by Jen Jensen
“That’s Paul’s uncle. Johnna’s brother-in-law. Rick is Matt’s dad. Matt is our childhood friend. We are so entangled,” Sapphire said.
“These guys are a rich old white man’s club,” Johnna said. Sapphire agreed.
“Would it be weird for you to ask for access to these old white men?” Jamis turned to face Johnna directly.
“Do you want me to ask Matt?” Johnna asked Sapphire, who nodded. Johnna texted Matt.
“Matt will do it for Johnna because he’s in love with her,” Sapphire said. Johnna kicked out her foot at Sapphire without looking up from her phone.
“We’ve been friends since we were three,” Johnna said.
“He finally gave in and married his wife when it became clear Johnna wouldn’t marry him,” Sapphire said to Jamis. “Unrequited love runs deep in these parts.”
“Sometimes you just have to be crazy blunt about things,” Johnna said, looking at Sapphire.
“Wait, who is Matt? And he’s in love with you?” Jamis felt a surge of jealousy, possessiveness.
“No, he had a crush on me when we were little. Sapphire never lets me forget it.” Johnna put her phone back in her pocket. “He responded and said he’d call his dad and let him know we were coming by.”
“That was fast,” Jamis said.
“See? Love.” Sapphire grinned, turning off the computer. “Can I come today?”
“I can’t imagine a better idea,” Johnna said. She held her hand out to Sapphire and pulled her up. Sapphire locked fingers with her, shoulders touching, and they moved together from the room. Jamis watched their connectedness with warmth and some jealously. Johnna’s connections seemed so present and genuine, and her warmth was undeniable. But Jamis wondered how much of herself she actually allowed other people access to and how much of it was only externalized feeling.
“You coming?” Johnna startled Jamis from her reverie. “You looked so lost in thought,” Johnna said, holding the cage door open.
“Almost out of body,” Jamis said, rushing forward.
Chapter Thirteen
Johnna knocked on the large mahogany door. Jamis turned her back and looked at the front yard. The house, from her estimation, was at least six thousand square feet. The front yard was at least a manicured acre. From the stoop, Jamis could see all of Sage Creek. The Castle Mountains around the valley were imposing and covered in snow. “I can’t wait to see this place in summer,” Jamis said.
“Your clothes will work then.” Johnna turned to her.
Jamis grinned as the door opened. It was Rick Davis, wearing dark gray slacks, a maroon sweater, and leather slippers. His eyeglasses were rimless. He smiled and stepped to allow them in. “Johnna, Sapphire, so good to see you.” He shook their hands as they passed. Jamis stopped as he took her hand. “You must be Jamis.”
“I appreciate you talking to me.”
He motioned for them to come in the front room and sit. “Of course. Matt said you’re looking into a murder from many years ago.”
Jamis told him what they’d learned about Stephanie. “You rented the house to her in the early nineties. Served her with two eviction notices but didn’t evict her, so much as we can see. I’m just curious if you remember anything.”
He crossed his legs. “Obviously, I remember her murder. It was a terrible spring.” He looked at Johnna. “So much loss. But I didn’t manage my rental properties directly. Around that time, Dan worked for me and took care of over twenty properties across the state.”
“Dan Abbey,” Johnna stated.
“Yes. Paul’s uncle,” Rick said.
“That’s why he signed on both requests for eviction then,” Sapphire said.
“Yes. He would have done that. Now, I know he urged me to sell the house not long after she died. I’d held on to it for a number of years because it was my dad’s place.” His tone softened. “I was being nostalgic. I wish I could tell you more than that. I think you could probably chat with Dan today. Old retired men have a lot of time on their hands.”
“I don’t want to keep you any longer, but it was good to see you, and I appreciate it,” Johnna said, standing up. Jamis and Sapphire followed her lead.
“I will, Johnna, thank you,” Rick said.
Johnna waved to Rick, watching as he shut the front door. She turned to look at Sapphire and Jamis. “I think we should talk to Dan.”
“Can you get us there?” Jamis said.
* * *
Dan Abbey opened his front door. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. There was an angry white scar on his forearm. Jamis noticed it immediately. He saw her gaze and unrolled his shirt.
“Dan, thanks for talking to us,” Johnna said. “Did Rick call?”
“Yes, he did.” Dan waved them in. He didn’t invite them to sit, though. He put his hands in his trouser pockets. “What can I do for you? I’m getting ready to head out, so I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Do you remember Stephanie Gardner?” Jamis jumped in.
“I do,” he said. “She was found dead. From a serial killer they thought. She rented one of Rick’s houses in the nineties. She was living there when they found her.”
“You served two eviction notices to her,” Jamis said, stating fact, not asking him.
“Did I?”
“Was she able to pay the rent?” Sapphire moved closer to him now. “We saw one in January and September.”
“I have no idea. I managed so many properties for Rick then. What I know is just about what I’ve told you.” He tucked his hands deeper in his pockets. “Long time ago. Lifetimes, it feels like.”
“You’re sure you don’t remember anything else?” Jamis stared at him.
“I don’t remember anything else.” He opened the front door. “I need to get going.” They moved to leave, but Johnna paused in the doorway.
“Will I see you at Paul’s party tomorrow?”
“Sure will. Wouldn’t want to hear from your sister if I didn’t show up,” Dan said. It was the most comfortable he’d been since they arrived.
“Thanks again, Dan.” Johnna smiled and stepped from the house. He waved and shut the door. Johnna froze, staring at the front door.
“You okay?” Jamis moved toward her, hand on her forearm.
“Is it me or did he seem weird?” Johnna still stared at the door.
“I don’t know him that well, so it’s hard to know,” Sapphire said.
“What are you thinking?” Jamis still held Johnna’s arm.
“I don’t know,” Johnna said, moving from the steps. “Something just feels strange. He’s a strange dude, though, so it could be that.”
“Dude,” Jamis said. Johnna smiled. Small lines crinkled around her eyes and mouth. Jamis didn’t think she’d seen them before. The lines on her face were stories waiting to be told. She wanted to hear all of them. Jamis wanted to grab her, arms around her waist, pull her forward and kiss her. Could someone really be this calm, thoughtful, and genuine?
“I guess that leaves Mitch Reynold’s dad, wife, and Gordon,” Sapphire said, oblivious to Jamis’s thoughts. “And don’t forget to stop at the newspaper. The editor has been there for years.”
“Got it,” Jamis said, breaking her concentration on Johnna. “Come with me?”
“I should probably get back to work,” Sapphire said. “I don’t want to, but I probably should. You saw the boxes.”
“I’m going to go to the house tonight, if you want to come by,” Jamis said.
“I’m going to regret it again, but yes,” Sapphire said.
“We have to eat before we talk to anyone else,” Johnna said. “I’m starved. I ran eight miles this morning.”
“Well, that’s your fault,” Jamis said as they pulled away.
* * *
Jamis dropped Sapphire at work and Johnna at the office. Midway through lunch, Johnna’s phone rang. Someone needed help with a horse. Jamis finished her Taco Bell, morosely alone. She didn’t really w
ant to talk to Barbara Reynolds. So, it would be Gordon, and then the newspaper editor. She punched the address Sapphire texted her into Google Maps. It was just a few blocks away.
It was a square cinderblock building painted a dark black with blackened windows. Graffiti art covered the side walls in patterns of brilliant colors and shapes. Jamis parked directly in front of the doors. Except for soft rock music, the bar was quiet and empty when she stepped inside. A bar ran the entire length of the room. She could imagine it packed with college kids on a Saturday night.
“Hello,” she yelled from the end of the bar closest to the entrance.
A swinging door opened in the back of the bar. A tall man stepped through. His shaggy blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, and he had scruff on his cheeks. He stopped at the sink near the middle of the long bar. “What you having?”
Jamis looked at the cabinet behind him. “Gin and tonic?” He put a glass on the bar. “Extra lime. Are you Gordon?” Surprised, he looked up at her. “I’m in town investigating a murder. Stephanie Gardner?”
“What about her?” He poured her drink, set it in front of her.
She sipped it. “So good. Thank you,” Jamis said. “I read some redacted files today. I don’t think someone intended for anyone to see them. They had your name all over them. You went to the police a number of times to share what you knew about Stephanie.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter behind him. “Why do you care?” His tone was hostile, agitated.
“You may think I’m crazy if I tell you.” He shrugged. She told him the story, as far as she knew. “There’s something going on. I’m a ghost hunter. I used to have a television show, actually.” She hoped it added credibility, but he didn’t blink. “I think Stephanie Gardner is the poltergeist.” She paused. He stared at her, unblinking. “Right. I know. It sounds crazy, but it’s not. She can’t rest. I don’t think Richard Crespin killed her.”
Gordon stepped toward her and Jamis retreated back instinctively. “She had the worst life. We grew up next door to each other. Her mom let the men she brought home do whatever they wanted to her for extra money.” He picked up a glass from the sink and wiped it with a towel. He put it in the strainer. “Then she let any man do the same when she got big enough to do different.” Jamis felt sadness constrict her throat. “I knew he didn’t kill her. I think Mitch Reynolds Jr. killed her. His dad was the police chief. She was pregnant, you know.”
“I know,” Jamis said. “But only because you told them.”
Gordon’s eyes watered. “No one cared she got killed. I just kept going, but no one would listen to me. Then, one day, Mitch Reynolds Sr. showed up here with two cops. They turned over my bar. They arrested a bunch of kids on Saturday night. Then the old man cornered me back in my office and told me to drop it or he’d see me out of town. My old man gave me this place. I had to take care of my mom then.” He threw the towel down, wiped tears from his eyes. “It just didn’t matter what I did then. Stephanie was dead. Her baby was dead.”
Jamis looked into the glass she held between her hands. She swirled the ice cubes, and they clanked against the sides of the glass. She sipped it again and looked up to make eye contact with Gordon. “Did you love her?” The question rose so unbidden, so spontaneously it surprised her.
He put both hands on the bar in front of him. “Yes,” he said, voice low.
The front door of the bar flew open with so much force it banged against the wall and rattled. The glasses hanging above the bar clanked against each other. Then, as quickly as it began, it was done. The door closed and the glasses stopped moving. Jamis, who had turned to look at the door, turned slowly back to Gordon. “Well, hell,” she said. Gordon clenched the counter. She touched his arm and he loosened his grasp. She felt for him, in the way that only someone broken and rebuilding could. Life was so dangerous, for so many. “I suppose it’s safe to say she heard you.”
“Find who did this to her. Please. I gave up.” He covered his eyes, trying to hide his upset and shame.
“We tell ourselves all kinds of stories so we can survive. You didn’t do anything wrong. You tried. Because you did, I’m here now. I think Stephanie heard.” He took his hand from his face, met her eyes, vulnerable, grateful. “She has a fierce temper, though, I’ll give you that.”
“She was a doormat,” Gordon said. “She wanted to be loved so bad she’d do anything, for any man. That’s why I never asked for anything from her.”
“Because you loved her.”
“I guess so. I mean, I didn’t think I’d marry her, but I guess when we got older, when everyone else saw a whore, I saw the eight-year-old who used to color and draw with me when her mom left her at my house.” Jamis took her hand from his arm. “She loved to draw. You want more?” He looked at Jamis’s glass. Jamis put her hand over the top of it.
“I’m good. I appreciate you talking with me,” she said.
“Yeah.” She was halfway out the door when he called to her. She paused, the door in her hand, and looked over her shoulder. “Let me know what you find?”
“I will,” Jamis said. She stepped outside, held her hand at her brow to let her eyes adjust. The newspaper was next. Sapphire had texted her the address earlier. Jamis drove without a lot of conscious thought. Her mind wandered to Stephanie.
At a stop sign, she watched a group of teenagers cross the street. They wore backpacks perched on their shoulders. She thought about Gordon and Stephanie, walking home from school together. A surge of warm air circled her, and she closed her eyes, momentarily at peace. When she opened them again, the hunched figure of Stephanie Gardner was in front of her car. She yanked the hood of the robe down, opening her mouth to scream.
The teenagers who just crossed the street screamed and pointed. She put the car in park and looked behind her. There were no cars coming in any direction. When she turned around, Stephanie was gone. Jamis climbed from the car.
One of the male teenagers came toward her in the street. “What was that?”
“You heard it?”
“I heard you scream. Are you okay?” He had braces, a light dusting of facial hair, a generous helping of acne. He squinted at her, leaning close, worried and gallant. “Do you need help?”
“It wasn’t me.” She looked around him at the other kids. “Did any of you hear it?” There were four of them, all of whom raised their hand. “Did you see anything?” The young man right in front of her shook his head. A girl to the back and the side of the group raised her hand tentatively.
“What did you see?” Jamis moved toward her. The girl shrugged and looked to her friends for reassurance. They didn’t speak, but stepped away, forming a circle to watch her. “No one will think you’re crazy. Right?” The kids agreed.
“Just for a second, I swore someone in a gray cloak was standing in the middle of the road.” Her friends’ murmurs rose in the air. A lone crow squawked from a barren branch and took off in flight.
“Yeah, me too.” Jamis turned back to the road. “I saw it too.” She turned back to the group. “I gotta move my car, but thank you.”
She jogged back to her car. The teenagers meandered away in animated discussion.
“Stephanie,” Jamis said out loud. “I’m working on it. I really am.”
Chapter Fourteen
The newspaper was called the Sage Creek Advocate. The poster on the wall said it had been operating since 1918. The afternoon light filtered through the windows. There were half a dozen desks in the small, open space, but no receptionist. The walls were a dirty cream color, covered in framed newspaper prints, interspersed with small awards. A single person typed, back to the door, the clicking of keyboard keys the only sound. There was a dying rubber tree plant next to the man’s desk. It smelled like stale coffee. It was like a scene from a comic book. She half-expected Spider-Man to drop from a vent in the ceiling.
She tapped the lone man on the shoulder. He jumped from his seat and knocked the keyboard from
the desk. It swung by the cord and snapped against the metal.
“I’m so sorry,” Jamis said.
He took off his headphones and picked up the keyboard. He wore a white short-sleeve shirt with a tie, loosened. His hair was completely gray. She introduced herself.
“Ghost hunter?” Jamis nodded. “Yeah. I thought so. Sampson Birch.”
“Pleasure. Do you have some time to talk?”
He looked at the computer, at the clock, and back at her. “A few minutes.”
“Do you know anything about Stephanie Gardner?”
Sampson pushed back in his chair. He slid a chair to her. “Have a seat.” There was a large, yellowish color stain in the middle of the brown fabric. Jamis looked at it, then looked at Sampson, and decided the desire to talk outweighed her revulsion. “She was murdered. I wrote the article about it. What do you want to know?”
“It’s unsolved,” Jamis said.
“Is it?”
“Yeah. It is. I’ve been digging around a bit. Seems like maybe the police didn’t really do a thorough job.” Jamis avoided touching the armrests of the chair.
“When was that again? I was here, in case you’re wondering.” She was. “Probably the only one still here.”
“Yeah, where is everyone?” Jamis looked around the empty office.
“I do most of the heavy lifting. No need for a big staff. Print newspaper is dying. My online contributors just post from home. Honestly, I think I’ll close this office down next year.”
“That’s really sad,” Jamis said. He shrugged. “Stephanie. She was found on March 16, 1992. I have reason to believe the police chief willfully covered up his son’s involvement, impregnation, and her murder.” She shared details and waited for him to add to it.
When she finished, he turned to his desk and pulled a file from the bottom drawer, almost six inches thick. Paper bulging out the sides, and a large rubber band held it together. “This is my file on Mitch Reynolds Sr., the police chief then. He did whatever he wanted, or didn’t do whatever he wanted, for close to thirty years. Nothing stuck. People down in Arizona get worked up about Sheriff Joe, but that’s because they don’t know Chief Reynolds. These guys are from a different era. They’re outlaws, as bad as the guys they chase. The world changed and outpaced them.”