Inn the Spirit of Legends

by Becki Willis

  The lawman broke into a guffaw. “I bet old Fred and Sadie are having the time of their lives! I can just imagine Fred out there on the water!”

  Irritated at both men, Hannah’s voice was sardonic. “Can we get back to the case, please? Aren’t you going to take fingerprints, test for DNA, anything?”

  “This isn’t Houston, miss, and it sure ain’t CSI,” Deputy House drawled. “Things don’t work in real life like they do on TV, and small departments don’t work like they do in big cities. We can’t. We don’t have the funding.”

  “So, no fingerprints?”

  “We could,” he agreed, but his tone was dubious. “But the dust makes an awful mess. Might leave a smudge on all those papers, and some of those ledgers look pretty old. You sure you want to do that?”

  Hannah looked around the room. She hated the thought of ruining all those old ledgers, particularly when she hadn’t gone through all of them yet. Plus, she thoroughly enjoyed the side notes. As it turned out, Miss Wilhelmina carried on a habit started back in the early ledgers, when the inn was still a stagecoach stop. Those books had true historical value. Hannah couldn’t bear the thought of ruining them with black powder.

  “I guess not,” she said, looking to Walker for confirmation. He lifted one shoulder, signaling that the choice was hers. “Maybe just the door handles.”

  “Good call,” House nodded his approval. “Ted, go get the kit. I’ll finish up pictures of this mess.”

  Hannah made her way toward Walker. From the side of her mouth, she hissed, “We need to talk.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Back at the motel, the brothers cleaned up after their disastrous mission.

  “I can’t believe I have chicken feathers in my nostrils!” Delroy whined, still digging for more.

  “At least you didn’t have to ride home soaking wet,” his brother complained. He sloshed across the carpet, leaving a wet path to the bathroom. “Turned my ankle when I fell down the hill and into that creek, don’t you know.”

  “At least you didn’t meet up on the wrong end of an angry goat.”

  “Goat? I thought you were roosting with the chickens.”

  “I stumbled into the goat pen first. There was a fence between us, but that didn’t stop a mean billy from letting me know I weren’t welcome.” Delroy rubbed at the offended area.

  “So, how’d you end up wearing feathers?” Bigs dropped his overalls to the floor, unconcerned that his saggy underwear was now on display.

  “Cover that thing!” his brother protested. “The only way to get away from that shaggy monster of a dog was to let myself into the chicken coop. Thought he would tear the pen down, I did, until that lawyer guy called him back to the house. As soon as I could, I skedaddled outta there.”

  “And all for nothing. We didn’t find a dad-blamed thing, don’t you know.” Bigs shook his head in disgust. “I’m taking a hot shower.”

  “Leave some hot water for me this time!” Delroy said to the slamming door.

  Delroy dusted off the last of the feathers. Bigs claimed the curse against his family was broken, but he had his doubts. Same as always, nothing was going their way.

  His entire life, the Hatfield family had been down on their luck. No matter what happened, they never seemed to catch a break. There were no doctors or lawyers in their family tree; hardly a high school diploma, if the truth be known. He wondered if his was the sole exception. Bigs had a GED certificate, but it had come in the mail through one of those back-of-the-magazine offers. Send a few bucks, answer a few questions, and your ‘diploma’ arrived in the mail in six to twelve weeks. Most of the other men in their family dropped out of school to enter the workforce. Day laborers, every one of them. Not that there was a single thing wrong with an honest day’s work for honest wages. For the Hatfield family, though, the problem came when one tried to define the word ‘honest.’ It wasn’t a common word in their vocabulary.

  His father, and Big Daddy before him, and his father before him, always blamed it on the curse. Said the old Indian woman had put a hex on Patch’s head all those years ago, at the request of Lina Hannah. Said for all the days of their lives, their descendants would be bound by the curse. Bigs claimed that with the death of Wilhelmina Hannah (the last descendant of the cursor), the hex was broken for the descendants of the cursee (which was them.)

  When his older brother said it, it sounded a lot more convincing. When Del ran the words through his own head, especially when wearing these dad-burned feathers, it just sounded like wishful thinking.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “So, what’s so urgent we have to talk about?” Walker asked. Hannah had shuffled him out of the office, all but pushing him across the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you want me mentioning Orlan Varela? He could be working with Everett Tinker as an inside man!”

  “Believe me, Hannah. Orlan Varela isn’t working with Tinker.”

  “How do you know that? Someone stole those pork chops, and that man was definitely standing here in the kitchen a few days ago, going on about how good it smelled in here.” She jerked open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Oh, and now someone has gone and eaten the pizza from last night, and the stew from the night before. They even stole the plastic container it was in!”

  “I’ll buy you some more Tupperware,” he promised. “But take my advice. Don’t mention Orlan Varela’s name to the deputies.”

  “And why not? Is he someone important?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is he the sheriff’s son or something? The county judge’s nephew? Is there a reason they wouldn’t want to know he might be involved in this?”

  “He wasn’t involved,” Walker insisted stubbornly.

  “You can’t know that!”

  “I can.”

  “Just like you know Caroline wasn’t involved.” She sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. “Wait. Are they your clients? Is that why you’re trying to protect them?”

  “Hardly,” he snorted.

  “Then explain to me why I shouldn’t march over there and ask Deputy House to look into this evening’s whereabouts of Orlan Varela?”

  “You don’t need House for that,” House’s partner said, walking in to hear the end of her rant. “I can answer that question for you. Same place he is every night, just down the road. Buried in the Grapetown Cemetery.”

  “Buried? But, how—oh, I get it. He’s someone famous from the past. Okay, so maybe you can find out who plays his character at the history farm.”

  The deputy sent Walker a curious look, before directing his scowl at Hannah. “Ma’am, where is this history farm you keep talking about?”

  “How should I know? I can’t find a thing about it on the internet. But you’re from here, you should know!”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Hannah looked at Walker for support. “You tell him. Tell him how Caroline works there, just like the man who was in this kitchen.”

  “I think I heard House calling you,” Walker lied to the deputy. “Hannah, can I have a word?”

  Both looked confused, but both complied. Tedford left the kitchen and Hannah came forward, wearing a frown. “Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

  When Walker’s hand went to the back of his neck, she knew it wouldn’t be good.

  “Like I said, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. About Caroline…” he started. “And Varela. The thing is…”

  Hannah felt a chill move down her back. Behind her, someone spoke.

  “What the gentleman is trying to say,” a familiar honeyed voice purred with its heavy Southern drawl, “is that the good officers of the law don’t know we’re here.”

  Hannah whirled around to face the elusive Caroline. She looked every bit as lovely as she had the other day, dressed again in her yellow hoop skirts. Once again, Hannah was conscious of her own less-than-elegant appearance, which was now dusted quite generously with sand.
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  “Where did you come from? How do you keep getting in here?”

  The delicate blonde looked at Walker. “She doesn’t know, does she, Barrister Jacoby?”

  He shook his head.

  Hannah resented the fact the two of them shared a secret and left her out. “I don’t know what?” she snapped. “That you’re involved? It’s becoming rather obvious!”

  “Involved?” The woman looked truly confused.

  “You know. The two of you.” She waved her hand suggestively, but the blonde still looked clueless. Hannah rolled her eyes. “Dating. Having an affair. Hooking up. Whatever it is you choose to call it.”

  “Hannah, you’re way off base,” Walker tried to tell her.

  She shook her hair. Bits of sand fell from her dark locks, a side effect from her earlier tumble. “I don’t think so, although I am questioning your judgment right about now,” Hannah said shortly. Caroline still had a blank look upon her lovely face.

  As her meaning finally sank in, Caroline flushed a deep, angry red, truly offended. “Well, I never!” she huffed. “How dare you, madam? How dare you insinuate such a vile thing against my character?”

  “Hey, it turns out he’s not married after all, so he’s unattached.”

  “But I, madam, am not,” the blonde sniffed indignantly. “I am betrothed to my beloved, Captain Ezekiel Musebach of Company A, Gillespie Rifles, of the Third Texas Infantry. I would never besmirch his good name, particularly at a time when he risks his very life, fighting in this dreadful War Between the States.”

  It was Hannah’s turn to adopt a blank stare. The woman spoke with very precise dialect, heavily flavored with a Southern accent. If Hannah had questioned the woman’s mental stability before, there was no longer any doubt. She definitely had problems. The woman thought she was engaged to a Confederate soldier who still fought in the war.

  “What Caroline is trying to say is that—”

  Before Walker could continue, Deputy Tedford returned. “False alarm,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll dust for prints here on the refrigerator. Anywhere else you think he touched?”

  Hannah looked from the officer to Caroline, and back again. He hadn’t acknowledged the newcomer to his investigation.

  “Do you not notice anything different from a few moments ago?” Hannah couldn’t resist asking.

  The officer looked around, his brow buckled with concentration. His eyes zeroed in on a spot just beside Caroline’s feet. Her dainty black boots peeked out from beneath frilly ruffled petticoats and the wide bell of her skirt.

  “I see it now,” he said, striding forward.

  Hannah sighed in relief. At least the officer wasn’t as inept as she was beginning to fear. But why was he advancing toward the woman with such determination? Did he think she was dangerous? Did he plan to take her into custody?

  Hannah might have worried about it, but the oddest thing happened next. Deputy Tedford walked right up to the woman, well past what was considered the appropriate bounds. He bent down, intent on retrieving the spoon he saw on the floor. The spoon whose handle Caroline appeared to be standing upon. Without a word, he bent to scoop it up. As he did, the impossible happened: his head went through—through!—the yellow hoop dress.

  Caroline never moved. Never squealed. Never disparaged the officer for so rudely intruding into her personal space and ruffling her skirt. After the tongue lashing she gave Hannah for insulting her character, such an insult upon her person would surely be far worse. Yet the woman never moved. Her skirt never moved, even though Hannah had seen the officer’s head move right into the fabric.

  Hannah felt dizzy. Something wasn’t right. The officer paused, turning back toward them, halfway into the task. The movement pushed his shoulders into Caroline’s body, yet she remained perfectly still.

  “You drop this or did the perp?” he asked. He was completely unconcerned about the woman he all but shoved to the floor. Unconcerned with the yellow fabric that shrouded his face. Unconcerned with the expression of utter disbelief upon Hannah’s face.

  Hannah still didn’t understand. She could see him perfectly through the yellow haze. His shoulder was about where Caroline’s thigh should be. His face was dangerously close to her most intimate areas. Why hadn’t the hoops pushed him away? Why hadn’t Caroline?

  As if reading her thoughts, Caroline lifted her hand and slapped the officer, right across the top of his head. Her hand never touched him. In fact, it passed through the officer’s head. He never felt a thing.

  Because there’s nothing to feel.

  The knowledge hit Hannah with staggering force.

  Caroline is a ghost!

  Walker watched the realization play out across her face. She was pale, as pale now as Caroline. “Hannah?” he asked in concern. “Do you need to sit down?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. “Yes,” she finally squeaked. Then she shook her head. “No. No, I think I need to lie down. I need to go to my room. Now!” Her voice took on a note of urgency.

  Panic, was more like it. This couldn’t be happening!

  And yet, it was. Caroline, the ghost, took several steps forward, passing completely through the officer. Just as her image crossed over him, he stood. For a moment in time, their bodies intertwined, a man’s khaki uniform blending into a woman’s fancy yellow dress. His head appeared to sit atop hers. Had it not been so startling, the image might have been funny.

  Hannah wasn’t laughing. Hannah was considering being sick, right there on the kitchen floor.

  She had to get out of here, and she had to get out now.

  “Hannah?”

  Walker raced after her, following her up the stairs two at a time. Hannah had no idea how she had gotten up the stairs so quickly, but she was already opening the door to her suite when his boot hit the landing.

  “Hannah, are you okay?”

  She turned to him, her face blanched with shock and her lips trembling. “No, Walker. No, I am not okay. Hank Ruby was murdered. Someone trashed my office tonight, most likely his killer. My house was broken into. But that’s not even the strangest part. The strangest part is that I now live here, in this house. With a ghost. A ghost, Walker. A walking, talking ghost. A ghost!” Her voice rose to a trill with her last words. She opened the door and rushed inside, flinging herself across the bed.

  Walker caught the door before it slammed in his face. He stood quietly for a long moment, allowing her time to gather her thoughts. He finally took a seat beside her prone body.

  “I know this must be a shock,” he started. His tone was apologetic.

  “It shouldn’t be,” she realized. “So many things didn’t add up, didn’t make sense.” She played through them in her mind. “I just never dreamed…”

  “And why would you? This is completely outside the norm.”

  “Caroline is one of the ‘special guests’ I must continue to accommodate, isn’t she?” Hannah asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “So, there must be others.”

  Walker appreciated her quick mind. Most of all, he appreciated her acceptance. This could have been so much more difficult, if she hadn’t been a believer. “Two others, that I am aware of. Orlan Varela is one of them.”

  “Of course he is.” It made sense now. “The other?”

  The lawyer looked slightly uncomfortable. He did that thing, scrubbing at his neck again. “An old Indian medicine woman. We think her name is Gouyen, which means wise woman. She rarely appears, and when she does, she has little to say.”

  “Okay, from the look on your face, I don’t think I can handle that one right now,” Hannah decided. “Tell me about Caroline.” Despite her earlier assessment of the woman, she seemed the least harmful of them.

  To her surprise, Walker scooted further onto the bed and stretched out beside her. They both lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Her name is Caroline Hamilton, and she is—was—the daughter of a wealt
hy landowner. They came from Georgia, just before the Civil War started. Her father married a German widow who owned several leagues of land. Apparently, they had a home nearby.”

  “Who’s this Bo she’s engaged to? And why did she later call him by another name?”

  Walker chuckled at her blunder. “Not Bo, b-o. Beau, as in the old-fashioned name for a boyfriend. Her intended, as she calls him. He was a local man who signed up to fight in the war. From what we can tell, he was killed in the war and never came home.”

  “That’s terrible. No wonder she’s still searching for him!”

  “They say she was never quite right after that. One night, she wandered out of the house and into the woods. They found her the next morning, in the creek out back.”

  Hannah visibly recoiled. “That’s so tragic!” Her voice was filled with sorrow.

  Walker shrugged. “It was a hundred and fifty-odd years ago.”

  “But she’s still… here.”

  “Miss Wilhelmina said she can’t cross over, until she knows for certain what happened to her fiancé.”

  “But she may never know.”

  “Exactly.”

  Hannah’s hand moved outward, within a hair’s breadth of his. For some reason, she felt the need for human contact right now.

  “And Orlan?”

  “Orlan is a local unsung hero. Way back when this was still a stage stop, sometime around 1877 or 78, there was a big stagecoach robbery not far from here. Legend has it that a huge shipment of gold was on the stage, en route to—”

  “I know this story!” Enthusiasm colored her voice. She tapped his hand in excitement. “I just read about it!”

  He caught her fingers to still them. “So, you probably know about Lina Hannah, Ezekiel Hannah’s youngest daughter. Her father said he was too busy to care for the injured man, so she took it upon herself to nurse him back to health. Supposedly, they fell in love while he was recuperating. The problem was that Orlan, a local cowboy who had known Lina for most of her life, was also in love with her. He told her the man with the patched eye was trouble, but Lina didn’t believe him. She loved him anyway.”