“I don’t think there’s any kind of investor privacy law anywhere, so isn’t there
anything else you can tell me?”
He shifted slightly on the step. “I have to think of the privacy of this per
son. It’s only common decency.”
“Oh.” He had an answer for everything, which always seemed to turn out to be nothing. I felt my frustration rising. I put the cap back on the wate
r bottled and shoved it at him.
“And you just happened to, at this time of all times, be here at a torn-down hospital nobody’s given a hoot about for decades on the same day that Oliver C
anfield was here. Yeah, right.”
Fitzpat
rick looked down at this watch.
“I have to ge
t back,” he said, standing up.
“So you can gather wood to start a fire?” I asked, wondering if this would be the first or the second fire he was starting this week. After all someone had to start the fire at the bank, so why not him? What had he been trying to destroy in that office? Was he a part of wh
atever Canfield had been doing?
Fitzpatrick sniffed as the late afternoon breeze covered u
s in another layer of humidity.
“Lots to do.” With that, he started walking back towards the woods. He t
urned around for one last word.
“You be careful in that old hospital. Bad things seem to happen to people in there.”
I walked around the front of the building where the film crew continued working. I knew when I was getting the brush-off from Leo Fitzpatrick. Who was this investor? Why was he on Canfield’s appointment calendar? There was no denying Fitzpatrick’s charm, but he also had an element of danger to him. If I couldn’t get him to crack, then maybe I could Tyler.
“So we will take two investigators and a camera and sound on each run tonight,” Howard said. “We want to keep it as simple as possible and limit the possibility of human interference in our investigations.”
I wondered if they would actually get anything on tape tonight. I had seen countless videos of floating forms playing on Aunt Maggie’s computer and television. Would Howard and Stanley be able to get some kind of footage like that? We would have every kook in the country out here if that happened. Oliver Canfield’s dream was coming true – we would be rich with investors. Too bad he wouldn’t be here to see it all. Then again, maybe he was.
I headed to a cooler Stan had placed in the back of the van.
As Maggie and Danny were coming towards me, I picked up three water bottles from the icy confines of the cooler. “Water break, Aunt Maggie. Be right back.”
“Okay, dear. You do look a little red in the face.”
“Very important to drink water in the heat,” said Danny.
*****
I trudged through the woods over to the campsite to see Tyler. He and Zach were struggling to pound in tent stakes. They were surrounded by other little boys in various states of campsite readiness. The tents were set about ten feet apart between the trees towering above them.
“Pull it tight, shrimp,” Tyler yelled to Zach from one side of the collapsed tent. Tyler had on a pirate costume, complete with eye patch and wobbling bird on his shoulder. His plastic sword hung from his belt as he tried to hammer a stake into the ground.
“Hey you guys, how about some water?”
“Thanks, mom,” Zach said, his little cheeks rosy pink and his hair plastered to his forehead.
“Thanks,” said Tyler. We all sat down in front of the tent on a couple of logs the boys had laid out in a sort of bark-toned living room. “So Tyler, can I ask you a question?”
Tyler tipped the water bottle back to gulp, but his eyes turned to me. “Okay,” he said, filtering out a burp in the process.
“How long have you been living with your dad?”
“My dad? … Oh, my dad. I’ve just been with him for a little bit, since my mom …”
I could tell he was getting uncomfortable talking about his home situation. I softened my approach. “Do you miss your mom?”
He looked down into the bottle as if the answer was waiting for him there. “Yes.” His voice was barely audible.
There was quiet between us. This was a side of Tyler we hadn’t seen, and it all came about when I mentioned his mom. Maybe the tough-guy thing was all about being homesick.
I was even more surprised when Zach, the victim of Tyler’s taunts for the last week, chose to put his arm around him. “Gee, Tyler, you should have told me. Sometimes I miss my dad too. Even though I never really knew him and all,” he added quickly.
“Yeah, well, I knew my mom,” Tyler bit back.
Then, even more to my surprise, I saw a little tear bounce off his hand.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.
“Leo says it’s okay to cry about it sometimes, just not in front of other people. I feel stupid.”
“It’s not stupid. It’s … it’s … okay,” Zachary said softly. I had so hoped the two boys would get along, but I never stopped to think about the fact that they shared a common loss of a parent.
“When was the last time you talked to her on the phone?” I asked. Tyler looked bewildered. Maybe he was so upset he didn’t quite understand me.
“Tyler? Your dad does let you call her on the phone, right?” I began to wonder if this was an amicable arrangement or not. Maybe she wasn’t answering his calls because she was so wound up in her new life. Some people just threw kids away, it seemed.
“Uh, you can’t reach her by phone right now.” That said it all. She was avoiding him. No wonder the kid was angry all the time. I made up my mind right then and there to be a new person to this boy.
“I see,” I said. “I tell you what, Tyler. Anytime you feel like you need someone to talk to, you can call me, okay?”
“And me,” said Zach, my partner in crime.
“Really?” Tyler looked up from the ground at me, his chubby hands holding the water bottle quietly in his lap.
“Really,” I repeated.
“I have to ask Uncle Leo.”
I thought about what Fitzpatrick had said about Tyler not being used to calling him dad. It was kind of sad because they were thrown together now. He had missed so many important things in Tyler’s life. They hadn’t had the time that Zach and I had to build our reliance and trust on one another. Once again, I had holes in Fitzpatrick’s story, but at least I knew his kid wouldn’t be beating up my kid all night long.
*****
I kept thinking about Tyler’s reaction to the mention of his mom during what remained of the afternoon. He had seemed like a tough kid at the Scout meeting, but one mention of his mother and he turned to jelly. So often the kid who is picking on yours has already been kicked around by someone bigger than himself.
“Okay, Betsy, in our segment we are going to be walking around the rooms in the ‘C’ corridor, down this hall,” Aunt Maggie said. In the fading light of the afternoon, it just looked like another torn-down hallway, too sorry-looking to produce a sizable ghost. At the end of the hallway was the bottom of the stairway that I had just chased my invisible intruder down. Many of the doors were off the hinges, but a few still hung on by sheer rust alone. Above me, some of the cratered ceiling tiles of the 60s lay along their metal frameworks in a scattered fashion. Maggie continued to chatter about things she would be pointing out to me when we were on camera later. As I listened to her voice, I heard the undeniable sound of footsteps again, above our heads. This time, even though I expected it, there was no cough.
“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “Do you hear that? That’s what I heard earlier. Maybe whoever it was came back.” We were on the south side of the hospital, and the crime scene, with its police officer standing guard, was on the north side. Why would someone be walking around up there? It was understandable that some Halloween prank might involve seeing a real crime scene, but what would entice someone to the other side of the building?
“What? I don’t hear …” she stopped mid-sentence as she, too, heard the footsteps above us.
“Who’s upstairs? Boy howdy, Judd will have their hide.”
I headed back to the door that led to the stairwell. Maybe if I could sneak up the stairs this time, I would catch whoever this was. I pulled open the security door, and a sizable rusty metal tube came hurtling down the stairs. Before I could get out of the way, it smacked right into me.
*****
Twenty minutes later I sat inside the back of an ambulance while the paramedics checked me out. “It’s amazing you didn’t get more hurt from that thing, Betsy,” said Stanley. The television crew was trying so hard to eliminate the sound of any ambulances and here they had to call one directly to the place they were filming.”
Danny was standing by the door. “I’m surprised it didn’t squash you like a bug.”
I lifted my head to nod with a pained smile.
He continued, “I’m just glad my mom was there. It was your lucky day, Betsy.”
“It certainly was.” Maggie eyes kept looking me over up and down as her hand patted my shoulder.
“Mom!” Zach ran across the field from out of the trees followed by Tyler, Leo Fitzpatrick and Benny Mason. Benny stood with the rest of the Scouts, who were hovering on the edge of the woods.
“I’m okay,” I told Zach as he barreled into me. We had to quit meeting like this.
“You don’t look okay,” said Fitzpatrick.
“Someone decided to try to get rid of us by throwing an old hot water heater on Betsy,” said Maggie.
“Uncle Judd is looking around up there,” Danny said to me. “If somebody’s wandering around up there, he’ll find them. He finds the bad guys.” Danny and Zach nodded their heads in unison.
Maggie smiled. “He certainly will find whoever it is up there.”
Stanley added, “It seems like at every turn something happens to stop the filming of this program.”
Howard walked up now, running his hand through his flyaway gray hair.
Maggie held my hand. “We know a lot of people have been against this whole thing, but I didn’t think anyone was mean enough to do this.”
“So does this mean the investigation is off?” Howard asked.
“Howard … Maggie …” Stanley raised his eyebrows and let out a sigh. “I know you have your hearts set on this, but look at what we just went through. Are you sure this is a good idea? I might be able to work out some sort of a partial refund.”
Howard tilted his head to the side, looking up at the old hospital. He turned to us with a rapid movement. “I know no one has thought of this, but this may be an action performed by a nonhuman.”
Leo Fitzpatrick, who had been quiet, perked up at that one. “Nonhuman?” he said.
“Nonhuman?” Stanley echoed.
“Of course, this is the classic behavior of a poltergeist, or bad spirit. I think there might be a negative force that will do anything to keep us away.”
“Well what are we supposed to do about it?” I asked.
He shot a glance at Maggie, his eyes starting to bug out at the thought of it.
“Call a priest.”
At that, my father walked out of the hospital with his hand tightly closed around the arm of none other than Miss Maureen Boyle.
“No need to call a priest. I think our attacker was quite alive.”
“Miss Boyle?”
Today, the prim and proper Miss Boyle was out of her pencil skirt and had put on jeans and a gray T-shirt. She didn’t seem to be too happy with her police
escort.
“Seems like it,” my father answered. “I found her trying to come down the stairs from t
he other side of the hospital.”
“Is it against the law to come d
own the stairs now?” she asked.
Maggie was incensed. “It’s one thing to insult me in front of the town, calling me a devil worshiper, but it is quite another when you throw a water heater at my niece.” She rose from my side, and I was pretty sure she was about to swing a boilermaker at my attacker. I grabbed her hand to pull her back, al
though secretly I would have
like
d to see
her do it.
“You people do not need to be here – and you have no proof I was the one who threw that rusty p
iece of metal down the stairs.”
“Then let me ask you what you wer
e doing upstairs in that heat?”
“It is absolutely none of your business what I was doing up there. You let your family run willy-nilly through the place. I don’t see you ar
resting them,” Miss Boyle said.
“Miss Boyle,” J
udd said. “Show us your hands.”
Miss Boyle did not comply but simply stared at my father with a look of defiance. She was not budging as her eyes began to turn into slits staring at us through her glasses, now slightly askew. My father reached down and grabbed her hands and turned them palm up to all of us. From the dim light available, I could see
something dark on both of them.
“Hmm, rust. Could it be from pushing a rusty p
iece of metal down the stairs?”
“I want to call my lawyer.”
“And so you shall.”
“I wish I had never met any of
you people.” Her lip was firm.
“I think you’ve made yourself quite clear on that point,” I answered. “What is it that drives you so crazy about us being here? I just don’t get it. Do you put razor blades in apples to disc
ourage trick-or-treaters, too?”
“No!” she screamed. “No! I am a good person. I’m a better person than you. You people don’t have any right to be tromping aro
und here where my Oliver died.”
Suddenly it was quiet. What did she say? Was this the reason Oliver Canfield had her credit card in his office drawer? Could this be the reason she was snooping around the hospital the day we discovered the body? D
id Miss Boyle have a boyfriend?
“My Oliver?” I asked.
“You heard me. Oliver was mine, and if he hadn’t been out h
ere, he never would have died.”
“You and Oliver Canfield were … an
item?” asked my dad.
“We were more than ‘an item.’ We were going to be married.” She lifted up her chin with pr
ide, although it wobbled a bit.
“You and Oliver Canfield?” I was amazed. Who knew? It certainly explained a lot, including her mania for keeping us away from the old hospital. If they were choosing this place for a lovers’ rendezvous, they sure needed to come up with some better ideas. Why go to this rat hole? They
both had homes in Pecan Bayou.
Miss Boyle pulled herself up straight. “Is that so alarming that you think I couldn’t attract a man like Oliver?”
We all looked at each other not saying a word. It certainly couldn’t be her attitude that attracted him, but it very
well could be her credit score.
“He told me that he loved me and couldn’t wait to be my husband. We were supposed to get together at four in the afternoon that day, but he never showed up. I knew he had been talking about getting me and … some others … together to invest in the hospital, so I figured he was still out here dreaming of our future. He was like that, you know. I thought he was a wonderful man full of ambition. We were going to get married, and then I was going to have a better life than the likes of all of you.” She looked straight over at Maggie. “You and your interference.” Miss Boyle started screaming. “You killed him!” She lunged after Maggie as my father and Stan pulled her back. “You an
d your ghosts! You killed him!”
“Leave her alone, you mean lady,” Danny yelled. “Yo
u leave my mom alone. Go away.”
“I’m fine, Danny. It
’s okay,” Maggie reassured him.
“She was going to hurt you,” Danny now stood firmly in front of his mot
her with his hands on his hips.
“N
o she wasn’t. Danny, I’m okay.”
“Betsy,” my father interrupted. “Do you wish to file charges against Miss
Boyle?”
Boy did I ever, but looking at this broken woman, I just knew it wouldn’t be right. Out of the two of us, her with her lonelyhearts con and me with my fretting over being left behind, I was better off. Shaken up a little bit, but at least I wasn’t out of my head. “No, I guess not.” For the first time in many years, I started feeling like maybe I wasn’t th
e worse sob story in the crowd.
“And then,” continued Miss Boyle, seemingly unaware of anyone else, “I discovered Oliver had taken some liberties
with my charge card.”
“Excuse me?” my father said. Here came the info
rmation I truly wanted to hear.
“He ran it up to the limit. But he always said you have to spend money to make money, Bitsy.” She smiled. “That’s what he called me – Bitsy. Isn’t that
sweet?”
I recalled that name from his calendar. Miss Boyle was Bitsy? Somehow I had imagined that pe
rson just a bit more … Bitsier.
“He ran through a credit card?” Fitzpatrick said. He was suddenly intensely interested in Miss Boyle’s lament. “And he was
promising to marry you?”
“We were engaged. I was going to be a Chr
istmas bride,” said Miss Boyle.
“It may interest you to know, Miss Boyle, and I’m not saying this to hurt you, Mr. Canfield also proposed to my sister,” said Leo Fitzpatrick, stepping forward. Miss Boyle stammered, but Fitzpatrick held up his hand. “And he also used her credit cards and charged them out to the max. I ran a background check on him and found out Oliver Canfield served time. He was in jail for three years for credit card fraud. After he got out, he found his way back to Pecan Bayou and set himself back up in business. He’s one of those lonelyhearts Romeos. He’s taken lots of women f
or their money, just like you.”
It was then that I saw it. Tyler, who had been standing there quietly, now had tears running down his chubby cheeks. Very quietly, he walked over to Miss Boyle and put his arms around her waist. It was absurd to look at, but then w
hen he spoke it all made sense.
“He was a bad man, Miss Boyle. He hurt my mom, just lik
e you.”
Miss Boyle looked down at the boy, and then surprising us all, she put he
r arms around Tyler to hug him.
Fitzpatrick walked over and tried to unclench Tyler from Miss Boyle.
“That’s enough, son,” he said.
“But Uncle Leo, Mr. Canfield hurt this lady too. Maybe if somebody hugs her and tells her it’s all
right, she won’t … she won’t …”
“Tyler!”
“Mr. Fitzpatrick,” said my father. “Is there so
mething you’re not telling us?”
“Tell them, Uncle Leo. We don’t have to k
eep our secret anymore, do we?”
Fitzpatrick gave up trying to separate Tyler from Miss Boyle. Miss Boyle collapsed into Tyler’s chubby arms as she fell down on her knees. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m just so embarrassed. I thought he loved me. He just wanted my money.” Her emotions were spilling out all over Tyler, who was crying
too.
“He made my mama cry too. She went to heav
en she was so sad,” Tyler said.
“Tyler!”
“Uncle Leo,” he said, turning to Fitzpatrick. “This lady was just like mom. If we can’t find him, then we can at least help h
er.”
So that was it. Why Leo Fitzpatrick and “son” were actually in town. They came after Canfield, not some pie-in-the-sky investor. Fitzpatrick gave an exasperated sigh and settled
down on the bumper next to me.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick, is your son saying you knew Canfield before the murder and that you came to town to seek him out?” asked my dad. Fitzpatrick just shot to number one on th
e investigation’s suspect list.
A cell phone emitted a muffled ring. Benny reached into his pocket and walked away from the Scouts, further into the woods. Fitzpatrick folded his arms, as we all waited for him to respond. He seemed to be making a decision. He turned to the collapsed form of Maureen Boyle. “Miss Boyle, I know you’re hurt, but … my sister … she was so devastated by what this man did … she took her life.” He then turned to my father. “And yes, Lieutenant Kelsey, I did come to Pecan
Bayou to find Oliver Canfield.”
“I think you and I need to have another little talk about
the murder of Oliver Canfield.”
“I wanted him arrested. I didn’t murder him. Whoever di
d us all that favor wasn’t me.”
“But you placed yourself at the murder scene. You t
old me that yourself,” I added.
“Yes, I did see Canfield right inside this building,” he gestured towards the hospital. “But he was alive. That son of a bitch laughed at me when I told him my sister committed suicide after being a victim of his scam. He laughed and told me that it wasn’t his fault my sister, Molly, was so unstable. He started saying stupid things like, ‘Ah well, unlucky in love.’ I wanted to kill him, but I didn’t. I actually left the hospital and was driving to the police station, getting ready to tell everything. It was then I realized I was late picking Tyler up from school. Tyler was my sister’s son. She adopted my nephew as a single parent, so when she died I was all the family he had. I was still getting the hang of this whole dad thing and hadn’t kept track of the time school ended. As I picked him up, I realized I would be hours at the station and needed to find a babysitter for him. Being so new to town, I had no idea who to call. Instead, I took Tyler out for a hamburger and decided I would go into the sheriff’s office the next day. By the time the next day r
olled around, it was too late.”
“I want to see you in my office first thing in the morning,” my dad said. “But not tonight. We’re way too busy. Report to my office first thing tom
orrow and we’ll sort this out.”
“But I didn
’t kill him,” Fitzpatrick said.
“We will also open an investigation into the fraud perpetrated against your sister.” Tyler had let go of Miss Boyle
and was now hugging his uncle.
My dad looked over at the crumpled heap of Miss Boyle. “Ma’am, I want you out of this area and away fr
om my crime scene – right now.”
She rose and straightened her gray T-shirt, lifting her head in that now-familiar defiant manner. She cleared her throat as she tried to regain her composure. The weakness in her voice gave her away. “I trust this conversa
tion will remain confidential?”
“Yes, ma’am,” my fat
her replied.
“I’m real good at keeping secrets, just
ask my Uncle Leo,” Tyler added.
She acknowledged him with a slight smile, whispering her response, “Thank
you, Tyler. I appreciate that.”
Benny ran over to us from the woods. He was out of breath when he reached us. He waved his cell phone in the air as he approached. I could see one of his sons trailing him. “Fitzpatrick, you think you could tak
e over at the campout tonight?”
“Uh, sure. Is something wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m just fine! Celia just called, and the baby’s coming! The labor pains are five minutes apart. I have to get to the house to drive her to the hospital. I think I’m going to have a baby on Halloween!” He gestured back to his campsite. “Benny Jr. will help you out. He’s been to a dozen of these things, and if you have any tro
uble, just call me on my cell.”
“I’ll be fine. You
just go,” Fitzpatrick answered.
“Don’t worry, Benny,” my dad said, “The police will keep an eye on the boys, too.” At that, everyone circled around Benny, patting him on the back. He started backing up and waving. We all had a lot on our minds right now, but seeing Benny helped me to remember that my priorities would be with the living, the here
and now, not the dead and gone.
As Benny pulled away, Leo Fitzpatrick ran his hand through hi
s hair and put on his ball cap.
“Oh boy. I t
hink this means I’m in charge.”
“Ah, nothin’ to it,” my dad said. “You got the tents up. You just have to get the boys fed and make sure there’s enough marshmallows to go around and some sharp sticks to put them on.” He patted Leo Fitzpatrick on the back. “Piece-a cake, boy.” He put his hand under Miss Boyle’s arm to help her to her car. As they walked away, I could hear my dad talking gently to her as if she hadn’t just thwacked his da
ughter with a hot water heater.