by Alexie Aaron
“They have a competition, who can grow their hair the longest,” Wayne explained. “The loser has to admit to the whole Pickles family that the other twin is the prettiest.”
“Huh.”
“Explain the huh.”
“Pretty shallow for Kiki.”
“Cid, my boy, Kiki can be very shallow. You’ve just not seen it yet.”
“I can tell the difference in their voices,” Cid said. “Mimi won’t be fooling me anytime soon.”
“Good for you, because some of the stunts she’s responsible for have lost Kiki a few jobs.”
“Mimi doesn’t seem evil,” Cid said, puzzled.
“Not evil, competitive. The two went in different directions career-wise, and so far, Kiki has amassed a bigger bank account.”
“You’re telling me that Mimi would sabotage a job just to look better than her sister.”
“Has and will,” Wayne said, continuing to move the scope around the hidden room. “Uh oh.”
“What?” Cid asked, looking closer at the monitor.
“What does that look like?”
“Burlap and rust.”
“Does rust puddle? Look at the shape.”
“You’re thinking this is blood.”
“Yes, it goes nicely with the round stain in the burlap bag in front of the scope. A nice, round bullet-hole-size stain.”
Chapter Nineteen
Macy proofed the copy for the Sunday magazine. It was more of a joy than a job. She had loved to flip through the colorful pages when she was a child. Macy cut her vocabulary teeth on the crossword puzzle and learned all about nature from Natural Nate’s column. They’d had four Natural Nates in the last fifty years. The present Nate was a female grad student named Anshula Ganesh. She took on the column with as much enthusiasm as Macy had reading it. A few of Anshula’s articles had gone viral, bringing the eyes of the world, once again, to the town of Stepner.
Macy rewarded her with a promotion and her own named column on the paper’s website. The ad revenues from these two concerns had given the paper, and those that worked on it, a feeling of stability in their chosen profession of journalism.
A light tap on her door brought Macy’s attention from her copy to the office. “Come in,” she beckoned.
“About these text messages…” Sam said, ducking under the door header.
Macy hadn’t noticed how tall the man was before now. He was suited in his gray, ink-spattered work clothes as usual but had made an effort to calm his salt-and-pepper locks. “Have a seat,” Macy invited.
The muscular man brushed off his clothes before taking a seat. He looked very uncomfortable on the edge of the upholstered chair.
“I take it you’re not a fan of our cost-saving measures,” he said, lifting his phone.
“Not when you’re plunged into darkness while sitting on the toilet,” Macy said without embarrassment.
“I can see your point.”
“Also, one of the faucets drips on the first-floor ladies. If you’re going to cut costs, how about saving a little water?”
“I’ve already taken care of that. I’ll take care of the motion sensors right away,” he said, jotting some notes down onto a top-bound memo book.
“I haven’t seen one of those in ages,” Macy said, indicating the book.
“There’s a stack of them in the supply room on the third floor. I’m not sure they make them anymore,” Sam said honestly.
“I haven’t seen one since the fifth grade. I’m glad you’re being economical with the paper products.”
Sam’s face screwed up into an expression yet to be determined. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“What were you doing at the paper so late? It’s not safe to be here alone after my staff have left for the night.”
“How did you know I was… Oh, the texts.”
“They are time-stamped. Yours also have interesting emojis.”
Macy blushed. “Sorry, but I was rather flustered at the time.”
Sam waited.
“I was ghost hunting with Cid Garrett,” she blurted out.
Sam smiled. “Did you catch any?”
Macy got up and shut the office door before spilling her guts about all that went on the night before. “He says that Miguel Bautista could be haunting me. Expecting me to solve the murders of his family.”
“You’re more than capable.”
“Except, I would be stepping on Will Grady’s toes, not to mention Cid’s.”
“Why not join forces?”
“I think they want to keep the press out of it.”
“You don’t have to print the process of uncovering the culprits, just the result,” Sam added. “Put it in writing.”
Macy looked at her chief of maintenance a moment. “Sam, you don’t have to answer this, and I by no means mean any disrespect, but why are you working here?”
“I like being part of a newspaper. I like fixing the machines, the people, and it was the only job available in Stepner when I graduated college.”
“My father must have hired you.”
“He hired me with no experience, expecting me to move on when I decided what I wanted to do with my life.”
“You’re still here.”
“I decided a long time ago that I didn’t need much. My little house is paid for; I have great friends; and I have a million-dollar view to take in every day.”
“Are you married?”
“No. A few near misses, but I haven’t found my soulmate.”
“Available singles are slim pickings here,” Macy said.
“I know.”
“That’s why I’m trying to bring in new businesses.”
“So you can date?” Sam teased.
“No, yes, no. Editor Uses Paper to Find Eligible Men,” Macy said and broke into laughter. “I’m looking to bring in jobs for the people who want the small-town life. Not just catering after the rich during the summer months.”
“Service is a good profession.”
“I’m not saying it’s not,” Macy argued. “But, let’s say, you have a college grad who is leaving home because there is no place for them here?”
“It’s pretty heartbreaking. But many do come back. You did.”
“It’s because my father retired - I suspect early, to accommodate me.”
“I’m glad he did,” Sam said, rising. “If you will excuse me…”
“Sam, wait, what did you study in college?” Macy asked.
“Engineering. I was going to build bridges.”
“Now you’re fixing printing presses, plumbing, and saving idiot editors who are afraid of ghosts.”
Sam smiled widely as he tucked his memo book back in his pocket. “Miss Eggleston, I thoroughly enjoy fixing those machines. Plumbing, well, that’s life, and as for saving editors… I consider that a privilege.”
Sam opened the door and ducked under on his way out. Macy stared at the space he had occupied just moments before, thinking, “I really never see what is directly in front of me do I? Editor Guilty of Negligence.”
Grady knelt to see better as Cam described what he and his two techs had discovered.
“They’re lying in a ditch with soil, leaves, and other forest detritus piled atop them. See the rosary entwined around this man’s hands? He knew his end was coming and was praying. Neither man had any defensive wounds to their hands though.”
“Hard to fight when someone is holding a gun to your back,” Grady said.
“Why their back? How do you get that out of this?” Cam asked, indicating the positioning of the bodies.
“Look at where they are. Even fifty years ago, this was a little-used road. Why would the two of them be walking voluntarily through the woods?”
“They could have parked here,” Cam argued.
“Only locals would have known about the back way into the motel. If these men were local, my father would have known about their disappearance. We have nothing on the bo
oks for two missing bricklayers in Stepner County.”
“Okay, let’s say you needed manual labor on the down low. How would you go about it?” Cam asked.
“Hire in the city and transport them yourself. The unemployed used to gather at the train depots, and contractors used to hire them off the books, called them day laborers. The contractors didn’t have to pay them as much, nor insure them. It was a cash operation,” Grady explained. “It’s how many illegals put food on the table.”
“Still is, I imagine,” Cam said. “I wanted you to see these fellows in situ before we packed them up. Tomorrow, we return for Cabin 4.”
“Why Cabin 4?”
“Wayne texted me that they found a .38 shell in a hidden room in the cellar.”
Grady pulled out his phone and noticed he had a photo and a text message from Cid Garrett. Centered in the small screen was a spent .38 shell.
Found in bricked off room in Cabin 4. Will be able to take down barrier tomorrow.
“Cid says the room isn’t open yet. How’d they find the shell?”
“They drilled a hole in the wall, and Wayne used a plumber’s scope,” Cam answered.
“This is too good to be a simple coincidence,” Grady said. “Still, there were a lot of .38 Specials around in the sixties.”
“How about you let us log the evidence, and you can make the call,” Cam said.
“I appreciate you humoring this simple county sheriff.”
“Will Grady, you are anything but simple. Are you okay with my sharing the findings with the man paying my bills here?”
“Calvin Franks?”
“Yes, that’s the name on the paycheck.”
“Go ahead. I was hoping to see him here. I have a few questions for him myself.”
“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him,” Cam said.
Grady left the forensic team to their business and walked back towards the woodland, High Court, and Cabin 4. He moved carefully over the trampled ground he had used to get to the old road.
“You there,” a voice hissed.
It was so quiet, Grady almost missed it. He stopped and turned slowly around. He didn’t immediately see anything. The sun was retreating, and the shadows were long. One of the shadows moved away from the tree line. Grady felt himself backed up into the trunk of a large tree. He felt pinned but didn’t allow the shadow to see his fear.
“You look like your father,” Luminosa said.
Grady had unsnapped the strap holding his weapon before he addressed the dark swirling mass in front of him. “My mother thinks so. But my wife thinks I look like my mother,” he said, trying to keep a conversational tone.
“I buried those men.”
“Why?”
“I thought I had killed them. They say that I didn’t. I don't remember. I was very angry at the time. When I’m angry, all I see is blackness, swirling blackness.”
“My father worked all his life trying to find out who killed you and your family.”
“So they say. Still, I have no justice.”
“Can I ask you an important question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Who did you work for? Who signed your paycheck?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Craig. They lived in the big white house on the lake.”
“Who rented Cabin 4?”
“I was told to leave Cabin 4 alone. It was rented for the season by the Craigs. The renters came and went in the night.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bautista.”
“Why are you asking me this now?”
“My father died still trying to find you justice. I want to complete his work. We have all this talent here. Now’s the time to bring this man, or these men, to justice.”
“You bring them here. I give them the justice they deserve.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I’m a lawman; they will be brought to justice legally. No lynch mob for them,” Grady said firmly.
“We shall see,” Luminosa said and faded back into the shadows.
Grady felt the pressure that had pinned him, ease away from his body. He was bone cold, colder than the temperature in the forest. He let the chill leave him before he secured his firearm. He pushed down his fear and filed it alongside his prior disbelief in the paranormal. He walked out of the woods and across the neglected lawn to Cabin 4’s open cellar. The fact that the doors were chained back didn’t escape him.
“Hello, permission to descend,” he called down.
Cid jogged over to the steps. “Come on down. Mind the cords. We seem to be having an electrical problem, so Wayne’s got the generator up and running,” he explained.
“Has Calvin Franks been here yet?”
“The last text I received said that he was going to head over here after he closed the gallery at five,” Cid informed Grady.
“I have to admit to feeling like a fish out of water here, Mr. Garrett.”
“Let me catch you up. We noticed that the cellar seemed to be absent a few square yards. This brick wall isn’t consistent with the fieldstone foundation and doesn’t match up with the square footage above us. So…”
“You assumed there was a hidden room,” Grady noticed.
“The question is why?”
“I just found out that the Bautistas didn’t rent this cabin out. The Craigs leased it before the Bautistas started managing the rest of the motel. I think I’ll have a look at the Craigs and see if they are connected to organized crime.”
“Wow. It would explain the cavalier treatment of the dead, but not the viciousness of the murders. I doubt that organized crime would be alright with the killing of women and children. This smells like someone went batshit crazy, and then someone saner did a massive cover-up,” Cid observed.
Wayne motioned for the sheriff to come over. “I’ve got some footage of the room if you’re interested. I time-stamped it and put it on a thumb drive for your perusal.”
“I’ll take that drive, but I would like to see what you have while I’m here too.”
Grady watched the slow progression of the scope. He witnessed the finding of the shell. The two contractors took out one of the lights and fed the scope in from the top of the wall. It was a bit difficult to make out, but he saw the machine in the center of the room.
“See that brownish mass on the far side of the machine? We fear it may be two bundled bodies. Here is another still by the first scoping. I think it’s seepage from a bullet hole, and the rust-colored pool is dried blood,” Wayne explained. “Or it could be our very active imaginations. It could be a paint spill.”
Grady nodded. “How long until we can get this wall down?”
“I have to support the roof of the cabin before I can take the supports out and use them down here,” Wayne explained. “We thought about renting more supports, but worried that someone would put two and two together and destroy the evidence.”
“I’ll put another deputy out here.”
“We already have three new security people,” Wayne protested.
“But not a law enforcement professional,” Grady said. “Let’s keep this legal. I’m putting my three best deputies on it. They’ll rotate around the clock.”
Cid smiled.
“What is so funny, Mr. Garrett?”
“You sound like friends of mine. They like to refer to the blue line as law enforcement professionals.”
“Obviously, they’re made of stellar material like myself,” Grady said.
“Obviously,” Cid agreed.
Chapter Twenty
Calvin was alerted to his last-minute visitors by his very excited assistant Barry Bonne. Calvin had hired Barry on the recommendation of the local junior college’s art history teacher.
“Senator Wilson, Mr. Henry Dodd, and Mayor Mark Lamb are here to speak to you.”
“Tell them I would be happy to speak to them briefly. I have another appointment at five.”
“Sir, these are important rich men. I can’t tell them that.”
“Yo
u can, and you will. Rich men are just poor men who’ve had better luck. In their case, the luck was to be born into the right families. You can tell them this, or I can look for a new assistant with a backbone.”
Barry’s face went from ashamed to resolved. “I’ll tell them.”
“If they agree, then show them into the first-floor lounge and offer them a drink, Barry. I’ll be with them in a moment.”
Barry left quickly, shutting the office door behind him.
“So, the three devils have come a calling. Have we shaken your tree enough for the nuts to fall out?”
Henry “Hank” Dodd paced the floor of the lounge. “Who the hell does he think he is? Sparing us a few minutes!”
“Settle down, Hank. He’s not from around here. He doesn’t know how things are done,” Roland said, fingering the platinum top of his mahogany cane.
“You’re a congressman for Pete’s sake!” Hank growled.
“Hank, dear boy, settle down. You’re acting like white trash… Oh, I forgot you come from white trash. Your mother…” Mayor Lamb started.
“That’s enough, Mark,” Roland hissed. “Now is not the time to excite the man.”
“Sorry, Roland. I just can’t abide this situation. Being lumped in with Dodd is more than my psyche can take.”
Hank got up and hobbled over to Mark. “How do you think I feel having to save your butts. Rich brats, nothing more.”
“Gentlemen, remember we are placid, but concerned, elders of the community who are worried about the rumors that have spread our way, concerning High Court.”
Calvin opened the door and walked in. “Gentlemen, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
Mark stood up and introduced the others to Calvin who extended a hand to each man, reminding himself to sanitize his hands before he left the gallery.
“What brings you to my humble art gallery? Are you looking for a painting or, perhaps, an investment?”
“Mr. Franks, we are concerned about the impact your gallery and housing project, across the road, is having on Stepner,” Mark said.
“Really, employing your tradesmen, bringing in interest and people to fill your summer rentals is a problem?” Calvin asked, pouring himself a bourbon.