Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7)

by Anthony M. Strong

  He returned to the counter, and his untouched scotch. He downed it, then went to pour himself another, but thought better of it. Instead, he made his way to the small office adjacent to his bedroom. He went to a bookshelf behind the desk and pulled down an old leather-bound volume. This had belonged to his great-great-grandfather, a man named Travis Biggs. It was his journal. He’d been a prospector in the late 1800s, at least until he went and got himself lost in the Ghost Canyon Mine. He was probably still down there somewhere, his bones laying in the darkness.

  Harlan sat at his desk, opened the journal, and flipped through the pages until he found the entry he was looking for. He’d read this journal often as a boy, sneaking into his father’s study when the old man was preoccupied by the casino. He was fascinated by it. Later, as a teenager, he decided it was nothing more than the fevered writings of a crazy old miner. Now he wasn’t so sure. And if the long-dead prospector’s rambling tale was true, Harlan might yet be able to save his casino from Oscar Rossi. With a glimmer of hope, Harlan started to read.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The creature that had lived in darkness for the last hundred and thirty-five years, made its way slowly through the pitch-black tunnels and up the adit toward the outside world. Centuries ago, when the land overflowed with bison, elk, and mountain sheep, and decades before the white man showed up, the collection of taut dry skin and creaking bones that now shambled through the mine had been the mighty warrior, Shilah.

  Now it was something entirely different.

  To the Ojibwe people who inhabited the Great Lakes region, it was the Baykok, or Bakaak, which meant bones draped in skin. The algonquin called it the Pakak. To the men who collected the disgraced warrior’s bones, and summoned the creature to guard their gold, it was a means to an end. But to all who encountered it, the creature was death.

  Now, having tasted flesh for the first time in over a century, it wanted more. Which was why the creature ventured closer to the surface than it ever had, exploring the periphery of its domain, and looking for a way out.

  It reached the gates set into the mine’s entrance and left unlocked so the two missing geologists, if they somehow survived, could find their way out. But instead, something much worse stepped out into the darkness and looked up toward the night sky, full of glittering bright stars. It was a sight that would have been familiar to Shilah, had the creature he became still possessed the ability to comprehend such things.

  It stood there a while, unsure of this unfamiliar world. Then, realizing it was confined no more, the creature lifted its arms and unfurled flaps of leathery translucent skin, much like the wings of a bat.

  Somewhere in the mountains, coyotes were barking and howling, ignorant of the unnatural predator that had entered their midst. But not for long.

  The creature drew breath into desiccated lungs and let forth a shrill cry the likes of which the Mojave Desert had never heard. Then it hopped once, twice, and took to the air, beating its wings in swooping, graceful arcs, as it soared above the landscape, looking for its next meal.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  An hour after being shown to his room, Decker was back downstairs and on the hunt for a meal. His host, Robyn, had instructed him to come find her in the kitchen, but Decker didn’t know where that was, so he wandered the first floor hoping to find it.

  The first door he tried led into the bar, which looked just as an Old West saloon should. He could imagine old time cowboys sauntering in to quench their thirst. Except it wasn’t a cowboy sitting at the bar nursing a bottle of bourbon right now. It was a grizzled old man with wiry white hair and sandpaper stubble covering his chin. He turned to greet Decker with an irritated tut.

  “Who are you?” The old-timer asked.

  “Name’s John Decker. I’m looking for Robyn. She told me to meet her in the kitchen.”

  “Does this look like the kitchen to you?”

  “No, sir, it doesn’t.”

  The old man sighed. “Turn left, go past the stairs, and hang a right. You’ll see a white door in front of you marked private. That’s the kitchen.”

  “Thank you.” Decker backed up. He was about to close the door when the old man spoke again.

  “You one of them Feds?”

  “I’m here at their request, but I don’t actually work for the FBI.”

  “Who do you work for?” The old man’s eyes narrowed. “NSA? CIA? Some other bunch of initials?”

  “Definitely some other bunch of initials.” Decker suppressed a smile. This must be Carlton Miller. His reputation preceded him, at least if you listened to Special Agents Fowler and Barnes. Not to mention Robyn herself.

  “You one of the good guys?” Carlton asked. He picked up the bottle of bourbon and poured himself a large drink, then threw it back in one and smacked his lips with satisfaction.

  “I can assure you I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Well, that settles it then. You aren’t FBI.”

  Decker almost asked him what possible reason the old man could have for not liking the Bureau, but then he changed his mind. Chances were that Carlton Miller didn’t like anyone who wore a badge. Decker had met his type before. He was most likely more than a little paranoid, distrustful of authority, and willing to believe any crazy conspiracy theory that came his way. In the end, Decker said nothing. He pulled the door closed and followed Carlton’s directions to the kitchen.

  When he entered, Robyn was sitting at a large antique table. Judging from the items spread upon it, the table served as both a place to eat and a place to prep food. Behind her was a six-burner range, a fryer, and a pair of commercial aluminum refrigerators. To her left was a sturdy metal door that he assumed led to a walk-in freezer. He shuddered when he looked at that. The last two walk-in freezers he’d encountered both ended up with bodies in them. Abraham Turner—a.k.a. Jack the Ripper—had kept one of his victims on ice in a London chip shop. Then, only a month ago, he’d carried a murder victim out of a sunken German submarine and stashed him in a similar freezer on a submerged research habitat. Decker wondered if he’d ever look at frozen food the same way again.

  “Hey,” Robyn said, glancing up from a magazine that was spread out before her on the table. “You found me.”

  “Not before I ran into the other occupant of your little town.”

  “Oh. You met Carlton.” Robyn looked apologetic. “It was going to happen eventually.”

  “He’s every bit as cheerful as you led me to believe.”

  “Isn’t he, though?” Robyn pressed her lips together. “Take a seat. I’ll rustle you up a quick supper. You like omelets?”

  “Love them.”

  “Great, because we have a lot of eggs, a smattering of cheese, and not much else until I make a grocery run. I wasn’t expecting visitors. I know this is more of a breakfast food, but…”

  “It’s fine. Really,” Decker said. “Will the special agents, Barnes and Fowler. be joining us?”

  “No. I already fed them. As soon as their plates were clean, they claimed they had paperwork to do and went back to their rooms.”

  “And Carlton?”

  “He fends for himself. The type of things he likes to eat, I’m not cooking.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Put it this way, he thinks it’s easier to go find a jackrabbit in the desert than visit a grocery store. Claims it’s organic without the price tag.”

  “He’s a bit of an environmentalist, then?”

  “Yeah, right. Cares so much about Mother Earth that he runs around polluting the desert.” Robyn shook her head. “He has this old military Jeep. A relic from World War Two. It’s a claptrap piece of junk that burns oil like crazy, but he drives it all over going on what he calls Jackelope hunts.”

  “You’re not exactly painting him in a better light,” Decker said, bemused.

  “Not trying to.” Robyn returned to the table with two plates containing perfectly browned, fluffy omelets. She handed one to Decker and k
ept the other for herself. She placed salt-and-pepper on the table, then handed Decker a knife and fork.

  He took them and cut a piece of omelet. He ate it, nodding with satisfaction, before glancing toward her. “I’m sure you’ve been asked this before, but I have to know. What drove you to come out here and live in the desert with Carlton?”

  “Why not?” Robyn shrugged. “I always wanted to start a wedding venue. I ended up owning two thirds of the town and saw an opportunity. We are a stone’s throw from the wedding capital of the USA, after all.”

  “I get that,” Decker said. “But it must be lonely, living here all by yourself.”

  “Sometimes. That will change when the place is up and running.” Robyn picked at her own food. “To tell the truth, I needed a change. I was in a relationship for the longest time, almost ten years. When it ended, I felt lost. Adrift. I wanted to put some distance between myself and Chicago.”

  “I see.” Decker hoped he wasn’t stirring up bad memories for her.

  “Still, it’s been a lot more work than I imagined. If I’d known then what I do now, I might have stayed put and rode it out.”

  “You’ve had issues?”

  “And then some. The buildings were in worse shape than I thought. I had hoped to have the wedding chapel built by now, but as it is, I’ve sunk most of my cash into renovating the hotel. It needed so much more than I bargained for. We’re months behind and way over budget.” Robyn shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried. One more setback and that will be it. I don’t have enough money to keep bankrolling this venture. I’m running on fumes, as the saying goes.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks.” Robyn forced a faint smile. “That’s why the mine tours are so important. I need every dime I can get. Now even that looks like it might not happen.”

  “Maybe Carlton could help out.”

  “Not a chance. Whatever money he has, he isn’t parting with. He’s made that quite clear.”

  “Again, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I got myself into this. Fools rush in, and all that.” Robyn took a deep breath. “Goodness. I’ve only just met you and here I am unloading about my troubles. I should be the one apologizing.”

  “No need,” Decker said. “I’m a good listener. Feel free to vent whenever you want.”

  “Thanks. You may regret that offer.” Robyn looked down at her food.

  Decker shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  Robyn looked at him and smiled, and he thought there was gratitude in her eyes, but she said nothing more, turning her attention to her food. Afterward the meal was done, she stood and cleared the plates away then turned back to Decker, all trace of sadness gone. “Fancy the two-bit tour?”

  Decker shrugged. “Sure.”

  Robyn smiled. “Wonderful. Follow me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Robyn led Decker from the kitchen and through the hotel lobby. She crossed to the saloon doors and opened them. “You’ve already seen the bar, but I’ll show you again anyway, since I’m sure you didn’t linger.”

  “I did not.” Decker stepped across the threshold. Carlton was no longer there. All that remained was his empty glass on the bar. Even the bottle of bourbon had disappeared.

  “This is the town’s original saloon,” Robyn said, following Decker inside. “Almost everything except the furniture is period, including the bar. We found over fifty bullet holes in this room during restoration. You can still see most of them if you look closely enough.”

  “Must’ve been a rough place,” Decker said.

  “It was. The prospectors were a rowdy bunch, and they were not exactly what you’d call law-abiding. This was the frontier, and the town didn’t have a sheriff to keep the peace, so you can imagine the sort of shenanigans that went on. Local legend has it that six men got shot to death in this very room during the bar’s original run. We even found an old Colt six-shooter hidden in the bar back, behind a removable panel. It probably belonged to some Old West bartender, who kept it handy to break up disputes.”

  “Interesting.” Decker looked around. “Where is it now?”

  “In our museum.” Robyn beckoned for him to follow. “Don’t get your hopes up, it’s not exactly the Guggenheim. It’s just an old storeroom we’ve converted to display the strange odds and ends found around here over the years.”

  “I’d love to see it.”

  “Good. It’s our next stop,” Robyn said, leading Decker toward a second door on the side wall of the saloon, and a narrow corridor beyond. “It is also our last stop. The hotel isn’t large, and I figure you’d rather see the rest of the town in daylight.”

  “Sure,” Decker replied, following Robyn into the corridor, which ran adjacent to the saloon bar. Apart from the door they had just stepped through, there were two others. One opposite, and another at the far end.

  Robyn led him to the closer of the two. “This is the museum. The door at the end is my quarters. An old lean-to I converted.”

  They stepped inside.

  Decker looked around, fascinated. Glass-fronted cabinets lined the walls. They contained a variety of artifacts, ranging from arrowheads, lumps of ore, and a variety of prospector’s tools.

  Robyn led him to a case on the far side of the room. “This is the Colt we found. It must’ve been a pretty expensive weapon back in the day. It has mother-of-pearl grips and an engraved barrel.”

  “That’s a Colt Single Action Army revolver,” Decker said, leaning close to study the weapon. “44-40 caliber. Four and three-quarter inch barrel. Looks like it’s silver-plated. Probably manufactured in the late 1800s.”

  “Wow.” Robyn sounded impressed. “You know your guns.”

  “I come from a law-enforcement family,” Decker said. “It also helped that my father was a gun nut. He owned a couple of antique firearms. Nothing this interesting, though.”

  “Really?” Robyn nodded thoughtfully. “I should write this down so we can make an information card. To me it’s just an old seized up revolver.”

  “I take it your dad didn’t read Guns & Ammo to you before bed when you were young, then?”

  “Not hardly.” Robyn shook her head.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

  Robyn stared at him, mute.

  Decker wondered if she thought he was joking about the gun magazine. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

  “What else have you got in here?” He asked, as much to change the subject as anything else. “Although I have to warn you, it’s going to be hard to top that Colt.”

  “I might have something,” Robyn said. She led him to a floor-standing glass display case in the middle of the room. “How about this?”

  Decker peered inside the case and was shocked to see the skeletal remains of a person. Tattered clothing clung to the bones, including the remains of an old duster. “Now, that’s pretty cool.”

  “Isn’t it?” Robyn gazed down at the skeletal corpse. “We found him when we were blasting the mine entrance open. You can tell it’s a male because of the pelvis.”

  “I realize that.” Decker leaned in to study the bones in more detail. “I took a couple of pathology classes when I was a cop.”

  “Then you might be interested to know someone shot this unfortunate man in the back and dumped him over the side of the trail. We didn’t find the bullet, that’s long gone, but there’s a tell-tale nick in the T3 thoracic vertebrae. You can also see a fractured rib where the bullet ricocheted inside the body.”

  “With the position of that wound, the bullet would’ve done a lot of damage, even if it missed the heart.” Decker wondered who the man was in life, and what he’d done to earn himself a bullet in the back. “At the very least, his lung would have been toast.”

  “For sure,” Robyn agreed. “He most likely died pretty quickly. The body was up near the mine entrance, and I find it unlikely anyone would bother to drag it up there back in those days. Like I said, there wa
s no law enforcement to worry about. He was probably murdered pretty close to where the body was dumped.”

  “Makes sense. He would have bled out within ten minutes, maybe faster depending on what the bullet hit on the way through.” Decker stared at the body. There was no flesh left, but he could still see tufts of straight black hair clinging to the skull. He wondered if the man was Native American. He ran his eyes over the length of the skeletal remains, overcome by a sudden feeling that they were not quite right, but he couldn’t figure out why.

  Then, while he was still pondering this, Robyn moved back toward the door. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve got a few things to do before bed.”

  “No, not at all,” Decker straightened up and followed her.

  “You can stay and look around some more if you want,” Robyn said as she stepped into the corridor. “It’s no trouble.”

  “It’s fine,” said Decker. “I can always come back, and I hear my bed beckoning. I could use an early night.”

  “Okay, then.” Robyn flicked the light off and pulled the door closed.

  Decker glanced back, catching a last glimpse of the body in its glass tomb before his view was cut off. Then he followed Robyn back to the lobby, where he bade her good night, before climbing the stairs to his room.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When their fire burned down to glowing embers, Tiffany and Darwin retreated to the tent and settled in for the night. They zipped their sleeping bags together to create one large bed and crawled in beside each other. When Darwin turned off the lantern hanging from a hook on the tent pole, the darkness was absolute. Tiffany pressed against him, stared up into the swirling blackness, and listened to the breeze rustling through the sagebrush. The coyotes had stopped howling, at least for now, and that made her feel a little better. Yet Tiffany didn’t think she would get a wink of sleep. She felt exposed and vulnerable, with nothing but a thin layer of fabric between herself and whatever predators might come prowling around their camp. Darwin sensed her discomfort and slipped an arm around her shoulder. He gently stroked the back of her neck, which sent shivers through her.