Like a Bad Penny

by Harper Crowley

  Jess still looks belligerent, but Russ shrugs. “Whatever. If he’s pissed that we didn’t tell him right away, I’m blaming it on you.”

  I laugh even though it hurts my chest, my back, and all the muscles in between. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  THE KNOCK ON MY HOTEL door at three a.m. and Bear’s raucous bark has me jumping out of bed, my heart lodged firmly in my throat.

  “Who’s here?” Jess grumbles. She rolls over and wraps her pillow around her head. “If Russ locked himself out of the hotel room again, I’m going to kill him.”

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed and then stand. Russ would knock on the adjoining door. I peek through the thick curtains. Graham stands in the flickering yellow light, his face pale, the bruises as dark as the shadows under his eyes.

  He lifts his hand to knock again but pauses then drops it back to his side. Weaving back and forth on his feet, he turns and walks toward his truck. Before he can get more than a couple of steps away, I open the door. “Graham. What are you doing here? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

  “You’re up,” he says, the relief evident in his voice, not answering my question. “Thank God. I...I didn’t know where else to go. I couldn’t go home.”

  I almost say “You should have stayed in the hospital,” but he looks crappy enough as it is, and I don’t want to add to it. “Come in, please.” I gesture to the chair. “Why didn’t you call?”

  He pats his pocket absentmindedly. “I lost my phone, I think. I must have left it in Mr. Rasputin’s house. I...I wanted to see if you found anything on the video you took. If you had the time, I mean. I totally understand if you haven’t. I just... I just have to do something.”

  I can’t tell him, not yet. The shock alone would probably kill him. “Nothing more than you saw.”

  Jess pokes her head out from under the pillow. “You’re here. Good.” She scoots off of the bed, and then bangs on the adjoining door between ours and Russ’s room. “We’ve got something to show you.”

  “No, we don’t.” I give her a stern look. The poor guy looks as though he could keel over at any second. This is not the time to show him anything that could send him back to the hospital.

  “Yes, we do.” She returns my glare with a fierce one of her own.

  Russ bellows a swear word from the other room, but a second later, the door pops open, and he stumbles inside.

  “I thought we were going to wait until the morning for this,” he says, sagging into the other chair. He yawns and scrubs the sleep from his eyes.

  “Me, too,” I say, pointing at my sister.

  Jess shrugs, unperturbed. “Graham showed up. There’s no time like the present.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Graham’s eyes travel to each of us so quickly that I’m surprised he doesn’t get dizzy. “What’s going on?”

  I hesitate, unsure how to explain so he won’t get angry that we uploaded the footage without his knowledge. I keep forgetting that he’s never seen the show, so he doesn’t know how we operate.

  “Fine, I’ll say it since Meredith is too chicken,” Jess says. “We posted the footage online from the investigation we did on your house, and one of our viewers found something.”

  “Jesus,” he groans, planting his face in his hands. After a minute, he looks up at me, resigned. “What did they find?”

  “It’s better if we show you,” I say.

  Russ turns on the computer and pulls up the file. As it plays, I watch Graham’s face blanch. After the chant fades back into static, he gestures at the laptop. “Turn it off,” he croaks.

  Russ pauses it.

  “What the hell was that?” Graham’s eyes meet mine, searching for answers.

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ve honestly never heard anything like that.”

  A thunderous expression crosses his face. “You better not be fucking with me. Seriously, after everything I’ve been through, I can’t deal with this.”

  I stand, ignoring the aches in my muscles, and plant my hands on my hips. “I’m not fucking with anyone. I didn’t do anything, and neither did Russ or Jess. The audio is legit.”

  Bear finally wakes, and the little wiry ball of black-and-white fur stretches then growls at Graham, sensing my mood. I scoop him up and clutch him to my chest. As satisfying as it would be to watch him take a chunk out of Graham right about now, it wouldn’t help the situation.

  Graham closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Can you play it again?”

  Russ does, and Graham listens intently before having Russ play it again. “And you’ve never heard anything like that before?” he asks after the third time through the recording.

  This time it’s my sister who shakes her head. “No. We’ve done hundreds of these investigations, and while we’ve caught the odd word or phrase before... Nothing like this.”

  “Can I get a copy of this? I want to show it to my dad.”

  “Right now?” I glance at the clock. Somehow, I doubt the elder Mr. MacIver would appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night.

  “Yes.” Graham stares at the computer screen, frozen at the end of the audio clip, the black background with green lines seemingly mesmerizing to him. “I want to see his reaction now, when he’s caught off guard and doesn’t have time to make up a story. I might be able to finally get the truth that way.” Then his eyes meet mine. “And I want you to videotape it. I don’t think my dad would lie to me, at least I hope not, but I also don’t think I’m getting the whole story about what happened when my mom disappeared, either.”

  Chapter 16

  A light patter of rain starts to fall on our way to Graham’s house. I’m sure I’m not the only one whose eyes follow the vacant windows in the MacIver house as we pass it to turn down the adjoining driveway.

  “I’m not so sure this is a good idea,” Russ says. He fiddles with the GoPro camera in his lap.

  I’m not, either, but it’s too late to turn back now. “You don’t have to come inside if you don’t want to.” I wonder if he’s worried they’ll call the cops on us. We all have our pasts, and Russ’s isn’t pretty, either. I’m not going to ask him what his mom said to him any more than he’ll ask me where I went after my parents died and my aunt took my sister.

  He takes a resolute breath then shakes his head. “No, I’ll come, but if the cops show up, I’m getting out of there.” He gives me a lopsided grin.

  I chuckle. “Take Jess with you, okay?”

  He nods. “Of course. You can take the fall. Live stream your own arrest. We’ll get enough new subscribers to buy a better van. One with good air conditioning this time.”

  This time, I can’t stop the smile that breaks across my face. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Baby steps. At least our van is better than that station wagon we started out with.”

  Graham parks his truck behind his sister’s car and another truck, and I stop behind him.

  Russ snorts. “That thing never made it out of Michigan. It was older than you, and that’s bad.”

  “Hey.” I reach across the seat and punch him lightly in the arm. “Jerk.” I turn the van off then hop out. Russ hands me the harness, and I slip it on before snapping on the GoPro. “I’m not going to live stream it,” I tell Graham, because I’m not sure if he knows enough about the technology to know the difference. “But I will upload the footage to our online drive so we can watch it later. I usually don’t leave my phone set as a hot spot because it eats the data, but if we get arrested, I’m sure the cops will take my camera this time, and this way we can watch your dad’s reaction after the fact to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

  “Good idea,” Graham says, but his gaze looks troubled.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Dad’s truck’s not here.”

  I glance back at the parked vehicles. “Do all men drive trucks in the South?”

  He shrugs. “It’s the South.”

  I roll my eyes and
decide to let it go. “Where would he be?”

  “I don’t know.” He reaches up to knock, but the door opens before his knuckles make contact with it. Graham’s uncle stands on the other side of the door, a glass of amber liquid in one hand and a shrewd look on his face.

  “Uncle Jay?” Graham asks. “What are you doing here?”

  “Do I need a reason? I’m family, and family sticks together, right, boy?” Graham’s uncle steps back a little unevenly, and we file in, but not before Russ, Jess, and I share a look. Angry uncles and alcohol aren’t a good mix.

  “No, I guess not,” Graham replies.

  His uncle sinks into one of the chairs surrounding the dining room table and takes a long drink. “What in the Lord’s name are you kids still doing here?” He waves at us, a grand gesture if he were sober but sloppy and almost knocking over a dusty flowered centerpiece in his current state.

  “They’re still investigating the house,” Graham says. “Where’s Dad? I need to talk to him.”

  “Your dad’s busy, son. Leave the poor man alone. Hasn’t he been through enough?” His uncle takes another sip.

  “It’s important. We have something to show him.”

  “Well, he’s not here.” He empties the glass. “Whatever it is will have to wait until he gets back.”

  Graham takes a deep breath. “Where did he go? He wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

  “Like I said, he isn’t here. What’s so important that you’d wake him up in the middle of the night?” His gaze skates from Graham to us. “It must have something to do with them.” He points at us, his finger wobbling.

  Don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him anything. Don’t tell him anything. I mentally beg Graham, but he doesn’t get my psychic message.

  “Yes, they found something really interesting, and I want Dad to see it.”

  His uncle throws his head back and laughs. “Don’t tell you actually believe them? They’re a bunch of fakes.” I wince, his words mirroring Graham’s earlier accusation. He gestures for us to come closer then pats the table. “Show me, then. Get out your computer or your camera or whatever the hell you use and show me this proof. I know that house like the back of my hand. If they faked something, I’ll know it.”

  “Fine.” Graham grits his teeth and slams the SD card on the table.

  This is such a bad idea. A warning tingle starts at the base of my spine and continues all the way up, making me more and more anxious to get out of here.

  As if in slow motion, Russ picks it up and sticks it into his laptop. He plays the original video first, and Graham’s uncle slams down his glass. Then Russ plays the second video with the shadowy fog in the kitchen, followed by the audio, and Uncle Jay stands up so quickly that he almost knocks his chair over then slams the laptop closed.

  “You call this evidence?” He sneers, all sloppy drunken foolery gone from his eyes. “It’s nothing but a load of bull.” His uncle slams his hand on the top of the laptop, emphasizing his point.

  Graham grabs the computer before he can damage it. “But you saw Shelley’s video, and she took that. No one else could have messed with it.”

  “I think something’s gotten into your sister,” his uncle says. The chill gripping my spine grips tighter. “Maybe she has a sickness like your mother, and it’s starting to affect her. Your mother wasn’t quite right in the head. That’s why your dad doesn’t like to talk about her. After your sister was born, she was different.”

  Graham’s shoulders stiffen. “My sister’s not sick, and neither was Mom. You’re wrong.”

  “You weren’t there,” his uncle says. “And now you have these people here, poisoning your mind and putting lies in your sister’s head, and it’s not right.” He grabs his glass so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Taking advantage of you and your sister, that’s what they’re doing.” He takes a menacing step toward us, but Graham gets in the way, putting his hands out to stop him.

  “They’re trying to help. Leave them alone.”

  “Have you forgotten where your loyalties lie?” Graham’s uncle pushes himself up from the table. “Let me remind you. Blood always comes first. Not some cute piece of tail you met online. Blood. Family. Your loyalty is to us, not anyone else.”

  Graham shakes his head in disbelief. “But what if your blood, your family, doesn’t deserve it?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Blood always wins. Always.”

  JUST BEFORE NOON THE next day, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway. Jess is still asleep, and Bear gnaws on a rawhide by my feet. I haven’t heard from Russ, either, so he’s probably still asleep too. Maybe this will give me something to do. Boredom tends to get me in trouble.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Graham says in lieu of “hello.”

  I lean against the thin wooden door and close my eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m still sorry. I think we both said a few things we wished we wouldn’t have, but it’s over now. It’s good.”

  “At least you guys didn’t get into a fight or anything.” I open my eyes and scan the parking lot. Besides our van, there are only three other cars. Oak Cliff is a happening place.

  He barks out a laugh. “No, but I am just about to head back to the hospital. Wanna come?”

  I wince. My aches multiplied overnight, as they usually do the day after an injury, and I can’t imagine how badly he feels. “Do you need someone to drive you? What about your sister?” I will if he asks, but hospitals aren’t generally on my favorite places to visit list.

  “Not to be admitted,” he says, chuckling ruefully. “To visit Mr. Rasputin.”

  “Oh. Are you sure they'll let us in?”

  “Why not? It’s a small town, and we’re practically family.” Despite the easy confidence in his words, I sense he’s not quite sure, either. “Besides, don’t you want to at least try?”

  He’s got a point there. “Sure. Let me get Jess and Russ, and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Great,” he says. I can almost feel the relief in his voice. He doesn’t want to face this alone, and I don’t blame him one bit.

  About half an hour later, we pull into the hospital parking lot. Russ yawns in the seat next to me, and Jess nurses a mega-sized cup of coffee from the gas station. Graham’s truck idles next to an empty parking space, so we park next to him.

  My sister grimaces at the bright sunlight and shoves on a pair of sunglasses. “I hate you.” She glares at me.

  “You could have stayed at the hotel,” I remind her.

  “Just ignore her,” Russ says. “If she doesn’t get her beauty sleep, she’s worse than Bear.”

  I snort.

  “At least he gets to sleep in,” Jess says.

  We join Graham outside. “Thanks for coming.” He looks slightly better than the last time I saw him—maybe he even got some sleep. He needed it.

  It’s so dark inside the hospital’s lobby that it takes our eyes a few minutes to adjust. Everything is brown, from the benches to the worn carpeting to the wood paneling on the walls. It’s a far cry from the emergency room and waiting room we were in earlier.

  We follow Graham to the front desk. He leans against the counter. With a winning smile, he makes small talk before he asks the harried, middle-aged receptionist for Mr. Rasputin’s room.

  “You know I can’t tell you that, sugar,” she says. Her name tag says her name is Martha. She has sparkling blue eyes and poufy frosted-blond hair that she fluffs when she talks. “It’s against the rules.”

  Graham leans against the counter. “Are you sure? You know he took care of our house for years, and he’s our neighbor. Meredith and I”—he gestures to me—“are the ones who found him. We’re just so worried.” It’s a good thing he doesn’t explain how we found him, we don’t need that kind of gossip going around.

  Martha’s gaze shifts from Graham to the rest of us. Her eyes widen disapprovingly at Jess’s hair, whic
h has happened more than once in the more conservative towns, but then she smiles at Russ and me. We’re the normal looking ones. “Are you kids the ghost hunters I heard were in town?”

  I nod. “Yes, ma’am. Shelley, Graham’s sister, asked us to investigate the house they used to live in.”

  Martha raises her penciled-in eyebrows. “And your father let her do that?” She directs the question at Graham.

  He gives her a tight smile. “Yup, and we’re all worried about Mr. Rasputin. Is there any way you can tell us where he is?” Graham’s voice is a lot more clipped now—he’s losing his patience. I don’t blame him, but I’m not sure his attitude will get Martha to help us.

  She purses her flamingo-pink lips. “Well, I can’t give you his number or tell you his room number, but do you see that nurse over there?” She points down a wide hallway to her right. About halfway down, a nurse pushes a metal cart into one of the rooms. “You might want to check the room she just passed.” A stern look crosses Martha’s face. “Now, don’t you go telling anyone that I told you where to go. It must have been pure dumb luck that you kids found his room. It didn’t have anything do with me, okay?”

  We answer “yes” in a chorus then hurry down the hall before she changes her mind and calls security.

  “That was a lot easier than I thought it was going to be,” Jess murmurs.

  Russ elbows her in the side. “Don’t jinx it.”

  Graham gives her a smug grin. “I used to mow her lawn when I was in middle school,” he says. “She baked me cookies. She never had kids of her own, so she kind of adopted me.”

  Wouldn’t that have been nice.

  The door to Mr. Rasputin's room is barely cracked open, so Graham knocks, but it swings open the rest of the way under his gentle touch.

  “Come in,” a raspy voice says.

  With one last glance at us, Graham leads the way, and we follow suit.

  Only one bed in the sterile white hospital room is occupied. The shades are drawn over the window, leaving the room bathed in shadows. The old man on the bed looks smaller than he had on the floor of his cottage. Paler, too. His skin is a ghostly white that’s only a shade or two darker than the white linens on his bed. The top of his head is wrapped in a thick bandage, and an IV snakes into his left arm.