Chapter 7
The coffee, somewhere between FBI swill and Nick's decadent mud, soothed the tense knot in Jackie's stomach. It still boggled her mind that they had somehow picked a case in a town where Drake had been. It could be nothing at all, but dozens of ghosts and a vampire who took pleasure in creating them did not seem coincidental to her at all, even if it was one hundred years ago.
Shelby, the little wench, had pushed herself into the booth next to Cynthia, leaving the empty space next to Jackie as the only spot for Nick to sit. He had slipped in without a word and artfully kept his body from touching hers, though it did not matter. Even inches away, it felt to Jackie as though he was pressing up against her.
“So,” Shelby said, leaning against Cynthia and sipping her water, “what's the agenda, boss?”
How the hell was she supposed to know that? “I was hoping you had some bright ideas. I can get Hauser to dig up some info about this place, find out if anything out of the ordinary has gone on here. Maybe we can have a word with the local law enforcement.”
“Get the law out of your head, babe,” she replied. “If you've got a place with ghosts, what are you going to hear?”
Hear? Of course. “Ghost stories. This place should have a million of them. Speaking of which, where did Laur go?”
“She went poking around to see if she could talk to any of them,” Shelby said.
“That will be our best source,” Nick added. “Those that have been here a long time may not remember much of anything, but any recently dead should remember what happened.”
The waitress, a forty-something woman with her hair pulled up and pinned with a pen, stopped by to refill Nick's and Jackie's coffees. “More ghosthunters, eh?”
Jackie sat up straight. “We're not ...” She took a deep breath. “We heard there were an unusual number of, um, hauntings in this area.”
The waitress snorted. “You and every other freak with an EMF meter.”
“Look, Missâ” Jackie clenched her fists. She was not about to get labeled as a group of circus clowns trying to prove the existence of ghosts.
“Ma'am,” Nick said with his charming half-smile. His hand rested on Jackie's thigh, patting it a couple of times in warning. “We're not here to run tests for paranormal activity. We already know there are ghosts here. We're researchers. We're here to find out why.”
“Oh!” Her terse face relaxed into a smile, not entirely friendly. “Well, I'll give you a sound piece of local advice then.” She leaned over and topped off Nick's coffee. “It's wise to leave the Thatcher's Mill curse alone.”
“Molly!” The balding, bearded cook yelled out at them from the grill. “Quit your infernal blabbing. They don't want to listen to your BS.”
Molly frowned and whipped her head around. “Curse ain't no bullshit, Tucker! Just advising the good folk here to do what's best for them.”
“Look like they can take care of themselves, woman. Take their damn order and leave them alone.”
“Sorry,” Molly said, shaking her head. “Old prick's in a mood today. You all looking for some lunch or just sipping coffee while you figure out where to find your ghosts?”
“Already found them,” Jackie said, giving her best fake smile. “I'll take a cinnamon roll or Danish or whatever pastry sort of thing you have back there.”
Molly stared at Jackie for a moment before turning her gaze back to Nick. “What about you, handsome? What'll it be?”
“Roast beef sandwich,” he said. “Have you seen any of the Mill's ghosts, Molly?”
“Course I have.” She laughed. “Everyone here has at one time or another.”
“Coconut cream pie,” Shelby added. “So, what's this curse all about?”
“For you?” Molly nodded at Cynthia, who sipped her hot tea and shook her head.
“Just the tea, thanks.”
“Thatcher's curse,” Molly said, pulling the pen from her hair to write down their order. “Once born here, you never leave, even after you're dead.”
Tucker leaned over the diner's counter. “Damn it, Molly. Leave the poor folk alone.”
Nick waved him off. “It's all good, sir. We're just out from the University of Chicago doing some research on local ghost stories. Your town seems to have a few.”
Tucker chuckled. “More than a few, but I'd keep looking if I were you. Most folk around here don't like your type prying into things. Private, quiet people who don't like to be reminded about unsavory things like dead girls walking their streets, if you understand what I'm saying.”
Tucker went back to his grill, and Molly walked back to deal with their order. Nick took a sip of his coffee, and Shelby grinned, giving him a salute with her water glass. “Nice one, babe.”
“And more or less true, other than the U of C part,” he said quietly over the top of his cup.
“I could've handled that just fine,” Jackie muttered.
“Oh, come on.” Shelby laughed. “You'd have reamed her a new one. Let's face it, boss, subtlety is not one of your strong points.”
Jackie downed more of her coffee. “Fuck you.” They all snickered at her, and Jackie reluctantly smirked in return.
They were halfway through their food when Laurel returned from her initial foray into the town. “I really don't like this place.”
Jackie swallowed her mouthful of Danish. “Found something?”
“No,” she said. “That's the problem. None of the spirits I could get to talk had anything to say. A couple were looking for someone but they weren't sure who. None of them had any inkling of moving on. I didn't really press any of the ones I found, because I just wanted to get a feeling for what was going on, but I got the disturbing sense that they have no idea why they're here.”
They all looked perplexed at Laurel, except Jackie, who had no idea what the significance of Laurel's findings were. “I take it this is unusual?”
“Certainly strange,” Cynthia said.
“We'll need to talk to as many as we can,” Nick said. “If they are all like that, then we likely have someone around here that is influencing them.”
“Why would someone want to do that?” Jackie wondered.
Nick shrugged. “I don't know. Ghosts linger for a purpose. If they don't have one, they move on. So, on the surface this makes little sense.”
“What about the curse?” Cynthia asked. “Could someone have done that to this town?”
“Wait. What?” Jackie blinked in disbelief. “You're taking that whole thing seriously?”
Laurel absently tapped at her lip, lost in thought. “A powerful witch might be able to do something like that.”
“Seriously?” Jackie stared at her. “Curses are real?”
“Oh, definitely,” Cynthia replied. “But this would be something special. Your average witch doesn't play around with the dead. I'll have to make a couple of calls to some friends and see what they have to say on it.”
Jackie shook her head. “This is beyond me. I don't know the first thing about handling a situation like this.”
“We handle it like any other case would be handled,” Nick said. “We ask questions, dig a little deeper, and do some research.”
“This isn't like any other case,” Jackie insisted. “I don't know what the hell to do with stuff like this.”
“Bullshit,” Shelby said. “And it's not all on you, babe. We're a team, remember? We all have our areas of expertise here. Make use of them.”
Jackie sagged back against the seat. She could apply the only experience she had, which was leading a team of field agents in an effort to solve a crime and catch a criminal. It couldn't be that different, right? “OK, so we go talk to the ghosts. Cynthia, contact your witch people. I'll get Hauser to run us a quick criminal history on the area and see if anything pops. Nick, Shelby, and Laur, canvas the town for as many ghosts as you can find, and I'll go have a word with the local law and see if they have any insight into this.”
Shelby shuddered. “Listen to her being all leaderlike. Gives me goose bumps.”
“Shel,” Nick said, clearly as exasperated by her as Jackie felt, “leave it be.”
“And the sheriff being all protective of his lady,” she said, smiling through the last bite of her pie. “It makes me all fuzzy inside.”
Jackie dug a twenty out of her wallet and slapped it down on the table. “Such a bitch. Move, Nick, before I do something stupid and get my ass kicked.” Nick stood up to let her out. Shelby snickered away while Cynthia tried very hard to hide the smirk on her face. “Everyone go deal with your shit. We'll meet back here in a couple of hours and compare notes.”
Jackie could see Nick's hand wavering by her arm, ready to calm and console, but she wanted nothing to do with any of them at the moment. Jackie pushed passed him and headed for the door, dialing in Hauser's number and realizing too late that she had not bothered to ask if anyone knew where the local law was located.
Hauser was just what she needed after getting her nerves Shelby-fied once again. “Hauser! You wouldn't believe how good it is to hear your voice.”
“Jack! How's my favorite agent in hiding?”
“Seen better days, that's for sure,” she said, climbing into the SUV. “I passed along some info to McManus this morning about a placeâ”
“Thatcher's Mill?” he cut in. “Yeah, got that earlier this morning. So, how's the new gig? Got something interesting going on already?”
“It's ... weird,” she replied. “Running a case with no actual crime is just odd. I'm out of my element.”
“I'm sure you'll find someone to kick the crap out of.” He laughed in her ear. “Only a matter of time.”
She watched Shelby and Nick walk out of the diner. Wasn't that the truth? “Yeah. Anyway.”
“Well, speaking of no crime, Thatcher's Mill is one strange place,” Hauser said.
Jackie's heart skipped a beat. “You got something already?”
“I ran a quick background on the place after McManus called. Just your typical check, common data, that sort of thing.”
“OK, and?”
“You're in the safest town in the world, from what I can tell.”
“What? This place is crawling with ghosts. I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, they didn't get there by getting killed by anyone,” he said. “The place has no record of violent crime, like ever.”
“What do you mean, none? How far back did you go?”
“Far back as records are digitized,” he replied. “There isn't a single record of a homicide or assault or even disturbing the peace for as far back as you want to look. I even did a quick newspaper search and not a thing.”
“How is that possible?”
“Either you're surrounded by the nicest people on the planet, or someone is neglecting to keep very good records.”
“Huh,” Jackie said, stunned for a moment. One person didn't not keep records for decades. That required a chain of events and willful complicity by a number of people. A number of people had clearly died in this town, and if what she had learned was actually true, the deaths were not all by natural causes. “OK, my curiosity is piqued. This is something I can deal with. Can you give me an address for the local law here?”
“Coming right up, Jack,” Hauser said. “By the way, we all miss you around here.”
Jackie smiled. “I miss you guys, too.”
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The local police station was two blocks away in a one-story, red brick building. It did not look big enough to hold a single jail cell. A lone police car was parked along the street out front. The glass front door was emblazoned with bright red letters T
HATCHER'S
M
ILL
P
OLICE
D
EPT.
and when Jackie stepped in, she tripped a dangling bell overhead, signaling everyone that she had arrived. A reception desk sat immediately to the right, behind which was a plump, heavily mascaraed woman in her fifties, looking more ready for the town picnic in her bright, flowery dress than for doing anything related to law enforcement.
The rest of the reception area was lined with several chairs and a wooden bench, upon which sat a young, see-through woman. The general, faint but pervasive sense of Deadworld in this town disguised the fact that she was sitting right there. There had to be a way to focus that ability better. The last thing Jackie needed was to be surprised by a ghost at every turn. Jackie stared at the young woman, who sat arrow-straight with her hands folded neatly in her lap, like she was waiting to be called for something. After a few seconds of staring, her eyes slowly turned to focus on Jackie.