Welcome to the Punkhorns (Shepard & Kelly Book 1)

by Benjamin Bradley

  The detective’s grin faded. “I was sure as hell hoping you were here to tell me that, Casper. I don’t like the looks of this and I’m at the point where I could just point my finger at any random citizen and ask if they were the criminal behind this mess.”

  Casper leaned towards the detective. “Well, before you go pointing, let’s put our heads together, yeah? At this point, we can’t say it was one person or twelve. We need to start with the Sherlock Holmes method.”

  The detective turned to Casper, “Excuse me?”

  Casper replied, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

  Detective Shepard gave Casper a hard look and then sighed. “So, let’s eliminate the impossible. Where do we start?”

  Casper shifted back to face the sickly-looking trees that bracketed the open field they stood in. “We start by admitting that there may not be some person responsible for this. It may be, well, something.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Tuesday, August 7th

  “Ma’am, I’m Detective Shepard and this is Casper Kelly. We’re investigating the disappearances in the Punkhorns and would love to ask you a few questions about what you found.” The detective’s jet-black hair was gathered and pulled back behind her. The strain that the tension put on her face made her look older than Rachel guessed she was. Rachel nodded at them.

  The last hour had been one of the most frenzied of Rachel’s life. Griffin called in their discovery to Marge, who in turn had called the search party leader. They were told to stay where they found the clothes and to wait for the police to arrive on the scene. Griffin had sent their GPS coordinates from his phone somehow and Rachel had snapped a picture of the clothes for some reason she couldn’t quite articulate.

  The first two police officers to arrive were calm and seemed skeptical until they saw the sign and what lay beneath. They moved without hesitation and called in for support. Soon, they informed her that a detective was en route. Rachel had pictured some grizzly old man with a white beard and a drinking problem, so she was thrown off when Detective Shepard kindly introduced herself and her underdressed friend with a friendly dog.

  For reasons beyond Rachel’s comprehension, EMTs were also on scene and had treated her like a victim of a crime. They checked her for injuries and ran through some questions to ensure she wasn’t experiencing shock. She brushed them away. She couldn’t tell them that all she truly felt was guilt. She felt like this was a sign, that she was responsible for letting Baxter pillage this land. She just didn’t know what to attribute the sign to. God? Fate? Karma? It woke something inside of her that she couldn’t yet translate into words.

  Once the detectives arrived, the officers that had responded first relayed most of Rachel’s story to the newcomers and left little room for Rachel to interrupt.

  “You told the officer here that your name was Rachel Spokes, is that correct?” Detective Shepard asked.

  “Yes, that’s my name.”

  “And where are you from, Miss Spokes?”

  “I live in Boston. Well, Cambridge, technically.”

  The man she’d introduced as Casper looked at her with baby-blue eyes. “I actually live in Somerville, so we’re practically neighbors.” The man had skinny arms that looked like twigs and a slight gut that inched his gray t-shirt out a little. He had a warm, youthful smile that seemed to contradict his hairline.

  “And what brought you out to the Cape? And to this search party?” Detective Shepard was curt.

  “I work for Baxter Construction. I’m the Cape Regional Director, basically looking at new development projects in this region,” Rachel watched both of the detectives scribble in their notepads. “I volunteered to help because I heard about what happened and I felt terrible.”

  “And this site? What exactly is this place?” Casper asked. His dog let out a whine, but Rachel found it more startling than cute. She had never understood people who worshipped dogs. They were gross. Smelly and gross.

  “This is one of four small sites we’ve cleared to park equipment before construction begins next week. It’s been empty for a while besides the sign and a few front loaders we moved to a different spot last week,” Rachel continued.

  “And, why exactly did you feel terrible, Rachel? Did you have something to do with the disappearances?” Detective Shepard continued.

  “You can’t be serious,” Rachel scoffed.

  “As a heart attack, ma’am.”

  “I think anybody in the world would feel terrible about what happened to those people. It’s a terrible tragedy.”

  “Sure is, but that doesn’t exactly warrant the guilt you seem to be struck with.”

  “Well, I’m part of the company that’s destroying this land, and I guess I feel responsible. In an indirect way. I didn’t see how the two were related, but now it seems too eerie to be a coincidence. Maybe the curse is real after all.”

  Casper asked Rachel, “What makes you believe in this curse? I’ve met some folks in town who buy into it, but you’re not from here.”

  Rachel shrugged. “Just felt like the simplest explanation.”

  Casper grinned. “Occam’s Razor. Seems fitting.”

  Rachel looked dumbfounded. “What’s that?”

  Detective Shepard chimed in. “It’s a philosophical rule that basically says that the simplest explanation is often the true one.”

  Rachel looked shyly at Casper. “I guess I’m not as well read as you guys are, but sure, it felt like the simplest explanation at the time. I don’t see any other way to explain this, which, honestly, scares me more than I’d like to admit. Maybe I was just being silly.”

  Casper’s expression was unchanged. “No, I don’t think it’s silly at all. I think it makes complete sense. A legendary curse that plagues the people that wrong a sacred land can be the simplest possibility. We’re not dealing with simple events here. We’re all grasping at straws.”

  Rachel nodded and tried to play off her embarrassment. “Well, I hope you guys can tell me whether I’m crazy or not soon.”

  “We do too,” Casper added.

  Detective Shepard handed Rachel a card and told her to reach out if she thought of anything else. Rachel was driven back to her rental car in the parking lot of Seymour Pond and she broke down crying the second that she was finally alone. The weight of the world seemed to sit on Rachel’s chest. She felt like she was suffocating.

  When the feelings finally subsided and Rachel could clear away the makeup that had run down her cheeks, she turned the car on and drove to confront BJ Baxter.

  BJ answered her call on the way and explained that he was playing golf with some old frat brothers out on The Captain’s golf course on the other side of the Brewster city limits. Rachel put the name into her phone and followed the turns until she drove into the expansive sprawling greens that made up the country club. Rachel found an empty parking spot and called BJ again.

  “I’m on the back nine. About to hit the green from 300 yards out. Hole twelve,” he barked between sips of a drink.

  Rachel hung up before he could say anything further. The less he knew, the better. If she explained why she needed to see him, he surely would have told her to go away and fault her for volunteering on the search party in the first place.

  BJ had built a large country club with three eighteen-hole courses in Hyannis just last year, so Rachel was familiar with the typical construction and layout of such a place. She’d learned that most eighteen-hole courses wound through the clubhouse around hole nine to allow for folks that aren’t playing a full eighteen. Without asking for directions, she walked until she found a hole marked with a white “nine.”. She took a guess and marched south. Eventually, she reached a sign that had a “ten” on it, and so she continued her path until she hit the twelfth hole. BJ was nowhere to be found, so she pushed on once more and found him three beers deep on his golf cart trying to talk up a group of female golfers.

  “BJ,
” Rachel said as she caught her breath. “We need to talk.”

  He eyed Rachel and then grinned at the women. “I’ll see you all back in the clubhouse in a bit. Looking forward to it.” They all rolled their eyes at his sleazy attempts at romance.

  He brushed an empty beer can off the passenger seat of the golf cart and motioned for Rachel to hop on. She shook her head and pulled the key out of the electronic cart’s ignition. BJ scoffed.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Spokes?”

  “BJ, you need to halt this construction. Now. As soon as possible.”

  He snorted. “Honey, you know that’s not happening. Nothing will stop Baxter Construction from hitting our mark. Nothing.”

  Rachel brushed off the “honey” and opted for a new tactic. “I’m begging you, for everybody’s safety. You need to stop. It’s only a matter of time before we’re the ones that they come for.”

  This caught BJ’s attention. “Who are they? Why are they coming for us?”

  “Because you ignored their warnings and built on sacred land. It’s like casinos that are built on ancient burial grounds—it’s always a deathtrap.”

  He looked around to make sure nobody was within earshot, and then he scowled.

  “Rachel, I’m telling you this once and for all. Sandy Shores construction begins on Saturday. Not Thursday. Not Friday, not some Tuesday in November. Saturday. I don’t care if this whole town is visited by aliens. We are building come eight in the morning.”

  Rachel looked BJ straight in the eye. “BJ, why can’t you just wait a week? Give me one actual good reason.”

  He didn’t follow Rachel’s attempt to reason. His scowl darkened, and then he took the empty beer can from the center console and crushed it with his hand.

  “I don’t need a reason. And if you make trouble, well, I will eliminate anything that stands in my way of this project. I don’t care if it’s a Bald Eagle or a god-damned bird watcher who eats dirt tomorrow. You know damn well that if this blows up, my father will be out here so quick that we’ll both be filing for unemployment before dinner. So, I’ll say it again. I’ll wipe this whole city out before I let them block our digging.” Baxter spit on the ground next to the cart. “You can tell that to the mayor for all I care. Saturday.”

  Rachel cupped her ear toward BJ. “So, which day does construction start again? You aren’t being clear.”

  His face didn’t flinch. “Saturday, you idiot. Like or it not, it’s happening. Get on board, or get the hell out of town.”

  BJ snatched the key out of Rachel’s hand, turned the cart on, and floored the gas pedal. It squealed and sputtered as it accelerated away.

  Rachel had seen BJ’s dark side on various occasions, but this was a new breed of evil and greed. Her initial attempts to stop him were met with such hostility that Rachel started to wonder if he was somehow involved in this whole mess. She considered driving to Boston and meeting with his father, Mr. Bart Baxter himself. Still, something about leaving the Cape didn’t sit well with Rachel.

  Instead, as Rachel walked back to her car, she decided it was time to walk away from this mess, and see if she could help instead of hurt. She picked up her phone and eyed the business card the detective had handed her only an hour earlier. Defeated, she put it down. Even though she didn’t have any evidence that BJ was involved in these disappearances beyond a gut feeling, she had to speak her mind. Police, she assumed, required hard evidence instead of just gut feelings. Rachel picked her phone back up and scanned through her message history and picked out the address she was looking for.

  She expected the police to say she was being premature and that they refuse to step in. Instead, she thought, there may just be a friendly face who would hear her out. As she drove, she hoped desperately that the mayor was at home.

  NINETEEN

  Tuesday, August 7th

  “Hop in, you can ride with me. Hoagie, too. We can grab your car later,” The detective barked at Casper. He obliged.

  “Thanks, Detective.”

  She shot him a hard stare. “While we’re at it, just call me Delaney. Okay?”

  “And Casper is preferred over Mr. Kelly for me if that’s okay.”

  She nodded in agreement. Delaney shifted into reverse and dust kicked up into a blinding cloud around the entire lot. The police and volunteers covered their mouths and squinted through the fog. Delaney sped out of the lot and onto the dirt road that Casper had come in on.

  “So, tell me. What’s your deal? You’re a ghost hunter? The mayor didn’t say much besides that we should include you in our investigation. I can’t say I’m much of a believer in all of that mystical stuff.”

  “Not quite. I use the term supernatural private investigator on my website, but that’s mostly just a marketing ploy that my former book agent recommended. I’m just a normal PI,” he said in the friendliest tone he could muster. This was the closest Casper had ever come to having a cordial relationship with the police on a case. More often, it was icy and awkward.

  “Ah, channeling your inner Sherlock. So, you’re usually off following cheating husbands and stuff? No offense, but this Punkhorns situation seems a bit out of your league. Does Hoagie have some secret powers that I’m unaware of?”

  Casper chuckled. “I’ve never been the type to take an adultery case or track down somebody’s lost ring through a pawn shop. I just take cases that I find most interesting. And no, no secret power unless you count his ability to smell when somebody is lying.”

  “Ah, I’ve heard about your breed. I thought you were just an old urban legend.”

  Hoagie’s attention was fixed on the passing trees outside his window. Casper chuckled. “Speaking of urban legends, care to tell me your take on the Punkhorns?”

  “Maybe,” Delaney continued. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but Casper saw a smile creeping across her face. “But you’re here because the mayor thinks this place is haunted, or something like that, right?”

  “He seemed to indicate it’s a widespread belief amongst Brewster. You don’t buy into any of that?”

  Delaney slowed the cruiser to a stop. She waved for Casper to get out of the car and he followed. She stood on the edge of the road, looking into the maze of scraggly pines that seemed to carry on for miles and miles.

  “I run in the Punkhorns every day. Not this trail here, but one on the other side of the land. It’s equal parts dazzling and spooky, but nature can be that way when it’s largely untouched.”

  “That’s a beautiful way of describing it,” Casper replied.

  “But no, I don’t think it’s haunted. I think it’s an unknown. People, especially around here, tend to fear what they can’t explain. The Punkhorns are this swath of land that nobody has seen every inch of, and so they find excuses for their lack of understanding. It’s the same battle conservationists fight all over this country.” Casper considered interrupting but wanted more than anything for her to go on.

  After a few minutes of silence, Delaney said, “That being said, I truly hope that you can.”

  “Can we walk down the trail a bit? I’d like to see if me or Hoag here get any supernatural signs,” he said with a wink at Delaney. She rolled her eyes.

  “Be my guest. Follow me.”

  Delaney led Casper down a narrow trail that remained mostly flat as it departed from the side of the road. The air had a tangy, sweet scent to it, often reserved for scented candles and air fresheners. Pine. The terrain dipped and Hoagie pulled with all of his might down the short, steep incline. Casper looked back toward his car. Although they had walked for barely a minute, the forest had swallowed them whole.

  The trees towered over the trail, but each had scabby bark with chunks ripped out or missing. The only branches in sight were high above, at least thirty feet overhead. A sea-foam green moss clung to the trunks in a peculiar pattern that seemed like a secret code in a language Casper failed to recognize. A gust of wind shook the treetops, and the dancing stalks made
the hair on the back of Hoagie’s neck stand up.

  Delaney kneeled next to Hoagie and petted him on the head. “So, are you a hound? Can we just release you into the woods here and you’ll find them?”

  “I wish it was that simple. He’d be back by dinner time drooling over his bowl.”

  Hoagie had lost interest in the scents on the trail and began to make his way back toward the car. Delaney and Casper followed without a word. Back at the car, Delaney broke the silence.

  “So, now that you’ve seen our haunted land, what’s the verdict? What’s our path forward?”

  Casper repeated his Holmesian quote from earlier, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains…” he tailed off.

  “Okay, so how do we eliminate the impossible? How do you go about finding out if a place is haunted? You’re not giving me much to work with here, Mr. Consultant.” Delaney’s voice cracked as she continued. “Aren’t ghosts or demons supposed to have unfinished business that we need to help them finish?”

  Casper fought the urge to open the car door to remind his brain he was in control. Instead, he laughed. “I think that’s an old wives’ tale, but I’d say you’re on the right track. Let’s talk to the people that know this land the best. The mayor said there are a few houses that are within the Punkhorns that will be destroyed by the construction. Let’s go see if these folks saw anything. Flesh it out and see what’s what. Let’s start eliminating the options on the table,” Casper said, over his internal mental chorus. Open the door, open the door.

  “Deal. But can you make me one promise, Mr. Kel— I mean, Casper?”

  “Sure. What’s on your mind, Delaney?”

  “If you see a ghost in one of these houses, tell me so we can get the hell out of there.

  TWENTY

  Tuesday, August 7th

  Delaney called the station and had Ruiz, who was still on the day shift, alert the Punkhorn Road residents that they’d be stopping by. She pulled into a worn driveway with a porch lamp that was still lit despite the rays of sunlight beaming from the sky. The house was aged but charming in the way that a cabin in the woods can feel like an escape. Casper opted to leave Hoagie in the car with the windows cracked and tossed him his favorite chew toy from his bag.