The Good, The Bad and The Ghostly ((Paranromal Western Romance))

by Keta Diablo

  A key turned in the lock from the other side.

  Shit! Now what? Guess I’ll just search around and then worry about it later.

  The bed was unmade. Either the Fairweather maid had not been admitted or Sylvie and Elzy had had a tumble. Either one, it was a rumpled mess. Sylvie’s very elegant silk nightdress lay in a heap on the floor, which to Lizzie indicated she’d been stripped of it rather than removed it herself. But there was nothing else to give any sense of what had been going on in the room, and when.

  She felt around under the mattress, first on the side nearest the door, and next on the far side...nothing.

  Next, she made her way to Sylvie’s linen press. A selection of fine dresses, cloaks, shoes, various unidentifiable items of nineteenth century clothing, items Lizzie could not name. She felt in the pockets—a used hankie in one (times haven’t changed much, have they?), linen, of course. She ran her hands over the fine fabrics, noting the hand sewing and the embroidery and lace, combinations that, if on a dress in 2016, would cost a fortune for the handiwork. I guess there were good things back then...back now?...as well as bad.

  She moved on to the washstand and looked it over, pulled out a drawer, but there was nothing, not even a note. Holding up the pitcher and looking down at the matching basin, she thought of the antique shop and how many of these sets came through the door. Minton. Worcester. Irish Beleek. Flow-blue sets and sets of fine china. And she wondered if she would get back.

  But did she want to? That was the question. Leave Colby? Or live a life—life?—as a ghost for all eternity. Was there a man like Colby in 2016?

  Unlike Elzy’s room, the chest of drawers was full to overflowing with clothes. Blouses of some nature, undergarments all silk and satin and lace, little reticules of embroidered fabric and one in silver links, sleepwear: it was a treasure trove to Lizzie of vintage clothing. Or maybe not vintage at the moment. Lizzie felt around, half expecting some ancient form of female contraceptive, an early form of the diaphragm or whatever. She was not disappointed; a box marked ‘womb veil’ was hidden among Sylvie’s things.

  Oh, gross! How disgusting...and proof she never got pregnant. Or at least I doubt it.

  But there was something else. A satin bag, plump and heavy, and with a jingle as Lizzie shook it. She grabbed it out and looked inside. Coins. Lots of coins.

  Ho, ho, ho! Enough to pay the Psychic Investigators. Colby’s going to love this!

  Chapter Ten

  "So how did you get out?" Colby asked on the way home when Lizzie had described her efforts to walk through walls.

  "I was by the door as Sylvie came back in, steaming, absolutely steaming at you, and I slipped out."

  "How do you know she was steaming? That’s odd."

  "I listened through the door once I was out. She started slamming things around the room, muttering to herself. Then she slapped the wall yelling for Elzy."

  Colby was quiet for a moment, his gaze straight ahead on the road. Lizzie slanted a glance at him before asking, "So what happened? What did you say?" She could see him swallow, his jaw clench.

  "I realized there wasn’t a lot I could say, Elizabeth. I couldn’t really say my ghost-wife had gone into Elzy’s room and found this or that. So I couldn’t tell her I suspected her of bigamy, could I?"

  Lizzie gave this some thought. He was right, of course. "So?" she asked.

  "So. I asked for a divorce. Said we were mismatched and I thought she’d be happier without me, I’d support her, of course, but wanted out."

  "Colby...you have far too much honor, you know."

  He grunted. "Well. To me, that’s about the only way to live, but I tell you what. She took it pretty well. I wouldn’t have said she was steaming."

  "Maybe she put on a brave face?"

  "Doubt it. Anyway, did you get back into Elzy’s room?"

  "Yup. It’s strange. She locks her door, he doesn’t bother. And I think I know why."

  "Why?" Colby glanced down at his late wife, who drew from her pocket the satin bag of coins. "Holy mackerel! Lizzie! Where in tarnation did you get that?"

  "In your present wife’s lingerie drawer. Nicely tucked away. I hid it in my pocket and since no one screamed as I passed by, I take it if it’s in my clothes, on my person, it doesn’t show. At least that’s my theory." She drew open the bag and pulled out a coin—a large coin.

  "Godalmighty. Lizzie, that’s an eagle."

  Lizzie looked at the coin and could see the engraved eagle on it with the words, ‘Ten D’ beneath it—and it was gold. She turned it in her palm to see Lady Liberty in her crown, and all she could think of was how much that coin must be worth in 2016. "Wow," she whispered. "Wow! How much is it worth? Oh," she caught herself, "Ten D? Ten Dollars each?"

  "Yeah." Colby glanced down at the pouch in disbelief. "How many are there?"

  Lizzie splayed them out in her lap and counted. "Twelve. A hundred and twenty dollars. Well, there’s your payment for good ol’ Duds, I guess." She jingled all but one back into the bag. "Here. Take this for good luck. You might need it."

  Colby guffawed but took it anyway. "I guess I can use all the luck I can get when it comes to money." He dropped the coin in his shirt pocket and snapped down the tab.

  "Just think of it, Colby. When she finds out they’re missing, we won’t be to blame, but I bet Elzy will be. Ha! Wish I could be there to see that."

  "Lizzie, I don’t know. I mean, it’s not right. Stealing it."

  Lizzie flared like lightening over the Tetons. "You were tricked. You know you were. Was that right?"

  "No, but—"

  "No ‘buts’ about it. Keep that coin and use the rest for Dudley Worksop. She’s a...a no-good bitch, and you have the right to have this money for all the trouble you’ve gone to. And the divorce will cost you a fortune, and now you’re stuck supporting her? Really? Are you kidding me?"

  "Well. I made a mistake and now I have to pay for it."

  "Well, she made a mistake, too, and she should pay. At least take the money to pay Duds—"

  "I don’t know what Dudley Worksop would make of being called, ‘Duds.’"

  "I don’t give a shit what he would make of it. He’s not here to comment."

  Colby wrinkled his nose. "I don’t know where you learned that language. It wasn’t from me. Boy, you have some mouth these days."

  "It’s the twenty-first century, dearest. Welcome to my world."

  * * *

  As the buggy jangled up the drive, Colby took in the scene, the ranch he had fought so hard to build up after his father had handed it on. He had envisaged long, happy years here with Elizabeth, years with children playing in the yard, learning to ride and shoot, and eventually helping to run the cattle. But that had not been what transpired. He had lost his wife—or at least lost his living wife—drunk himself into a stupor from which he had struggled to pull himself out, and remarried to the wrong woman. He still had debts, but the ranch was running well with half-decent cattle prices as the country pulled itself out of the Panic of ’93 and, if there weren’t too hard a winter, he could probably see to those debts.

  But the question now hanging over him was why Elizabeth had returned. As happy as he was to have her back, he knew in his heart it was not a healthy situation for him. At some time she would go, disappear, and he would be alone again. He wondered if he could face it, if losing her a second time was something he could live with.

  As his mind turned these things over, Lizzie sitting beside him jingling the little bag of coins, he caught sight of a visitor’s horse tied up at his house.

  "Give me the coin bag, quick."

  "Who is it?" There was a note of tension in Lizzie’s voice, a sense something not right was up ahead.

  "Don’t worry. It’s only Jack Ketchum, my friend, but I don’t want him to see the bag flying about. Can you get yourself down—and be quiet?"

  Lizzie huffed. "I’m quite nimble, you know. And men no longer have to help—"

  "He
y, Colby!" Jack Ketchum stepped out from the ranch house, pulling the door closed.

  "Hey Jack. Sorry I wasn’t in. Hope you helped yourself to a drink or something."

  "Naw. Thought I’d set a while and wait, but it seemed to be gettin’ late."

  Colby jumped down from the buggy and pulled the reins forward to tie the horses for a moment. "Was there something you wanted, or you stopping by for a jaw?" he offered.

  Jack looked a bit embarrassed. "Headed out over to a ranch up north of here. Thought I’d stop in, but I better hit the road now. Wanna be there ’fore it gets dark."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, I better go."

  "I don’t trust him. Who is he? Do you always have people just walking into your house when you’re not there?" Lizzie tried to jab Colby, but he ignored her and took a step away.

  Colby watched as Jack mounted his sorrel. "Well. Sorry I missed you." He ran a hand over his stubble and held his friend’s gaze. "Stop by again, Jack, when you’re coming back this way."

  Jack Ketchum nodded. "Will do." Then he put his spurs to his mount’s flank and was off.

  Colby stood for a minute, perplexed by his friend’s speedy departure. "Of course, we leave our doors open and people come and go. It’s the code of the west—western hospitality." He glanced down at a worried Lizzie. "Why? Don’t you do that?"

  "No." There was a melancholy to her voice. "Things have gotten...well, people are not quite trustworthy anymore. But I have to say," she added reviving somewhat, "I don’t trust that guy. How long have you known him?"

  "Couple of years."

  "About as long as you’ve known Sylvie?"

  "Yeah. Why? But they weren’t friends when I met them. I met them separately."

  "That’s what you think."

  "What are you getting at? You think Jack and Sylvie have a romance going now? Lizzie: first Elzy, now Jack? No. I’ve never seen them talking aside from when Jack’s been over to visit me. There’s nothing between Sylvie and Jack."

  "Like I said, that’s what you think."

  * * *

  Spooned together with the moon beaming through the window, Lizzie thought she’d never been quite that happy. At least not so far as she could remember. She lay with Colby’s arm across her, the scent of horse and leather and a greenness from outdoors filling her head. But the other thing that was filling her head was the mystery of Jack Ketchum and Sylvie and Elzy. Something wasn’t right. Something was not right at all. She sensed Ketchum had been searching the house.

  She listened to the sounds of the night—a coyote howling in the distance, the breeze ruffling trees and creaking the wood of the house, an owl hooting and, somewhere off in the distance, a horse nickered in his sleep. It was a good life, she knew. And she knew she must have loved it, valued it, treasured the future she and Colby had looked forward to. Now, what she looked forward to was sorting the mystery of why she had returned, and then getting back to St. Louis, 2016. It would be difficult, terribly difficult to leave Colby, but there was no way out of this.

  Lizzie’s eyes welled unbidden and she sniffed. She entwined her fingers with the sleeping Colby’s hand, his quiet snores a symphony to her. Throughout her life—her 2016 life—her timing with men had always been wrong. This one just out of a relationship, that one going off to grad school, a third offered a great job back east. This was the epitome of bad timing; you didn’t get worse timing than a one hundred and nineteen year differential. When would it end? When would she meet the right man at the right time?

  The warmth of Colby’s body comforted her, and as she drifted off to sleep, these problems floated away. Things would work out, she assured herself. Somehow, things would work out. And just as she relaxed into the luxury of sleep, she thought she could hear galloping horses.

  And then the front door burst open.

  Chapter Eleven

  Colby jerked awake fully conscious and reached for his gun. But, at the same moment, the bedroom door slammed open with three masked men, rifles pointed at him, barging into the small space.

  "Hold it right there," one of them said.

  Colby studied the speaker, up and down. "Shoulda changed your clothes at least, Jack. Then I mightn’t have been able to identify you. I take it one of your associates is Elzy Lay."

  "You’re a bit too smart," Jack affirmed. "Get your clothes on. We’re going for a little walk."

  Colby could feel Lizzie start to swing out from under the blankets, and hoped the movement she made was not visible, or at least not noticed.

  "Take your time," she whispered. Then, as if she realized she needn’t whisper at all, she added, "Act like you have a stiff arm or something."

  She stole out of the bed but the threesome blocked her way into the kitchen, and she stood uncertain of what to do, her brow raised, questioning at Colby. He figured if they let on she was there, the intruders might shoot him and flee in terror. She had to knock them out or disarm them somehow, and Colby knew she was aware he kept his rifle in the kitchen—along with his pots and pans.

  As one of them took a small step to the side, Lizzie glided by, then stopped. "It’s Sylvie! In man’s clothes. It’s your friggin’ wife!" She stomped off to the kitchen as Colby reached down for his shirt.

  "I’ve never seen you in men’s clothing, Sylvie. I have to say, it doesn’t suit you." There were exchanged glances between Sylvie and the one Colby presumed to be Elzy.

  "I told you he’d notice. Damnit, Maude! I mean...."

  Elzy’s words trailed off as Colby processed what the outlaw had said. He took his time pulling on his shirt and reached down for his pants.

  "So. Your name isn’t even Sylvie Davis? It’s Maude something or other?"

  "That’s right," his deceptive wife answered. "It’s Maude Davis, not Sylvie—"

  "So were we ever married?"

  "You must be joking—you think I’d marry an impoverished, two-bit cowpoke? I did it to try to find where the gold is hidden. We thought sooner or later you’d let on. We couldn’t search while the Johnson County War was going on, so I married you—or pretended to. I never expected things to drag for this long."

  "Maude’s married to me," Elzy piped in. "A little bigamy never hurt anyone."

  "Well, it certainly won’t hurt me. If the marriage is null and void, I guess I won’t be supporting you the rest of my life."

  "Which will be incredibly short hereon out," she assured him.

  Colby pushed through the last of the metal fly buttons on his jeans. He pivoted toward Sylvie, watching as a frying pan came crashing down on her head. "I don’t think so, dear wife," he stated as she crumpled to the floor.

  In the confusion that followed, Colby heard from Lizzie: "Boy, these things are heavy in cast iron. Which wife were you talking to?"

  The two outlaws danced around, perplexed.

  "What the hell?" Jack said.

  "I’m getting out of here!" Elzy started to the door but Lizzie raised the rifle she had nearby and pointed it at him.

  Jack fired in her direction, then swung toward Colby.

  "No!" Lizzie screamed. She fired toward Jack, but the bullet missed and he grabbed Colby as a shield.

  Elzy darted past her into the night.

  "I don’t want to have to kill you, Gates. But I sure as hell want to know where the gold is hidden. And, haunts or no haunts, I’m not leaving here without it." Jack’s breath was hot against Colby’s neck.

  "I have no idea what gold you’re talking about. I have a few coins you’re welcome to but—"

  "I’m not talking about a few coins. I’m talking about the gold hidden by The Hole-in-the-Wall gang, or at least some of them, a few years back. Nearly five years we waited, waited for that dang so-called Johnson County War to settle, for the lawmen to get the hell out of Buffalo, and the dang cavalry to stop hanging about. Elzy is part of Butch’s gang and he said—"

  Colby tried to remain calm. He knew, from childhood, his real-life Lizzie was a fair shot and would sh
oot first chance she got, but Jack Ketchum was holding him tight and close. "Jack, I have no idea what gold you’re talking about. This is a large ranch; it could be anywhere."

  "Yeah, but those men ain’t stupid. They’d have hidden it someplace they could find again."

  Colby thought a moment. "Like the barn?"

  "Well, now. Let’s just go and see, shall we? And whatever hit Maude and is holding that rifle there had better stay away from me. Because if it comes close or tries anything, you’ll be the one to get shot."

  He pulled Colby with him along the wall as far as the bedroom door, inching their way so Colby stayed in front. Lizzie stepped aside but kept the rifle level. In a nifty little dance, Jack Ketchum swung around and kept Colby facing the rifle as he backed to the front door. Then he reached around for the latch and yanked it open, swinging Colby in front of him.

  A shot rang out.

  * * *

  "No!" Lizzie’s cry was eerie even to her own ears. She dropped the rifle, clattering as it hit the floor, and dashed outside.

  "I’m all right, I’m all right," Colby assured her.

  But Jack was not. Somehow, Elzy’s shot had glanced off Colby and hit Jack in his upper arm. Trying to staunch the blood and move, keeping Colby in front of him proved impossible.

  Lizzie dashed back and grabbed up the rifle once more, pointing it at Jack’s head. "Tell him to let you go or I’ll blow his brains out. And tell Elzy if anything happens to you, I’ll be spooking him for the rest of his days."

  Colby started to convey the message "My dead wife says—" but realized Elzy was gone. He looked to where Elzy should’ve been and, instead, saw the first small flames of his barn on fire.

  It was then, both he and Jack seemed to realize Elzy had gone back in the house to grab Maude and was now carrying her, running to the horses. Jack pushed Colby aside, and Lizzie took the chance to fire at him.

  She hit the same shoulder, and he emitted a mighty howl of pain.

  Elzy threw Maude over his horse and mounted, riding out as Jack shuffled to his. But Lizzie wasn’t now paying attention. She threw down the rifle to rush to Colby to see if anything could be done to save the barn.