Old Haunts

by Nova Nelson

  Did I feel just a little left out?

  Maybe. But not enough to make me want to venture into the Deadwoods for fun.

  “Ask him if he wants to go as far as the Murderswamp. I haven’t been there in ages! It’s so deadly. So, so deadly…”

  Once I mentioned the Murderswamp to Dmitri, that was all he wanted to talk about for the rest of the walk. It was a huge relief when I got to drop my translator duties and enter the cool air of the station.

  Jingo the goblin looked up from the reception desk and straight-up rolled his eyes. Yes, he loved me. But even more than that, he loved Grim.

  “If that hound even so much as raises a hind leg within twenty feet of my desk…”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “It was just that one time.”

  “I couldn’t get the stink out. What do you even feed him?”

  “Bacon and sausage, mostly.”

  “I would have guessed asparagus.” He gave Grim one last glare then said, “Go on back. He’s expecting you.”

  Stu’s regularly austere desk was starting to look more and more like Sheriff Bloom’s, and he didn’t immediately glance up from the reports in front of him when we entered.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Ashcroft.”

  I did, and we waited for a moment more before he set down his pen, rubbed a hand over his bristly mustache, and said, “You heard anything from him?”

  “Sure have. He’s with me right now.”

  Stu sat up straighter. “No lie?”

  “I’d never lie to you, Stu.”

  “Well? What’s he got to say?”

  And so I filled in the deputy with everything I knew about the situation, stopping short of mentioning where Dmitri hid his spare key—I’d tell Stu later if he asked, but I wanted to give Bryant an adequate head start at getting those drums before the place was locked down.

  “Huh. Well, I suppose we’ll hear back about the heart thing soon. Medical Examiner Stern is scheduled to complete her report tomorrow, and then it’ll be a day or two before Magical Examiner Brightburn gets to take his turn.”

  “That’s fine. There’s no hurry.”

  “You’re assuming,” said Stu, “that he wasn’t murdered. If he was murdered, this could simply be the first in a string of murders, in which case, there is a hurry.”

  While that possibility existed, I couldn’t help but suspect his supposition had less to do with the specifics of the case and everything to do with the fact that Stu Manchester needed to take a holiday.

  A small knock on the door, and then I heard Sheriff Bloom’s voice behind me. “Oh, hello, Nora. I hope I’m not interrupting. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

  “Nope, not interrupting,” I said. “I think we were just finishing up.”

  She smiled blandly as her eyes completed a quick scan of the room.

  “Did you need something, Sheriff?” Stu asked.

  “Yes, but it can wait. Nora, may I have a word with you?”

  Her precise tone made me feel like I was being called into the principal’s office.

  As I stood, she added. “Alone.”

  When her eyes did another suspicious scan of the space, I knew she wasn’t just talking about Grim and Stu.

  “I’ll just hang out here, then,” Dmitri said.

  “Good choice,” I mumbled before following the angel out of Stu’s office.

  She brought me into hers and shut the door behind me. “I sensed a presence. Am I correct in assuming it is Dmitri Flint?”

  “You are.”

  She nodded. “That’s interesting. And does he believe he’s been murdered?”

  “No.”

  She nodded again. “I’ve met Dmitri a few times, and he’s a congenial fellow. Quite likable.”

  “Yeah, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

  “Would you like to know the capacity in which I’ve had interactions with him?” Her rigid posture and clipped tone were all the hints I needed.

  “Oh. I’m guessing an official one.”

  “Yes. There are nearly two thousand people in this town, and most of them are born, grow up, and die of natural causes before I ever have occasion to learn their name. But I know his. He has involvement.”

  I felt like someone had smacked me on the back of the head. “He didn’t mention anything about that.” She was gracious enough to give me space to add, “Of course he didn’t.”

  She adjusted her giant white wings and took a seat behind her paper fortress of a desk. “Before you came to town, I had many opportunities to work intimately with Ruby True on cases.”

  “She’s told me about a few.”

  Bloom grinned. “I bet she has. But in working closely with her, I’ve learned that ghosts and living suspects aren’t all that different. You can’t trust them to say anything that would make themselves look bad. More than that, you can’t expect them to be aware of all the people who might want to do them harm. If mortals had that ability, there would be a lot fewer murders because people could fortify their defenses more effectively.

  “What I’m saying is that I don’t think you should take Dmitri at his word, no matter how charismatic and honest he seems. It’s not necessarily that he’s intentionally obfuscating, just that we often can’t trust our own mind to show us the relevant information about ourselves.

  “Ruby once told me about a man named Sigmund Freud…”

  “Please, Sheriff, if we’re going to start talking about my parents, I’m going to need to sit down.”

  “No, it’s not that. But you’re welcome to have a seat anyway.” I decided to remain standing, and she shrugged. “The part of his theories to which you refer does sound a bit like swirls to me. It’s the part about ‘superego’ that I think about every day.” She leaned back against her desk, sending a teetering stack of paperwork falling to the floor and not giving it an iota of attention. “The superego is quite the fraud, isn’t it? It tells us that it only has our best interests in mind, that it knows right from wrong, and that when it tells us to do something, it’s protecting us or driving us to be better. But there’s only one thing the superego truly cares about, and that’s protecting the reputation of the superego.”

  “No offense, Sheriff, but I don’t follow why you’re telling me this.”

  “Because it’s crucial that law enforcement understand it, and whether you like it or not, that’s one of the hats you wear in this town. Just because someone means to tell you the truth doesn’t mean they will. Nearly everyone wants to believe they are a good person, even the career criminals. Their superego will do whatever twisting of facts necessary to preserve their positive self-image. If the bit of information you need from them might disrupt the story they tell themselves about their own goodness, then you cannot expect to hear it, no matter how honest they intend to be. The superego will hide that hard truth behind layers upon layers of excuses and justifications and identity until it would take a miracle to get to it.”

  I knew on almost an instinctive level that she was correct. How many times had my mind—or superego or whatever—supplied me with a convenient justification to do what I wanted with righteous moral imperative… only for me to realize later, and with some discomfort, that I was just doing what I wanted to do, regardless of what was right?

  Now I did sit down, feeling strangely exhausted all of a sudden. “You don’t believe I should trust Dmitri.”

  “No. I don’t. But I don’t think you, or anyone, should trust many people. At least not at their word. I suppose that suspicion comes with being able to detect guilt stains on the soul like I can. Everyone’s a little guilty about something. And it’s no coincidence that the people with the most active superegos carry around the most guilt; they won’t let themselves admit to their mistakes and failings and imperfections long enough to do what it takes to purge the guilt by making things right.”

  “When you say Dmitri has involvement, what do you mean precisely?”

  She steepled her fingers, touching the
tips to her mouth before speaking. “I think you would do better to talk to those involved. The story they provide the sheriff right after the fact, when the superego is most energized regarding the incident, will be much different from the story they’ll give to a Fifth Wind years later.”

  “You think people will be more upfront? More honest?”

  Bloom chuckled. “As honest as they can be, like I said.”

  “Right.”

  “But that’s not why I suggest it. People don’t commit murder based on facts or reality; they commit murder based on the stories they believe to be true. The story may be one of ‘the right thing to do’ or ‘it’s them or me’ or something more elaborate, but there’s a story behind it nonetheless.” She paused, leaning back in her wooden chair. “What stories people told themselves about Dmitri years ago are irrelevant; he wasn’t murdered years ago. It’s the stories those same people tell themselves about him today that will inform your opinion of whether murder seemed like a good and righteous option to them two days ago.”

  “And who do you think I should talk to?”

  “To start, Greggory O’Leary. A leprechaun up in Erin Park and an old friend and accomplice of Dmitri. I’m sure he’ll have a wealth of information for you if you can only get at it. And then, of course, the ever-delightful Count Sebastian Malavic.”

  “For fang’s sake…”

  “I agree. I don’t envy you.”

  Oh well. What was an investigation if Malavic wasn’t somehow involved? It would hardly even count. (No pun intended.)

  “How deep am I getting here by following up on these leads?” I asked.

  The angel took a moment to consider it. “I don’t know. All I know is that during the last few interactions I’ve had with Dmitri Flint, there’s been something there. A guilt that’s not nebulous like most people’s, but hard and dense like a stone. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s not nothing.”

  Fantastic. More mysterious circumstances surrounding this. Why couldn’t anything just be cut and dried? “You think it has something to do with his death?”

  “My gut says yes,” the angel replied. “What does your Insight say?”

  Swirls. “Yes. It says yes, now that I know all this about him.”

  She rose, so I did too. She approached then placed a hand on my shoulder. I remembered the time she’d hugged me at the Lunasa Festival and how good that had felt. This was nothing like it, but it was definitely comforting. “You don’t have to think the worst of him. On the scale of criminals in this town, he rates very low from what I know. I just don’t want you going in blindly. I know that when you have the facts and fair warning, things turn out well for you. That’s all this is.”

  I swallowed. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  Her hand dropped from my shoulder and I took that as my cue.

  And as I left her office, I thought, Of course. The first ghost who visits me who I actually like, and he’s hiding important things from me.

  Ah, well, just another day on the job that would no doubt be the death of me.

  Chapter Nine

  Grim and Dmitri followed me down the steps away from the Sheriff’s Department. It was nearly dinner time (or so growled my stomach), but the late-spring sun was taking its sweet time setting, and the world was still bright.

  “What’d she say?” Dmitri asked. “Are you in trouble? Did she get mad at you? Oh! Were you fined?”

  I waited until we had a fair amount of distance from the station and said, “You need to tell me about your arrests. All of them.” I didn’t mean to sound so bitter, but I wasn’t thrilled with him. His lack of disclosure had made me look like a bit of a fool in front of the Sheriff, and if there was anyone in this town whose approval I wanted more, I couldn’t think of them.

  “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming, have you?” I said.

  “What do you mean? About what?”

  “Your criminal record.”

  “I wouldn’t call it that. I’ve been slapped on the wrist a couple of times, spent one night in jail for drunken disorder. What can I say? I used to live it up. But finding out about my heart problem was the wake-up call I needed. I don’t mess around with that stuff anymore.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Stupid and reckless stuff.”

  “With Greggory O’Leary? Or Count Malavic?”

  That caused him to pause, and he turned to look at me. “What did she say about them?”

  “Only that they were part of your criminal record.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s not a criminal record. I mean, sure, it technically is. But that also makes it sound so bad. It’s more like mischief.”

  “Criminal mischief.”

  He sighed, which is always a weird thing to watch a spirit do, considering they don’t actually breathe. “Fine, fine. We’ll compromise on criminal mischief.”

  “I shouldn’t have to explain this to you,” I said, trying to keep my tone even, “but sometimes, when a witch causes too much mischief, people decide to kill that witch to get them out of the way and stop said mischief.”

  “Listen, I don’t know what she told you, but it’s all water under the bridge. The stuff with O’Leary and Malavic, none of it is anything people would want to kill over. That’s why I didn’t mention it.”

  “Is that why? Or did you fail to mention it because you didn’t want to admit that your actions might have led to your death?”

  “Wow,” he said. “That angel really did a number on you. Who knew judgment was contagious?”

  I decided he might have a point. I was being judgmental. I suppose it’s a common side effect of feeling like you’ve been played a fool. “I’ll let it go, but will you just be more open with me from now on? We both want the same thing. We want you to move on. Anything you can think of that might provide a clue would be welcome. Sometimes it’s the strangest things that prove the best leads.”

  “Deal. Complete honesty between us from now on.”

  Eek. I hadn’t meant that. I had no intention of being completely honest with him. After all, I had a job to do. I needed Dmitri to be honest with me, but in that very moment I was already forming a plan that required keeping him in the dark. Literally.

  We walked a few more minutes back toward Ruby’s house before I said, “You know, I’m going to be working long hours for the next few days. Maybe you and Grim ought to take the opportunity to do that jaunt in the Deadwoods.” I looked from Dmitri to Grim, and both seemed to appreciate the prospect. But I wasn’t sure they were sold on it, and I needed them to be. So I sweetened the deal, at least for Grim. “Come on, let’s go by the butcher, and I’ll pick up some food for you to take with you.”

  And just like that, I’d bought myself the following afternoon to go interview Greggory O’Leary and Count Sebastian Malavic alone.

  Yay?

  Some victories sure felt like defeats.

  * * *

  Greggory O’Leary’s home was deep in the heart of Erin Park, which was no surprise; most leprechauns chose to live around their fellows. Safety in numbers and all that.

  I didn’t know anything about O’Leary, so I decided against giving him a heads up that I was coming. If he’d had anything to do with Dmitri’s death, he was a flight risk.

  However, I had my doubts about that theory. Despite what Bloom had said, I didn’t think that Dmitri was holding much back in terms of O’Leary. He’d admitted that the two of them had gotten into some dumb trouble. He wasn’t hiding that. And I was still mostly of the mind that Dmitri’s death was a natural one.

  “Hi, Mr. O’Leary,” I said when the leprechaun answered his door. “I’m Nora Ashcroft.”

  “I’ve heard of ya,” he said, eyeing me closely. He was tall for his kind, easily pushing five feet, and his round face was framed by a chestnut colored beard and a short and shaggy mop of hair. A deep, white scar cut from the middle of the cupid’s bow of his lips to an inch below his right eye. “You’re the Fifth Wind.”

/>   “I am.”

  His tone gave nothing away. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to talk to me about Dmitri’s death then?”

  “That’s why I’m here, yes.”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned.”

  He scoffed. “Then ya might not be too good at your job. If I were you and I knew about me, I’d’ve come here with handcuffs ready to go.”

  “I can call Deputy Manchester over here if that’s how you want it to go down.”

  “Nah. I didn’t do it anyhow. Well, come on in with ya then.”

  He stepped to the side and I leaned down to keep from hitting my head on the top of the small door frame.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to crouch once I was inside. The ceiling was high enough for guests my size, but the place was still slightly claustrophobic. A thick moss covered the interior walls, only parting around open windows to let the hot afternoon air in.

  “Have a seat and I’ll put on some tea.”

  I did, settling myself at a low table in the middle of the living room while he disappeared into the kitchen. I knew from hard-earned experience that hospitality meant nothing particular when it came to this line of work. He could disappear into the kitchen and never come back. Or he could slip something into my tea, like the doppelgängers had, and then lock me in some dreary basement or worse. It was always a possibility.

  And because of that, it seemed silly to worry. There were an infinite number of ways someone could harm me, and to imagine all of them in an attempt to stop them was futile and a waste of energy. No matter how much I prepared, bad people found new and surprising ways to get at me. I just had to listen to my Insight and trust that I would find a way to handle things when the worst came to pass.

  In the meantime, I might as well accept the hospitality and keep from upsetting the people who could have useful information for me.

  O’Leary didn’t flee. He returned a few moments later carrying a tray with two wooden cups and a piping hot kettle of tea. He set the cups down, one in front of me and the other at his own seat, placed the kettle between them, then turned to set the tray on a nearby oaken credenza. As he did so, I quickly switched our cups.