If Fried Chicken Could Fly

by Paige Shelton

  “There you are,” I said to Jerome. “Where did you go?”

  “I wanted to check on Jake again. He was fine. And Miz told me to let you all work on cook-off duties.”

  “And you listened? What could she possibly do to harm you?”

  Jerome crossed arms in front of his chest as he leaned against my car. “Good point.”

  It was dark, but the parking lot was well lit by the outside floodlight. There was something about the darkness, though, that did something to the ghost. As in the theater, it was almost as if he came to life. The light hit about half of him—his left side—but his right side was more in shadows than in light. His right side looked almost, but not quite, real, and his left side seemed flat as if the colors were duller and less dimensional.

  “What?” he asked.

  I’d been studying him.

  “Sorry, it’s just that…” I couldn’t bring myself to describe what I was seeing.

  He pulled himself away from the car. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s all just a little strange—meeting a ghost, wondering where he’d been, and thinking of him as a new friend.”

  “I like the idea of us being friends,” he said as he peered at me from under his hat. His eyes were in the shadows, but again I could see them better because it was dark. “Are you flirting with this old rundown ghost?”

  “No! I mean, did that sound like I was flirting?”

  “A little.”

  “I’m out of practice. Maybe I was. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I like it, but…”

  I laughed. “I know there’s no future for us, Jerome. Don’t worry.”

  He lifted one eyebrow, which caused his hat and one ear to lift a little higher. “Yes, that is too bad, but what I wanted to say was that you might want to concentrate on the living. That young man, Cliff, is so head over heels for your affections that I’m almost uncomfortable being around the two of you.”

  “Cliff and I were high school sweethearts. That’s all you’re picking up on.”

  “Hmmm.” This time he tipped his hat so it sat farther back on his head, and he suddenly looked very young and very real. “Well, keep it in mind. And Isabelle, there’s something else.” He leaned against the car again. “I explained to you how I show up in times of crisis, specifically times that include fire…”

  “Yes.”

  “I also leave spontaneously, too. I could go at any time and I usually sense when that’s coming—I’m sensing it now.”

  “You just leave? Where do you go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What if I set something on fire? Will you come back?”

  No matter what we were—friends, flirtatious friends, whatever, I didn’t want Jerome to leave. I hadn’t known that’s what would happen, but I should have thought it through. He’d appeared because of the fire. It made sense that he only got a limited amount of time. But there was no rule book for this.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But I’m sure I’ll be back to haunt you in the future, just don’t reckon I know when. But what’s important here is that we try to get a few things figured out before I leave. Do you suppose we could go talk to Jake about Jenna and Everett?”

  “Sure. Sure,” I said. “I was going to call him anyway. He’ll meet us at the archives. Should I meet you there?”

  “I’ll go in the automobile with you. I could just pop myself in there, but if you open the door, I’ll try to slide in like I was alive or something this time.”

  I reached for the knob and accidentally grazed one of his hands; a part that was in the dark. It felt real, skinlike and human. I gasped and pulled my hand away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said. I reached for the handle, opened the door, and watched him make his way into the passenger’s seat.

  I was both thrilled and horrified that I’d felt what I thought was skin. It wasn’t possible anyway, but it had been interesting.

  It would be just like me to develop a crush on the ghost of a bank robber. Not since I’d been a teenager and Cliff and I had been in the thick of our relationship had touching someone else made my skin tingle. But I had to remember, his wasn’t skin at all. It couldn’t be. That only made it worse.

  I was pathetic.

  Fortunately, we had something to do. I called Jake who was waiting to hear from me, hoping I’d call, in fact. It was late and we all had a big day set to begin in about six hours, but between needing to know more about Jenna and Everett and Jerome’s imminent departure, I couldn’t just go home.

  He’d driven his VW into town. He greeted us at the door of his sheriff’s office and then closed and locked it behind us. Patches had been retethered in the corner so Jake must have been feeling more secure. His black eye was still as awful as it had been earlier.

  “Jerome here?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, but he’s not sure for how much longer.”

  “Really? Is he fading?” Jake asked, his eyes wide and somewhat wild.

  “No, not that. He’s just here for a limited amount of time until the next crisis. It’s difficult to explain,” I said.

  “Let’s get to work. I was going to call you but I didn’t want to be a nuisance the night before everything. I’m so glad you called me. I’ve happened upon some things that I’m certain were supposed to remain secrets. It’s big, perhaps bigger than anything Broken Rope has seen and that’s saying something,” Jake said as we marched the now-familiar path back to the archives.

  The table was clear this time except for a few pieces of paper.

  “Okay, I wish I could take credit for finding this stuff, but I can’t. Wait, where is Jerome?”

  I pointed to my left.

  “You’re part of this, buddy,” Jake said as he looked in the vicinity of Jerome’s shoulders. He looked at me and said, “You know how Verna is into genealogy stuff?”

  “Of course. I know all about Verna and her genealogy.”

  “Exactly. Well, this was in a file she brought me about a week ago. Only a few hours ago she called and told me I should maybe look at it. Soon, she emphasized.” He pointed to one of the pieces of paper. “And this”—he held up another piece of paper—“is something I got in the mail slot. Shortly after her phone call. It’s anonymous. Which would you like to look at first?”

  I took the paper he held and read quickly. Everett Morningside was a direct descendant of Belinda Jasper. So was Jenna Hopper.

  My thoughts started to turn and percolate. We’d just met with Verna earlier that day and somehow she must have thought this information was important. I was one hundred percent certain that this note came from her. It just fit. Verna followed the letter of the law, but I always thought there was something about her that would make her do something extreme if she felt it was necessary. I was suddenly grateful for her probably illegal meddling and I’d never tell on her, but I still didn’t know why it was important.

  “Here.” He picked up the other piece of paper and handed it to me. “Look at this. There’s something missing, but the possibilities open things up.”

  I’d seen the family trees before—boxes with names of couples, lines leading to other boxes with couples’ children’s names and their spouses, et cetera. This page was full of the boxes. It was handwritten, which made it very difficult to follow.

  “Look at the top one.”

  “Belinda Jasper.”

  “Now,” Jake continued, “while it might be fun to read all the old names, don’t do that now. Just look at this one.” Jake moved his finger to a box at the bottom of the grid: Everett Morningside m. Susan Orion. Two lines were drawn out from that box. One of the boxes listed the name of a Morningside son, coincidentally Jasper. The other box said: Morningside daughter, name and whereabouts unknown. Assumed adoption.

  It didn’t take long to connect the dots. “And you assume that this daughter that was put up for adoption is Jenna? I don’t know. That seems like a pretty big stret
ch.” I looked at Jerome who combined a shrug and a shake of his head.

  “Hang on, here’s the pièce de résistance.” Jake flipped the family tree piece of paper. “Read this.”

  In Verna’s bold but tight handwriting, there was a note on the back of the paper: Jake—You’ll notice that Belinda doesn’t have a husband or a father’s name listed for her child. I do know this, there was rumor that famous-but-bad-with-guns robber Jerome Cowbender was the father of Belinda’s child. I believe there was a huge scandal regarding their affair. I also know that after Belinda died from the fall, the child was cared for by one of Belinda’s cousins who moved to Broken Rope. I don’t know more than that.

  I looked at Jerome.

  Jake nudged my arm. “What’s he saying?”

  “Nothing yet. Jerome?”

  Jerome looked off in the distance, his eyes and mouth tight. “There’s something to that. I seem to remember something, but not much. Ask Miz.”

  I didn’t hesitate but pulled out my phone that instant. She might have needed the rest, but I knew she’d still be up and I didn’t care if I woke her anyway. I needed answers.

  “Betts?” she answered on the second ring.

  “Gram, what do you remember about Jerome and Belinda the contortionist at the Jasper? Did they have an affair? Did they have a baby?”

  “Oh dear, Betts. I don’t remember him ever mentioning anything like that. I think I heard rumors as I grew up but I can’t be sure. I didn’t pay much attention to rumors. Jerome’s with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he say?”

  “He’s not remembering much.”

  She was silent a long moment. “Yes, the curse and the blessing, I suppose. I do know this: Jerome’s demise was legendary—at the time. As the years have passed and Broken Rope legends have piled up, Jerome’s blaze of glory has fizzled somewhat. After all, he didn’t kill anyone—he was just a thief. Maybe ghosts don’t have a good memory of their lives because some things are too awful to remember.”

  Of course, her comment begged the question, “Ghosts, as in plural?” but we didn’t have time to chitchat. I cleared my throat.

  “There’s more. Everett was a descendant of Belinda, which means he might be a descendant of Jerome—if the story is true.”

  “Oh my, that most definitely is more,” Gram said. “I had no idea. Everett never told me. Everett and Jerome related. Interesting.”

  “There’s something else, too. It’s being surmised that Jenna is Everett’s daughter, a daughter that was given up for adoption.”

  Gram was silent again. She probably didn’t want to deal with all this news the night before the cook-off, but time was ticking. The ghost—okay, maybe ghosts—that had been haunting her all these years might have seemed like a natural part of her life, but I didn’t think she’d ever given them serious credence. They were there and maybe even friends, but from what I’d recently learned their disappearance followed their appearance pretty closely. It would have been wise not to get too attached. I felt my chest clinch at this idea. Had I already become too attached? I swallowed and told myself not to think about it.

  Finally Gram said, “That’s the thing I wouldn’t mention to you and Verna today, Betts. I suspected it because of some of Everett’s actions, but I wasn’t sure. Do you suppose Jenna killed Everett because he and his wife gave her up for adoption?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “This is information that needs to get to the police, Betts. Right away. I think you need to tell Jim about the possible connection. I could but it doesn’t matter who tells at this point. Perhaps he can find out more from Everett’s widow. Oh dear, oh dear. I had no idea this was so deep. I thought Everett was just having fun searching for a treasure that he wanted to surprise his wife with. I thought there might be something with Jenna but I was doubtful. I had no idea about the Jerome connection, no idea. Maybe Jerome showed up because one of his descendants was killed not because of the fire.”

  My own mind suddenly shifted into overdrive. “But that wouldn’t explain why I see him.”

  “Genetics from me, maybe. I don’t know. Call Jim. Call me back if he wants me to come into town. I promise you I didn’t know about the possible connection between Jenna and Everett and Jerome. I promise, Betts.”

  “I know. I will.” I hung up. “You okay, Jerome?”

  “Fine, I’m just trying to remember. You think I’d remember something like that.”

  I didn’t remember a lot of things and I was only twenty-nine. Maybe Gram was right; perhaps it was a blessing that he didn’t remember the details of his life.

  “What’d he say? What did Miz say?” Jake nudged me again.

  “Gram says to tell Jim. And Jerome is trying to remember.”

  “What a story this is,” Jake said. “This all has to have something to do with Everett’s murder.”

  “I’m going to call Jim and have him meet us,” I said. “Jerome won’t be able to go with us. He can’t get into the jail.”

  “I’ll be at the theater,” he said, and then he disappeared.

  “Jerome, try your best to remember,” Jake said.

  “He’s gone,” I said.

  “Have I mentioned how jealous I am of you seeing him while I can’t?”

  I pulled out my cell phone.

  Getting a hold of Jim wasn’t as easy as it should have been. The jail was shut down for the night and the only person on duty was a woman who answered the phone. I didn’t know who she was or where she was located but similar to what Gram had felt the night of the murder, I was less than pleased with her communication skills. Finally, she said she’d call Jim and have him meet us at the jail. Once that was established, Jake and I loaded up with information, locked the sheriff’s office, and hurried across the street. We sat on the boardwalk and waited.

  “Normally, my night shift crew doesn’t begin working until after the cook-off,” Jim said as he got out of his car. “Sorry it took me a few extra minutes.”

  Jim was in jeans and a T-shirt. I couldn’t remember him in such casual dress but I knew we must have attended some of the same barbecues when he wasn’t on duty.

  Jake and I had brought Verna’s genealogy chart and the “anonymous” note. Neither of us would say a word about who we thought dropped off the note. I didn’t think we needed to, and I didn’t think Jim would use it against her.

  The night was warm and well lit by two large spotlights at the end of the street. Evan, the new fire marshal, and a few of his volunteers had been recruited to set up the hanging platform. Evan, his hands on his hips in supervisory mode, looked our direction as we stood and waited for Jim to let us into the jail. He seemed to pause and stare at us curiously. Once he knew who we were, he waved and then turned back to his crew.

  We were mere hours away from the biggest day of the year as Jim unlocked the door and we followed him into the jail.

  We showed him what we had, we tried to connect imaginary dots with imaginary lines because, after all, it must all mean something.

  “That’s not enough for us to arrest Jenna for anything,” Jim said. “I mean, I can ask her some questions but not officially. I could use more evidence than this.”

  “Maybe she has a gun,” Jake said. “Maybe it’s been fired recently.”

  “I can ask her, but I’ve got no legal reason to get a search warrant,” Jim said. “We’re having the blood from the roof tested, but unless her DNA is in our system for something else, we can’t just ask her for a sample. We could, I guess, but I’d be surprised if she’d give it to us.”

  “We could try the drink cup trick they do on television all the time. Make her take a drink of something and then steal the cup,” Jake said.

  “Inadmissible, probably,” I said, though I wasn’t totally sure.

  “It’s okay on TV,” Jake said.

  “That’s television,” I said. “However, and though it still might be inadmissible in court, Jenna’s a smoker. She
can’t smoke in the bar, but I’ve often seen her go out back on her breaks. I’ll bet we could find a butt we could use. Still maybe not admissible, but at least we might know.”

  Jim sat forward in his chair. “Betts, Jake, thanks for the information and the ideas, but leave the police work and evidence gathering to us, please. You’ve already had too much drama out in that alley. We will look into this, but you have to remember to be careful. Got it?”

  Jake and I looked at each other, silently wondering what else we could say. Suddenly, the jail door opened again and Cliff walked in. He nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “We’re taking this seriously,” Jim said. “I promise that I have listened to every word you’ve said and we will look into it. We’re on board now with the theory that Everett’s murder might have something to do with an old outlaw’s hidden treasure and I might buy into something about his adopted daughter being involved—if Jenna is his daughter.”

  I looked at Cliff as he pulled up a chair and sat next to Jake. He was probably curious about the middle-of-the-night emergency but he didn’t interrupt. Jim would fill him in later.

  “Thank you for bringing this to us,” Jim said.

  Something suddenly felt off. It took me a second, but I realized why.

  Jim still thought we were here only to turn the glaring light of guilt away from Gram. He didn’t think we were lying, but he probably thought Jake and I had spent hours poring over documents in the archives, trying to come up with something that would make someone else look guilty. We’d searched for some little thread and built it into something we thought was substantial.

  I fought an urge to stomp my foot and exclaim that we weren’t just trying to throw them off the killer’s scent but instead get them headed toward the real killer. I could see the look in Jim’s eyes. He would look at what we’d brought, but I didn’t think he’d take it seriously.

  And maybe I wouldn’t either if I were in his shoes.

  Old treasures, dead bank robbers, contortionists, fake gold coins hidden in a tombstone, potential descendants who might not know about their ancestors anyway. It was only getting more outrageous, not less.

  It was outrageous, but it was also connected—I was sure of that. As sure as I was of anything.