by Jen Jensen
* * *
Jamis parked the car in the grocery parking lot. She hopped over a pile of snow to land firmly on the sidewalk. The sun was out and the cold not as bitter. The weather app on her phone said it was thirty-six degrees. It was nearly balmy.
She’d texted Carmen the night before but had not heard back. Johnna told her Carmen often neglected her phone. Inside the store, Jamis picked up a container of chocolate coconut brownie bites and held them close. She was hungry and wasn’t leaving the store without them.
She wound through browsing patrons and made her way to Carmen, who stood on a stepladder, lifting cereal boxes to a shelf above her head. Jamis stopped at the side of her, far enough away not to startle her. Jamis waved at Carmen. “Do you know what text messages are?”
Carmen looked down at her. “I don’t live and die with my phone.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
Carmen made a noise and continued to put boxes on the shelf. “You found me anyway, didn’t you?”
“Have you always been this ornery?”
Carmen laughed and tossed a bag of rice puff cereal at Jamis, who caught it, but dropped her brownie bites doing so. “You made me drop my bites,” Jamis said, dramatic and loud. A few shoppers turned to look and Jamis held up her hands. “All is well. Don’t be alarmed. The bites are fine.”
Carmen climbed down from the ladder and took the rice puffs from Jamis, who bent for her bites. From behind her, a customer said, “Oh my God, that’s Jamis Bachman.” Jamis turned, saluted, offered a half curtsy, and the woman giggled and waved.
“Bring your bites,” Carmen said. Jamis tucked them under her arm, grinning at the customers. They stepped into a small office in the back of the store. Carmen took a seat behind a desk.
“Can I eat a bite before I pay for them?” Jamis opened the container.
“Yeah, go ahead. Just have them.” Carmen pushed against the face of her phone with a single finger, touch heavy.
“You are the best. Jesus, you’re going to break your phone.” Carmen ignored her. “Can I have some coffee?” Jamis ate a brownie.
“Go get some.” Carmen pointed. Jamis poured coffee from a small pot in the corner of the office, and then looked over Carmen’s shoulder at her phone.
“Seriously?” Jamis asked. “How many are there?” She took the phone from Carmen. “There are twenty-two unread text messages here.” She handed it back. “Lesson learned.”
“What did you want?” Carmen set down the phone. Jamis took a sip of coffee and put another bite in her mouth.
“Nothing.” Jamis shrugged. “Just saying hi. Seeing what’s up. What you doing? You know. Normal stuff.”
Carmen watched her seriously. “You’re lying.”
“Ha.” Carmen was right to the point. She could work with that. She could work with anything today. The night with Johnna was perfect. She took a picture of the mountains from Johnna’s porch. When she posted it on social media earlier that morning, she set her location as “bliss.” “Really, it started as that, but then I wanted to talk to you about something more serious. I talked to Johnna.”
Carmen’s body became rigid. Jamis noted it but pushed on. “I was researching the poltergeist house. Stephanie Gardner was the tenant and she was murdered. Her body was found on March 16, 1992.” Jamis waited quietly and took another drink of coffee. “I was just wondering if you knew her.”
Carmen poured coffee for herself. “I did, actually. She went to school with my youngest sister, Maria. She knew her.” She perched on the side of the desk, facing Jamis. “I remember when she was found.”
“Do you remember anything about her that might help me?” Jamis put another bite in her mouth, the taste exploding. The chocolate was divine, and she worried a little piece of coconut between her teeth. Carmen stared at an unfixed location near the door, eyes distant and dark with the heavy sadness she’d seen at the bar. Jamis’s desire was to fix it, so she tried to distract her. “Oh my God, these are so good, Carmen.”
“I can give you my sister’s phone number. She’s in Denver. I’ll tell her you’re calling.” She pulled a piece of paper from a pad and wrote down a number. Then she picked up her phone and sent a text.
“So, you do know how to text. You just don’t.” Carmen ignored her, but she seemed less unhappy. “You have the number memorized?”
“It’s my sister,” Carmen said.
“I don’t memorize anyone’s numbers. I’d be fucked without my phone. Completely lost if I couldn’t get to my Gmail backup contacts.”
“I don’t understand anything you just said.” Jamis took the paper from her outstretched hand, using it as an opportunity to check her energy. It was lighter, but still not as buoyant as when she came in.
“These are perfect. How have I not had them before?” Jamis ate the last brownie bite. “Do you know Sapphire?”
“Yeah. Of course,” Carmen said.
“Those county records down at the municipal building and courthouse are, wow,” Jamis said. “Have you seen what she’s done down there?”
“Are you going to move here? It seems like you’re ready to become a permanent resident,” Carmen said.
“Do you have a spare bedroom?”
“Jesus,” Carmen said.
“Is that a no?” Carmen left the office, not answering, but Jamis saw her smile and felt relief. “I’d pick up my room on a regular basis. I could help clean and do other chores,” Jamis called after Carmen. She finished her coffee before leaving with Maria’s number in her hand. She waved to Carmen on the way out. In the car, Jamis dialed Maria’s number.
It rang twice before a woman answered. “Hello?”
“Maria?”
“Yes. Who’s calling?” Jamis heard Carmen in her voice.
“Jamis Bachman. Carmen texted you, right?”
“Yes, she did. Just a few minutes ago. She didn’t give me much to go on, though. Just that the famous ghost hunter needed to talk to me. You’ll need to tell me. You made an impression because she told me about you yesterday when we talked,” Maria said, laughing.
Acceptance felt like the brownie bites tasted. Carmen liked her. “I’m investigating the murder of Stephanie Gardner in March 1992. I’m just looking to talk to people who knew her. Carmen said you did.”
“She was troubled. Her mother was a prostitute, though we didn’t talk about it in those days.” Maria’s voice had a flutter of hesitation. “We didn’t even call her a prostitute. But we all knew. I’m pretty certain that the men her mom brought home took liberties with her too, if you know what I mean.” Jamis did and felt sickened. She turned down the heat in the car. She unzipped her coat and tugged at the neck of her T-shirt. It felt constrictive.
“I guess nowadays we’d say Stephanie had borderline personality disorder and be able to help her some. Maybe with some therapy and medication or something. But then, during those times, we just stayed away from her. That’s about all I know. The boys took advantage of her. There were rumors she slept with the whole football team. Who knows what’s true. We all grew up and left school. Stephanie stayed in town and got a job at the bowling lanes on Washington Street. I saw her there once after graduation. I lost touch with her after that.”
“Do you know anyone else I should talk to about this? About her? Anyone closer to her?”
“I think most people will tell you the same thing. A lot of guys got close to Stephanie, but I don’t think she was close to anyone. It’s just so sad.”
“It is, Maria. Thank you for talking to me,” Jamis said.
“One more thing. When I heard what happened I felt so bad. I felt like I should have done something. Like we were all to blame. Children can be cruel.” Jamis let Maria gather her thoughts. “Anyway, I don’t know what I was going to say. Just that I wish we did more to help people like her.”
Jamis thought about this and silently agreed. Stephanie was trapped in a cycle of abuse and exploitation. She learned a certain way to be in the worl
d and the energy of those early lessons informed the rest of her life. Without interruption, she simply dwelled in the same energy, creating and re-creating the pain in endless repetition. Jamis understood it all too well.
“Me too, Maria. One question, before I let you go. What is your last name? And would it be okay if I quoted you in my final thoughts about this on my website?”
“Could you not use my last name?”
“Of course. Can I still get your name?”
“Well, I kept my name. Ojeda. Our dad came to Utah from Mexico. Our mom is Native American. Navajo.” It was the remnants of the Spanish and Navajo Jamis heard in their words, and she loved it. She kept thinking about sending in her own DNA, to learn more about her heritage, but never got around to it. Dr. Frank urged her to do it, so that was why she didn’t. Some sort of adolescent defiance. She returned to Maria.
“Thanks, Maria. Would it be okay if I called you again if anything comes up?”
“Yes. That’s fine, and, Jamis…” Her voice drifted away. “Never mind. Yes, of course. Call anytime.” She hung up, and Jamis put her phone in the cup holder. It chirped and she picked it back up. It was Sapphire. I have your files.
Jamis texted her. OMW.
She dropped the phone back in the cup holder and backed up. While waiting to turn, she picked the phone up and texted Johnna. Hi. Thx for tucking me in. I ate a box of brownie bites with Carmen. Don’t need to eat for six days. I hope you’re having a good day. She put the phone back and pulled into the street.
* * *
Sapphire waited on a small bench upstairs at the municipal building. The light filtered through the stained glass windows in the brick building and danced across the shiny tile. The play of stained glass and shadows made it look like a dance club. Jamis followed dancing flecks of blue, red, and gold as they moved across the floor to Sapphire, who wore a pair of tan corduroys and a dark blue sweater. Her hair was pulled up on top of her head, now dyed a deep purple. Jamis stopped in front of her. “I love your hair.”
“Me too. But it was a bit of an accident,” Sapphire said, pulling a face. “I did it last night when I got home. I should have waited.”
“Did you drive in the storm?” Jamis followed her down the stairs into the basement while she unlocked the cage.
“Oh, yeah. Not a big deal at all. Winter and I are foes. We do battle and I win when I want to go somewhere.”
“Winter cosplayer.” Jamis laughed, following her inside the metal gates. Sapphire held her arms in the air and pumped them.
There were stacks of paper everywhere, and they stepped around them to get to the computers. Jamis cringed at the photo of Stephanie Gardner wrapped in a tarp on the center monitor. Sapphire noticed. “I know. It gets worse.”
Sapphire picked up a folder, slid papers in it, closed the clasp, and handed it to Jamis. “I made a copy for you. I scanned all of it here.” She turned to her keyboard and then swiped her tablet. A police report appeared next to the gruesome photo. Jamis pulled a stool next to her and read the report.
“She was found by a truck driver. He got out of his truck to move something so he could pull by and noticed her foot. Otherwise, she would have likely never been found,” Jamis said.
A deep sadness enveloped them both. Jamis put her hand on Sapphire’s arm and took a deep breath. “She suffered blunt force trauma to her head, and there were signs she’d had sex, though no body fluids were recovered.” Fury moved through her body like an army platoon marching into battle. “Signs she’d had sex. They didn’t even suppose she’d been sexually assaulted.”
“It was 1992. Practically a different world,” Sapphire said. “We didn’t even have social media.”
“I wonder if they even considered it.”
“I’ve read this whole file and saw nothing about sexual assault.” Sapphire took a deep breath. “I feel pretty sick. I mean, really sick.”
Jamis felt nauseous too. “The official cause of death is the blunt force trauma. If I was raped and bludgeoned in the head, I’d be a fucking poltergeist too.”
Sapphire pulled up the second page of the police report. Jamis read it.
“Looks like they spoke to her neighbors, Sue and John Giffords and Ethel Waters,” Jamis said.
“Before you ask, Sue and John live right next door in present day Sage Creek, Utah.” Sapphire pulled up an online directory of residents and addresses. “Ethel died in 2011.”
“Okay, can you believe it never occurred to me to talk to the neighbors?” Jamis asked Sapphire, laughing. “Here I am desperate for info and I run all around instead of walking next door.”
“Sometimes, it’s the simple things that elude us smart folks,” Sapphire said.
Such was the story of Jamis’s life. “There isn’t much more here. The unofficial notes in the file said they assumed a drifter killed her. Put the case on the shelf. An addendum was added in 1995 when Richard Crespin was captured, and they worked with Idaho police to try to link her murder to him. They never could. Technically, Jamis, it’s still unsolved.”
“Want to go talk to her neighbors?”
“I’m your partner these days, aren’t I?” Sapphire clicked the computer screens off.
Chapter Eleven
Sapphire and Jamis walked gingerly up the sidewalk to Sue and John Giffords’s house. The snow was shoveled, but not well, and the result was small pockets of iced, packed down snow. Jamis held lightly to Sapphire’s shoulder. Sapphire warned her not to take her down. They giggled en route, fast friends. Jamis had never had a best friend growing up, but had she known Sapphire then, it would have been her. Jamis knocked on the front door and kicked the snow off her Converse.
The door opened with a gush of warmed air and an elderly man squinted at them. “What do you want?”
Sapphire spoke before Jamis could. “Mr. Giffords, I’m Sapphire Neugent. I work in county records at the municipal building. We wanted to ask you some questions about the house next door and a woman who used to live there. Stephanie Gardner.”
“I don’t want to dig any of that stuff up. Now you two go on.” He began to shut the door, but a female voice behind him called out.
“You ornery old bastard. Let her in.” He grumbled and opened the door again, stepping out of the way, retreating back into the house, leaving the door open.
Jamis stepped tentatively inside. An elderly woman sat on the couch with a blanket over her legs and a cat on her lap. She muted the television and called them in. “Sit, both of you.” They took two chairs by the window.
Sapphire introduced them. “Are you Sue Giffords?”
“I am. I thought you looked familiar when I saw you outside the window. I used to watch your show.” Jamis thanked her. “And I knew Sapphire’s dad. We used to work together at the grocery store. How is your mom, honey?”
“I thought you did, Mrs. Giffords. She’s good.”
“Well, tell her I said hello.”
“Mrs. Giffords,” Jamis began.
“Call me Sue.”
“Sue, what can you tell us about the house next door?”
“You know that girl killed by a serial killer, Stephanie, lived there. We always wondered if it happened there. But the police never found nothing. I remember. Is that why you’re here in town?”
“I’m not really sure, yet,” Jamis said.
“Is it haunted by her ghost do you think?” Sue continued without pausing to let Jamis answer. She was excited to share. “It’s been vacant a long time, I can tell you that. Then some investment company came and bought it last year, woke me up every day at five, pounding on nails, ripping out flooring. Before then, it’s bounced around.”
“I saw that in the county records. At the time, it was a rental. Were there a lot of tenants in and out of it before Stephanie? Or after her?”
“You know, after Stephanie no one really lived in it long. Some young fellow bought it from Rick, but he wasn’t there long. It sat empty for years.” Sue looked from Jamis to Sap
phire, serious about the information she shared.
“Did you know Stephanie well at all?” Sapphire shifted in her chair, opening her body language to Sue, a silent encouragement to talk.
“Well, I knew she was loose. A chippie my mom used to say. Legs open to anyone.” Jamis gasped. Sapphire leaned even closer in a conspiratorial gesture. Sue lowered her voice. “I don’t want John to hear. But I used to see men in and out of there all the time, all hours of the day and night. Up through that back door. I could see it from my bedroom.” She stopped talking, held her body stiff, satisfied with her disclosure.
“Can I see before we leave?” Jamis wanted to see the house from this angle. While uncertain what it would accomplish, she felt desperate for any insight.
“Sure you can,” Sue said.
Jamis smiled at her. “Thanks. The men you saw. Did you ever see anyone you shouldn’t see?”
Sue looked from side to side again to be sure John wasn’t coming in the room. “I used to see the police chief’s son, Mitch, in and out all the time.” She grinned and looked at Sapphire. “You remember Mitch Jr., honey?” Sapphire said she didn’t. “Well, you may be too young. Your mom probably does.”
“Do you think the chief’s son was having an affair with Stephanie?” Again, Jamis pressed her for information.
“I wouldn’t call it an affair, but I think he was dipping his quill in her ink.” The imagery was startling. “And he was making ink blots. Not writing the alphabet.” Jamis stared at Sue, momentarily stunned. Down home descriptors of sex and infidelity left her speechless. It took a lot.
“Is there anything else we should know about the house?” Sapphire jumped in, helping her.
“Is it haunted? I’ve never heard or seen anything, and I’ll be damned if I’ve been missing it all these years.”
Sapphire spoke again. “Jamis thinks something is going on and related to Stephanie. Will you let us know if you think of anything else?”
“I sure will.” Jamis stood and Sue pushed the cat from her lap, grabbed a cane next to the couch, rose on wobbly legs, and pointed to the stairs. “You just head right up those there, turn right, and go straight to my window.”