Madam Belle’s girls made her wealthier than any of the miners, the exception being Absalom Duluth, the owner of the Duluth Mining Company, the largest and last gold mining company in the area.” Cayce stretched over the huge steering wheel and stared ahead, making sure no surprise potholes were in her path. “The company dissolved in 1935 with the death of Absalom Duluth, who had no known heirs. The gold vein had run out way before then, anyway.” Cayce stopped and drank from the bottled water she’d propped between her thighs.
“Okay, now get to the good part. Does Absalom still reside at Bar None, and what other used-to-be residents are thought to be roaming about wreaking havoc on the construction project?” Harri loosened her chest strap, switched legs under her, and leaned against the truck door, facing her sister, ready for the ghost stories.
“The construction boss for the project is a guy named Hank Coulter. He’s had a heck of a time keeping workers, especially the night crew, because of the activity there. Men have been knocked off ladders by black mists or shadowy figures and hit with flying objects. They’ve heard a phantom train approaching with its horn blowing, and saloon music at night.�
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“Holy crap! This is going to be exciting.” Harri rubbed her hands together as if in anticipation. “Any apparitions?”
“Oh, yes, especially in the cemetery. The figure seen most often is a beautiful young Chinese woman thought to be Yu, the wife of Absalom. Her full name was Yu Lin. That means ‘beautiful jade’ in Chinese. She mostly walks the cemetery, wringing her hands and whimpering. She’s distraught over the loss of her baby girl Tamara. Yu is buried between her husband and their child.”
“So Absalom Duluth had an heir for a short time.”
“Yes, and that is the most tragic story of all. Absalom Duluth was a light-skinned African American who came to Bar None when he was very young, in his early twenties. No one knew anything about him other than he was a mechanical genius, especially when it came to mining, and he was exceptionally adept at supervising workers and making money. Even though the Civil War had ended only a decade earlier, the whole town respected Absalom without prejudice. Absalom fell in love with Yu Lin, who was one of Madam Belle’s girls, and made Belle a deal she couldn’t refuse in order to buy Yu’s freedom.”
“Wait a minute.” Harri held up her hand. “What do you mean ‘buy Yu’s freedom’? Slavery ended with the Emancipation Proclamation. There was no slavery after the Civil War.”
“Yes and no. It seems Madam Belle, like many, practiced her own form of slavery. She paid off the debts of young women, lured them with promises of a better life, and then refused to release them. They were slaves to prostitution. But Yu’s story was different. Belle hired an old client from San Francisco, where her business was before moving to Bar None, to buy Yu Lin and other Chinese girls from a Chinese agent who is said to have kidnapped the girls to sell on the slave market.” Cayce shook her head at the thought of having a child, especially a daughter, stolen and placed into prostitution in a foreign land.
