by Ani Gonzalez
The sun was coming down fast, and the landing was supposed to happen soon after sundown. It would not be long now.
Myrtle shrugged. "The girls are right. Nothing ever happens."
Luanne didn't know what to say to that.
"Why do I come?" Myrtle asked. "That's what you're wondering, right?"
Luanne considered her words carefully. "It seems like a fun group."
Myrtle's eyes softened. "Yes, my husband loved it. He was the one who came up with the regression therapy concept, you know. He got a lot of good clients from this group. He passed away last year."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Luanne said.
Myrtle aimed a sharp glance at her. "He had a very bad shock. His heart couldn't take it."
They had left the group behind and were nearing Larry's van. The road was a few feet away. A couple of cars were parked there, as well as the medium-sized school bus that transported the bulk of the AASC members. It had a large sign with the club's alien-head logo and a warning about the harmful effects of chemtrails.
Myrtle nodded at the smiling alien. "They're loons." She looked back at Larry and Mary. "Totally off their rockers. But, still, they know when the police are circling." She looked at Luanne. "I guess they found out about Larry's gold."
"You know about—"
Myrtle snorted. "Of course I do. Larry thinks the LGMs are coming to take the gold, and he hopes they'll take him with them. I told you he's nutty."
Maybe, but that didn't necessarily make him a criminal. She walked behind Myrtle, lost in thought. Something about the whole Larry-the-UFO-loon-is-guilty struck her as wrong.
The old lady stepped around the van and opened the side door. She put the bag on the ground. "Help me up. This will just take a minute."
Luanne gave Myrtle a hand and she scooted into the van awkwardly. She dusted herself off quickly and searched through the interior, apparently looking for something. Luanne's attention, however, was centered on the quilted bag at her feet.
The bag Myrtle never left behind.
It was a rectangular quilted bag with a zipper in a colorful purple and pink flower pattern. Luanne looked closer and realized that the pattern wasn't flowers.
It depicted faeries, and not just any faeries. The winged shape on the fabric was exactly like the cute faery depicted on the pink scam flyers.
She glanced at the van. Myrtle was busy looking under the seats. She was very flexible for a senior citizen. The AASC members couldn't see her because the van blocked her from view. She could sneak a quick peek and no one would ever find out.
Luanne opened the bag. Inside she found a bunch of familiar print-outs in bright colors. They depicted vampires, ghosts, witches and other supernatural beings. She stared at them in shock.
Myrtle had the Ponzi scheme flyers. All of them.
And that wasn't all. Under the papers she found piles of cash. Hundreds upon hundreds of bills in different denominations.
No wonder Myrtle never let go of the bag.
A manila folder was neatly tucked beside the money. Luanne picked it up and opened it, expecting to find a list of Ponzi scheme victims.
She found no such thing. The first paper she uncovered was a copy of her own mugshot. There she was, in her natural blonde hair, holding a numbered sign. She glanced through the rest of the papers quickly. There was a transcript of her sentencing hearing, a bunch of newspaper clippings about her boss and his trial, and, there, at the bottom of the pile, was a private detective's report detailing her movements from the end of the Global Trend trial to her arrival at Banshee Creek.
There was even a grainy black and white shot of the botánica. The photographer had captured her through the window while she was organizing her fortune-telling materials.
She stared at the picture, uncomprehending.
"There it is," Myrtle exclaimed. "I knew he'd have something. The paranoid ones always do."
Luanne raised her head and saw the pink-haired old lady grab something from under a seat pillow. She turned, smiling triumphantly.
It was a large, shiny revolver, the kind you saw in cowboy movies. A stray moonbeam shone off the metal barrel, hitting her eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SEAN SCANNED the crowd. It had grown dark, so it was difficult to see. A ribbon of red still glowed on the horizon, but it was dim.
Luckily, the crowd had taken out flashlights and lanterns and the kids were running around wearing glow-in-the-dark necklaces, so he still had some illumination.
The so-called alien landing would supposedly occur soon, which meant a lot of AASC members would be very disillusioned in the next few minutes.
He wondered how that would go. The group had done this before and presumably they were used to dealing with disappointment.
Larry and Mary were huddled in front of him, going over their calculations. Larry was agitated and Mary seemed to be trying to manage her companion's expectations.
"I'm just saying," she said in a soothing voice. "That we've been here before."
"This time it's different," Larry replied stubbornly. "The numbers fit perfectly."
Mary sighed. "That doesn't mean that it's going to happen. I know it feels just like the regression memory you had with Myrtle, but there are so many other factors..." She bent to point to some calculations and Sean couldn't hear her anymore.
Larry was anxious, but his impending arrest didn't seem to be the cause. It didn't matter, though. Agent Morelli and her partner should be here to arrest him soon.
Sean expected them at least an hour ago. Where were they?
As if on cue, his phone rang.
"Sheriff Stickley," he said into the mouthpiece.
"Morelli here." The agent's voice had a tight edge to it. "Do you have a visual on Myrtle Watson? Caucasian female in her sixties, hair may be dyed, about five feet tall."
The edge in Morelli's voice made Sean tense. Something was wrong.
"I have four ladies in sight," he answered automatically. "Sixties through eighties, all taller than the subject description."
It was too dark to make out the rest of the group. Agent Morelli's description seemed familiar, but he couldn't find anyone who matched it.
"I have the group roster." He heard Chung say. "Eyes are brown. Hair is dyed pink. She has a scarf with a star pattern."
"She was here," Sean recalled, remembering an old lady with pink hair. "Walking around with a large bag."
"Find her," Agent Morelli said tersely. "Myrtle Watson is an alias, one of many. She ran a hypnosis scam with her husband. They had several fraud convictions and the husband had an attempted murder charge pled down to self-defense. The victim was a business associate who was trying to steal money from them."
Sean waved to Olivia, who was chatting with DeShawn. She frowned and walked toward him. DeShawn followed her.
"And guess who had several emails on his account addressed to a 'Myrtle Watson, Regression Therapist'?"
Sean's heart raced. "Oh, hell, no."
"A Mr. William Darling from Boulder, Colorado."
"Do you think she's armed?" he asked into the phone.
"Unclear," Chung replied. "She has a firearms license for a .38 snub nose, which is likely the one we retrieved with Mr. Darling's body. She may have access to another weapon."
"Not good," Sean replied. He had a crowd of civilians, in the dark, with a possibly-armed criminal on the loose.
It was a volatile combination.
Olivia and DeShawn reached him.
"Find the pink-haired old lady," he told Olivia "She's a POI, dangerous. Assume she's armed." He turned to DeShawn. "Help if you can, firebug. You're deputized."
Olivia and DeShawn nodded and left quickly. They knew what his words meant. Not for the last time, he thanked the fates for the fact that the Banshee Creek sheriff and fire departments worked well together.
Agent Morelli was still on the phone. "The husband died last year from natural causes, probably heart attack," she sai
d. "We found several newspaper accounts where his wife claimed his fragile health was due to having been a victim of fraud. Guess what the fraud was?"
Sean gripped the phone tightly, the hard plastic edge biting into his flesh. He had a bad feeling about this.
"Just tell me," he growled. He couldn't see Luanne either. Crap.
"GlobalTrend Investments. They put all their scam money into the fund and lost everything. Good old Myrtle was interviewed by reporters several times. She even went on television. She was livid about the fraud. Lots of irony there. Guess the player didn't like getting played."
Sean walked around the hill. No Luanne. Where the hell was she? It was so dark, he could barely identify the people right in front of him. How was he going to find her?
"The money used to buy Larry's gold bars passed through several accounts first. At least three are traceable to one of her aliases. Two are traceable to her dead husband."
"You think she was behind the Lucky Ghost scam?"
"It appears that way. The scam is bigger than we thought. She didn't just get money for the gold. We suspect she has an account in Mexico and one in the Cayman Islands."
"So she could've just left with the money." Sean stalked the orchard, a cold stab of dread running through him.
"Yep," Morelli said through clenched teeth. "She set up the UFO guy to take the fall. She should have hightailed it to the Caribbean—"
"But she had a couple of things to do first." Sean's fists clenched so hard it hurt. He had to find Luanne. "How fast can you get here?"
"Two minutes. We're en route."
The phone went dead.
Olivia returned, her face grim. "No one fitting that description is here. DeShawn has three of his guys here on alert and he called the station. They have a truck heading for us. He's checking the road as he waits for them."
Bless the perpetually paranoid Banshee Creek Fire & Rescue guys. They called backup at the drop of a hat. "Did you see Luanne? The feds think she's the target."
Olivia's eyes darkened with worry. "Negative."
They were standing at the highest point in the orchard. He could see the crowd, impatiently waiting for their aliens to arrive. It had grown darker, but everyone had lanterns and flashlights. Cameras were pointed at the sky.
Luanne and Myrtle were nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, Larry jumped. He stood up, holding his smartphone.
"That's my van alarm," he shouted. "Someone's in my van. They want my gold."
Larry started running toward the road, looking panicked. Mary followed him.
Sean cursed under his breath. "Call Morelli," he told Olivia. "Tell them to head for the van."
He ran down the hill as fast as he could, praying he wasn't too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
"GUESS YOU didn't see this coming." Myrtle said, an eerie smile plastered on her face.
It was so dark, Luanne could barely make out the outline of Myrtle's face. The gleaming smile seemed to float in the air like the grin of the Cheshire Cat. The sun had set and the bulk of the van blocked the lights from the gathering.
A hysterical giggle lodged in her throat. At least there was a non-sliver lining. Myrtle would have trouble aiming in the dark.
"It doesn't work that way." Luanne stared at the revolver. It was the one from her vision. The one she'd seen shoot Sean. The question was, did Sean get shot before or after Luanne? "Details," she muttered. "My talent really sucks at details."
She tried to concentrate. She'd once heard of a comic book superhero who used her precognition to anticipate her opponent's moves. Maybe she could do that if she concentrated.
Images flooded her brain. Most of them were bloody. None of them were useful.
"I don't suppose you'd oblige by stepping into the van?" Myrtle asked politely. "That way it will take them longer to find you."
"I think I'd rather bleed all over your money," Luanne replied in the same polite tone. "That way it will be harder for you to cash it."
Myrtle laughed. It came out as an odd, birdlike sound, something between a chirp and a cackle. "You have a sense of humor. That's what drew Harry to your newsletter. Everyone else did financial analysis, but you made jokes. He said it showed you knew your stuff."
Luanne bristled. "I do know my stuff."
Myrtle's eyes grew soft, but her weapon never wavered. "Harry never thought he'd get swindled, not by one of our kind. He thought he would recognize the signs."
"Like William Darling did," Luanne said, putting two and two together.
"I got careless," Myrtle admitted. "He was willing to stay quiet as long as he got a piece of the profits. I agreed to meet him here in Banshee Creek to deliver the goods..."
"And you killed him."
Myrtle shrugged. "Mary sent out a visitor's guide to Banshee Creek with a description of the local landmarks. Black River Falls Bridge was perfect. William was the only passenger that night. All I had to do was wait until the bus left and boom." The last word hung on the air ominously. "You know how marks are, easy-peasy."
"I wasn't tricking anyone," Luanne whispered. Her stock analysis—partly based on her talent and partly based on company numbers and market trends—had always been spot on.
Myrtle snorted. "Harry always said that the most successful grifters were the ones who believed their own lies." She smirked. "Take the owner of this van, for instance. He really believes that a spaceship is going to pick him up in exchange for his gold." Her eyes narrowed. "But the only place he's going is prison, once the police find your body and his gun."
She lunged forward.
Luanne instinctively stepped back, and Myrtle smiled, glancing at her bag. "Good, now you won't get my stuff all dirty. I tell you, I hit a gold mine when I found these guys." The shouting grew louder and Myrtle smiled. "That's my friends cheering for the alien landing. I wonder what it is they saw, or think they saw. Last time, it was a flock of Canadian geese."
She steadied the revolver. Luanne braced herself, focusing on what the gun was going to do. Inanimate objects were sometimes easier to read than people. She could feel adrenaline pounding through her body.
A gleam of light hit the right side of the gun. A faraway shout rang out.
Luanne threw herself to the left, grabbing the open bag and throwing it in the air. She heard the shots but ignored them, focusing on trying to hit Myrtle with the bag. She hit the ground hard, pain coursing through her body. Myrtle fell to her knees and the flyers and dollar bills flew out of the bag.
When Luanne looked up, colorful pieces of paper were lying on the ground and Myrtle was struggling to her feet.
Crap.
Luanne tried to get up, but her leg wouldn't work. She glanced down and saw blood on the grass. A wave of queasiness overtook her.
"Clever girl." Myrtle, now standing, aimed her gun again. "You messed up my emergency cash. Well, thank heavens for Cayman accounts."
Luanne grit her teeth. Her leg was starting to hurt, a lot, but she could still move. She tensed, intending to roll toward Myrtle and, hopefully, knock her down.
But before she could do so, she was blinded by a flash of light. Myrtle cursed. The shouting grew louder. It wasn't cheering, as Myrtle had said.
Someone was coming.
"My van," she heard Larry shout. "Get out of my van."
With Myrtle distracted by the light, this was her chance. She pushed herself up, trying to reach her attacker, but found that she couldn't move. Her leg was too weak. Luckily, she didn't have to. A dark figure ran in front of her, tackling Myrtle, who fell to the ground.
Shots rang out.
Luanne saw Larry run toward the van. Olivia and DeShawn were right behind him, but Larry was faster. He reached the van and leaped into the driver's seat.
Olivia ran to Myrtle and restrained her quickly. The van started and Luanne watched helplessly as Larry took off. She didn't care about the vehicle, though. She cared about the dark figure lying prone on the ground next to her,
bleeding.
It was Sean.
She dragged herself toward him, ignoring her throbbing leg. He was lying on his back, unconscious. There was blood on his arm.
"Luanne." DeShawn had reached them. The firefighter wasn't even breathing hard. He turned to someone behind her. "Check her leg, Jeff."
She felt hands on her hurt leg, but her eyes never left Sean. This was what the vision meant, the gun, the shots, the bleeding. She'd seen it all.
And she hadn't been able to stop it.
She fought back tears as DeShawn tested Sean's pulse. What was the frigging use of seeing things, if you couldn't change them? What was the point?
The firefighter frowned. His hands patted the injured Sheriff, searching for injuries. He pulled at the torn cloth and the bloodied shirt fell off. DeShawn laughed.
Sean's eyes opened. He looked around.
Luanne stared at the black vest on his chest. She started giggling hysterically.
Sean tried to get up, but DeShawn held him back.
"You arm's been hit," the firefighter said. "Not bad, but not good either." He turned to the man behind Luanne. "How's her leg, Jeff?"
"Broken," Jeff replied. "Bleeding's steady, but not arterial."
DeShawn nodded then turned to Sean. "Our guys are on their way. We'll get you to the hospital quick."
Sean shook his head, looking groggy. "It's not that bad. I don't need—" He frowned. "Luanne?"
"Can it," DeShawn said. "It is that bad. You didn't warn us that things could get this dicey. I mean, body armor in Banshee Creek? You broke out the Kevlar?"
Sean's eyes focused on Luanne. "Someone told me I should be careful."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
"DID THEY have season six?" Luanne's voice, carrying down from the bedroom, had a hopeful edge to it.
"Yes," Sean said, taking off his leather jacket. Luanne had been released from the hospital the day before. She'd had extensive surgery on her leg and had spent about a week laid up. Having a bullet break your tibia was no picnic. She was bedridden, but would likely be able to hobble with a cast in a couple of days.