As nontribal members, Gil and I weren’t allowed to sit in on the trial as it proceeded, but Heath did and he’d come out at every recess to report what was going on.
We’d learned a lot we didn’t know about Cruz as the facts came out. The biggest surprise was that Jimmy Cruz was the illegitimate son of one Rex Whitefeather.
Rex had gotten a white woman pregnant when he was seventeen. He’d hidden this fact from almost everyone, including most members of his family (save his sister), until Jimmy was about fifteen and started getting into trouble. Rex offered to bring him to the Pueblo and put him to work and it was right around the time that Jimmy first showed up that the original Whitefeather urn went missing.
I had a feeling that Jimmy resented the fact that his own father wouldn’t claim him as a Whitefeather, and stole the urn out of spite. I also believed he buried it up in the caves, and one day when he saw two grave robbers carrying something that looked like that urn, he chased them down, and in the ensuing struggle, the urn was broken and the demon released.
Jimmy was the perfect host for the demon, as it was clear he resented the Whitefeathers and knew all about their comings and goings. With him as a guide, the demon could track them down, wait until they were isolated and vulnerable, and kill them one by one.
Jimmy could also work to keep a lid on the two grave robbers. He let the demon tear one to pieces, and the other—Wyatt, who’d managed to escape—did make that call just like he’d threatened to on Bissell’s answering machine. Cruz met him at the storage facility, killed him, and took his body back to the cave, burying it in the hole where the old urn had been kept.
On his way back he’d seen Beverly, who must’ve wondered what Cruz was doing up in the hills and maybe why he had blood on him. (The coroner had found Wyatt’s throat slashed.)
Jimmy had called up the demon that night, and it’d chased her right into that tree.
And we also knew that Trudy had made that call to the Zanto sheriff’s station. Her phone records showed that she’d placed the call about two hours before she’d been attacked. I knew she had the great misfortune to reach Cruz instead of Pena, and trusting the deputy, she’d probably told him she was calling about her grandson, Daryl, believing the department might know where he was. We figured Cruz had wanted her dead for two reasons: First, he probably figured she knew about her grandson’s grave robbing, and second, she might call back another time, get Pena instead of Cruz, and inform him about Wyatt and Daryl. Pena testified that until he spoke to Sheriff Dunlap, he’d had no clue about the remains found in the foothills. Cruz had handled that investigation all on his own, and he’d worked to keep it quiet so that Pena wouldn’t get suspicious.
The hard part was that Heath and I knew we’d inadvertently led Cruz and the demon right to her. Letting go of the guilt was difficult for both of us.
I looked over at my sweetheart while we waited, and my eyes lingered on his face. He’d noticeably changed in the time since he and his ancestor had battled the black hawk demon. For starters, Heath was now sporting a shock of white hair right at his temple. I’d asked him what Whitefeather had said to him out in the foothills. “My ancestor called me brother,” he’d told me, the pride leaking into the smile he wore when he recalled the memory. “He said I was the brother of his heart, and true son of his tribe.”
I couldn’t think of more powerful words for Heath, who’d always felt like he and his mom were outcasts from the tribe. I think Whitefeather had done quite a bit to heal old wounds for my sweetie, and for that, I’d always be grateful.
Beyond that, though, Heath had changed in more subtle ways. He walked differently—with more purpose and confidence. He spoke differently—also with more purpose and confidence. And his eyes had changed. They were less haunted, more . . . alert, focused, and wise.
He’d always been a gorgeous man—but now he was striking, breathtaking even. It was hard to put into words, but he wasn’t the same guy six years my junior I’d met a year and a half ago. Now he had this air of supreme confidence about him, a man other men would readily listen to, and I had to admit I was seriously digging it. I’d loved him before, of course, but this renewed sense of belonging to the tribe had awakened the true Heath, I think. A guy I could seriously get serious about.
“You’re doing it again,” Heath said without looking at me.
“What?”
“Staring at me like you’ve never seen me before.”
I smiled. “What if I was staring at you because I had seen you before, and wanted to see more of you all the time?”
Heath cut smoldering eyes to me and my pulse quickened. “That could be arranged,” he said.
I grinned. “When?”
Heath looked at his watch and sighed. “After the verdict if it gets announced today,” he promised.
Then I remembered another promise. “But we’re supposed to go to what’s left of Milton’s cabin today.” Sam had come to me in a dream the night before and told me that he’d managed to find Milton sifting through the wreckage of his cabin, but he’d been unable to convince his son that he’d been murdered. Sam had told me to show up at the cabin around dusk, because he was predicting rain in the forecast and knew the atmosphere would be perfect for us to find Milton and talk him over to the other side.
After that, Heath and I were going to head to Trudy’s trailer and make sure both she and Daryl had gotten across too. And, I thought, while we were at it, we might as well work to make sure Wyatt wasn’t left out either.
“So,” Heath said, tucking a lock of my hair behind my ear, “after we’re done dealing with ghosties, you and I will put out the do-not-disturb sign on the door and finally get some one-on-one time together.”
My grin widened. That was exactly what I was hoping he’d say.
“A little help, please!” we heard from down the street. Heath and I swiveled to see Gil carrying a large paper sack while balancing three soft drinks in a cup holder. I moved to get up, but Heath beat me to it, and just as they arrived back at our spot under a large tree, the courthouse doors opened and Mrs. Lujan stepped out. “The jury’s back!” she said, waving her son inside.
Heath handed me his soft drink, gave me a kiss, and said, “I’ll be back soon. You two go ahead and eat.”
I watched him disappear into the building with his mother and sighed contentedly. “Uh-oh,” Gil said.
I swiveled my eyes to him. “What?”
“You’ve got it bad, girl.”
I ignored his comment and asked, “Have you noticed a change in Heath recently?”
Gilley handed me my sandwich and began to unwrap his. “You mean, like how he’s suddenly gone from just pretty sexy to crazy hot, hot, hot?”
I nodded. “So it’s not just me?”
“No, it’s not just you.”
I felt my lips quirk into a smile. And then Gilley said something really unusual for him. “I had a dream about your mom last night,” he told me.
I’d been about to bite into my sandwich, but I was so surprised by his statement that I held very still and just waited for him to continue.
“I was dreaming about visiting that old house we used to live in—you remember the one on Cypress Street with that big back porch?”
I nodded eagerly and set the sandwich aside. “What’d Mama say?”
“Well,” Gilley said, picking at the crust on his sandwich, “she told me that she really liked how I’d grown up, and that she was really, really happy you and I were still best friends.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and tried not to well up too much. Gil hated it when I got soppy. “Anything else?”
Gilley met my eyes then. “She said, ‘Thank you for looking after my Mary Jane and please tell her that I approve of that young Mr. Whitefeather.’ ”
I barked out a laugh and tears formed in my eyes anyway. Wiping them quickly, I patted Gil on the back and said, “Thanks for sharing, Gil.”
After that, we ate in companionable silence for a whil
e until the doors opened again and people began to pour out. Most of them were talking excitedly, and it was hard to tell if that was because there was a guilty or an innocent verdict given, or maybe there’d been a hung jury.
Finally, however, Heath emerged and just by his expression I knew the verdict. “Innocent?” I said, putting aside my sandwich and jumping to my feet.
Heath nodded, broke into a wide smile, and held out his arms. I raced into them and for the first time in what felt like forever, all was right with the world.
Read ahead for a sneak peek at the next Ghost Hunter Mystery,
WHAT A GHOUL WANTS
Coming in January 2013 from Obsidian.
My best friend, Gilley, has this list. It’s not necessarily a long list, but it’s definitely growing. The list is best described as:
Things That Give Gilley the Weirds.
Once an item gets listed, it’s never removed. If you make it onto the list, you’re there for life.
It’s probably good then that there’s only one actual named person on Gilley’s list—Dakota Fanning. Why her? Well, in Gilley’s words, “No one that young should be that talented and that smart. It’s just weird.”
Other notable items include: mice—but not rats or bugs; lady parts—for obvious reasons (or, if it’s not so obvious, Gil plays for the boys’ team); baby corn (“It’s not corn but it looks like corn and that can’t be okay!”); leggings worn as pants; people who give an uncommon spelling to an otherwise common name, like Jyan, Mykel, or Dyafdd; and Cirque de Soleil acrobats (“No one should be able to bend like that!”).
Animated talking animals are near the top of the list, and if you combine these with Dakota Fanning—say in the movie Charlotte’s Web, for example—you’re liable to send Gil right over the edge.
Last on Gilley’s list, but certainly not least, are ghosts.
Yes, you read that right. Ghosts give Gilley the weirds. Which can be super problematic due to the fact that Gil is also the technical adviser on our ghost-hunting cable TV show, Ghoul Getters.
In fact, the ghost thing was proving more than a little problematic on this particular late night—or early morning according to my watch, now set to Greenwich Mean Time—as I squatted next to Gil in the middle of the aisle of the British Airway’s jet that had brought us back to England.
“Gil,” I said for the eleventieth time. “Please. For the love of God, let go of the armrest and come off the plane.”
“Sir, ma’am, we really must insist,” said the most unhelpful flight attendant ever. “You must deplane immediately.”
Gil ignored him and focused his fearful gaze on me. “Please don’t make me, M. J.,” he begged. “I can’t do it.”
I rubbed his arm. “Sweetie,” I said, fighting to keep my lids open. I was so exhausted I felt punch-drunk. “Come off the plane and we’ll talk about it, okay?”
“Talking about it means you’ll talk me into it,” he countered. He knew me too well.
My eyes flickered nervously to the front of the plane, where Gopher, our TV producer, stood watching us with an impatient and irritated look on his face. “Gil,” I said (eleventy times plus one if you’re counting), “I swear to you, I’m not going to try and talk you into anything other than coming off the plane and heading to bed. I know you gotta be exhausted, right?”
Gil bit his lip. “I want to go back,” he whispered.
“Ma’am,” said the flight attendant. “If he doesn’t deplane, I’ll have no choice but to alert security.”
I turned my head and glared so hard at the attendant that he frowned and took two steps back. I then refocused on Gilley. “Honey,” I said gently. “This plane is parked for the night right here. It’s not going anywhere for the next six hours at least. You don’t want to sit here for six straight hours, do you?”
“If it means going back home, I’ll stay put,” Gil said stubbornly.
“But you won’t be able to sleep,” I told him.
“I can sleep okay,” he replied, and I knew he was right. Gil could sleep standing up.
“There’ll be no food,” I tried next.
I heard a tiny gurgle from Gil’s stomach. “I’ll be fine.”
I sighed and thought for a second. Then I had it. “Well,” I said, “you won’t be able to use the restroom, Gil. And I saw you down a bottled water and a couple of Cokes on the way here. That’s gonna be hard to hold for the next six hours.”
Gil shifted in his seat.
“I mean, don’t you have to go even right now?” I asked, standing up like I didn’t care anymore if he refused to get off the plane.
Gil squirmed again and crossed his legs.
“I know I really have to use the restroom,” I lied. I’d hit the head right before our final approach. “Yep. Has to be a pretty uncomfortable feeling knowing you’ll have to hold it for the next six . . . long . . . hours.”
Gil gripped the armrests tightly and set his jaw with determination. “I can do it,” he said.
I nodded like I totally believed him. “Sure you can. While you’re holding it I’m gonna hit the ladies’ room. Then I’m gonna head to the hotel and drink a nice big glass of water. Then I’m gonna take a nice long shower. You know the kind where you just turn the water on and stand under it forever? It’s like standing in the rain. Water just streaming down and down . . .”
With an irritated grunt Gil unfastened his seat belt and bolted to his feet. Tearing down the aisle he nearly took out Gopher as he passed him on his way off the plane.
I bent down and grabbed Gilley’s gear before hurrying after him, making sure to send the flight attendant one final glare before the exit.
By the time I made it to the top of the Jetway, Gil wasn’t in sight. My boyfriend and fellow ghostbuster, Heath, was there in the seating area, though, waiting for me. “He ran into the men’s room,” he told me when I sidled up next to him and looked all around for any sign of Gil.
“Phew,” I said. “I thought I’d never get him off the plane.”
“What’s gotten into him?” Heath asked me.
I rolled my eyes, and made a face at Gopher, who’d also just appeared at the top of the Jetway. “Gopher just had to tell Gilley all about the moors.”
“I told you not to let them sit next to each other,” Heath reminded me.
I shook my head and sighed. “It’s not like I could’ve done anything to stop Gil from sitting next to Gopher once our oh so helpful producer announced he had a two-pound bag of M&M’s for the flight.”
Heath smirked. “How many of those two pounds do you think went into Gil?”
“At least one and a half, which of course gave Gil a really good sugar high, and he soaked up everything Gopher had to tell him about the moors.”
The moors I was referring to were located in northern Wales in a place called Penbigh, and by the looks of our research, it appeared to be one of the most haunted places in Britain. There were literally scores of ghost stories, legends, and myths about things that went bump in the night to choose from.
It was exactly the type of location we needed after shooting our last episode in Dunkirk, which had been a complete bust. The most we’d managed to record were some faint disembodied footsteps and the sound of a horse whinnying in an abandoned stable. Otherwise, it’d been a whole lotta footage of Heath and me looking for spooks and finding nothing. And that shoot had unfortunately come immediately after a particularly harrowing haunting that had involved Heath’s tribe and the Pueblo he once lived on. But we had no footage of that ghostbust because it’d involved a death in Heath’s family and our crew hadn’t been with us at the time.
Now that Ghoul Getters had switched networks, I knew the pressure to produce something good was heaped on all of our shoulders. We needed to score a good episode and do it quick, before the new network execs canceled us.
As we were wrapping up the shoot in Dunkirk, our two production assistants had alerted Heath, Gopher, and me to the terrifically haunted location
in northern Wales. We’d all thought that the moors held such promise, which was why we’d all agreed that we should come here and investigate it next—well, except Gilley. None of us had told him about the moors and all the ghosties haunting them. And the reason we hadn’t told him was that for the past few weeks, he’d been acting crazy. I’m talking crazier than normal, which for Gil meant crazy!
He’s always been afraid of the spooks, but as long as we give him a nice, safe place to work out of, like a van parked somewhere outside the haunted zone, and keep him relatively in the dark about what we might encounter, he’s usually more than willing to provide his considerable technical expertise to our shoots.
But in Dunkirk something happened, and I still didn’t quite know what. Gil stopped showing up for our morning meetings and every time he thought he saw something creepy on one of his monitors, he flipped out. I’d been called off the location a couple of times to try to talk some sense into Gil, and my calm reasoning had worked well enough to finish the shoot and load him onto a plane, but I hadn’t counted on Gopher spilling the beans about how haunted the Penbigh moors were. And I had a feeling Gopher had even highlighted the fact that we’d be focusing our investigation on one particular section of the moors where the ghost of a woman was said to lure young unsuspecting men to their deaths by drowning them in one of the boggy marshes or the surrounding lake.
It seemed that was Gil’s breaking point. Right before landing, he’d convinced himself that the ghostly woman was going to come after him specifically, because that’s what all the other ghosts have always done. Pick on Gilley.
The sad thing is . . . he’s mostly right. Gil makes a nice target for a spook. It must be something about the electromagnetic frequency he puts out, because ghosties just love him. Or, more to the point, they love to torture and terrorize him. I’ve never actually told him this, but I’ve been in enough haunted locales to understand that Gilley is a magnet for spectral activity. It’s like he’s wearing Hai Karate for spooks or something, but I also couldn’t think about doing a ghostbust without him. Gil’s my best friend, and he’s been my best friend since I was in grade school. For most of my life, in fact, it’s been me and Gilley, facing down every challenge the world had to offer. We’d always managed okay, and I had no reason to doubt that this little episode was just another challenge to work through together.
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