Like a Bad Penny

by Harper Crowley

  Graham mulls it over for a few seconds. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, mulishly daring me to argue.

  “Fine.” I step aside and sweep my arm out to the side. “After you.”

  “Is Cujo contained?” Graham pokes his head into the doorway.

  I swear under my breath. Jess picks up my dog before Bear realizes the reason for his ire is here.

  “There,” I say. “Satisfied?”

  “Hardly,” he says. “But it’s good enough, for now.”

  Asshole.

  After they enter, Russ leans over my shoulder. “That was awesome,” he whispers.

  “Thanks.” I grin. “He deserved it.”

  He whistles softly. “That’s for sure.”

  As we circle the computer, I explain the circumstances of the video.

  “That was before I was attacked, right?” Graham rests his elbows on the back of his chair, daring me to contradict him.

  “Right.” I refuse to rise to his barb. “Watch.” I point at the video as Jess presses Play.

  As Shelley and Graham watch the footage, I study them. I’ve seen the evidence and I know what happens, so I don’t need to see it again. However, based on my experiences, watching the clients see evidence for the first time can tell me a lot, such as whether or not they’ve seen anything like this before.

  As soon as the cloudy image appears, Shelley squeaks and jumps about six inches out of her chair. Graham just watches it impassively.

  I was right. “You’ve seen this apparition before, haven’t you?” I ask him as soon as the video stops.

  Graham’s eyes meet mine. “Only in the movies. It’s obviously a fake.” He gestures at the laptop. “I’m sure with your expertise, it was easy enough to take a normal video and drop some fog in there to fool your innocent victims.” His words drip with scorn, but I refuse to back down.

  “Oh yeah? Listen to this.” I grab the recorder from the table and turn the volume all the way up before pressing Play.

  “Son,” the voice echoes tinnily from the speakers.

  “What the hell? No. Absolutely not. That did not just say something.” He stands up, shaking his head. “It’s just static,” he says, as if trying to convince himself, but his eyes widen when it asks for help.

  After the voice fades away, I stop the audio. “This was after my dog bit you.”

  “You didn’t catch anything else?” Shelley asks. I bet she was hoping the specter would have said something to her, as well, but it doesn’t work like that. We can’t exactly ask those on the other side to give us what we want.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. She was probably hoping for some sort of comfort, some validation that her mother was still out there thinking about her, and we can’t give her that. No, the message was for her asshole of a brother. “We can’t control communications with the spirit realm. All we can do is provide an avenue, an opportunity for them to speak to us.”

  Graham stands abruptly, slamming his chair back against the bed. “This is bullshit. You can’t honestly believe this crap, Shelley. She’s lying through her teeth. They must have done something to the audio that made it sound like a word or two. Something they knew we’d want to hear. They’re fakes, no doubt about it.”

  “What did you call us?” Russ uncoils himself from the chair, his shoulders stiff and his fists vibrating with anger.

  “Fakes. Liars. Con artists. Is that better?” Graham sneers.

  “You son of a bitch,” Russ snaps, his voice lowering to a deadly growl. “I have never, ever, ever altered any footage. Ever.” His dark brown eyes rage with fury.

  “Like I believe that.”

  Jess looks wide-eyed between the two combatants, the air thick with tension. I jump between the two, holding my arms out to push them apart if they try to go after each other. Not that I could really do anything, but I have to try something.

  “Knock it off. Both of you. I don’t want any blood in my hotel room.”

  “GRAHAM, STOP.” SHELLEY pulls on his arm. “I believe them. They wouldn’t fake anything. They’re telling the truth.”

  He shakes her off. “Then they’ve got you fooled. Don’t you understand? First, they promise to find any ghosts that may or may not be here. Next, they’ll communicate with them if you have enough money. Eventually, they’ll teach you to talk to spirits themselves, but it’ll cost you, and I’m not letting these people get a cent of our money.”

  Okay. That’s enough. “You.” I poke my finger at Graham’s chest. “Get out. Now.” I add the last word when he doesn’t move. He gives me one last loathing look before storming past his sister and out the door.

  “I am so sorry,” Shelley pleads, tears filling her eyes. “He doesn’t mean it, he—”

  “I think you need to leave too.” I soften my voice a bit for her. She’s not the real problem here—her asshole brother is. “This was a mistake. There have been too many lies, even from the beginning, and no one can trust anybody. Hell, was that even your dad on the phone?”

  Shelley flushes. “No, that was my boyfriend, Beau. I’m sorry. Good night.” Hanging her head, Shelley drags her brother from the hotel room.

  From behind his sister, Graham yells, “This isn’t over,” in good Hollywood villain fashion.

  For our sake, however, I hope it is. I’m about done with this case, this town, and these people. So much for this case being our big break.

  Bear barks once as the door slams behind them.

  “Can we please leave now?” Jess pleads. Exhaustion and stress paint dark circles under her eyes, and she hugs my dog to her chest.

  “In the morning,” I say, stifling the urge to run. “I promise. Let’s sleep tonight, and we’ll head out first thing in the morning. Put a notice on the website for a short hiatus. It’ll be fine.” Our bank account won’t like it, but Jess hates the alternative.

  “Where will we go?” my sister asks.

  Her question gives me pause. We don’t have another investigation planned.

  Russ shrugs. “I don’t have anything concrete,” he says. “A few emails and a couple of blurry pictures, but I haven’t had the chance to vet anything yet.”

  “I’ll call Violet,” I say, stifling a yawn as all the adrenaline rushes from my body. “And if she doesn’t have anything, we can always revisit that cemetery in town.”

  Jess groans. “I hate you.”

  Chapter 7

  “Dude. I can’t believe you’re just going to leave,” Finn says, his voice tinny on speakerphone.

  “Oh, and you’d stay?” I snap. He has no idea what we’ve been through here.

  “Uh, yeah. Totally.” He completely misses my sarcasm. “I’d probably break into the house, too. That family has got to be hiding something. I bet the brother did it.”

  “Come on. He was just a little kid when his mom disappeared. He couldn’t have done it.”

  Jess snaps Bear’s leash on his collar and waves as she takes him out. She’s been quiet since Shelley left, and I know she’ll be happy to leave.

  I picture Finn shrugging. “Kids who kill, remember?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not everyone is as morbid as you.”

  Russ finishes making copies of the recordings and puts them in a manila envelope. When he’s finished, he tapes it shut and writes Shelley’s name on it. We always give copies of the raw, uncut footage to clients. It allows them to do their own investigating, if they so choose.

  “Maybe they just don’t admit it,” he says.

  “Is Violet with you?” I ask, hoping to appeal to the more levelheaded of the twins.

  “What? Yeah, she’s, um, she’s in her room, I think.” There’s a creaking in the background, probably from his ancient office chair, and I hear him walk across the hall and knock on his sister’s door. “Hey, you in there?”

  A muffled reply sounds an awful lot like Violet telling her brother to fuck off, but then he tells her it’s me, and I hear the squeak of her door opening.

  �
�Here,” she says. “Give me the phone.” She slams the door, probably in her brother’s face.

  “Get out of there,” Violet says. I imagine her slouching onto the gaming chair in the corner of her light-blue room with the blackout curtains, smoothly transitioning to her headset to talk hands-free. “Like, seriously. That place has some seriously bad mojo. Haven’t you done any research?”

  I shift uneasily from side to side. “Yeah. Shelley’s mom died, and she hasn’t lived there since.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We haven’t had a lot of time to do our research, you know,” I snap.

  “Yeah, well, because I love you, I’ll give you a hint. You’re not the first group to investigate the MacIver house.”

  “What?”

  “Ask the girl’s brother. What’s his name, Graham?”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the hypocritical, assholery moves, this one tops the list. To vilify us, when he once participated to some extent with a paranormal investigating group, is the worst. “I will,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Gladly.”

  After I tell Jess and Russ what Violet said, they’re just as enraged as I am, and just as eager to confront them.

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?” Jess says when I tell her what Violet revealed.

  “Yeah, I’d love to have a chat with him too,” Russ says.

  “No, I’ve got this. Besides”—my gaze travels from one to the other—“it’ll probably be best if we’re ready to go as soon as I’m done.” If Oak Cliff is like other small towns, Graham might just rally the locals to run us out.

  “I guess.” Jess grabs some of her clothes from a pile on the floor and dumps them on the bed. “I’m just not sure if you should go alone.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say. “It’s broad daylight, and you know where I am if I go missing.”

  “I still don’t like it,” he mutters. “But I know there’s no changing your mind, so I guess we’ll finish packing up. Do you want me to upload anything else from the MacIver house? There’ve been a lot of people on the forum wondering what’s up.”

  I curse myself for the mysterious message I posted. It’s gotten a lot of people interested in the case, but things have changed since then. A lot of things. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  He shrugs. “I say why not? It’s not like you want to do the guy any favors, not after the way he’s screwed us over. Fuck him. Post it then add an explanation as to why the investigation didn’t take place later. Or”—his eyes fill with mirth—“record yourself showing up at his house and chewing his ass out then post that to finalize the story. I bet it would go viral.”

  I groan, already imagining the comments. Maybe viral isn’t such a good thing.

  “Come on,” Russ says. “I bet it’ll help bring in subscribers.”

  “I don’t know,” Jess argues. “That could be dangerous. What if he sues us?”

  My sister, the voice of reason for once? “Post it,” I say, ignoring my own subconscious telling me it’s a bad idea. “Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

  Russ chortles. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  After I grab the doorknob, I pause. “If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the cops.”

  “Thirty minutes,” Jess says with steel in her voice.

  “Fine. Half an hour.”

  “Be careful,” Russ says. His words have an ominous tone.

  “I always am,” I say. I grab a voice recorder and stuff it in my pocket. It’s a force of habit, and I’ve watched too many forensic shows to know how important any recording could be if I turn up dead.

  He mimics choking as a response.

  The drive to the MacIver house takes a lot less time with a lead foot on my side and anger fueling every breath. How dare he criticize and antagonize us after bringing ghost hunters there in the past. A litany of curse words flows through my head. This time, I’m not going to stay quiet and take his abuse. If he’s not home, I’m going to tell his sister and his father exactly what we found out while I wait for him. I don’t care what he thinks about us now. We’ll never see him again after this investigation is over. Hell, even if he tries to smear us over the Internet, it’s publicity. Even bad reviews attract customers and, in our case, subscribers.

  There are four cars in front of the caretaker’s cottage next to the MacIver house: Graham’s truck, Shelley’s car, a black SUV, and a blue truck. Shit. Maybe they’re having a party. I fleetingly debate turning around, but I’m already in the driveway, and it would be really obvious. I park behind the rest of the cars in case I need to make a quick getaway and take a deep breath before marching up to the front door.

  With my hand hovering a couple of inches from the door, I pause. Voice swell and drop inside, muffled behind the wall. I recognize Graham’s voice and Shelley’s, but there’s a deep baritone I don’t know. Is that Graham’s dad’s voice?

  I knock on the door, rapping loudly enough to wake the neighbors, if there are any. At this point, I don’t care if I interrupt an argument. I’ve got one of my own to start. Internally cursing myself, I click Record on the voice recorder, starting it while it’s still in my pocket.

  The man who opens the door doesn’t look anything like Graham or Shelley. He’s a slight man in his sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to his head. Silver spectacles perch on the tip of his hooked nose. “Can I help you?”

  I shift uneasily from side to side, feeling like a teenager showing up at her boyfriend’s house unannounced. “Is Graham here?”

  The old man glares down his nose at me. “No.” He begins to slam the door in my face.

  Right before it clicks shut, I see Graham and Shelley facing another man, engaged in some sort of argument. I shove my foot in the jamb, wincing when the heavy wood pinches my ankle. He turns around after I yelp.

  “Meredith?” Graham calls from inside. “What are you doing here?”

  I rein in the fleeting gratitude that he noticed me and hold onto my anger. “I came to talk to you.”

  The man opens the door wider and looks over his shoulder. Graham, Shelley, and another older man stand around a round kitchen table. Shelley’s sitting down, her laptop open in front of her. The older man leans against the window, and Graham paces between them, his hands in his pockets. They’re all looking at me. This is not what I had in mind.

  “We’re kind of busy,” he says, taking the door from the first man. “I’ve got it, Uncle Jay.” Graham joins me on the front porch and shuts the door behind me. “This isn’t a good time.” He runs his hand through his hair.

  “Tough. I need to talk to you about something important. Now.”

  “Fine,” he says, his voice resigned. I wonder if he realizes I’m not going away.

  I poke a finger at his chest. “How dare you act like such an ass to us when you had your own paranormal investigating groups come in.”

  Surprise flashes in his eyes, but his lips twitch. “That wasn’t a question.”

  “Quit being an idiot. Tell me why you had paranormal groups come in even though you obviously hate them.”

  He opens his mouth to speak, but the door opens behind him. It’s the other older man, not his uncle. “Son, tell your girlfriend to come back later. Your sister has some crazy video to show us.”

  Graham’s face reddens. “She’s not my girlfriend.” That must be his dad. I guess that makes sense.

  I shake my head emphatically. “No, sir.” I hold out my hand to shake his. I might as well lay it all out on the line. What have I got to lose? “I’m Meredith Baker. Your daughter, Shelley, asked my team to come investigate your house.”

  The man raises his bushy gray eyebrows, but he firmly shakes my hand. He holds his shoulders back and has an aura of authority about him. “So that’s what Shelley was talking about. I couldn’t make heads nor tails out of her explanation. I’m sorry to waste your time, Miss Baker, but the house isn’t haunted.”

  How w
ould he know? I hesitate. I don’t want to push my luck too far, or he’ll call the cops and have us kicked out of town, but I feel like I need to keep going and make sure he knows what went on there in the past and what we’ve seen. “Has your daughter shown you the video she took inside the house?”

  He waves his arm at Shelley. “She keeps going on and on about something she saw, but I haven’t seen it.”

  “You might want to,” I say, venturing out a little bit more. “It’s short and, well, it might help you understand why we’re here.”

  He steps back, mulling over my words. “Have you seen it?” he asks Graham.

  Graham shakes his head. “I don’t want to, either.”

  “What are you complaining about, then?” his dad asks. “Turn on the damn video, Shell, and let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

  I stand by the door, making a mental note to finish yelling at Graham for his hypocrisy while Shelley opens the video and plays it for them. I want to be here while they watch the video, partly to catch their reactions and partly to have an easy escape route if everything goes sideways and Graham once again accuses us of somehow telepathically faking the footage. It’s surprising. As soon as the apparition begins gliding down the stars, Graham’s dad puts his hand on the back of Shelley’s chair, as if leaning on it for support. Graham leans forward to study the film, but his uncle glances at me, suspicion rife in his gaze. He must be of the mind that I’m responsible for the video somehow. After it ends, Shelley turns it off and says something quietly to her dad in a voice so low I can’t hear it.