“Why the last 36 hours?” I asked. “Isn’t that going back too far.”
Greer answered. “Before His Honor, the mayor, decided to take a nap, he told us he was watching out one of the courthouse windows when the Ionescu family walked onto the lawn. He said he saw waves of energy emanating from the individual Strigoi that radiated across the square. Beau and I believe that surge from the massed Strigoi may have been sufficient to supercharge any spectral form present on the square.”
“You make them sound almost radioactive,” I said. “Does it take that much energy to keep a Strigoi up and running?”
“Not normally,” Greer said, “but this clan is a bit unique. They’ve been feeding themselves on pure electricity for generations. It seems plausible to me that their metabolisms could have become altered over the last couple of centuries. My own kind used to rip out throats. Now we’re tidier and more efficient in our feeding habits.”
Okay. Grossly detailed TMI there, but overall the explanation made sense and accounted for how Beau had picked up a dose of the extra energy as well.
“Why did Beau’s ghost energy seem stronger than Howie’s after they were both exposed to the Strigoi?” I asked.
“Again, just a theory,” Greer replied, “but Colonel Longworth has been dead longer and is more skilled at using his energy to manifest. His being was better at assimilating and distributing the acquired boost.”
If they were right, the cemetery ghosts would have had to be present on the courthouse square last night. “So the ghosts caught on video playing baseball sneaked into town?” I asked.
“Yes,” Beau said, “that is what I suspect. I think their curiosity about the event clouded their judgment. At any rate, that is the question I wish to put to them at the cemetery.”
“How are you planning to get there?” I asked.
“Before your father retired for the evening,” Beau said, “he volunteered to drive me. He told me when I was ready to leave to ‘give him a shout.’”
“Hold on,” I said. “If Mom is actually getting some rest, I don’t want her to wake up. Let me send him a text.”
Dad answered my message immediately. “Your Mom is sleeping. Will slip out and meet Beau out back.”
“Then I am off,” Beau said.
“Wait,” Festus interrupted. “If you go upstairs and Irma spots you, you’re sunk. Go through our place. Chase told me you came that way last night.”
“Indeed we did,” Beau said, “and that is an excellent plan. I do not relish the idea of being dragooned into more festival planning.”
After Beau left, Greer said, “I’ll be on hand today. What may I do to help?”
“I really need you to stay here and make sure Howie over there doesn’t cause any problems,” I said. “Tori and I want to go to the junkyard just as soon as the meeting breaks up so we can check out the car Seraphina and Ioana died in.”
“Temporarily died,” Festus said.
“Merle, Earl, and Furl didn’t have any ideas about all of this? I asked.
“They’re working on it,” he said. “I told them what I really want to know is how those girls wound up the way they are now.”
That made two of us.
Jeff parked his pickup outside the cemetery wall. He and Beau silently watched small knots of tourists walking among the gravestones.
“This,” Beau said, “is an unexpected development.”
“Guess we should have figured people looking for ghosts would come out here,” Jeff said, “but I would have thought they’d come after dark.”
“I suspect they will,” Beau said, opening his door, “which is all the more reason we must still attempt to ascertain the lay of the land.”
Jeff got out on his side.”How do you want to play this?”
“We should wander among the gravestones as if we are conducting research,” Beau said. “If any of my friends are visible in the daylight, they will find a way to contact me. Due to their experiences interacting with the world of the living, I believe they would know to secret themselves in some way.”
Once inside the grounds, the two men strolled slowly through the plots, occasionally pausing to gaze down at a monument. The passersby had no idea Beau was introducing Jeff to his spectral friends through their tombstones.
As they walked, Jeff said, “This must all be one wild ride for you, Beau.”
The colonel smiled. “I have never been known to select tame horses,” he said. “Sampson, my mount on the day of my demise, was a high stepper.’”
“What happened to him after you died?” Jeff asked.
“I am most gratified to report that Chase’s grandfather, James McGregor, took Sampson from the battlefield,” Beau said. “I only learned of this recently, but James told me Sampson died peacefully of old age in a warm barn.”
Beau’s voice broke on those last words, and he looked away to hide the tears that filled his eyes.
Jeff let the colonel collect himself, and then asked casually, “Done any riding since you’ve been . . . back?”
“I have not had the pleasure,” Beau said.
“If you’d like to get back in the saddle,” Jeff said, “a friend of mine from high school runs a horse farm between here and Cotterville. We could take a drive out there soon as things calm down. That is, if you’re interested.”
“Most interested,” Beau said, “and most grateful for your kindness.”
During their conversation, the men worked their way to the far end of the cemetery near the woods. Beau paused in front of a tall monument, appearing to look up at the inscription when in fact, he was scanning the treeline for movement.
“There,” he said, “by that big hickory fifty yards in a straight line from my nose. Do you see him?”
Jeff’s eyes tracked the course Beau described. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Is that a dog?”
“It is,” Beau said. “His name is Duke. I imagine the rest of the spirits are hiding out there under deep cover.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Jeff said, “You go in and talk to them. I’ll keep a look out here, and if any of these people start getting too close, I’ll distract them best I can. Send me a text message when you’re ready to come out and I’ll let you know if the coast is clear.”
Beau moved swiftly through the underbrush until he was sure he could no longer be seen from the graveyard. “Duke!” he called. “Here, boy!”
The ghostly coonhound obediently trotted out of the woods and jumped up to greet Beau, resting his forepaws on the colonel’s chest and licking his face enthusiastically.
“You’ve been waiting a long time to do that, haven’t you boy?” Beau said, chuckling. “I’m glad to see you, too. Now, get down.”
Duke obediently sat in front of Beau, his tail lashing back in forth in the leaves.
“Where are the others, boy?” Beau asked. “Can you take me to them?”
The dog instantly jumped up and plunged deeper into the woods, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure Beau was following. After 200 yards or so, Duke drew up outside a small culvert with thick brush choking the entrance.
“Colonel Longworth?” a woman’s voice called out. “Is that you?”
Straining to see through the brush, Beau spotted Susie Miller. “Yes,” Beau said. “Stay there, I’ll come to you.”
With some effort, he pushed the limbs aside and stepped into the culvert, finding both baseball teams in hiding and clearly visible in the daylight. All the spirits started talking at once, but Beau held up his hand. “Can one of you please supply me with the narrative?” he said. “I cannot understand your meaning when you all speak at once.”
Hiram Folger stepped forward. “Afternoon, Beauregard,” he said. “Reckon us getting caught like that at the ballfield stirred up a peck of trouble, didn’t it?”
“I fear it did, Hiram,” Beau said. “The young men who saw you there recorded a brief portion of your game with a motion picture camera. It has now been seen
by far more people than you might be able to conceive. Can you tell me what happened?”
Hiram explained that the cemetery ghosts felt a little left out of the festival even though they would be supporting the event throughout the week with their appearances.
“We didn’t think it would hurt to come to the opening night so long as we stayed invisible,” Hiram said. “But then that group of people showed up, and all the electrical stuff started going haywire. We all felt the energy move through us, and some of us blipped into sight for a second or two. That seemed like a pretty good cue to skedaddle. On our way out of town, we saw the baseball diamond. It was just too big a temptation to play on a real field. Couple of us came back and got our gear. We waited until almost midnight thinking nobody would be awake. We didn’t count on those two fellers catching us.”
“Did you realize how visible you had become?” Beau asked.
“We knew we were all kind of extra juiced up,” Hiram admitted, “but we figured it was just because we were having fun and enjoying the game. Soon as we saw the fellers with the cameras, Duke chased’em off and we high-tailed it on back out here. When the sun started coming up and we weren’t fading, we reckoned we ought to get out of sight.”
“Most prudent of you,” Beau said. “The cemetery is filled with curiosity seekers as we speak. You must stay here as long as you cannot control your level of visibility.”
“If it helps any,” Hiram said, “we think it’s starting to wear off a little bit. We’re not as solid as we were this morning, especially the younger ones.”
“That is exceptionally good news,” Beau said. “Do not return to the cemetery until you are quite restored to normal, and do not make any of your scheduled appearances unless you receive confirmation from me.”
“What about the tour tonight?” Hiram asked.
“That,” Beau said, “is my concern as it is to be on the very battlefield where I lost my life. I will come up with something sufficiently intriguing to satisfy the people in attendance, but not as damning as what happening at the ballfield.”
“We’re awful sorry, Beauregard,” Hiram said. “We didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
Around him, the other ghosts mumbled their apologies as well.
“It is alright, dear friends,” Beau said. “You could not have anticipated what occurred on the square. We will set this to rights, but we must be more cautious as we move forward. I cannot stress this enough. No one is to attempt a manifestation without explicit instructions from me. Do you all understand?”
Everyone in the group promised. As Beau started to leave, Duke fell in beside him. “No, boy,” Beau said, patting the dog on the head. “You have to stay here.”
Duke looked up at him and whined.
“None of that,” Beau said. “Soldier on, old boy. We will have a fine game of catch as soon as this is all sorted out. I’ll even give you a special treat.”
Duke cocked his head to one side when he heard the word “treat.”
Beau reached into his shirt and showed the dog the Amulet of the Phoenix.
“If you’re a good boy,” he said, “I’ll let you wear this on your collar long enough to have a dish of ice cream from an establishment called the Dairy Queen.”
He wasn’t sure if Duke understood the words “ice cream” or “Dairy Queen,” but the dog instantly lay down in the leaves and didn’t try to follow as Beau walked away.
At the end of the woods, Beau took out his phone and sent Jeff a text. “All clear?”
“Yep,” Jeff texted back, “come ahead.”
The two men reunited at the base of the white marble obelisk marking Beau’s grave.
“This is some tombstone you’ve got here,” Jeff said, craning his neck back to examine the top of the column.
“My wife’s doing,” Beau said. “I’m afraid she possessed a rather inflated opinion of me.”
“Lots worse fates a man can face in life than having a wife who thinks well of him,” Jeff observed.
“Indeed,” Beau said. “Were things quiet here in my absence?”
“Oh,” Jeff said, “I don’t know about that. I spoke with a group out of Charlotte. They heard about what happened last night and packed up all their gear and drove up here today. They’re doing a full-scale investigation here in the graveyard tonight. All kinds of infrared cameras, some gizmo called a ‘spirit box,’ and a bunch of K2 meters, whatever the hell that is.”
“Your daughter is not going to be amused by this information,” Beau said, as they both got back in the truck.
“You know, Beau,” Jeff said as he turned the key in the ignition, “Jinx told me you’ve got kind of a talent for understatement. She’s not wrong about that.”
23
Dad knows me pretty well. While I wasn’t sure any of those spook-detecting gizmos the people in the cemetery told him about actually worked, the chance that they might didn’t bode well for our containment efforts.
I was, however, relieved to learn that the cemetery ghosts believed they were slowly fading back to normal. For his part, the Honorable Howard McAlpin stoutly denied that any such thing was happening to him. In life, I doubt the mayor ever had a self-aware moment, but his craving for power certainly transcended death.
Admitting to a waning of his newfound energy was not on the late mayor’s current agenda. Sitting on the sofa complaining that he had “important work to do” and railing against “being denied free access to his sphere of influence,” however, were major line items.
Putting all of his vehement denials aside, I thought Howie was getting more transparent by the hour. Beau agreed, but to test his perception, he briefly took off his amulet and did a self-color check. In spectral form, Beau’s deep maroon vest now registred pink pale. Progress.
With Greer on-site to deal with anything magically unknown that might crop up, and the moms and my dad watching the store, Tori and I felt safe enough to go in search of the wrecked car.
Murph Lawson’s junkyard lay hidden from view down a dusty dirt road just outside of town. When we pulled up in front of the shack that did double duty as the office and Murph’s home, the proprietor himself was sitting on the front porch in a well-worn recliner held together mostly with duct tape.
That image was picturesque enough, but he also had a double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun balanced over his lap.
“Don’t care what you ladies are sellin’,” he called out, “I don’t want none. And me and the Lord are on good speaking terms, so if you’re here to witness, don’t.”
“We’re not selling or preaching, Murph,” I yelled back. “I’m Kelly Hamilton’s daughter, Jinx.”
Murph stood stiffly on arthritic knees and propped his shotgun against the porch railing. Hiking up his pants, he limped down and peered into my face. “Yep,” he said, “you look like her. You here to see the wreck?”
I wanted to ask him just how often my mother had been out there, but then decided just as quickly that I really didn’t want to know.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Murph scrutinized Tori. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“My best friend,” I replied.
“That hair color ain’t natural,” he declared.
Since Tori’s spiked blond locks currently featured orange and black highlights in honor of Halloween, Murph’s assessment was both unnecessary and incredibly obvious.
“No, sir,” Tori grinned, “it’s not. Want me to do your hair the same way?”
At that, Murph cackled and slid his greasy John Deere tractor cap up and back revealing a perfectly bald scalp.
“Reckon you’d have to use spray paint, missy,” he said. “Car’s all the way in the back corner. Veer right when you walk through the gate there and follow the trail. Be careful not to get yourselves hurt. Ain’t got no insurance and I don’t aim to be getting stuck with any medical bills.”
We thanked him and set out in search of the wreck. Mom told us that morning that we’d be looking for a red
1975 Toyota Corolla. Without the color, we’d never have figured out the model of the mangled hunk of metal overgrown with weeds wedged against the back fence.
“Is that it?” Tori asked in a stunned tone of voice.
“It must be,” I said. “Mom said it went over the shoulder and down into a deep ravine.”
“That thing looks like a giant crushed it up and used it for a spitball,” Tori said. “No wonder the Ionescus are bitter. So, how do you want to do this?”
“Same as usual,” I said. “I touch the car and let my psychometry kick in. You pull me out if I get in trouble.”
Tori and I have experienced some mild degree of telepathy on a daily basis after using blood magic against Brenna Sinclair, but when I’m using my psychometry to read an object, the ability is much stronger. I rely on being able to call out to Tori to help me break the connection with an object during these encounters. She’s my safety valve.
We both waded through the weeds surroundings the car. I couldn’t reach what was left of the driver’s window, so I decided to lay my hand on the back fender, now located just under the door handle. I was pretty sure the car had been a coupe, but it was hard to tell now.
As I stepped forward, I tripped on something and Tori reached to steady me. Our hands hit the car at the same moment and reality melted around us. One minute we had been standing in the junkyard and the next we were sitting in the backseat of the Corolla listening to a pelting rain hitting the windows.
The driver of the car did a very Eighties hair toss and said, “Kelly and Gemma will never make the cheerleading squad, Jo Anne. Quit worrying. They’re nobodies.”
Tori looked at me with horror. “Jinksy, what the hell?”
“Sorry,” I said. “When you touched my hand, I guess my psychometry pulled you into the vision as well.”
“You guess?”
“Lighten up,” I groused, “it’s a work in progress.”
“Those two can’t hear us, right?” Tori asked, leaning forward to get a better look at Seraphina behind the wheel. “Dear Lord,” she added, “get a load of that baby blue eye shadow.”
Witch on Second: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 5 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels) Page 18