by Mary Saums
I hated to leave Jane by herself that night but I had a date. I’d seen an old friend, or should I say, old flame, at the gun show When I settled up for my AK-46 and a half that day with the Gillispies, I turned around and there stood Bernard French, towering over me, looking like a gray-headed lumberjack.
Now you’d think a guy named Bernard wouldn’t have much in the looks or brains department. Bernard French was different. He hadn’t let himself go to pot like most fellows my age. Sure, he had a little less hair and a few more wrinkles than when we dated in high school, but still. I’d seen him jogging around the lake at times over the years, so he was in tiptop shape.
He looked down at me and smiled. “Law, Phoebe, what’s a good-looking lady like you doing here?”
I explained how I needed a gun on account of my house blowing up.
“I heard about that. With you by yourself, I don’t blame you a bit for getting some protection.” Bernard has flirted with me for I don’t know how long. After his wife died, which was several years after my own husband died, I’d see him over in luka on Friday nights at the Regency Hotel for Dance Night. They had a live band and everything. Bernard was a good dancer and always wanted me to do the fancy numbers with him since I took ballroom lessons.
I had a sudden inspiration. “Bernard, I wonder if you’d do me a favor. I need to go to The Pool Cue.”
“Whatever for?” Bernard looked liked I’d slapped him across the face. It’s not exactly the kind of place where ladies hang out.
“It’s kind of a recon mission.” I knew he’d like that. Bernard joined the Marines right after school. He gave me a sly look.
“You spying on somebody you ought not to?”
I shrugged. “Somebody that maybe needs spying on. Are you with me?”
He grinned. “I reckon I better be. Just in case you need some backup.”
I was pleased as punch. If a big man like Bernard went with me, those rednecks who bombed The Pool Cue wouldn’t suspect a thing. If they were there.
And I believed they were. When we drove into the parking lot, the first thing I saw was an old beat-up red truck. I sure was glad Bernard agreed to go with me.
I’m telling you what, that place was rough. A few women sat at the bar but they weren’t too dainty, if you know what I mean. The room was mostly full of big, ugly men on their way to drunk at full speed.
Bernard and I got a table over by the wall under a neon sign of a moose drinking a mug of beer. Bernard brought me a Shirley Temple, which was mighty nice of him since he remembered I liked them from the old days at the dance club.
After he settled down and looked around, he turned to me. “Well, you got me here. Now will you tell me what you’re up to?”
“I’m not up to nothing.”
“Come on now, Pebbles.”
“Oh stop that,” I said with a little smack on his arm. He always used to call me that because of how I wear my hair up on top of my head.
We giggled and drank a little while. I decided he was one I could trust and so I told him the truth. “It’s like I told you. I’m here to spy on some guys,” I whispered.
He leaned back and looked at me. “Why? Have you had a hot tip about your house bomb?”
“Possibly.”
“And you think the ones who did it are here?”
“They might be.”
“What do they look like?”
“I ain’t got the slightest idea.”
Bernard laughed. “How can you spy on somebody when you don’t know what they look like?
I changed the subject. “I overheard some mighty interesting stuff at the gun show. When I was looking at gun accessories at the booth, I heard a man saying he was in Special Forces when he was in the service. Then, he went over to a rack of magazines and books and picked up one that said Homemade Devices”
Bernard stared at me. “That’s it? That don’t mean nothing.”
“No, that’s not it. Those guys talked about a meeting at a base camp. Said they might be having a survival crisis in this country soon and wanted to be stocked with supplies and ready to fight. They badmouthed the government the whole time I listened.”
“A lot of people complain.”
“Yeah, but these guys were scary.”
“Well, you’ve got to remember sometimes guys talk, but when it comes down to action, they’re just as big a sissy as everybody else.”
“I know what I heard.”
“Don’t get upset, Pebbles. What can I do to make you feel better? I tell you what, let’s go over to that booth. We’ll be closer to the pool tables and those rough-looking characters. We can play like we’re double-aught spies on a case of international intrigue.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“No, ma’am, I am not. I would a lot rather be with a woman who wants a little adventure than one that just sits in front of the TV all the time.”
“Oh, Bernard!” He knows how to talk to a lady.
The booth had a low wall on one side, a little higher than the table, that divided the sitting area and the pool-table room. The divider was made out of dark paneling with a piece of wide crown molding across the top. Rings were all over it from where rednecks with no upbringing set their beers, right straight on the wood.
Bernard was right. We had a great view of some scary fellows and could hear them good. Of the three pool tables, we were only out of earshot of one way on the end. That didn’t matter though because there were only a couple of girls shooting on it. They looked mighty rough in their tight pants and tank tops. Obviously, they were not from Tullulah.
Neither were the guys at the table next to them. They had all the hallmarks of thugs. Like maybe redneck mafia. Or even small fish used by international terrorists to infiltrate northern Alabama. The one racking up the balls was short and scrawny the little buddy of the bunch that does all the scut work. His dirty blond hair was greased with big comb marks from his scalp down to his neck. He laughed like a hyena when he didn’t have a cigarette in his mouth. He needed a dentist in a bad way.
A big guy waiting to shoot stood by the end of the table, chalking his cue. His hair was greasy, too, but at least he had it pulled back into a neat ponytail. He wore a muscle shirt so his blue-green tattoos would show. A chain with dog tags hung down when he bent over for the break.
Another guy stood in the shadow by the wall. I pegged him as the leader. He was a tall man and stood with a straight back, his legs apart and firmly planted. He was all muscle with a burr cut. His movements were slow and purposeful. The whole time, he looked out over the room like he was expecting trouble or maybe hoping for some. I knew the type. He stays quiet and gets a crazy look in his eyes to make the others scared of him. He wasn’t drinking. He held his pool cue like he’d rather smack somebody with it than play pool. He looked just like the type who would throw a bomb into some nice lady’s house, and then go have a beer and laugh about it.
I squinted at him like Clint Eastwood. Wouldn’t Clint and I make a good team against this here bunch? Son, we could clean house, him with his .44 Magnum and me with my new AK-46 and a half. The first thing I’d do is hold my rifle out like a WeedEater and mow them beer cans off that ledge. Then I’d make those boys put coasters down.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bernard said. “Just because these guys look rough doesn’t mean they did it.”
“I realize that. I don’t expect to sit here and overhear them say, ‘We sure had a good time blowing up Phoebe Twigg’s house on October eighteenth.’ All while an upstanding citizen and former Marine just happens to be here to hear their confession.”
“Good. Now don’t pout. If these ain’t your bad boys, we’ll go find some other ones. We can hit all the low-class hangouts. How does that sound?”
“There’s not anymore but this one, you know that.” For another thirty minutes or so, we laughed and had a good time while the other ones played pool. I’ve never heard so many cuss words. Those boys were mighty luc
ky Bernard was with me or I’d have found me some soap. That’s all right. I knew their time would come.
twenty-four
Jane’s House Is
Inspected
The next day, Cal asked me to bring my car to his house. He’d been busy gathering books and other materials into boxes that he insisted I take. The number of boxes he had stacked and waiting for me was more than I expected, seventeen of them numbered with red marker. I hurried so I could load them all myself. Cal was so stubborn about taking it easy and I worried he’d overexert himself. Once home, I stacked them next to my own boxes that I had yet to unpack in the den.
I’d promised Phoebe I’d go into town with her that morning. She wanted to keep a watch on the progress of her house repairs and also needed help in choosing new colors for the painters.
We passed the Piggly Wiggly before the turn onto her street. She gave a little yelp, goosed the accelerator, and drove past her street to the square up ahead. She pointed to a man walking into Wriggle’s Sporting Goods.
“Look, look, look!” she said. ‘That’s Jack Blaylock, the one who had the gun seminar.”
I only had a glimpse of his face, saw that he had a moustache, before he entered the store. His hat and boots looked expensive. Phoebe covered her heart with her hand. “Oh, he is so handsome. Do we need anything from Wriggle’s?”
“Was he there the day we met? He looks vaguely familiar.”
“You must have seen him on TV. He’s got his own show.”
“What sort?”
“Fishing and hunting and other outdoors-y things.”
“I don’t think that’s it.”
“You’d like it, seeing all the local fishing spots on the river and all. I’m sure they show plenty of trees, too.”
Then I remembered. He was the size and build of the man I saw at the grocery giving the ex-military man a fishing rod and duffel bag.
We stayed at Phoebe’s only a little while. At home, I baked an apple pie and spent the rest of the day about the house. Only two events in the outside world caught my attention. At about one o’clock, I heard the rumble and chug of Cal’s truck as it came out of his road and headed toward town. A few hours later, Shelley Bar-nette’s yellow Volkswagen turned into Cal’s driveway and disappeared from view.
Later that night, Phoebe and I had unexpected visitors. Phoebe answered the door. She put her hands on her hips. “Now what are y’all up to?” she said, then turned to me. “It’s them crazy ghost-hunting kids again. You want me to tell them to go haunt somebody else?”
“Of course not,” I said with a laugh. “Do come in. Are you off on another trek tonight?” Sarah, the tall blond girl, turned herself and walked in sideways so her leather tool belt wouldn’t knock against the door frame. Behind her, Callie did likewise.
Riley brought up the rear. With care, he let the screen door close behind him while he took in his immediate surroundings. He did a thorough, steady sweep from left to right. Several times, his hand reached up and touched the night visor atop his head. He wanted badly to yank it down for a good look, I was sure. He had his hand in the air again but caught me watching and instead adjusted the visor’s band slightly to a more snug fit. “Yes’m. We might go around a little.”
As I looked at the three of them, all rigged in full ghost-hunting complement, I smiled. Each gazed about the inside of the house with wide eyes and a studied nonchalance that told me they “might” be hopeful of an in-house hunt.
“Brought these,” Riley said, as he held out a packet of photos. “Said you’d like to see ‘em.” The photos showed various shots of the graveyard from our previous encounter. Most had little in the way of photogenic scenery, considering they contained only badly lit tombstones and tree trunks in the night. Riley touched the edge of the photo I held.
“This is for real. We didn’t doctor it up in developing neither. Dropped them off at Wal-Mart. Unbiased second party. And we sure didn’t do nothing funny when we took the pictures. You know that. That right there,” he said, as he tapped the images with his finger. “You didn’t see them orbs floating around like that, did you?”
I hesitated. “Ah. No, indeed I didn’t.” I failed to mention I distinctly saw them thrown, not floating around.
I could feel Phoebe breathing over my shoulder. She reached around and snatched the pictures from my hand. “What kind of foolishness are y’all talking about?” She eyed the top photo from several vantage points, up close, at arm’s length, held upward toward the chandelier light, and down again at the end of her nose. “Huh,” she said.
“You see?” Riley asked.
“No. I need my bifocals.” With that, she turned on her heels and strode to the kitchen with the photos clutched in her hand.
My guests hardly noticed. All remained intent on surveying the living room, all stepping in slow circles to take in everything. “You sure have a pretty house,” Callie said in soft, slightly awestruck tones.
“Why, thank you, dear. Have you never been here before then?” All shook their heads. “Perhaps you’d like a small tour? Even though I’ve not finished unpacking?” They answered together with “Yes, ma’am” before I’d finished the sentence.
Riley held up a finger. “Have you had any… oh, say… strange things happen? Like we did the other night?”
“Well, I’ve certainly not seen any orbs.”
“Because if you have, or if you ever did, we’d all be glad to check the house for you, official like,” he said, with indications to the others and his own equipment. “Free of charge. Anytime.”
“How kind. But of course I wouldn’t want to impose.” Another louder round of comments came from the group, all protesting that I was most welcome to both their time and detecting talents. “In that case, feel free to … do whatever it is you do.”
A collective sigh of relief arose as they each busied themselves in taking out and readying their devices. Phoebe returned with her glasses to see the young people settling into their new search. “What in the world are y’all up to now?”
“Riley and the girls have kindly offered to check my house.”
“For what? There ain’t none of them light balls in here.”
“No. No anomalies here,” I said.
Phoebe leaned closer and whispered, “That’s a mighty big word, Jane. Around here, we call them dee-lusions.’“
I laughed. “What does it hurt to give them a little fun? They’ve come with the hope of discovering something exciting. I couldn’t deprive them, not when they’re so obviously enjoying themselves. They’re just kids.”
Phoebe’s suspicious, hard stare softened as her lips turned up in a smile. “You’re right. Let them look all they want. They aren’t going to find anything. And maybe looking around will get it out of their systems so they won’t come messing around bothering you anymore.”
I didn’t tell Phoebe that they might actually be useful. There was no point. I doubted anything would come of their testing, but I was interested to see if they “read” anything unusual in the two spots where, in fact, there had been instances of “anomalies.”
The makeshift, home-modified look of Riley and the girls’ equipment didn’t instill much confidence. Yet I couldn’t deny the photos of the orbs. Riley may not have seen them as I did, but his methods did produce results in the photos. Tagging along behind these three might prove to be fun as well as informative. I certainly intended to watch closely in case they turned something up. As it happened, that didn’t take long.
“We got something,” Callie said from the front room. She held her modified voltmeter out and over the corner of my maroon Persian rug and the intervening floor space between the rug and my fireplace. The black hand of the meter jumped behind its clear plastic casing when she moved the device over that particular spot, and each time she did so, with no exceptions.
The other two joined her and immediately deployed their own instruments, Sarah with her handheld scanner-like device, red lights pulsing,
and Riley with his night visors snapped into position.
Phoebe closed her eyes and shook her head. She waved her hands in our direction in a dismissive gesture. “I’m fixing coffee.” She shuffled away in her house slippers toward the kitchen.
“Okay, everybody,” Riley said. “That’s good. That’s something. Now.” He took out his camera and gestured for us to step back. He snapped pictures from all angles, some with and some without benefit of flash. The girls moved away from the spot with reluctance when Riley gave the order to move on.
“What would you say that means? In your experience?” I asked.
Riley shrugged. “Everybody be sure and write everything down real good,” he said and turned to me. “We’ll sit down and do some analyzing once we get some hard data.”
“A scientific approach,” I said. “Excellent.” He sniffed authoritatively and pocketed the device, held together by duct tape, before leading the troops onward.
We turned our attention to the upstairs. All took great interest in the staircase itself, which I admit does have a certain air about it. Its design and workmanship speak from another age, but apparently not from another dimension, as nothing registered on the devices.
We passed down the upstairs hallway, entering each of the three bedrooms. As Sarah passed the bedside table in my own room, we heard a quiet blip from her scanner. She paused at the telephone, ran her device over it, the table, and the wall just behind it several more times with more corresponding blips. “Weak,” she said. “But something.”
Once all had written down their notes and measurements, we returned downstairs. We had two rooms left to explore, the former dining room that would now serve as my den, and the kitchen. In the den, Callie flipped her pigtails behind her back and took the outer perimeter. It was therefore she who first found what we came to call the Hot Spot.
I’d lingered by the door, watching the three of them and their slow, methodical search. Riley went straight to the fireplace there, hoping, I suppose, for a repeat of the success in the front room earlier. Sarah started by turning left and testing the large built-in china cabinet. She opened each door, scanned each shelf. Meanwhile, Callie began her search, going along the right wall. It contained only stacks of boxes and the next wall contained the new bookshelves I’d installed, still empty, so she had relatively little to test.