Ghost Talker

by Robin D. Owens

  “Texas Jack’ll want to be with you every step of the way.”

  “But how are we going to get him from here to Lowell, Massachusetts?”

  “Fly?” Zach smiled.

  Grimacing, Clare bent down to tie the thick laces of her hiking boots. “You know his main problem is being unable to go East.” When she rose, she caught Zach staring at her butt. He smiled.

  “I think he’ll follow his bone. But let’s ask an expert.” He raised his voice. “Enzo?”

  Enzo had been sleeping on the big plush red dog bed in the corner opposite Zach’s dresser. Clare didn’t know whether Zach had seen him or not, since the Lab had sunk into the bed and she’d only been able to sense him and see the top ridges of his ears.

  He hopped up and barked. I’m here, Zach! Trotting over, he licked Clare’s hand and she scrubbed at his head, her fingers going numb. Then he went to Zach and rubbed against his legs. Zach’s hand passed through Enzo’s back. “So, dog spirit guide, you think ghost Texas Jack can attach to his bone and be taken to his wife’s grave?”

  Enzo sat and wagged his tail, happy head angled up to Zach—who didn’t seem to see the Lab.

  Clare stepped closer and put her hand on Zach’s shoulder.

  I see you, Zach, do you see me?

  “Now I do. You think we can bring a spirit with us if we have his bone?”

  Yes! Then Enzo paused. Jack could go home himself if he tried really hard, but once he was there he would need help getting out of the gray and to his love and onward. Enzo looked at Clare.

  “I understand,” she said.

  He would need a person like Clare, who could see him and work hard to help him.

  “Right,” Zach said. “Guess I’d better pack a spade, and you should take the bone knife.”

  Clare gasped. “I’m not ending Texas Jack with the bone knife.” But the cemetery would house other ghosts of her time period. She should be cautious.

  “Better take the knife anyway,” Zach said. “And we need to get crackin’.” He glanced out the window at the darkness. “Maybe we should have left earlier, done the deed in the middle of the night.”

  Clare raised her voice as she went into the walk-in closet safe and got the long, cream colored embroidered bag that held the knife in its metal sheath. “We were tired, and besides, someone from the Denver Police Department or the Jefferson County Sheriff’s office might have noticed if we left.”

  “I don’t think cops are keeping an eye on us, Clare.”

  “No?” She strode back in and tucked the knife into an outside pocket of her leather purse.

  Zach crossed to the window, shook his head, and snorted. No doubt he thought her paranoid, so Clare laid out her reasoning. “Officer Schultz did call us with updates. And despite the fact she had no or little paranormal ability, she did show a police officer’s standard curiosity. I’m sure if you got a suspicious hunch about someone, you followed it, perhaps followed them.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. “I’ll take the fifth on that.”

  Clare nodded, then raised her brows. “By the way, did she get what she wanted? Is Rickman going to hire her?”

  “Desiree Rickman is going to check her out—ah, interview her. Desiree will make a recommendation and Rickman will decide.”

  “Oh.”

  Clare’s alarm chimed. “Time for coffee—it should be done—and to leave.”

  Lifting his head, Zach sniffed the scent of coffee that had drifted up from the kitchen. “Smells great.”

  “I have food packed, but if we want to stop for breakfast on the way, after Lookout Mountain, we can.”

  Road tripppp! Jumping to his paws, Enzo barked. And we are a team! I can get the bone from Texas Jack’s grave!

  That stopped Clare and Zach in their tracks. She’d linked elbows with him and they’d been on their way down the wide stairs. “You said that before.”

  It is true! I couldn’t do it last month because we were so new to each other. But we are a better team now! His tongue lolled. But I will need your energy to do it! I can’t move physical objects without you.

  “All right.” She smiled and nudged Zach to follow the dog bounding downstairs. “Though if that is the case, he hasn’t been courteous enough to ask before.”

  And Enzo whirled around and loped back up to them. Little things. I can use your energy and it is so small you don’t notice. Once again he licked her fingers, turned around, and shot downstairs.

  Clare’s mouth had gone dry. “So I guess that means I’ll definitely feel the drain when I lend my energy to Enzo.”

  “Hey,” Zach said. “Didn’t you hear? We’re a team. Maybe I can loan you some energy—or Enzo—too.”

  With her free hand, Clare rubbed her temple. “I wonder how long it takes to learn all the ins and outs of this business.”

  Zach shrugged. “Hard to tell.”

  “But it’s good to know, that in this instance, Enzo can do the dirty work and hopefully we won’t get caught desecrating a grave.”

  “Right.”

  She sighed as they entered the kitchen, then pulled out the cold hamper she’d put together and left in the refrigerator. At least she’d gotten over the ick factor about handling human bones. “And we can’t take a human bone on a commercial flight. Not Jack’s and not my knife. I’ve got the info about chartering a plane to and from the nearest airport to Lowell in my office. I can make the final arrangements this afternoon when we get back.” She shook her head. “Flying by private plane just because of a bone.”

  “Human bones,” Zach pointed out.

  “This is an expensive business,” she muttered.

  * * *

  They left before even a false dawn edged the horizon, Zach driving his truck, and reached the parking lot of Lookout Mountain. Mrs. Flinton and Mr. Welliam awaited them and they all walked up to the Codys’ grave site.

  Chapter 31

  Atop Lookout Mountain they watched in serene quiet as dawn lit the plains below. Gradually it filtered through the pines surrounding the graves and touched some of the quartz, trapping light in the rocks.

  No poltergeist marred the peaceful morning, and Clare thought all of them sighed in unison.

  She and Zach refused breakfast with the older couple and hit the road to Leadville, Evergreen Cemetery, and Texas Jack.

  Zach drove. Most of the time they’d be on wide and modern Highway 70, but occasional old miner or prospector ghosts still drifted along in the canyons. Always better to be a passenger, then. Like in Denver when, if she wasn’t with Zach, she had to use a car service, which she hated since she wasn’t in control. Though she did get more work done that way.

  For the first hour or so Enzo sat in the backseat, his head thrust out of the side of the vehicle. Then the Lab decided he’d go find Texas Jack on his own.

  She and Zach didn’t talk, except to comment on the glorious fall color above nine thousand feet. Aspens in green, deep gold, orange, and even red swept the hillsides against the dark green of pines and spruce. The color wouldn’t last long, and their timing to see it this year was perfect. Fabulous views that lifted the soul.

  Today she felt better about being excluded from the experience of sending Darin Clavell on last night. The whole situation had sounded like an uber-male-bonding event.

  For a couple of minutes she’d wistfully yearned for some sort of female-bonding time. All of her old girlfriends at the accounting firm would think she’d gone insane. And the only new women she’d spent time with were Mrs. Flinton and Desiree Rickman. She and Desiree were well on the way to being friends. Actually, Clare thought that Desiree already considered them friends.

  And Clare liked three women she’d just met in her beginning yoga class. With time, those could evolve into friendships, too.

  If Clare dropped a word in Desiree Rickman’s
ear, she would take the idea of women-time and run with it. Heaven knows where they’d end up and what they’d be doing, but the idea made Clare smile. She reached for her phone and sent a text to Desiree about scheduling a ladies’ night out.

  “What are you doing?” Zach asked, his gaze on the road. They’d reach Leadville in the next few minutes.

  “You had an all-male gathering last night . . .” She stopped when she saw his lips curve upward.

  “Campfire tales with Texas Jack Omohundro. Yeah, excellent.”

  “Well, I think some time with women would be good for me about now.”

  His eyes flickered toward her, then back. “Oh yeah? With whom?”

  “I texted Desiree.”

  Zach gave a shudder and she didn’t know whether he’d faked it or not. “Better you than me.”

  “And Mrs. Flinton.”

  “The three of you?” He coughed and she thought he covered a laugh. “What about Janice?”

  “No.” Clare paused, then said, “I don’t think she’s on the same wavelength as the rest of us.”

  Zach laughed until they turned onto Harrison Avenue, the main street of Leadville.

  Soon, in just a few blocks, they’d be at Evergreen Cemetery and meeting with Texas Jack at his grave. Her heart picked up beat. Naturally, she’d scrutinized and downloaded and studied the files on the cemetery from the Lake County Public Library website. Even if the cemetery lacked signage, Clare believed she could find Texas Jack’s plot. As they angled between the stone cemetery pillars, a brown metal historical marker detailing Texas Jack’s life thrust up. Zach passed it.

  “Wait—” Clare protested.

  “Clare,” Zach said patiently. “You’ve read that sign online before, right? Even if you hadn’t, you know more about Texas Jack than whatever is engraved on that plaque.”

  “You’re impatient to see Texas Jack again.”

  “Damn right. And I’m nervous about you moving him on, if he plans on going today.”

  “Which you don’t think will happen.”

  “Which I don’t think will happen,” he agreed. Zach didn’t look nervous. His hands showed rock steady on the wheel. “The Protestant section, right?” he asked.

  It had fretted Clare that she’d have gone to the Catholic section first, or the theatrical block, before she’d found detailed maps.

  “Here’s a sign.” A white arrow with Texas Jack’s name. Zach continued up to the first road. “And another.” He turned down onto the two-dirt-tire-tracks-with-grass-between road.

  Clare put her hand on his arm. “Wait,” she said quietly.

  Zach stopped his truck, looked at her. “What?”

  “You’re nervous?”

  “Yeah. Of course I am.” He rolled his shoulders. “Helping spirits cross over takes a toll on you, Clare. I hate to see that. Stand by, able to do nothing as winter invades you.” His lips pressed together. “You get so cold. Freezing skin, slow breath, sometimes I can see puffs of air from your lips, and that’s pretty much the only thing that tells me you still live.” He turned to look straight ahead and the dappled shade from the fluttering golden aspen leaves marked his face. “You’ve said the ice spreads through you and slows your heart as well as your breathing. I’m afraid one day your heart will stop while you’re . . . fulfilling the terms of your gift and . . . executing your vocation.”

  She undid her seat belt so she could angle herself toward him. “I didn’t ask for this ‘gift,’ but I’ve accepted it and found a certain amount of satisfaction and pride in it.”

  “No joy yet,” Zach said.

  She blinked. “What?”

  His jaw flexed and he still didn’t look at her. “I think a person should find more than satisfaction in their vocation and maybe that could help you with the effects of the transitions—” His bronzed cheeks took on a slant of color over the bones.

  “Do you?” Her throat had tightened and she cleared it. “Do you find joy in being a private investigator?”

  “I did last night. Loved working and closing this whole Darin Clavell case.”

  “Something you, as a law enforcement officer, would not have worked on.”

  “Nope, Clavell’s death was accidental. Open-and-shut case not in my jurisdiction.”

  “Your new career is similar to your old one.” She let out a heavy breath. “And we’ve had this conversation before.”

  “Right and right again,” Zach said. Now he looked at her and took her hand. One side of his mouth quirked upward. “You’re still balancing account sheets. Just on a larger scale, is all. With lives and deaths instead of numbers.”

  That huge notion swept a shiver through her. “I’m no— St. Peter. Midas? Was Midas one of the Greek underworld-after-death judges?”

  “Guy who loved gold? Don’t know, but it doesn’t sound right.” Zach bent and brushed a kiss on her lips, even as her free hand reached for her phone to check the fact. He shifted his grip to capture those fingers instead. “Don’t. Not now. You have a job to do.”

  Moving back to sit straight, then leaning back against the seat, Clare sighed. “Yes, I do. And though I might not find joy in it, I do know I find gratification.” She smiled at him. “Enough that I resented you and Texas Jack doing what I considered to be my work for me last night.”

  “That’s good to hear. I wish you could have been there.”

  “Sounded interesting.” She took a breath and addressed his fears. “About the heart-stopping thing.” Her voice emerged a tinge high and she kept her eyes focused ahead. “I told you once that Enzo and the Other offered to let me know when my own death came near, and I accepted.”

  Zach scowled. “Didn’t the Other warn you during our last case?”

  “Before we started, yes.”

  With a grunt, Zach started up his truck.

  “Have you seen any crows signifying death lately?” she pressed.

  “Not today.”

  Her gaze, which had been scanning the gravestones on the right as the truck slowly rolled by, flew to Zach. “When?” she demanded.

  “Last week. And I saw ten last night before Poche tried to force us off the road.”

  She relaxed, and went back to looking out her window. “All right, then. And, Zach, what about your paranormal gift? Have you found the joy in it yet?”

  He exhaled noisily from his mouth. “No. But . . .”

  “But?”

  “With my former gift, as a boy, I enjoyed it. So did Jim. That’s why I know there’s a difference between accepting and something more.”

  “Oh. Stop! There it is!”

  Zach jammed on the brakes. “What, right here?”

  “Just back there.”

  “No sign.”

  “No.” And they’d have missed it if she hadn’t been watching.

  Zach backed up and parked. Clare hopped out of the truck, and the door nearly brushed the fence of the iron enclosure around Texas Jack’s grave. Zach joined her and they stared at the stone Buffalo Bill had erected. “So close to the road.”

  “I don’t recall seeing an iron fence in any of the pictures.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “It looks modern.” He scanned the graveyard. “More modern than many of the other enclosures.”

  “Yes.”

  And quite different than the rods and tall spikes of Buffalo Bill’s fence. The fence stood lower than Zach’s waist and had small spikes, but half-circles curved around the top of them, so they appeared decorative. Texas Jack’s headstone faced them and the road, with his grave outlined in smooth stones behind it. That is, the gray granite stone faced outward. Another block of white marble facing upward showed writing designating Jack as a Confederate soldier. At the foot of the grave stood a small rectangle marker of gray marble veined with black and the simple initials: J. B. O.
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br />   Zach reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. “Smells great out here.”

  “Yes.” The scent of pine pervaded the air, along with the subtle fragrance of aspens. Two tall pines grew beyond the enclosure. The cemetery itself was heavily wooded . . . for Colorado.

  “Friendly,” Zach said, scanning the area. Clare followed his gaze to the trees, then scanned the ground—dirt and pine needles, flat yellow evidence of tall grasses and low native plants, more brown than green, all disappearing quickly since summer had left the mountains. Now and then she spied a clump of columbine leaves—the purple variety was the Colorado state flower—that would have had several blossoms in the summer. “Sort of intimate.”

  “Not like the monument to William F. Cody. Now that I’m here, that seems much more impersonal,” Clare observed.

  “A monument for folks to appreciate; yeah, you got that right. And a long view of hundreds of miles over plains that makes the human body seem insignificant even though it might raise the human spirit,” Zach said.

  Clare leaned against Zach, and he let her. “This is more emotionally accessible, more human.”

  Clearing his throat, Zach gestured to the enclosure. “It’s a large parcel plot.”

  She met his eyes. “You think that Giuseppina bought enough land for her internment, too?”

  Zach shook his head. “Don’t know.”

  He stepped up and went through the gate. Clare followed and swung the iron shut behind her. Whoever had put the enclosure up had set the fence so that Texas Jack’s grave lay to the right of the gate and the center.

  They trodded on thick pine needles dropped by the towering trees above them. When stepped on, those released fragrance, too.

  “The enclosure is big enough to hold ten or fifteen people.”

  “Having a gathering here could have been a consideration, I suppose,” Clare said. “Or Giuseppina just bought a standard plot and this was the size.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Zach said.