Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky

by A. J. Matthews

  The line had widened until it showed as a black crack along the ground. Here and there leaves dropped or slid into it, and he estimated that some twenty feet of the edge would drop away—if it dropped away.

  "It won't come to that, my darling, I promise you. Just stay calm and listen to me. Have you got your cell phone? I left mine in my other jacket."

  She patted her coat pocket, retrieved the phone, held it up.

  "Good," he said, smiling encouragement. "We're halfway home now. Call Laurel, tell her where we are. If you can't raise her, try the reception desk."

  "Martin, can we do that?" She glanced at the helpless spirit. "Don't you remember? Gerry said Pete's cell phone made him feel bad. If he's as weak as you say, it may kill…” She shook her head impatiently. "No, not kill; you know what I mean! It may finish him off!"

  "Yes, that's true, love," he said. "It's not the first time I've heard of cell phones causing disruption to spirits. There's some connection between the electromagnetic wavelengths used by cell phones and that which spirits inhabit." He looked somberly at Gerry, who managed to turn his head. The spirit's dark eyes were sad. "Gerry; I'm sorry, old son, but you've got to see my lady's life comes first."

  The ghost nodded sadly. "I understand, feller. Go right ahead."

  "But if Gerry's destroyed, it means Minotti's won!"

  "Claudia, if this ground gives way and we're killed, then he also wins." He swore softly and looked around. The ravine had a definite air of menace now. It lay beneath like the open mouth of some hungry beast, just waiting to devour them. "I'm beginning to think Minotti set this up. He knew I was coming for him and set a trap."

  The ground creaked, and the crack grew wider. A sudden jolt triggered a spasm of intense fear in his heart and he grabbed Claudia's hand. Another rock dropped away and clattered far below.

  "Darling, listen to me," he said firmly. "If you stay low, even crawl slowly, you'll be able to get across that fault line and back on the trail. You'll be safe, and also far enough from Gerry for your cell phone not to hurt him."

  He eyes narrowed and she stared at him. "But what about you? I'm not leaving you!"

  "You must!" He spread his fingers and made a soothing patting motion with his hands. "You've got to get to safety, love; that's my priority. It'll help me too, because the less weight there is here, the better. Now go on!"

  "Damn you, Marty!" Tears began to roll down her cheeks but to his intense relief she didn't stay to argue.

  Dropping onto all fours, she began to crawl the vital few yards to the fault line and safety with infinite caution. Making sure she was on her way, he turned his attention to Gerry. "Okay, old chap, it's you and me now."

  *

  Moss squelched unpleasantly under her hands as Claudia made her way to the fault line, her heart pounding hard beneath her breast. She glanced into the fault; it narrowed after two feet of depth, the soil dark and moist, and looked as if it went a lot deeper into the cliff. Taking a deep breath, almost afraid that her least movement would trigger the fatal slip, she slid across it and onto the other side.

  Somehow the ground there even felt safer, and she rose to a crouch as she headed for the trail. The bare stony soil felt rough beneath her hands, the larger stones turned and twisted under her weight, and she sprawled, rolled over, and sat up.

  Martin was still there by the boulder, looking wonderfully calm. He waved and grinned to her. It was only a matter of yards, but it felt like an enormous gulf lay between them.

  "Marty, I love you!"

  "I love you too, my darling!"

  "I'm going to call!"

  She retrieved the cell phone from her pocket and punched in Laurel's number with her thumb. Holding the phone to her ear, she prayed that someone would answer soon. As the dialing tone sounded, she watched as Martin moved carefully around the boulder, gathering pieces of glass and putting them in a heap.

  "Should you be moving?" she called anxiously.

  "Probably not," he called back. "But I owe it to Gerry to at least try to save him."

  "Don't forget to save yourself!" she said.

  "Oh, I rely on you to do that for me!"

  "Hi, this is Laurel…"

  "Oh, thank God! Laurel, listen…!"

  "I can't take your call right now, but…"

  "Shit!" She terminated the call with a vicious stab of the button. "I got her voice-mail!"

  "Wonderful!" Martin threw up his hands. "Okay, try reception."

  "I'm on it!"

  *

  Martin drew out his handkerchief, one of the big old-fashioned linen variety. He looked at it, remembering it being part of a Christmas stocking-filler from an elderly aunt. "Blimey! If only Aunt Dorothy could see me now!" he said, and began to lay the shards of glass upon it, careful to grip them away from the razor-sharp edges.

  "Who's Aunt Dorothy?" Gerry asked weakly.

  Martin paused and glanced at the spirit, who looked a lot more substantial now the pieces had been gathered. "She's my mother's sister; a nice old girl. She bought me a set of these handkerchiefs for Christmas."

  "Oh man, I remember Christmases with my family," Gerry said, a faraway look on his face. "My kids just loved getting up in the small hours to see if Santa had been. We couldn't afford much, but they loved what they got." The look he turned on Martin wrenched at his heartstrings. "Damn, I miss them so!"

  "You'll see them all soon, Gerry. We'll get out of this and fix Minotti for good. Then we'll find your remains and trace your family. I know they'll see you're buried properly. You'll be at peace, Gerry."

  "You're a good guy, Martin." With a visible effort he sat up on the boulder, his arms on his knees and looked around. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess."

  "All part of the job," Martin said. "Ah, Gerry?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You don't sound drunk any more."

  Gerry blinked, looked down and patted himself. He held out a hand and it stayed as steady as a rock. "Well, I'll be darned!" He grinned. "It must be because the booze has all gone!"

  *

  The phone was answered at last. "Donna! It's Claudia!"

  "Hi, Claudia! Have you been ringing long? Sorry, I was outside. We've been waiting for the cops to arrive."

  "Donna, never mind that, listen to me! We're in trouble!"

  "What? Where are you?"

  "Up on the mountain trail above the resort."

  "Oh, you shouldn't be up there! It was closed off because of the risk of a landslide!"

  "What? Where were the signs?" She shook her head. "Oh fuck, never mind that now; Martin's trapped up here! We need help!"

  "Okay, don't panic, I'm on it."

  Claudia looked over to Martin, who was knotting the corners of his handkerchief together. "Donna's getting help! Hang in there, Marty!"

  "Will do." He tossed the rudimentary bag in his hand a couple of times to judge to the weight. "I'm going to throw this over to you, but try not to catch it. Put it somewhere safe."

  "Okay. You watch yourself!"

  He tossed the bag with a gentle underarm lob, and it sailed through the air to thump onto the wet grass. One corner came undone, spilling a few shards of glass on the ground. For a second the misty outline of the dead pilot appeared and she shivered as the temperature around her fell even lower.

  Martin dropped onto his stomach and began to make his way toward her.

  "Come on, Marty! Hurry!"

  "I'm coming! Believe me, I'm coming!" he said fervently.

  She'd managed to pick up the spilled pieces and put them in the bag when Donna returned to the phone. "The police are on their way up the drive now, Claudia. I've managed to round up Pete and Greg. They're on their way up to you with ropes."

  The ground, quiescent until then, gave a deep groan and she felt it shake under her. Martin was ten feet short of the fault line and he made to get to his feet. The ground shook again, much harder, and he froze in place.

  "For God's sake, tell them to hurry!" she scream
ed into the phone.

  *

  Sprawling upon the damp ground, time seemed to slow for Martin. The ground shuddered, dropped a few inches, and fell quiet. When nothing else happened, his heart rate dropped to mere fever pitch.

  It had long been an article of faith amongst most of his contacts in the world of paranormal investigations that places have personalities. More sensitive than most, he had known places which had been redolent of nothing but joy. Others had been full of abject misery, or gut wrenching terror. But the prize for sheer bloody-mindedness went to the ravine which lay at his back. He could feel an almost physical pull, some preternatural gravity wave emanating from it. You're mine! it seemed to say.

  "I think not!" he replied calmly. "Whoever—or whatever—promised you so was lying."

  You're mine! Come to me!

  "In the words of the great British philosopher—fuck off!"

  I won't be denied!

  With intense relief, he saw the figures of Pete and Greg hurrying up the trail toward Claudia. "You will, old son, and you'd better get used to it!"

  *

  Pete weighed the situation up at a glance. He had the rope off his shoulder and began paying it out onto the ground. "Hold on, Mr. Grey, we're nearly there!"

  "It's alright, Agent Ashby; I wasn't planning on going anywhere."

  "Wise ass!" Pete said, and grinned.

  *

  You're mine!

  The ground lurched, shook, and began to drop with shocking speed. Martin scrabbled to his feet and flung himself forward as the ground fell beneath him and a cliff face of damp dark soil rose before him. Above him Claudia screamed and someone shouted. His fingers caught the edge, and his body swung down to bang into the cliff with breathtaking force. Somehow he managed to avoid letting go, but the ground under his fingers crumbled.

  As he dropped, a firm hand clamped itself around his wrist. He hung by it, his other arm flailing in the air, until someone reached down and grasped the collar of his jacket. By main force the two men managed to drag him up and onto solid ground once more, where Claudia fell on him with a sob and kissed his face over and over.

  Beneath them the landslide roared and rumbled into the ravine, rocks clashing and grinding fit to split the air. He clasped her hands and rolled until he could sit upright, his ribs aching with every breath. Gradually the awful noise subsided. A new void lay beneath him, but he knew with certainty the ground he sat on was solid. He took a deep breath and winced as new bruises announced their presence across his chest and stomach.

  "Thanks, chaps! Damned decent of you!" he said to Pete and Greg, and he put his arms around Claudia. He smiled at the ravine. "Denied!"

  Chapter Fourteen

  The whole group met in the resort's main hall, a large wood-paneled chamber decorated with banners and armorial devices to resemble a mediaeval baronial residence. Laurel had called her lawyer friend, and he'd driven at speed from Utica to arrive in time for the meeting. Now he sat with Greg and Donna with a fiercely protective air, his dark eyes watching the local law enforcement officers. Joanne sat with her father off to one side, their heads together as they conversed in a low tone. Ursula Baker sat on her own, pointedly not looking at anyone, visibly fuming at the way events had turned out.

  Martin sat with Claudia, both of them showered and wearing clean clothes. His ribs and stomach still hurt when he forgot and moved quickly, but he was fervently glad to be alive and clasping hands with the woman he loved. A Tylenol helped with the pain, and he found he could watch the proceedings with a detached air.

  Looking around to ensure all were there, the sheriff stepped forward. "Hi, folks, I'm Sheriff Lacon and this is Deputy Williams." The sheriff, a tall, muscular man in his late forties, put his hands on his hips and surveyed them all from under the peak of his baseball cap. "Now, can somebody tell me what's been going on around here?"

  Greg's lawyer stood up. "Sheriff, I'm Tony Weissman, attorney for Mr. Gregory Dewar and his fiancée Miss Donna Pulaski. My client wishes to admit to a charge of arson, in that he did willfully set fire to a cabin here last night with intent to commit an insurance fraud."

  "He was forced to do it by Bruce Baker!" Donna cried, earning an exasperated glance from the lawyer.

  Ursula looked at her, visibly stunned by the accusation. "Arson?" she cried. "Jesus H. Christ!"

  Undeterred, Weissman plowed on. "As the young lady correctly states, Sheriff, my client was blackmailed into the act by Mr. Baker, one of the partners in this resort. He's willing to attest to this in a court of law."

  "He won't be a partner for much longer!" Ursula snarled. "The little rat fuck!"

  "Be that as it may," Weissman continued in determined tones, "Mr. Dewar wishes to turn States Evidence against Mr. Baker."

  "Well, it sounds like quite a little party you've had here!" Sheriff Lacon said dryly. "I guess we'd better put out an APB for Mr. Baker." He glanced at Greg, who looked pale. "Then we'll have a word with this young man down at the office."

  "We can help you with that, Sheriff." Pete spoke for the first time. He stood up and flipped open a small wallet which he held for the sheriff to see. "I'm Agent Pete Ashby, United States Treasury Department. This is my daughter, Joanne. She's willing to speak in support of Mr. Dewar in connection with the insurance fraud."

  "Pete?" Laurel cried, staring at him. "You're a Treasury Agent?"

  He bared his teeth in a distinctly feral manner. "That's what it says on my badge, Mrs. Kratzmer."

  "What's your involvement here, Agent Ashby?" the sheriff asked in guarded tones. From the look on his face Martin could see Lacon did not appreciate having a federal man spring at him out of the woodwork.

  "I've been working undercover here in an attempt to track the whereabouts of a number of missing federal bonds. For some time I'd reason to suspect they could be hidden somewhere in this resort." He glanced at Martin. "Thanks to information received, I now believe them to be located elsewhere in the neighborhood."

  "Joanne, are you an agent too?" Laurel asked weakly.

  "No, Mrs. Kratzmer." She smiled sweetly. "I just work here."

  "Sheriff, you've no need to worry," Pete said, turning back to Lacon. For the first time that Martin or most of the people there could recall, he actually smiled like a human being. "I'm kind of sensitive to folks treading on my preserve; I'm not going to tread on yours."

  "For that mercy, let us give thanks!" Lacon laughed. "Okay, let's get to it. Where and when was this Baker guy last seen?"

  "About an hour and a half ago," Laurel told him. "He was down at the staff cabins. We were the last to see him." She indicated Martin and the others who had been there.

  "Has he got a vehicle?"

  "Yes, Sheriff, he's got a Chevrolet Suburban." She stood up. "I can get you the details; they're up in the office."

  Lacon gestured to his deputy, who left the room with her.

  "I found Bruce in my cabin when I returned from the main building," Joanne spoke up. "He tried to persuade me to leave with him."

  "Why was that?" Lacon asked, shooting a glance at Pete, who stared back with a stony expression.

  "Because she was sleeping with my soon-to-be ex-husband," Ursula drawled, shooting Joanne a venomous glance.

  Joanne shrugged. "Yeah, we were sleeping together until last night when the fire started, but I had a reason for that. Dad told me what he was working on, and I figured I could help by finding out if Mr. Baker knew anything about the bonds."

  Whilst she had spoken, Pete had turned his attention to the ceiling and was gazing at it as if something there was truly riveting. Sheriff Lacon stared at her with frank amazement.

  "Although he never at any time let me in on his money worries, I figured something wasn't right real early," Joanne explained. "We started sleeping together just after the season began this year. After a couple of months, he trusted me enough to leave me on my own in the office where I could access the files. It didn't take me long to get round his passwords on th
e computer, and I found out for sure he was working the books about two months ago. I've got copies of the evidence here." She reached into her bag and drew out a thick folder.

  By now everyone was staring at her. Eventually Ursula cleared her throat. "I've been checking through the computer system and the files all morning. Bruce must have got in last night or really early this morning and deleted everything. Some stuff I do have hard copies of, but I'm glad you've got the evidence to prosecute the little rat." She looked pained. "But did you have to fucking sleep with him?"

  Joanne shrugged. "Sure. He made it clear from the start he had the hots for me, and I figured it was the only way I could find to make him trust me. He may have a big cock, but he wasn't that good in bed, Mrs. Baker," she added kindly.

  "I'll say!" was all Ursula could find to answer such a breathtakingly inept attempt at consolation.

  Martin could feel Claudia heaving with silent laughter alongside him and he clasped her hand and squeezed it, fighting the urge to laugh himself. She gave him a wink and turned her face away from the others to hide her smile.

  "I guess I'd better take care of that folder, miss," the sheriff said, after a pregnant pause. "That's unless you've any objections, Agent Ashby?" The look he gave Pete was laden with sympathy.

  "None whatever, Sheriff," Pete said heavily.

  Lacon took the folder then looked around at the group. "Okay, before I get out there and start looking for this guy, does anyone else have something to say?"

  "I do." Martin raised his hand and turned to Ursula. "Mrs. Baker, I recollect you telling me that Bruce can no longer access his bank account."

  She turned and regarded him coolly. "You're right. As I told you earlier, all the company accounts and our marital joint accounts were closed to him as of the start of business today." Her lips twisted. "Although I guess he's got another account somewhere else he was stashing the money in."

  "He does," Joanne said. "The paperwork's in the folder with the rest of the evidence."

  "That's good, but he can still draw all the money he needs using credit cards," Ursula pointed out.

  "No." Joanne shook her head. "He didn’t have any other credit cards, only a debit card and checkbook linked to the secret account. Last night, when I'd got in and cleaned up after our fight, I saw Bruce had left his billfold with his cards behind in my cabin. I found the checkbook later in his apartment when I went to get a few of my things I’d left there. From what happened last night and a few hints in his previous behavior, I figured he was soon going to make a run for it; and for that, he'd need cash. I hid the checkbook in Dad’s workshop, then went online and used the debit card to buy a heap of gold jewelry. I ordered it to be delivered to your office in New York next week, Mrs. Baker. So the transaction can still be cancelled, and it ties up the debit card!” She laughed. "I emptied the account! He told me the ATM's in Gainesville rejected his cards this morning, yet he never figured out why!"