I forged ahead without needing her affirmation or blessing and set about locating Lawrence’s ancestors. This was the most challenging task because I was tracing back to Depression-era Boston. Records from then weren’t stored on some giant database. Fortunately, Lawrence’s father had been a physician, and a prominent one at that. I decided to start with him; Dr. Theodore Stephen Cranston.
I hit pay dirt the moment I entered Lawrence’s father’s name online. Prominent physician he was indeed and Harvard Medical School liked to brag about their successful alumni. Lawrence told me how his wife had been a patient of his father’s and they met when she visited Dr. Cranston’s home office. I didn’t know that he’d been a leading researcher in asthma and other respiratory disorders. He had papers and case studies published in numerous medical journals.
Harvard Medical School’s website had a lengthy obituary in which the Helen Merrill-Cranston Foundation was listed - an organization founded by Dr. Cranston, in honor of his late daughter-in-law, for funding of research in asthma treatment. The foundation was still in existence. Bingo, this was the kind of information Lawrence would want to know.
I clicked on the “About Us” page and was surprised to see Lawrence’s face staring back at me. A caption beneath the faded black and white picture read: Lawrence Cranston and Helen Louise Cranston nee Merrill, May 11, 1924, Boston. It was taken on their wedding day. The young couple was smiling and Helen had an arm looped through Lawrence’s. A bouquet of flowers balanced on her other arm. Her dark hair, straight and cut into a short bob, framed her face. A gauzy veil billowed out from an ornate cap. Even though their attention was focused on the camera, they leaned comfortably towards each other. Lawrence’s dark suit contrasted against Helen’s white dress.
A brief history was provided below that picture that explained how Helen had been a patient of Dr. Cranston’s long before she became his daughter-in-law. It was under his advisement that she moved to an arid climate, which at the time was thought to improve asthma symptoms.
I bookmarked the foundation’s website and printed out the “about us” page. Lawrence’s folder finally had some substance.
Next, I moved on to Lawrence’s brother’s name. Russell Stephen Cranston. He was three years younger and at the time of Lawrence’s passing, lived in New Hampshire where he practiced dentistry. The genealogy website I had registered with proved to be the only resource. Through this site I learned that Russell had married and fathered four children; two sons named Lawrence and Theodore and two daughters named Helen and Sara. He named them after his brother and family.
Uncharacteristically, tears welled in my eyes and I had to stop reading. The dead were definitely honored by the living in Lawrence’s family. I printed this page out as well as a picture of Russell’s family tree. According to this, which was last updated five years earlier, Russell passed away in 1984 at the age of 82, but was survived by his children, grandchildren and even a great grandson.
I was getting ready to continue researching when my cell phone rang and vibrated, causing me to jump. Eric’s name was on the screen. I took a deep breath before answering, “What’s up?”
“Do you want in on some action?”
“Um, what kind of action are you talking about?” I asked, immediately regretting the implied innuendo.
Eric paused and then laughed, or cleared his throat, I wasn’t sure. “Is that an offer?” he said and continued before I could respond, “the information you dug up on the meth lab was legit. We’re getting ready to raid. Do you want in?”
“I can’t. I’m grounded, remember?”
“Yeah, well this is my investigation and my call. Consider yourself paroled early because of good behavior.”
“Why? You transferred to criminal investigations from patrol to get away from me.”
“Because I know how hard it’s been for you being benched. You’ve been hard on yourself too. What happened, it was strange and unexplainable, but not your fault. If there’s one thing I know about you is that you love your job and being stuck behind a desk would just about kill me, I can only imagine what it’s doing to you.”
“It hasn’t been that bad,” I said, staring at the image of the Cranston family tree that was up on my computer screen.
“So…you want in or not?”
Of course I wanted in, but I was suspicious of Eric’s gesture. He wanted something and I didn’t know what. That was unnerving. Not as unnerving as him understanding and sympathizing with my situation. This was a reminder of the man I fell in love with before emotions, stubbornness and loss pitted us against each other.
My eyes moved from the screen to my holster hanging on the back of the chair next to me. The butt of my gun stuck out and shined dully in the light from the chandelier above my dinette table.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At the station. We’re moving out in 30 minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll meet you there,” I said and hung up.
Eric worked on a different floor, but by the time I got up there, he was already in the parking lot. I made it there with only minutes to spare. My hair was tied back in a tight bun, the familiar tugging at my temples helped me stay focused and more in control.
Eric glanced up and flashed a quick smile when he saw me approach. He had a map open on the hood of an SUV and was pointing at a circled area. He was giving out orders and I stood off to the side to wait for mine. Adrenaline hummed in the air as the other officers prepared. I recognized most of the officers in Eric’s crew, but only from passing them in the halls at the station. O’Reilly and Thompson nodded at me while others did not so subtle double takes. Apparently everyone knew who I was.
When Eric was done, he folded up the map and tucked it in his back pocket. The sun had just barely set and the earth still radiated heat from the day. A fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“Are you ready?” he asked, turning to face me.
“What do you want me to do?”
“You’ll be helping to secure the area. We’re sealing off a parameter before moving in. Chances are whoever is in there will be tweaking out of their mind, which makes them unpredictable.”
“And dangerous,” I added.
“Right - we don’t need any neighbors getting hurt.”
I fished the keys for my car out of my pocket. Eric looked at the keychain with Minnie Mouse dangling below my fist and his eyebrows lifted up in surprise. “You don’t have a cruiser?”
“No, Adams requisitioned it when I went on desk duty.”
“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He stood with his hands on his hips. His forefinger tapped in rapid motion as he figured out what to do.
“I can take my own car.”
“No, too much liability if it gets damaged. Come on, you’ll ride with me.”
We walked over to a white Chevy Tahoe with a gold and brown county logo on the side. I hopped in and buckled the seatbelt.
“This is like when you were training with me, huh?” he said when he started the engine.
“Yeah, but this is a much nicer ride. The upholstery isn’t stained and frayed like in your old cruiser.” I noted the beige seats seemed almost brand new.
“And the air conditioning works great.” Eric turned up the dial and cold air blasted out of the vents. I welcomed the change from the late summer heat.
We drove in silence that bordered on awkward. The last time I was in the car with Eric he was pissed at me for running out into the desert to confront ghosts.
Displaying his intuitive side he said, “If you see any ghosts, it might be a good idea to not engage this time.”
I chose to ignore him and focused on the taillights from the SUV in front of us. We turned onto a dirt road and dust spewed up, engulfing the caravan of police vehicles in a cloud.
Brake lights flared red and we slowed down eventually rolling to a stop in a clearing on the side of the road. Eric put the SUV in park and hopped out, adjusting his gun belt when he st
ood up. Simultaneously, doors opened on the other cruisers and SUV’s. O’Reilly’s hulking frame was easy to recognize when he heaved himself out of one. I joined him and the officers who gathered in front of Eric’s vehicle. Headlights illuminated our group, creating long shadows.
I was familiar with the rural community we were about ready to enter; a collection of rusty trailers scattered amongst the scrub brush covered hills located off of old Route 66, on the fringe of Seligman. Most of the front yards contained a piece of shit car up on blocks and a months’ worth of garbage in the carport. I had responded to more than one domestic call in this area. It wasn’t surprising a meth lab had sprung up here where it was isolated and people kept to themselves, especially if there was something in it for them. A few bucks to keep things on the “down low” didn’t cut into a cook’s profit.
The high winds from earlier in the day had died down and the night was very still. The sun had set and the night sky stretched out for miles, the clarity of thousands of stars almost dizzying. Eric selected the team that would drive in first and I was part of the team staying along the perimeter to make sure neighbors didn’t interfere.
I had never participated in a meth lab raid before, but had heard stories. Meth labs were toxic, volatile and highly combustible. Potentially, if the bust went wrong, the whole lab could explode, emitting poisonous fumes and debris into the community.
Eric got back into his SUV and pulled out onto the dirt road. Three other vehicles followed him. I stayed on foot and hiked through the brush toward the lab. A dog barked in the distance and I heard a door slam. Lights from a residence glowed ahead and I walked toward it, with another deputy not too far behind.
“Is this the place?” I hissed.
“No, the next one. It’s about a quarter of a mile. We need to position ourselves just past this trailer.”
I nodded and didn’t say anything else. It was dark and anyone could be out there listening. We continued on past the property; a woman was yelling inside and a child was crying. Fortunately, the dog I heard wasn’t out front to alert his owners to our presence. Four sets of brake lights flashed further ahead. Eric’s team had arrived.
We stopped and spread out to where the dirt road divided us. I drew my gun and waited; every sense on high alert. Suddenly there were loud voices echoing down from the direction of the meth lab. Sweat broke out along my hairline, making it itch. I ignored it and focused on the commotion. A few minutes passed and nothing appeared to be escalating so I relaxed my stance.
Not too long after, my radio crackled to life announcing the all clear. I let out a sigh of relief. Eric was safe, the raid went as planned and wouldn’t be a PR nightmare for the department. And I didn’t see any ghosts.
I walked past the trailer and the woman was still yelling, the child still crying. The residents were completely unaware a raid had just gone down. I wondered if the mother knew their neighbor was a crazy meth lab scientist. Maybe she was one of the tipsters and trying to clean up the neighborhood so her kid had a safe place to grow up. The hulking outline of a beater truck and the stench of garbage spoiling in the heat brought me back to reality.
One of the county’s vans drove by heading towards the lab indicating a multiple arrest. The other officer crossed the road to walk the rest of the way. I had seen her once or twice, but we never officially met so I introduced myself.
“I know who you are,” Deputy Christine Frasier said after we exchanged names.
“Ghost girl, right?” I asked, not masking the annoyance in my voice.
“No, well yeah, but I meant to say you’re Eric’s ex-wife. At least I thought he was divorced.” She took a not so subtle glance at my ring finger and in the light of the moon I caught a flicker of a smile when she saw it was naked of any jewelry.
“You’re right, we’re divorced.”
“Oh.” I was waiting for her to say ‘good’, but she didn’t. Instead she became friendlier since apparently I’d been eliminated as competition.
At first, the green monster of jealousy reared up inside me and I wanted to smack her face - with the butt of my gun. Then I debated about warning her off of dating a co-worker. In the end I kept my mouth shut. I was only half listening to her chatter. I was too distracted by the image of Eric laughing with her, holding her hand, kissing her…
Not my Eric.
This thought brought me up short and I came to a stop. Christine stopped too. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“No. I mean yes. Sorry, I just was thinking.” I continued walking and heard Christine fall into step beside me. He wasn’t “my Eric” anymore and I thought I had accepted it, hell, it was what I wanted; yet he still held a claim on my heart. Perhaps he always will. Knowing I didn’t have the time or mental and emotional capacity to explore my feelings for Eric, I mollified myself with this idea.
Christine left me alone after that. Maybe she attributed my strange behavior to my new reputation. I honestly didn’t care. We weren’t in the same department so I didn’t have to see her every day. But Eric did. I shook my head, hoping to shed the jealousy like a wet dog shaking water from its fur. Christine picked up her speed and made it back to the vehicles before me.
The three other officers who were on the same detail emerged from the shadows shortly after us; we all were visibly more relaxed since the bust went so smoothly. A crime scene van and a hazmat vehicle roared past heading towards the meth lab and a few minutes later, Eric and his team arrived. The paddy wagon continued on down the road after the other cars pulled over.
Eric got out and walked around to talk to the officers. One by one they got in their vehicles and drove off. Christine was the last person he spoke to. He had his back to me, but I could see them clearly in the headlights. Christine glanced in my direction once wearing the same satisfied smile I had seen earlier. I yanked open the passenger door to Eric’s SUV and climbed in.
I didn’t have to wait very long for Eric to join me. He started the engine and peeled out onto the dirt road.
“Elena, thanks for your help tonight.”
“I didn’t really do anything. I’m glad it went well?”
“It did. The suspects were smart enough not to do anything stupid. We have three in custody and the lab will get broken down safely. This was quite the operation and capable of cooking a lot of meth. Oh, and you did the research, followed up on the tips so you can’t say you didn’t do anything.” He reached over and squeezed my knee; a move that used to be so natural until he realized what he’d done and jerked his hand away like he had touched a hot stove burner.
I swung my head around and looked at him. “What the hell was that?”
“Sorry, habit I guess.”
“Yeah, you guess. What’s with you anyway? You didn’t really need me here tonight.”
Eric stared ahead, focusing on the road. “It was a test to see if you’re ready to get back out in the field.”
“Jesus, I was practically shot once and didn’t have to jump through any hoops.”
“That wasn’t spread all over the internet and you weren’t allegedly carrying on a conversation with ghosts afterwards.”
He did have a point, but it didn’t stop me from feeling disappointed that Eric didn’t want me involved out of his own volition. Once again he was ordered to babysit me to make sure I didn’t screw up.
“So, did I pass?”
“Yes…except Christine said you acted a little strange?”
Of course she did. “I can see why she’d think that.” I told him that it was a little overwhelming and I was working out the adrenaline. I left out the whole jealousy part. There was no way I would reveal that to him. “Plus, she’s a talker and I didn’t feel like responding.”
“I know what you mean. She does talk too much.”
I laughed at his agreement, relieved that his interest in Christine remained professional.
“Now that I’ve passed my test, what’s next?”
“You’ll most likely get
taken off desk duty and will be back in your cruiser, maintaining peace and order in Yavapai County once again.”
This news should have excited me, but I thought of the research I had to do in order to keep my promise to Frank and the others. I tried not to refer to them as ghosts because they seemed real to me…three dimensional and not some characters from a Scooby Doo mystery. Going back out in the field meant less computer time and longer shifts.
“That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting from a woman who loves her job,” Eric said.
“I haven’t been cleared yet so there’s no use in getting my hopes up.”
“Fair enough.”
I was quiet and stuck in my head for the rest of the ride back to Prescott. On one side, being cleared for active duty was exciting because I did love my job, but apprehension was mixed in there too. It was kind of ironic that Eric brought out those same feelings whenever I was around him; excitement and apprehension.
Chapter Sixty-One
Sure enough, two days later I was called into Lieutenant Adams’ office and restored to my full position, with a fair warning that he was going to keep his eye on me. Once a stigma has been attached to a person, it’s hard to remove it. The way he kept a certain distance between us I could tell he thought I was strange. He’d never understand that what happened during my rescue was just as unexpected for me, but the blame would always be placed on my shoulders.
Adams had me working the twelve hour night patrol shift and every morning I came home exhausted with heavy, scratchy eyes. Falling asleep on the sofa with the TV on became the norm. I kept the file on my dinette table as a reminder, but didn’t make a lot of progress and the guilt of not keeping my promise began to eat away at me.
After three weeks back and with the file collecting dust, something had to give. Not only was my conscience bothering me, but I was genuinely curious about what happened after Frank and the others passed on. I had found Lawrence’s great nieces and nephew’s names. Now I needed to find them.
End of the Road (Ghost Stories Trilogy #1) Page 24