The Cathville Haunting (Jack Raven Ghost Mystery Book 2)

by Robin G. Austin

  “I’m sure they will tomorrow after Levi gives them his statement.”

  “Seems they should be interested in talking to him tonight, even confiscating the alcohol he apparently used to try to poison Levi. Have you had a chance to check if the man had an insurance policy on his wife?”

  I watch Emma’s jaw lock as she glares over my head like she’s looking for someone to punch. “It’s more complicated than that. I assume you’re coming to the office with Levi tomorrow. We can talk then. You both need to get some rest now.”

  I start to ask if Lieutenant Holt is the one complicating things, but she’s already walking down the hall, so I yell loud enough for the dead to hear.

  “Uncomplicate it and tell me if Roland Price has an insurance policy on his murdered wife.”

  Emma stops with her back to me. “Two hundred thousand dollars worth.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  §

  Levi falls asleep on the way back to the tin palace, and just as well that he can’t hear what I have to say. I don’t want to hear it either, but it’s rattling around in my brain like a whipsnake. One half is screaming he should have known better. The other half is raging that Roland Price tried to kill my pretend PI fiancé.

  Levi’s never been much of a drinker. A beer or two with the guys or some samplers from the mini-bar will more than do it for him. He’s a twenty six year old ex-con who got sucker punched with fortified Southern ice tea– served by a likely murderer. I now have someone I dislike more than Holt.

  When we pull onto the property, I park extra close to the trailer. No poppet dolls, sacrificed rats, chicken bones, or witch bullet offerings are at the door. I double check the handle before unlocking it. Levi climbs into his sleeping bag while pleading for forgiveness.

  “I’m not mad at you. Surprised and angry that some redneck pulled one over on you but not mad. Did he tell you anything worth nearly dying for?”

  “If he did, I can’t recall. All I remember is offering my condolences and accepting the ice tea. The man seemed to be grieving. He looked and smelled like he’d been grieving since Kylee was killed. I also remember he said they were split up, and he blamed himself for not being there when that good for nothing Dexter Joubert shot her in the back. After I started drinking the ice tea, things got blurry.”

  “Guess the man will be testifying for the prosecution.”

  “Where you going?” he asks, as I check my backpack and put on another layer of clothes.

  “I’ve got to work tonight. We have to get out of this town before we both end up dead. Sleep it off and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “What did Emma say when you asked her about the life insurance?”

  “How’d you know I asked her?”

  “Everyone in the hospital heard you. I just didn’t hear her answer.”

  “Two hundred thousand. Enough to kill Kylee and you too.”

  “Good thing one of us lived to tell about it and bring him to justice. Course, he could have finished me off. Instead he drives me out on the highway? Wonder why he put the jeep in a ditch. Wonder why he put the seat belt on me. That’s weird. Wonder what else he did to me. That’s scary. I want you to check me from head to toe in the morning.”

  “Dream on and don’t wonder so much. Go to sleep. Your brain needs to replace a bunch of neurons.” I brush his hair off his forehead and he grabs my hand.

  “Be careful out there and don’t drink any ice tea.”

  With my pack on my back and the lantern in one hand and my sleeping bag in the other, I head to the police tape, which has all but blown away. I’m making another attempt to contact Kylee then I’m determined to find the ecto-mist tonight.

  I flip through the photos on my phone again. When I find the one with the snake, I put my sleeping bag down near the spot where Kylee stood and call out to her. “Kylee Price? Come on, now. You’ve communicated before, I know you can do it again. No reason to be shy.”

  I tell her about the life insurance policy and what Roland did to Levi. The frogs and the owls and bats are putting on a show. Mojo is rustling through the leaves for snakes or worse.

  “If you want him to pay, you better give me a sign or something useful to help us out here. Otherwise, we could be joining you on the other side and that won’t do you a bit of good.”

  I’ve got my eyes closed, waiting, watching, praying for a vision of the woman’s murderer. A very human bird call jerks me back to the living. Mojo’s lying beside me, staring towards the hill.

  “Silas, you’re getting on my nerves. First off you’re trespassing, and I know how much you don’t appreciate people doing that to you. If you’ve got something to say, be a man and step out and say it.”

  The wolfdog circles around the trees and lies down. I can see his amber eyes, still staring at the hill.

  “Do you know who killed the woman, or are you the one who killed her? Peeping toms are creepy. If you won’t talk to me, go drink an ice tea and find something to do with yourself or to yourself, and leave me to my work.”

  Another few minutes and Mojo is back in the brush digging for rodents. I gather my things and go to the area where the construction crew saw the ecto-mist. It’s colder than a demon’s heart even in my sleeping bag. There’s fog in every direction, but none of it with eerie eyes watching me. I take a few photos because it really is a beautiful sight, and I’m bored and tired.

  When I start to fall asleep, I get up and toss rock salt around the area and light another smudge stick. If anything, they are keeping the critters away. Even moving around doesn’t stop my shivering, so I get back in my sleeping bag and try to make contact with the echo mystic.

  Problem is, it’s hard to contact a spirit when you still question what earthly body it once occupied. For all I know, I’ve been suckered into believing the folktales and it’s not Morowa at all. It could be a civil war soldier who thought the war wasn’t worth his life or a worker who died in Pritchard’s coal mine.

  I’m still not sensing a presence, not even little fluctuations in temperature. It’s one o’clock and I’m having a hard time not falling asleep. I know without supernatural intervention again, I’ll freeze to death if I don’t stay awake.

  I go back to the trailer and get the jeep, but not before checking on Levi whose snoring can be heard through the door. I’d be better off sleeping in the jeep tonight. The man all but thinks he owns my vehicle and my tin palace.

  The place where the surveyor saw the mist is on the other end of the property. I persuade Mojo to leave the rodent he caught behind, and we take the road to the sign on the far end of the property that welcomes us to the future home of the Cathville Supermall. It’s been shot up so many times, I’m just guessing that’s what it says.

  Once I’m parked between trees facing the direction of the hill where Silas likes to watch me, I pull out my laptop. I google Silas Turley for a second time while not expecting to find anything, and I don’t. There aren’t any Cathville or Arkansas Turleys anywhere, which seems impossible. Other than being told to leave the man alone, I can’t find him or anything about him.

  After blasting the heat for fifteen minutes, I turn off the engine and get out of the jeep with my flashlight leading the way. I’m sweeping the light in a wide arc as I walk, while checking behind me now and again for hands hoping to grab my hair. I shine the light at the hill to see if those cold black eyes are watching me.

  Then I walk to the place where Dexter said his car was nearly swallowed up. I crawl in my sleeping bag with my back pressed to a tree, get comfortable, and say a prayer.

  “If there’s a spirit here, know that I’m here to help you. Please make your presence known and speak your truth that was left unsaid when you resided on this earth.”

  I wait and listen to the usual sounds before speaking. “I’m here to help you crossover from this place so you can be with your loved ones and so your soul can continue its journey. These woods are no longer your home. Show yourself to me so I
can help you. Know that you are loved—

  Take off the cuss.

  My eyes spring open and I fight my sleeping bag to stand up. It wasn’t a voice I heard so much as an icy wind that rolled from one side of me all the way to Silas’ hill. Mojo’s doing his taxidermy, ghost tracker pose while staring at nothing I can see.

  The wind blows drumming and singing followed by mantic laughter of someone who sounds seductively female.

  “Show yourself, Morowa. Or is it Silas who wants my attention? Or are you one and the same?

  “And what kind of curse are you talking about?”

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  §

  It’s almost three o’clock when I slip back into the trailer to go to sleep. Take off what curse? Or the cuss as the hillfolk call it. I kept asking but never got an answer.

  Curses aren’t in my bag of tricks. Plus, removing one requires you know what the curse is about. If the spirit is Morowa and she’s counting on me to set her spirit free, she may be doomed to haunt these woods for all eternity.

  That sounds harsh, but it’s true because I don’t even know where to start. Does she mean take off a curse that was put on her or take off the one that she supposedly put on this land? Either way, I was right a few days ago: I’m in over my ghost eradicating head.

  Earlier, I spent more time online reading about the Ozark hillfolk. I learned that a curse caused by dropping a comb can be removed by counting back from ten to one. The remedy for a curse caused by spilling salt is to throw water on it. These aren’t tips I’ll ever use. The point is, you’ve got to know the cuss before you can banish it.

  Unfortunately, the drumming and singing leads me to believe this is a voodoo curse, and I’m not even going to try to tackle that. Not without help from someone who knows this stuff and off hand, no one comes to mind– except maybe Silas Turley.

  No matter what anyone says, it’s only natural to assume the man doesn’t want a bunch of mall shoppers invading his woods. If he can make eerie owl hoots, fake bird calls, pull my hair, and leave me comatose but not frozen to death in the woods, he can turn fog into a face. And… send me running in circles searching for a curse and how to remove the thing. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d think the ringing in my ears is Silas laughing at me.

  I fall into a fitful sleep and dream of snakes and rodents and being chased by owls. I think I can hear Levi banging around the trailer and talking to Mojo, but I can’t wake up. When I finally fall into a deep sleep, I feel Levi shaking me out of it.

  “It’s almost ten o’clock. I need to get going soon. Are you still planning on coming with me to Emma’s office?”

  I mumble something that sounds like yes, and get a cup of coffee in my face.

  “Okay, get up and get ready. We can go get breakfast after I give my statement. I could eat a horse. Did you find the ecto-mist last night?”

  “Worse,” I say. I start telling him about my night and my theory about Silas being Morowa, which doesn’t sound as convincing as it did a few hours ago. He’s acting distracted so I get ready to go.

  “We need to get out of this town,” he says, with a wicked grin that causes my eyes to bug. After a couple of blinks, he looks normal enough, and I say a prayer for both of us.

  “Can you drive?” I ask, as we step out of the trailer. “I’m not feeling all that clear headed yet.” I yell for Mojo who’s taking care of business and hunting rodents.

  Levi’s in the driver seat, warming the engine and laughing.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I yell over the engine.

  He gives me that freaky smile again and tells me nothing’s wrong. “Come on. We’re going to be late,” he says, sounding like his usual self. I get the feeling the ice tea had more than liquor in it.

  “I’m not leaving without Mojo.” I go back to calling him and watching Levi out of the corner of my eye. “How long ago did you let him out?”

  “Not long. Come on. He’s off chasing squirrels. Maybe he’ll bring one home for dinner.”

  Ten minutes later, I tell Levi to go on without me. The wolfdog doesn’t take off and he always comes when I call him. I’m feeling shaky and nearing panic mode. Mojo wears a collar, but that doesn’t mean hunters, rednecks, or Silas care that he’s someone’s beloved pet. I grab my pack and a paring knife from the trailer, lock the door, and take off to search for him.

  After checking the road and his favorite rodent haunt, I go to the top of the hill and call out a few times. I slither between the trees, making my way to what I hope is Silas’ property.

  The chances of someone sneaking up on the wolfdog are zero to none. That’s about a hundred times more likely than someone coaxing him away. He can’t be lured with a treat and doesn’t appreciate a pat on the head. He’s got too much wild DNA to become someone’s prey. And honestly, the dog’s not all that friendly.

  I’m watching for paw prints and not seeing any, and I’m getting more panicked with every step. I’m losing my common sense, so I sit down to see if I can use my sixth sense. Animals, especially those with wild DNA, use their own psychic sense to communicate.

  I close my eyes and call Mojo in my mind. The urge to jump up and run until I find where Silas lives is overwhelming. Tears well up in my eyes as I try not to see Mojo’s dead furry body that my logical mind keeps sending me.

  After what seems like an hour but is no more than fifteen minutes, I’m calmer and able to go deeper. Still, my heart is beating too fast. I get a vision of that weird smile on Levi’s face and will it to go away. The man is still running on fumes, unless he’s been cursed, or I have and he was acting perfectly normal. I don’t even want to think of those possibilities.

  “Relax, breathe. Mojo, where are you?”

  I hear a crunch a few feet away and jump up. “Mojo? Anybody there? Is that you, Silas? Not all the gods or voodoo hexes in the universe are going to help you if you’ve hurt my dog. Do you hear me, Silas Turley? I’m not afraid of you.”

  A few minutes pass and I hear and see nothing, so I start walking again. I’m way past where I was when I ran from these woods yesterday. This time though not even a gunshot is going to stop me– unless it kills me first. I yell some more choice words to the man and call out for the wolfdog in all directions.

  When I turn back to Dexter’s property, the hill is barely visible. I check my phone and see I’ve been walking for almost an hour. I think I’m losing my mind out here. For all I know, Mojo is back at the trailer wondering where I am.

  When I trip over a log, I sit down and focus my mind again. I’m better at contacting the dead than the living. That’s a good sign. He’s alive, of course he is. Otherwise, he’d definitely contact me. I can’t shut down my internal chatter. “Send me a vision, Mojo. Come on, anything at all.”

  My mind is blank, which is no better than the chatter. As soon as I get up, I smell burning cedar. I run into a clearing and turn around in circles until I see a stream of soft gray smoke, one that appears to be coming from a chimney.

  I’m walking fast and calling for the wolfdog when I realize I’m likely heading to Silas’ house. I’ve got a sick feeling in my stomach and can’t tell if it’s my psychic sense or logical fear. Why’s he letting me get this close and if not him, who? I don’t have much confidence in my paring knife protecting me.

  I move to another line of trees and stoop down. There’s an old wooden shack with smoke billowing above it. I’m looking in every direction for eyes watching me. I guess he expects me to knock on the door. The shack doesn’t look bigger than a couple of rooms. It leans to one side: a brisk wind storm from collapse. A rocking chair sets on the front porch, the roof is patched with tree bark, and a few chickens peck at the dirt in front of it.

  There are still no black eyes staring. It’s just me and whoever is in that shack, and only us because I don’t hear a single sound: not a bird chirping or creature slithering in the brush. Okay. Let’s get this over with.

  I slide the paring knife out of my backp
ack and leave the pack next to a tree. As soon as I stand, a wet tongue touches the tips of my fingers. Amber eyes look up at me as I fall beside the wolfdog, wrapping my arms around him. He licks my face then pulls away, moving to the shack. He turns and waits for me to follow.

  “You haven’t been cursed, have you?” I whisper.

  He sits down and stares in my direction.

  I take two steps towards him, just before I hear the click of a rifle’s hammer.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  §

  “Silas, I’m just here to collect my dog,” I say. My hands are in the air. “You need to put the rifle down.”

  “Name’s not Silas.” The voice behind me is deep and strained and so thick with a backwoods’ accent, I can hardly understand the words.

  “Okay. Still, I’m here for my dog. I didn’t mean to trespass, but I had to find him.”

  “You put your hands down. Ain’t gonna shoot you.”

  I’m not so sure of that, but I put my hands down anyway and turn around. The man is definitely not Silas. I’m not even sure he’s still with the living. My expression must say exactly that because he laughs like I’m the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

  “Name’s Isom Lodell. Folks just call me Lodell,” he says. His lizard tongue slides out of his mouth to lick cracked lips.

  “Jack Raven,” I say.

  The man looks to be a hundred years old; he’s not more than five feet tall with a bent back, snow white hair, and black leather skin with wrinkles cracked like fissures in a dried up riverbed. The rifle’s at his side, his gnarled hand holds it steady.

  “Don’t know many folks own themselves a wolf.”

  “He’s a Tamaskan, a wolf crossbreed. I hope he didn’t scare you.”

  The old man laughs again, a deep belly laugh that lights up his clouded cataract eyes. “You live long as me, you don’t get scared ‘bout nothing.”

  “I hope to live that long. I’m sorry if he troubled you.”

  “Troubled, naw. Wolf come looking for me. He know you come looking for him. We been waiting for you.”