Ghost Sickness

by Amber Foxx

  “Sit down. What’s going on? How’s Montana?”

  Jamie sucked on the soda again. Caffeine and sugar at night—a bad idea for an insomniac, but those were his go-to fixes when he was stressed. He finished the drink with massive suction through ice and crushed the paper cup, squirting the remaining ice out as the lid came loose. “She’s a fucking lunatic.”

  Someone behind him asked him to sit down and stop swearing. He squeezed between Mae’s chair and the one beside her and dropped into it. One hand clutched the crushed cup, while the one closer to her clenched around a wad of fabric, his fingers prodding and kneading the cloth. Mae placed her hand on his and whispered, “What’s the matter? Is it what she said about me?”

  Jamie shook his head and took an unsteady breath. “She got snot on my shirt.” He paused. Mae was sure this wasn’t the issue and waited for more. “Zak and Misty had her sort of under control, and he wouldn’t let me in so ... I went back to the tent to change and ...” He slid his hand away from hers, bringing his thumb to his mouth, biting his knuckle and scrunching his eyes shut. “Jeezus.”

  Mae started to take his hand down and then noticed what he was holding. Dull green synthetic fabric. A piece of his tent.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mae wanted to ask what had happened, but Jamie needed to calm down first. He huddled with his arms wrapped around himself, shivering, his breath fast and uneven. She put her arm over his shoulders and rubbed him gently. He gazed fixedly at the dancers, and after a while she felt him grow steadier, though he still shivered now and then.

  She whispered, “We need to get some warmer clothes on you, sugar.”

  “Can’t. She trashed ’em.”

  First a witch rumor, now this? Mae stood, excusing herself and Jamie to Melody. “We need to go.”

  “Jeezus, no, I need to be here.”

  “I can’t stay.” Mae walked off. She didn’t trust herself not to lose her temper and spoil the ceremonies for others.

  Jamie didn’t follow her right away. She waited by the big tipi. A passing family spoke among themselves, casting glances at her. She had no idea if their words in Apache said, is that the witch? or something else.

  Jamie finally joined her. “Why in bloody hell do we have to leave?”

  “I’m too pissed off to sit there. I need to know what Montana did to our stuff.”

  “It’s all in the van.” He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I took care of it. You don’t have to do anything.”

  “Wait—she vandalized your tent and our clothes and you cleaned it up? That was a crime. You got rid of the evidence?”

  “I’m not prosecuting her. Fuck. She hit my van, too— She’ll have to pay for it, and that’s enough.” He sighed. “Her heart’s broken, y’know? She went off the deep end.”

  Jamie wandered away. Mae caught up with him. “When most people get their hearts broken, they just cry. I can’t believe you’re taking her side after she cut up your tent and our clothes.”

  “She didn’t cut up our clothes. Dumped the food out and ground it into everything. But she didn’t fuck with my roo or the sleeping bag. Lantern’s okay, too. It’s not as bad as it could have been. Sad about my tent, though. Got this big hole in it. We’d freeze in there tonight and if it rains—” He shrugged. “Got a tent repair kit at home, but I didn’t think I’d need it.”

  “Forget repairing it. She needs to buy you a new one.”

  “No.” He recoiled, giving her a shocked and wounded look. “It’s my tent. I can save it.”

  “Fine. You love your tent. You feel sorry for Montana. But she was drunk and destructive and she shouldn’t get away with it. You know what she said about me?”

  “Yeah. That was bad. She owes you an apology for that.”

  “And she owes you more than that. I hope someone saw her at the campground.”

  “Nah. No one around except this one couple. They came out of their camper when I was packing the tent up and asked why I was leaving early. Told ’em what happened. They didn’t hear a thing. Said they’d been taking a nap, but they might have been making a little noise of their own, y’know? And it doesn’t matter. Tana’s been through enough. She doesn’t need to be punished.”

  “And it looks like she won’t be.” Mae took his hand. Jamie was too kind. She thought he was wrong, but it wasn’t the worst fault a man could have. “Did she admit she cut up your tent?”

  “Nah. Haven’t seen her since I found it. But who else would have done it?”

  They went out the gate and down the hill to the parking lot, where they moved their luggage, which gave off a smell of chocolate and apple-cinnamon muffins, to Mae’s car. Seeing the damage to the van made Mae angry with Montana again. Driving drunk. At least she would get some consequences for that. Mae took a picture of the car with its front end in the back of the van, making sure to get the license plate in the shot in case Jamie relented on this, too.

  They decided to look for a motel with a vacancy sign in Ruidoso rather than drive all the way to T or C, since Jamie still had to deal with Montana and the collision in the morning. Between Mae’s student budget and Jamie’s touchscreen aversion, neither of them had a smartphone to look up the hotels, but Mae didn’t mind the drive, even though the odds of finding a vacancy were low on a holiday weekend. The other choices had been to move their sleeping bag into his parents’ tent, or to impose on friends who had limited space to put them up. The prospect of privacy and a proper shower and bathroom was worth the hunt for a vacancy sign, and she preferred to be where an enraged, intoxicated woman with a knife was less likely to find her.

  Mae glanced over at Jamie as she drove. He had tipped the passenger seat back and closed his eyes. His long silence worried her. She squeezed his hand and then let go to steer the curves of the mountain road. “It’s so weird having you all quiet like this. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not thinking?”

  “Nah. Just ... mud. It’s all mud.” He twisted the tent scrap and then flattened it on the dashboard in front of him as if he was ironing it. “Can’t believe she did this.”

  “And it’s not even you she’s mad at. That knife might have been meant for me rather than the tent.”

  “Jeezus.” Jamie’s eyes widened and he sat up straight. “Bloody hell.” He slapped the fabric onto his knee. “It wasn’t her.”

  “What? Who else was crazy enough and a carrying a knife?”

  “Just hit me—Tana didn’t have a knife. I felt more of her than I wanted to carrying her to Zak’s house and she didn’t have a knife on her anywhere. She cut herself with her ring. And she said she wanted to hit you. Didn’t come bawling to the gate wanting to kill you. And—she was crying and yelling and puking, but the people in the camper didn’t hear anything, and—fuck—look at this.” He held up the piece of his tent. “It’s neat. The fucking thing is almost square.”

  Mae didn’t take her eyes off the road to look. She got his point. It was a bizarre way to do the damage. So deliberate and calm. A drunk couldn’t have done it. Mae should have felt more relief that Montana didn’t have a knife and want to kill her, and that Jamie had pulled out of his inner mud, but there was a shadow to his revelation. “Do you think someone wanted us to leave? Someone who knew which tent was yours? Look at what they did. Made sure we had nowhere to sleep and no clean clothes. It was kinda planned, wasn’t it?”

  Jamie slumped, squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head. “No.”

  “I didn’t say it was any of your friends, sugar. Zak was with you. I was thinking maybe someone heard what Montana called me and wanted to drive me off. Did she say my name? Describe me? Say I was your girlfriend? We stick out in a crowd.”

  “Yeah. She said, ‘Your girlfriend’s a witch.’ ”

  “So the person who cut up the tent could have been sending me a message.”

  Jamie’s shoulder twitched. “Or making it easy for me to sew it back up.”

  He turned
away and rested his head against the window. Silence. Back in the mud.

  Mae slowed down inside the Ruidoso village limits and scanned the signs on chain motels on Route 70. No vacancies. Jamie mumbled a reminder to turn left on Sudderth Drive.

  The main drag of the town had plenty of mom and pop motels, all full. The Alpine Lodge caught her attention. No vacancy, but a woman in jeans and a light hooded jacket was putting luggage into an SUV. Mae pulled in at the art gallery across the street. It was closed for the night, a good spot to park and wait to see if the vacancy sign lit up.

  “What are you doing?” Jamie asked.

  “I think someone’s checking out.”

  “Go over and ask.”

  “I don’t want to act like a vulture.”

  He got out, took her suitcase from the back seat, and slung his backpack on. “Have to, so we can grab it. If they’re checking out this late, it can’t be rented yet. You pay the whole day if you stay past eleven in the morning. Owners should love getting paid for the night twice.”

  There was no light on in the office. Unlike the chains, this small motel didn’t appear to have a front desk open twenty-four-seven. The owners might answer a bell, though. Mae got out and locked her car.

  While they were waiting to cross the four lanes of traffic, a light drizzle began to fall. Mae turned back to the car for her umbrella and noticed another car in an unlit area of the art gallery’s L-shaped lot, as far from the sidewalk as it could be parked. It had a duct-taped back window and a rear bumper that looked like more stickers than car. Even in the shadows, its amateurish bright turquoise paint job glowed. The Rabbit.

  Why was Reno here? Mae got her umbrella and rejoined Jamie. He put his hand on her arm and guided her down the street. “Don’t want her to see us.”

  Mae looked back at the Alpine Lodge. The woman had either gone back in the motel or inside her vehicle. “I thought you were good with being vultures.”

  “It’s Letitia. Didn’t recognize her. She had that hood up. Look at the license plate.”

  A brief gap in traffic let Mae glimpse the NMOFNM vanity plate. “Is Reno with her?”

  “He was earlier tonight—’round the time Montana showed up.”

  “His car’s here. Like he’s hiding it or hiding that he’s with her.”

  “Come on.” Jamie stopped, locked his arm with Mae’s, shot a glance both ways, and bolted into the busy street, pulling her along. Cars honked.

  They paused on the center line—there wasn’t a median—and Mae demanded, “What are you doing? Why—”

  Jamie hauled her into another dash between cars. He was grinning when they reached the sidewalk, having obviously enjoyed the little adventure. A full recovery from his gloom because he’d risked getting hit? I will never understand him. “We’re hiding,” he said. “While we figure out what to do. They can’t see us as well if we’re on this side.”

  “They. So Reno is there?”

  “Dunno. But we can find out. This beats you doing psychic stuff, right?”

  Mae wasn’t sure she followed Jamie’s logic. Maybe what he was doing felt less wrong rather than more effective. “How can we see them if they can’t see us? Are you gonna hide in the bushes at the motel?”

  “Could. I am quiet.”

  “Sugar, even if we don’t make a sound, we are the two least invisible people in the world.”

  Jamie’s shoulders wriggled in his one-two shrug. He guided Mae up close to the buildings they passed. The Alpine Lodge was set back from the street with a crowded parking lot and two small patches of lawn featuring benches and garden gnomes under slender pine trees. The nearest end of the motel was two-story with a chalet-style roof, perhaps the owners' residence above the office, while the rest of the building was a one-story strip motel with a long screened-in porch for a corridor along the front, which guests had to traverse to reach an exit. He led her to the building’s street-facing side on the chalet-style end, snug up against it, and cupped his hand to his ear. Of course. They didn’t have to see or be seen, just listen.

  A door closed. Over traffic they wouldn’t hear steps along the porch-like corridor, but Mae guessed people had walked down it when another door shut, and steps sounded across the parking lot, one set hard-heeled, the other set slapping. Flip-flops. A car door opened and closed.

  “Thanks.” Letitia said. “That saved me a few trips.”

  Silence. Reno must have replied too softly to hear, or with a gesture or an expression. Letitia spoke again. “Is there any way I can possibly talk you into a few more?”

  Silence again.

  “All right. I do respect your reasons, you know. I’ll be in touch.”

  The flip-flops started across the parking lot toward the street. Letitia said, “Drive safely in that thing.”

  The flip-flops continued, and soon Reno’s slender figure crossed the street. Mae wondered if he recognized her car. He might have seen it the day they talked outside of Passion Pie in T or C, but he hadn’t seen her get in it, and it was small, gray, and ordinary, a forgettable car. He didn’t pause but walked straight to the Rabbit.

  Jamie drew Mae along the back of the motel to a service road between the building and a steep cliff of red dirt, lit by a single light on a utility building at the end of it.

  “Have you been here before?” she asked. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Nah. Winging it. Thought we could watch her light go out from back here and then come around the front when she’s leaving and surprise her. Ask her what’s up.”

  “Sugar, Zak and Reno aren’t telling the people closest to them. I don’t think your charm is gonna get very far. And we don’t know her. She could be dangerous, carry a gun—”

  “Tight as her clothes are? She couldn’t hide a penny.”

  “That hoodie’s not tight.”

  “She likes me. She’s a fan. Worst thing that could happen, she tells me to mind my own bizzo.” He stopped walking abruptly, shoved a hand under his hat and grabbed his hair, grimacing. “Fuck. We can’t ask her. She’d tell Zak and he’d hate me even more.” He blew out a breath, dropping his hand to his side. “Guess we let her go and tell the managers we want the room.”

  “She could have packed the car but plan to leave in the morning.”

  “She wouldn’t leave whatever they’re selling in her car overnight.”

  “If that’s what they were packing. I wonder what she wanted Reno to do a few more of.”

  “Jeezus.” Jamie shuddered. “Hope that little lizard isn’t posing naked.”

  “Reno’s not bad looking. Some women could like him.” Nude shots did seem a bit of stretch, though. He didn’t look very strong, and a man without muscle wouldn’t make much of a calendar model. “She couldn’t be having affairs with both of them, could she?”

  “Zak wouldn’t cheat on Mel. He loves her.”

  He could have fooled me.

  The center room of the motel darkened. Only one other room had been lit, at the far end of the corridor, and its lights remained on. Fireworks shot off in the distance, spinning green and red arcs accompanied by a whistling noise. Jamie nodded toward the other end of the dirt road. They passed the utility building and came out among the pine trees near a gazebo with screened windows. Letitia was starting her SUV.

  Jamie squeezed Mae’s hand. “We’ve got a room, love.”

  Letitia might have checked out, or she might be going out to buy something she needed for her trip but planning to leave in the morning. The lit room could be hers, and she could be coming back to it. “We’d better make sure that was her room that went dark and not someone going out to watch the fireworks.”

  The corridor was empty and quiet. Even the room with a light on was silent. Jamie counted off doors under his breath and tapped on the one in the middle. No answer. It wasn’t a modern key-card door, but had a knob like a private residence. He tried turning it and it opened. “Bloody hell. She didn’t lock it.”

  He switched o
n the light. The bed was made, with dents in the bedspread where suitcases had lain on its taut surface. Two keys with large turquoise tags lay on the table. He walked in and set their luggage down. “Wonder if the sheets are clean or if they leave ’em until you check out.”

  At least they had found the right room, but Mae couldn’t quite believe that Jamie had opened the door and walked in. Feeling like a trespasser, she followed him and closed the door. “I don’t think they’re gonna have anyone at work to clean it at this time of night. And we still don’t know if she actually checked out.”

  “Sure she did. Motels get your card number when you check in. You leave without stopping by the desk, it gets charged. This place look to you like she’s coming back?”

  Along with the keys, a sealed envelope lay on the table with the notation on it, For Housekeeping. “No. But ... this feels weird. We should see if we can wake up the manager—”

  “Nah. Second thoughts about that. No one to clean it, they might not rent it again. Might kick us out. And then what? It’s paid for, right? We can sleep here.”

  Jamie prowled the room, checking drawers, peeling the covers back and even looking under the mattress cover. He bent down and sniffed the pillows. “Fuck. Perfume.” He went to the closet and brought out two extra pillows. “Clean!” He tossed and caught them. “We can sleep on top of the top sheet, use these. Won’t be too bad. I sort of know her and she’s not, y’know, unhygienic. Don’t like having a TV in the bedroom, though. Big screen looking at you.” He opened the refrigerator and the microwave, frowned at their insides, then disappeared into the bathroom, probably to smell the towels and look for hair in the drain. “Heard about some study, think it was done in Italy—people who had TVs in their bedrooms had less sex. Or worse sex. Something.”

  He insisted that Mae relax while he cleaned the bathroom with a used washcloth and a dab of the motel’s shampoo. While he cleaned, he narrated what he was doing and rambled through his stream of consciousness about showers, towels, and whatever else popped into his head. Mae sat at the table and in spite of the odd circumstances began to feel some relief. His chatter was reassuring, a sign that he had recovered from his emotional mud-state. She would have a shower and a normal toilet. A queen-sized bed in which to get a little space from Jamie’s excess body heat. Room to stand up.