by Stuart Jaffe
Through a half-closed eye, Max watched as the flames entered the baby’s room — Milton Hull’s magic no longer protected them. Smoke haloed around the fire. The burning building moved in on Shawnee, but suddenly stopped.
She lifted into the air, only this time there was no fear, no threat — the Ungers were helping. Max lifted up, too. He felt as if he floated on a blow-up cushion in a swimming pool. With Shawnee by his side, the two glided downstairs while the flames formed an orange tunnel. Plenty of air reached their lungs and despite the proximity of the fire, Max felt no heat.
Straight outside, they went. As they were set gently on the grass, Max saw Libby and Sandra helping Wayne and Carl to safety.
With a roar, half the house collapsed in a sparking, fiery blaze. The Fire Department would arrive soon. They would have endless questions.
No matter. The job was done.
Chapter 31
By the time Max received permission to join Sandra, Drummond, and Libby in the maternity ward waiting room, he had endured hours of doctors prodding, stitching, and wrapping him up followed by the police asking him questions. A story had been agreed upon ahead of time, and Max stuck to it. He told the officers that they were having a small gathering of friends at the Darian home when the fire broke out. Nice and simple.
The officer pressed a little because of Jack’s death, but the body had been burned so severely that Max had no fear of the inquiry turning into a homicide investigation. A nosy detective could certainly discover the numerous oddities, but nobody had a reason to bother. No evidence had survived, and the police had their hands full with a serial arsonist who had set fires all over the city. It became evident that the real concern was dotting i’s and crossing t’s for the insurance company.
Soft jazz played in the Forsyth Medical maternity waiting room while newborns cried their first tears down the hall. Every few minutes, Sandra patted Max’s knee, assuring herself that he had survived their ordeal. Every few minutes, Drummond crossed through the walls to check on Shawnee’s progress and would return with a simple, “Not born yet.”
Libby paced the room. Though anxious for the baby, she periodically asked at the desk if they would check on Carl. The nurse patiently explained that Carl had suffered numerous burns and other injuries and would be in surgery for hours more.
To Max’s surprise, Wayne had emerged from the fire unscathed — at least, physically.
Around three in the morning, Max’s cell phone chirped — Peanut Butter. “Hey, Ghostman. How’d it all turn out?”
Max kept his face neutral — most expressions aggravated his wounds. “You guys did great. You actually saved people’s lives last night.”
“By setting fires? You crazy?”
“You really care if I’m crazy or not?”
“Long as you keep paying, we’ll keep working.”
“You know I can help you — set you up in an apartment or something.”
“No, sir. We’ll earn our pay and take it from there.”
Max had to admire the kid’s pluck. Even his pride. “Welcome aboard. Now go get some sleep.”
Sleep sounded nice. It would be awhile, though, before they would be home and in bed. And he would want a long shower, too — the smell of burnt wood permeated his skin. Max stretched his legs and opted for a short walk.
He followed Libby down the hall. She turned back and offered a slight smile. “Guess we should count this as a win.”
“A big win,” Max said.
“Losing Jack doesn’t sound like such a great deal. And I doubt Carl’s going to want to continue doing this. Looks like I have no team anymore.”
“Why don’t you join us?” The words had left Max’s mouth before he could stop them. Not that he objected, but he knew this was different than the Sandwich Boys. They were guys he would pay from time to time to do odd jobs for him. Somebody like Libby would expect to be an integral part of each case, and for that, he should have given it more thought and discussed it with Sandra.
Libby saved him the trouble. “No, thank you. I like the work, I do, but seeing it go this far — this isn’t for me. If I can ever help you in some small ways, I will. You feel free to call me. But I could never do something like this again.” She returned to the waiting room, a constant shake in her shoulders. Max wondered if that would ever go away for her.
He walked in the opposite direction and stopped at a soda machine. As he fumbled with a dollar bill, trying to get it crisp enough to be accepted by the machine, he heard a sound that chilled his skin. A distinctive click-clack of high-heels.
He looked behind and saw her. More than the heels, he now saw the entire woman — petite, blond, walking away from him. By her coat and the deference given by the nurses, and by her swagger, Max pegged her as a doctor. He followed her. Keeping far enough back to go unnoticed, he watched her turn the corner. As he came around, she headed for the elevators. One set of doors opened at her approach, and she stepped right in.
Max had to decide — get on the elevator with her or let her go and watch what floor she stopped at. Why was this doctor part of the Magi group? Why had she destroyed his computers? Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was some other high-heeled woman. But that click-clack pattern could be no other.
Without realizing it, he had stopped feet away from the elevator. The woman lifted her head and locked eyes with Max. Her lips formed a malicious grin. The doors closed.
Max walked away. He didn’t want to be paranoid, but clearly Mother Hope had people all over. Maybe they were worse than the Hulls. Maybe it didn’t matter. Hulls, the Magi group — they were all a cancer for everyday people.
Thinking ill of them didn’t change matters, though. He had broken his promise to her, and he had destroyed Milton Hull before she could enact her attack on Tucker and the rest of the Hull family. Seeing Ms. High Heels made him think that Mother Hope wouldn’t forget about any of it. He would have to be careful.
When he sat next to Sandra in the waiting room, she raised a concerned look. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ll tell you later. Nothing to do about it now, anyway.”
Drummond soared in laughing. “It’s done! It’s done! Admittedly, premature and the little squirt’s got to be taken care of by the doctors and watched carefully, but Shawnee had her baby. Healthy and all is well.”
Sandra said, “Well, is it a boy or a girl?”
“No, no. I’m no spoiler. Besides, that’s a father’s honor. Wayne’s coming down the hall now, so you just wait.”
Indeed, moments later, Wayne entered the waiting room. Max found it difficult to connect the man he saw with the man who, only hours earlier, had been controlled by an evil force. Now, all that stood before Max and Sandra was a proud father.
“It’s a boy,” Wayne said.
Everyone rose to their feet to congratulate him and smile and laugh. None of it felt forced. The room filled with genuine care.
Wayne continued, “He’s good and healthy. Little but they said he’ll be fine. Probably be stuck in here for another month or so, but he’ll be okay.”
“That’s wonderful,” Max said. “Does he have name?”
With an odd, sheepish look, Wayne said, “Is your ghost in here?”
Sandra said, “You mean Drummond? Yes, he’s here.”
“Well, if it’s okay with you all, Shawnee and I would like to name our boy Maxwell Drummond Darian.”
Drummond’s joyful eruption trumped the exultations from the rest of the room.
“I guess that’s a yes,” Wayne said.
Because the baby was premature, Max and Sandra understood they would not get to see him right away. They congratulated Wayne once more and walked to their car. Drummond couldn’t be stopped by the staff, so he floated through the walls and spent much of the next day cooing over little Maxwell Drummond.
As Max and Sandra neared their car, he put his arm around her. “We don’t always get to win this big. We better savor this one.”
&n
bsp; Sandra agreed. “I have to ask, though, is this enough for you? Having a baby with your name? It might be the closest you ever get to having a son.”
Max took her chin in his hand and gently kissed her lips. “This is all I need or want.”
“You sure?”
“Tell you what — let’s go home and not make a baby.”
They stood in the parking lot, holding each other and gazing into each other’s eyes.
Afterword
When I started this series, I thought these Afterword sections would be a chance to jot down a few historical facts about the book and leave it at that. I suspected there would a few readers who found these tidbits interesting and so I kept the whole thing short and sweet. Well, it turns out that a lot of you folks really like this part. It’s one of the top comments I get in fan mail. So, while I still believe in keeping an Afterword short, I will endeavor to give you guys a little more this time around.
To start with, let me hit the big points. The brothel on Elizabeth Street and the twelve days of scandal surrounding it are both real. The Winston-Salem Journal editor, Santford Martin, who went at this story hard and perhaps fabricated a few details which turned out to scare the higher-ups in this city was a real man. In fact, all the historical details of the scandal are true. Including that the entire thing started because Grace Renner decided to shoplift a hat instead of paying for it. An oddity in itself since she should have had no trouble paying when one considers the lucrative business she and her sister ran. The details of the house are mostly accurate. I had the fortunate opportunity to privately tour the place. However, I changed a few minor details to aid the flow of the story, and most importantly, to the best of my knowledge, there is no tunnel beneath the houses on Elizabeth Street. There is a blue house two doors down, but that’s the only real detail about the Darian’s home in this book.
Also true is the entire history of the Casper Company, including the way Prohibition destroyed the company. John L. Casper’s mysterious behavior toward the end of his life and his eventually demise in Mexico is also true. For those of you who want an even clearer picture of what the blue bottles are like, google Casper Whiskey Bottles Images and you should find plenty of Casper Blue bottles to gaze upon. And if you're really into it all, there are bottle collectors who sell them.
Finally, the tragedy of the Winston reservoir cracking open and flooding the northern section of the city is also true. There are some startling pictures of the aftermath which can be found in newspaper archives and online photo histories of the area. These photos show in stark black and white the devastation all that water caused.
All other characters, including Floyd Johnson, Freddie Robertson, and Milton Hull are fictions of my imagination.
Waiting for the next Max Porter book hurts!
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The Links:
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Acknowledgements
Some books require the help of only a few people; some require the help of many. All require thanks from the author, for no book is created entirely alone. Special thanks this time around go to Alex Matsuro for her books on the paranormal and her help in understanding how real paranormal investigators operate. I took a lot of liberties with the information she provided, so for those of you who know about these things, any part of the way Libby and her team operate that seems wrong is my fault alone. Thanks to my Launch Team for all their help and support. Extra thanks to Lisa Gall and Lyn Findlay for their proofreading skills. Also, a big thanks, a huge thanks, a magnificent-sized thanks to Kimberly Gordon for allowing me to walk through her home and take pictures in an attempt to get the details of the brothel correct. This novel quite literally would not have happened without her generosity. And to be clear, the woman that owns the brothel house in this book is in no way meant to be a reflection upon her. Only the house is real, not the characters. Finally, thanks to my wife and son who make this adventure worthwhile. And, of course, thanks to you folks, my readers. I’ve said it before, and I mean it: if you keep reading Max Porter books, I’ll keep writing them. Without you, none of this really matters.
About the Author
Stuart Jaffe is the author of The Max Porter Paranormal-Mysteries, The Malja Chronicles, the Gillian Boone novels, The Bluesman series, Real Magic, After The Crash, and much more. His short stories have appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. For those who keep count, the latest animal listing is as follows: one dog, four cats, one albino corn snake, one Brazilian black tarantula, three aquatic turtles, seven chickens, and a horse. Thankfully, the chickens and the horse do not live inside the house.
Copyright
Southern Haunts is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
SOUTHERN HAUNTS
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 by Stuart Jaffe
Cover art by Jeff Dekal
First Edition: December, 2015
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Afterword
Copyright
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Afterword
Copyright
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