Beneath the Mall of Madness (A Jaspar Windisle Mystery Book 1)

by A. D. Folmer

  Zebulon was pointing what appeared to be a handgun for a giant in my direction, so I put my hands up. He shook his head and took something out of his ears. He lowered the gun and pointed behind me. I looked.

  Steve was going to need a new car, was my first thought. My second was that the first shot had deafened me so completely that I’d missed at least two more. The third was that the man who’d been hiding in the car was never going to explain himself now.

  That made two people in a week who’d fired a gun at a target less than ten feet away from me. There were nice people in this town, but it had more than its share of trigger-happy lunatics.

  I made eye contact with Steve over the top of his car. He looked as shocked as I felt. My hearing had returned a little by the time Sheriff Warren arrived, and I could hear other people if they shouted. Zebulon laughed at Steve and I as we answered the Sheriff’s questions. I guess I didn’t need to shout, but I couldn’t hear my own voice.

  ***

  It turned out that Zebulon had killed two men who had been hiding in Steve’s car. The one who’d reached for me was missing most of his head. The other man’s corpse was in better shape, but the front of the car had done nothing to shield him. He turned out to be one of the state troopers who’d arrested me a few days earlier. I tried to guess what Earl and the Sheriff’s thoughts were based on their movements. I didn’t have much luck. They didn’t ask Zebulon many questions, and he didn’t act like a man concerned about having blown away a law enforcement officer.

  Steve’s car was bleeding radiator fluid, so we rode back to town in Sheriff Warren’s car. I got to sit in front while Steve sat in the back. When we got back to the hotel Sheriff Warren told me to stay in town. Well, he yelled it.

  “And try not to wander around,” he added. I could barely hear him, but he was loud enough that Jeremiah came running out of the hotel to see what was going on. “That’s twice now that someone has tried to grab you.”

  “I thought they were after Steve,” I yelled. Then I remembered that there was nothing wrong with the sheriff’s hearing. “It was his car,” I said in what I hoped was a normal tone of voice.

  “But everyone knew you and Zeb were going out there this afternoon,” he shouted. “And they weren’t hiding in the truck!”

  “They didn’t sabotage it either!” Zebulon called out. “I think I was supposed to leave. Too bad I saw them from the cab.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real hero,” Sheriff Warren said. “You’re lucky that guy wasn’t a real cop!”

  “Wait, what?” His handcuffs had been real enough.

  “The State Patrol had never heard of him or his partner. They weren’t real clear about who they thought was investigating the killings, but I think it’s safe to assume they didn’t call the FBI either.”

  “Then what’s going to happen now?” Steve shouted from the backseat of the police car. They were going to take him to his place next. “If they were trying to hide something they failed. That chupacabra video was well on its way to 100,000 hits before we left, and it’s been reposted at least three times with dramatic soundtracks added.”

  “I’ll call the FBI myself,” the sheriff said, “although I’m going to leave out the chupacabras. They can figure that out for themselves.” He left to give Steve a ride back to his house, and I turned to the hotel. Zebulon slung his arm around my neck. He smelled like gunpowder.

  “Your hearing should be mostly back to normal tomorrow,” he shouted cheerfully. “I guess I should have had you two wear ear protection, huh?” I glared at him.

  “What was that thing you were wielding?” I asked him.

  “A Desert Eagle,” he said. “My rifle takes too long to reload, so I brought it as back-up.”

  “You carry that thing everywhere,” Jeremiah said. He was frowning. “I can’t believe you actually used it.”

  “It has a different effect in movies,” I said.

  “Different ammo,” Zebulon explained. “They use blanks in the movies.”

  “I would hope so,” I said. “Actors don’t generally have a small army of identical cousins waiting to take their place if their death scene needs another take.” He laughed.

  “If you like I can show you how to use one later,” he offered. “Or something with a lower caliber.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said. Not very hard though. I’d had some previous experience with guns, and it hadn’t been enjoyable. On the other hand, there was at least one more fake cop out there somewhere.

  “Fiona left a message for you,” Jeremiah said. “She wants you to come over for dinner if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I could use a hot home-cooked meal. I just hoped she didn’t want to finish taking down the plaster tonight. All I wanted to do was eat and go to bed. “Did she say what time?”

  “Whenever you’re hungry.”

  “You shouldn’t go alone,” Zebulon said. “The sheriff just said you’re in danger. Let me give you a ride.”

  “How do I know you’re not part of a cult conspiracy?” I asked. “That could have been an elaborate set up to get me to trust you.”

  “It’s not a setup,” Theresa said. I had missed her coming out of the hotel. “He knows Fiona made ham. We were both at the store when she bought it. Can I go too?” She directed that at her father.

  “Of course. Just make sure you all get back in time.”

  “I love you, Daddy!”

  Chapter 11: Uninformed children are dead children

  We left half an hour later after I had a chance to shower and change. It was getting colder outside, so I put aside my misgivings and put on the pirate coat. If I’d worn it to the construction site, I wouldn’t feel like a thawing icicle now.

  It was dark by the time we made it to Fiona’s house. She didn’t seem surprised by the extra guests, and she had indeed made ham, stuffing and cranberry sauce.

  “It’s like Easter dinner,” Theresa said. “Are you trying to fatten him up, Aunt Fiona?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “You’re too thin, Mr. Windisle.”

  “This looks fantastic,” I said. I wasn’t about to argue and risk not getting to eat.

  “Since I invited you over to talk about a plan to defeat the chupacabras, the cider is nonalcoholic,” she said. “I hope that’s all right.” I could have used a stiff drink at this point, but I told her it was fine. For the next little while, we did nothing but eat. The baby squid sat at the table too. He had a cube of cranberry sauce to himself, and he ate it with a tiny knife and fork.

  “What did you find out?” Fiona asked when we’d slowed down.

  “Someone has sinister plans for the mall,” Zebulon said. “It’s designed to fit right inside the danger zone.” I nodded.

  “The circle marked out is ancient,” I told her, “And there are no corpses that break the pattern until the day before yesterday. The ferns haven’t moved from that spot for thousands of years, at least.”

  “Why are you calling them ferns?” Theresa asked. “They look like radishes to me.”

  “Because the parts you can see look like a fern,” I told her. She frowned at me.

  “There’s a video on YouTube that disagrees with you.”

  “He meant the parts that are normally above ground,” Zebulon said, backing me up.

  Theresa stuck her tongue out at him.

  “So what? The part that kills you is the most important, and it looks like a radish.”

  “But the part you can see before it comes after you looks like a fern,” Zebulon countered. “Also, does your dad know you’ve seen that video?”

  “Of course. Uninformed children are dead children in our town. And they’re radishes.”

  “Whatever,” I said. I don’t have the energy to argue with kids. “I’ll just call them chupacabras like everyone else.”

  “That works for me,” Fiona said. “From what you’ve told me Steve was right. If we leave them alone, they pose no danger to anyone except t
he occasional animal.”

  “If you could guarantee that no one would ever mess with it,” I agreed. “There’s that video out now and those deaths are going to attract attention.”

  “Just watch,” Theresa said. “Tomorrow one of those hidden animal websites is going to link to that video and we’ll have a whole new wave of visitors lining up to get eaten.”

  “That’d be a plus,” Zebulon said.

  “I realize the decorations are tacky,” I said. “But why are you so down on tourism? You work in a bar.”

  “Some of them are very unsavory people,” Zebulon said. “The rest of them have a tendency to wander into the woods and disappear. You’re doing nicely, but we have an appalling fatality rate. Even with Jeremy’s aggressive ‘go away’ campaign keeping the number of tourists at his place to a minimum, about one in every ten guests doesn’t live long enough to check out of the hotel. I try not to get attached to any of them. After a while, it gets unpleasant to serve people who are about to get eaten by forces they don’t understand.”

  “Like whatever’s in Bishop’s Corner?” I asked. There was silence.

  “We don’t know what’s down there,” Fiona said, “just that it’s not good. It’s not that we don’t wonder; there just aren’t many rewards for curiosity in this town.” She cleared her throat. “Would you come up to the attic with me?” She asked. “I want your opinion on something.”

  “Count me out,” Zebulon said. “I’ve heard stories about your attic.”

  “Me too,” Theresa said. “I don’t want to see any more psychic cheese wasps, either.”

  Up in the attic Fiona said,

  “I knew they wouldn’t come.” She limped to the window and looked down at her yard. “Killer ferns, or radishes, or whatever you want to call them, are nothing compared to some of the things that have appeared up here. Sometimes I think about abandoning this place and leaving the town to fend for itself.”

  “So why don’t you?” I asked.

  “There are compensations. I’ve got a place here. Since I get paid for defending the town, I don’t have to work very hard at the most boring parts of wizarding. I also wouldn’t feel right leaving Gregory or taking him with me. He might get home someday if he stays here.” I didn’t have anything to say to that. I’d never had roots. Or at least none that I could remember. If someone gave me the opportunity to ‘go home’ I don’t know how I’d react. I’d probably scream and run if it meant going back into the mausoleum.

  “So why are you interested in Bishop’s Corner?” Fiona asked.

  “Is that why you wanted to talk to me alone?”

  “I have a feeling I know, but I want to hear you say it.”

  “The entrance to the tunnel is down there,” I admitted. “When the specters showed me Obadiah’s memories I saw how he got there. I thought if I mentioned it in front of Theresa she’d go looking for it.”

  “She just might,” Fiona said. “She’s got less sense than most of the girls her age around here. I think living in that hotel has made her dangerously desensitized to magic.”

  “As opposed to. . . “

  “You won’t see me rushing down there to explore the tunnel.”

  “Then why do you want to know?”

  “Because somebody’s going to have to,” she said. “With my leg I’d have to be carried across the marsh. Some other magic user is going to have to go down there and see what’s really going on. I can’t believe Obadiah kept it a secret all these years. He was friends with my grandfather and his journals don’t have anything to say about it.”

  “Maybe Abner had something on him?” I suggested. “Or he did something really bad and hid the evidence there? I didn’t stay long enough to hear every detail of his life.”

  “I hope not. He was a nice old man handing out chocolate coins when I was a child.”

  “What about Abner? He didn’t go to your church, did he?”

  “No, if he had he would have been buried in our cemetery. He was a sleazy old con artist. He was also one of the few locals who liked the tourists. He’s the reason we have those dreadful bat signs, and he was always trying to encourage local businesses to add black or red to their storefronts. I’m not clear on how he expected to make money on it since he wasn’t invested anywhere and didn’t work in the tourist industry himself. He was always running for mayor, but if he ever won it was before I was born.”

  “Who is the mayor now?” I asked.

  “Mordecai Whateley. He’s Jeremiah’s younger brother. He also owns the self-service laundry. He looks exactly like Zebulon, but taller.” I remembered Zebulon mentioning that earlier. I thought it was odd that she would compare him to Zebulon. After all, if he looked like Zebulon then he also looked exactly like his brother, Jeremiah. And Fiona, for that matter.

  “How many identical relatives do you have?” I asked.

  “Too many to count. My cousin Clarissa Akeley and I were impossible to tell apart when we were younger. She moved away a few years ago, so for all I know we still do. Most of the others have also moved away. Jeremiah left to go to college and didn’t return until he met Eileen. He had the family business to inherit, though. I don’t expect the others to return. Wherever they are, they don’t have to worry about some distant relative with a similar haircut ruining their reputation.”

  “Who’s Eileen?”

  “Mrs. Whateley. She’s from out of town. As you’ve seen, she’s adjusted nicely.”

  “Even the locals have a hard time telling you apart?” That made me feel better about my difficulty in the dining room earlier.

  “Yes. It was better for me when I got my leg brace. I think some of the older people in town were waiting for us to reveal ourselves as an evil clone army. We don’t just have a look, you know. We all look like the original Wizard Whateley, at least as far as you can tell from old paintings.”

  “And you’re living in his house?”

  “No, that’s a more recent Whateley.” I stared at her. I considered letting it be. In the end, I couldn’t resist.

  “And what became of the original Whateley?”

  “You don’t have to worry about him coming back,” Fiona said flatly. “His death was quite final. Recent, but final.” As we talked, a few more psychic cheese wasps found their way out of the plaster. I put them back to rest.

  “Get to the door!” Fiona suddenly said. “Something’s coming through!” She didn’t have to tell me twice. I could see the portal lighting up and enlarging. She pulled a shotgun from behind the door and pointed it at the portal.

  The first thing that came through was a long, hooked beak.

  “Should I get Zebulon?” I asked.

  “No,” Fiona said. “Just wait.” She relaxed and lowered the shotgun.

  The rest of the creature soon followed. It was about three feet tall and covered in fluffy white feathers. It had stubby white wings and a long silky tail. It was wearing a green visor and had a black collar around its neck.

  “Okay,” Fiona said. She put down the shotgun. “I’ve seen these before. We just need to shove it back into the portal. Avoid its beak and you’ll be fine.”

  That was easy for her to say. The thing focused on me and began waddling forwards, flapping its useless wings and burbling enthusiastically. I put my hands out to ward it off and ended up hugging it. It was like being jumped on by an overenthusiastic dog, except this was an alien life form. It didn’t help that when it jumped it was level with my face. Friendly or not I didn’t want to get an eye put out.

  “He likes you,” Fiona observed. “That’s good. You can just pick him up.”

  “He’s heavy!” I complained. “What is he?”

  “I’ve got no idea,” she admitted. “They come through occasionally, and as long as I don’t let them get out of the attic they don’t cause much trouble.”

  “What happens if you let it out of the attic?” I asked as I tried to drag the thing back to the portal.

  “They get into everyth
ing and end up breaking most of it. They’re like puppies that can climb.” I tried to push the thing into the portal, but it was more interested in me.

  “What’s with the visor?” I asked.

  “They’re either more intelligent than they let on, in which case they owe me for damages or they’re pets. Come on, the portal won’t stay open all night.” Finally, I got a good grip on the thing and was able to heave it into the portal. For a second or two my hands were on the other side. I felt a jolt as my fingers went through. The other side was cold and clammy. The thing whimpered as I let go. It lunged at my face and snatched at my hair, then fell through.

  “That was different,” I said.

  “Careful,” Fiona warned me. “As long as the portal is glowing it’s still open.”

  “Great,” I said. “So it can try to come back?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you have any energy left to cook?”

  “Usually I just kill whatever comes through,” she said. “Those things are harmless though, and I’d hate to kill some alien child’s pet. Sometimes people come through, and I try not to kill them either.”

  “People?”

  “Alien people, but you can kind of tell after a while,” she said. “Most of them are happy to find out that they can go back home immediately. A few of them are guarding their own portals.”

  “Could the thing beneath the construction site be another portal?” I asked. “Those monster radishes had to have come from somewhere.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “If so, it can’t be very active or something would have opened it up by now, from one side or the other.” She sighed. “I’m going to have to babysit this tonight. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that little fellow tried to come through again. Would you go downstairs and let Zebulon and Theresa know?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Are you going to be alright?”