by A. D. Folmer
“Yes,” I told her. “The police are building a case right now.”
“I’d like a whiskey please,” she said to Zebulon. “Why can’t they arrest him now?”
“No physical evidence I would guess.” Now she did turn to look at me, and I wished she’d dismissed me instead of Dr. Finch.
“Do you still have a key to that dead man’s house?” she asked me.
“Yes. I’m still going through his things.”
“I want back into his cellar,” she told me. “I have some things I need to do, and my hotel room doesn’t have enough space.”
“Is this about your rock measuring machine?” She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded slightly.
“You could say that,” she said.
“Then I’ll let you in tomorrow morning.”
She smiled at me.
“Thank you,” she said. “It means the world to me.” She stayed long enough to finish her whiskey and headed back to the hotel.
“She’s up to something,” Zebulon said.
“You think?”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let her use that house?”
I shrugged.
“At least she isn’t going after him with an axe. With the mood she was in, I didn’t want to get on her bad side.”
“You’re right about that. Are you really done drinking for the night?”
“After that conversation? I think I could do with another drink.”
***
The next morning there was a group of concerned citizens waiting for me in the lobby. I greeted them.
“The FBI has finally taken notice of our situation and has a team on the way,” the sheriff said. “Unless some miracle occurs, they’re going to consider you a person of interest.” I nodded. “I don’t want you to talk to them.”
I raised my eyebrows at that.
“Why not?” I asked.
“What would you say?” He asked. “You’ve been an eye witness to at least three murders in the last two weeks, and you were in the vicinity of a dozen more. And every single one of them involved monsters or cultists. There’s no way they won’t ask you a question that none of us want to be answered.”
“I don’t see why they would,” I said. “All the deaths I witnessed personally involved bullets, and no one’s trying to hide the radish monsters. They’ve gone viral.”
“I’m more worried about what they’ll ask when they run out of reasonable questions,” Sheriff Warren said. “I don’t need them finding out we have a town full of witches and wizards.”
“Even if I do tell them the monsters live in a magical cave won’t they dismiss me as a flaky psychic?” I asked. “That’s what usually happens when I say something controversial.”
Earl shook his head.
“They might, or they might see you as the kind of flake who might go crazy and kill people. Especially since your alibi for quite a few of the murders is your stay in an enchanted hotel.”
“Then they won’t care what I say because they’ll think I’m insane.”
“I’ve put a spell on the police station,” Cecilia said, “so people won’t name you in their statements. With luck, they’ll never know you were involved at all.”
“That seems like a lot of effort,” I said. Cecilia shrugged.
“You’re one of my best customers this month,” she said, “and you saved my life. This is just payback. But I don’t dare cast spells on federal agents, so it’s not a sure thing.”
“Maybe I should just leave town,” I said.
“I’m going to need you here a week or two longer,” Steve said, emerging from the lounge. He gave no indication he’d heard the earlier part of the conversation. “To no one’s surprise, my request for a new survey has met with resistance.”
“What do you still need me for?” I asked. Not that I wouldn’t love to spend months in Towenridge while Steve’s legal troubles were sorted out, but I did have other things I could be doing. With what I had been paid so far, I could spend the next year on vacation. Preferably somewhere warm and sunny.
“You can tell me if we’ve found all the corpses for one thing.”
“Same with us,” the sheriff said. “I’d like to hire you for that, once the FBI has left. Now that we know they’re there it just doesn’t seem right to leave those people lying at the bottom of the hill.”
“I can do that,” I told him.
“In the meantime, keep a low profile.”
“How low is a low profile?” Theresa asked. She’d been eavesdropping from the front desk.
“Pretty low, I’d say,” Steve told her.
“Is the soda fountain low profile?” She asked. “Because I want to go but my friends are busy, and Dad says I can’t wander around alone while a serial killer is on the loose, even if it is a half-day at school.”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” I told her.
“Sure,” Cecilia said. “I mean, why would the FBI be at the soda fountain?”
***
Because they love ice cream soda, is why. No sooner had Theresa and I sat down that afternoon than two men in black suits stepped in. The youngest started laughing as soon as he entered. They both had tans. The one who was laughing was lightly browned; his companion looked orange. The latter had dark hair that he wore greased back while the former’s hair was tousled and frosted. I thought the FBI’s hair regulations were stricter than that. I had heard that their standards had relaxed. Or maybe this obscure little town had been sent substandard agents. The laughing one was wearing sunglasses that were completely unnecessary at this time of year. While his partner studied the menu, he went straight to the juke box.
“Hey,” he said, “the songs are only a quarter!” His partner grunted in acknowledgment and continued ordering. “They only have the oldies, though.”
Theresa sighed
“There goes the atmosphere.”
“You can come back later,” I told her.
“But you won’t be here!”
“Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“First of all, you shouldn’t take that job from the sheriff,” she whispered after making sure the agents were preoccupied with ordering. “He didn’t tell anyone else to keep quiet or avoid anyone. I think he’s up to something.”
“I appreciate your concern,” I told her. “I don’t see how I can get out of it though. He told me not to leave town, and I don’t see him changing his mind before these gentlemen leave.” She frowned at me.
“You should turn him down anyway. All our most interesting guests disappear, and he never does anything about it. Earl isn’t any better. He spends most of the time he’s supposed to be patrolling visiting Fiona.”
“Doesn’t she live in a dangerous area?” I asked. “Maybe she needs the help more than anyone else.”
“Oh please,” Theresa said. “They’re dating. He’s visiting his girlfriend while on duty.”
“If you don’t like the way the police are doing their jobs have you tried complaining to your uncle? He is the mayor.”
“He said the same thing you did!” Theresa said. “Then he said it would all make sense when I got older, but I am older, and he still won’t take me seriously.”
Now I was in a sticky position. Since I had an ally, however young, I didn’t want to antagonize her. On the other hand, if the Whateleys hadn’t explained to their daughter that those ‘interesting’ people were probably cultists it wasn’t my place to do it. In the end, Theresa won. She was trying to protect me after all.
“Sheriff Warren is trying to protect you, and so is your uncle,” I told her. “If they don’t take an aggressive stance cultists would overrun your town. That sucks for people like me, but it keeps you safe at night.”
“You mean, it’s okay if you get killed because you might be a bad guy?” Theresa wasn’t following my logic.
“Well, no. It’s not okay to kill me,” I told her. “I’m just saying they have a reason to be paran
oid. Now, if that was the first thing you wanted to tell me, what was the second?”
“It’s about that Dr. Finch. He’s been sneaking around the hotel for the past few days.”
“How do you know what he looks like?”
“I didn’t at first,” she said. “I saw him in the bar last night and I heard you and Zebulon talking about him.”
“Why are you telling me this instead of your mom or dad?” She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“I don’t want to bother them if it isn’t important,” she said. “I thought you were investigating too.”
“Not all investigations are created equal,” I said. “I prefer to think of myself as doing a very particular version of land surveying.” I ate some of my French fries. “If Dr. Finch dies and gets buried at the construction site he’ll become my business, and I’ll ask him why he’s been sneaking around the hotel.” She kicked me under the table. Aren’t kids just adorable?
“So is it important or not?”
“Yes, it’s important. Listen, there’s a ninety percent chance he’s a murderer. If you see him outside the hotel don’t leave, okay? Don’t follow him, don’t talk to him, just stay away.” She nodded.
“I’m not stupid,” she said. “I just. . .we’re not usually the center of what’s happening.” She poked at her lunch. “Do you think this’ll be resolved before the reenactment?”
“Isn’t that in a week?”
“Yes.”
“I doubt it,” I told her. “Steve has some things he has to deal with before construction is officially halted, and I have no idea how Fiona is going to manage.”
“Is today dress like a pirate day?” The shorter FBI agent asked. Great, we’d caught their attention somehow.
“No,” I said.
“Then why are you dressed like a pirate?
“Because pirates are cool,” Theresa said.
“Oh, are the two of you on a date?” he asked. “How cute!”
“No way! Theresa said. “How old do you think I am? He’s my babysitter!” I laughed weakly.
“A pirate is babysitting you?” he asked. “I don’t know if I can allow that.”
“Leave them alone, Lucky,” his partner said.
“You’re no fun,” Lucky complained. “So what were you saying about a murderer?”
“There is one,” I said. “It isn’t safe for kids to wander around until they’re caught.”
“People are being killed in my backyard!” Theresa told him. “Plus, there were the fake police!”
“That’s crazy,” Lucky said. “So why does your babysitter think Dr. Finch is a murderer?” Theresa gave him a look that I would describe as uncharitable.
“He’s, like, the only person who’s gone on that illegal monster tour and come back,” she said.
“What kind of monsters do you see on an illegal monster tour?” he asked her.
“Illegal ones,” Theresa replied.
“I should have known,” he said. “Perhaps we can have them deported.”
“Are you real FBI agents?” she asked.
“Yes, we are,” the quiet one said. Theresa sized them up.
“You look less like FBI agents than the fake ones on TV.”
“We did our best, but Scully was busy,” Lucky joked. Theresa gave him a blank stare.
“She was the skeptical agent on the X-Files,” I told her.
“Oh, I’ve heard of that show,” Theresa said. “It’s like Lost, right?”
“Not really. . .”
“No! Don’t tell me watching the X-Files makes me old,” Lucky said.
“Okay, I won’t.” Theresa went back to her meal.
“At least I only watched it in reruns.”
“You are real FBI agents, aren’t you?” I asked the quieter one. He was tall and wide and despite his overall look, exuded an aura that screamed ‘federal agent.' He nodded.
“The police weren’t eager to take our word for it either,” Lucky said. “What happened to make you all so skittish?”
“There was a shoot out,” I said. “There have been quite a few lately.”
“Then where are the reporters?” The big one wanted to know. “I thought the police report was exaggerated.”
“We don’t get respectable reporters around here,” Theresa said. “And the ones showing up for the chupacabras are staying in the next town.”
“Wait, there’s a town closer to the mall?” I asked.
“No, but it has more amenities,” Theresa said, “and it’s got paved roads leading to it.”
“No kidding,” Lucky said. “Your town is hidden pretty well. I’m surprised you have so many tourists.””
“I’m surprised they haven’t left,” the taller agent said.
“They’re here for monsters,” I said. “Who knows what they’re thinking?”
“Not much,” Theresa muttered.
“I’m sure you’d like to get back to eating,” the taller agent said. “I’m Agent Steiner and this is Agent Starr. If you see anything suspicious call the police station, and we’ll be happy to investigate.” I bet he wouldn’t have said that if he’d known how many suspicious things were going on in this town.
***
Theresa was very quiet when we left.
“Do you think they’ll get to the bottom of it?” She asked.
“Your sheriff is already hiding things from them,” I said. “So I’d guess not. Then again, I don’t know how much you have to know about a murder to figure out who did it.”
“But you know,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Could you raise those guys as zombies to hunt down their killer?” She asked.
“No,” I said. That’s not how it works. I can only work with spirits, not physical matter. And based on my experiences with dogs, shades aren’t capable of revenge.”
“You’ve raised the ghost of a vengeful dog?” she asked.
“Sort of. What I meant was that shades aren’t very specific. A shade dog is like a prototype of all dogs. If I raised Lassie as a ghost she’d bark and wag her tail and follow humans around, and since she’s a collie she’d probably try to herd things, but if Timmy fell down the well she wouldn’t have a clue what to do.”
Theresa thought about that.
“Can I see?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to,” she said. “I have a bunch of goldfish buried in the backyard. You could raise one of them.”
“I don’t think that goldfish will work too well,” I said.
“Please? I’ll give you all of my allowance.”
“How much is your allowance?”
“Ten dollars.”
“That’s how much you think raising the dead is worth?” She shrugged.
“They’re only goldfish. How about all my allowance for a month?”
We were in the hotel parking lot now. I sighed.
“I’ll do it for free,” I said, “since we’re friends and all, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“Great!” she cheered. “When do we start?”
“First we need a shovel,” I said. “They have to be exposed to air. We’ll have to hope they haven’t rotted away completely yet.”
“Oh, that’s all right. The biggest one died just a few weeks ago.”
***
Mrs. Whateley looked surprised when we came in to get the shovel. When Theresa explained what we were doing, she insisted on coming along to watch. I couldn’t blame her. As far as I know no one’s made a goldfish themed horror movie, but can you imagine the possibilities? And let’s face it, for a thirteen-year-old to have lots of dead goldfish those fish hadn’t been living the life of Riley. Those guys can live for twenty years if they’re treated right.
The goldfish weren’t buried deep, so I stopped Theresa as soon as I saw a fish bone.
“I’m surprised there isn’t a smell,” Mrs. Whateley said.
“Fish rot quickly,” I told her. I reached out and touched the bone, the
n slowly pulled my hand away.
“Look, Mom, it really is Barry!”
“Wow,” I said. Barry was ten inches long. He had a standard comet body type and a nice calico pattern. He was translucent like all shades, and like all shades he was attracted to me. Which was good because as soon as Theresa tried to pet him he zoomed across the yard to hide in a tree.
“I guess you were wrong about him needing water,” she said. She sounded disappointed.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Whateley said. “I had no idea he could move that quickly.” She looked down. “You certainly are good at raising the dead, Mr. Windisle.” Theresa started laughing. “And my daughter is even worse at raising fish than I thought.”
It had been a mass goldfish grave, and now the goldfish were rising up. Barry must have been an exceptionally tough fish. None of the other fish were anywhere near as big as him. Most of them were in the three to the five-inch range. The majority of them were comets; there were also orandas and bubble eyes. All of them were surrounding me to the point that it was disorienting. Sparks huddled against my neck. He gave me impressions of swimming endlessly around the same plants, waiting for food to fall from above. I got a general sense of contentment. Then, I got a sense of being eaten.
Getting bitten by a shade is impossible, they’re just not solid enough. It seemed that gentle nibbling was not out of the question, however. I waved my arms over my head to brush them away. Theresa laughed and held out her hands.
“Try it, Mom,” she said as a few fish came over to her. “They tickle!” Mrs. Whateley smiled and held out a hand.
“You’re right,” she said. “Oh, Barry’s coming back.”
“They don’t stay away from me for long,” I said. “You can play with them for a while longer, but I have to put them back.”
“What happens if you don’t?” Theresa wanted to know.
“Not much happens to them,” I said. “But I look weird.”
At that moment, Agent Starr came around the side of the building.
“There you are!” He called out. “My partner and I want to rent a room if you’ve got any. The other hotels are . . .” I could see him taking in the goldfish. “. . . weirder.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Whateley said. “We do have rooms available. You’ll have to pardon our flying goldfish infestation. I assure you, they’re quite harmless.”