Southern Gothic (14 page)

“I’m sorry to hear that because there’s no way Sandra and I will ever work for a Hull again.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have a very bad day tomorrow.”

Before Max could find out what that threat meant, Cecily ended the call. Max had to laugh, though. Lately, every day had been a very bad day for him.

With a frustrated huff, Drummond lowered his hat over his eyes. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

Max bit back the sarcastic comments in his head. They had lost Rolson and the witch, and they had pulled little more than a threat from Cecily. He had to agree with Drummond’s frustration.

Closing his eyes, Max exhaled. Time to drive home. He opened his eyes and checked the rear view mirror. The horned-beast stared back at him.

“Shit,” Max yelled, wrenching his body around to see the backseat.

Empty.

“What is it?” Drummond looked all around, ready for action.

“I ... I ... Is there a ghost in the backseat?”

“I don’t see any ghosts anywhere. The area’s empty. You saw another ghost?”

Slouching back in his seat, Max shook his head. “I don’t know what I saw.” He reached down to put the car in Drive when he noticed his fingers tingled — the same fingers that had touched the circle painted on Cal Baxter’s floor.

That can’t be good,
he thought and drove off, letting the hypnotism of the road ease his mind.

Chapter 15

“Wake up,” Sandra said,
shaking Max’s shoulder. “Money day.”

Max lifted his head only to have gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt thrown in his face. “Good morning to you, too,” he said and quickly dressed.

In order to stay financially afloat, Sandra and Max had decided to strictly limit their spending. Once a week, they walked up to the bank at Oliver’s Crossing, a strip mall situated a short distance north of them, and withdrew all the cash they needed for the next seven days. If they had anything left at the end of the week, they usually saved it. This week, however, they decided to splurge on some frozen yogurt at the TCBY next to the bank. Sandra liked cold treats in the winter, and Max liked making Sandra smile.

As they trudged up the road, passing the gas station and then the fire department, Sandra leaned against Max for warmth. The crisp morning air lay still against their skin — thankfully, the harsh winds that often blew throughout the winter had taken the morning off. Sandra started going over the case, discussing each bit they had learned, trying to see how it all fit together, and Max joined in.

“You know what really bothers me about all this?” he said.

“Besides murder, witchcraft, and the Hulls?”

“Yeah, besides those things. The part that keeps bugging me is why did Sebastian hire us in the first place? What could we have found that he couldn’t get on his own?”

“We found the hidden room in Baxter House.”

Cars whisked by as Oliver’s Crossing neared. Max held Sandra closer. “Given enough time, I think he would’ve found that room on his own. And for all we know, he actually did find it — or at the least, he was closing in on it. I think that’s what got him killed.”

“Except we don’t know for sure why he was murdered. We only think there’s a connection to that room, the House, and that those two things connect to Hull.”

“I’m sick of hearing that name. I swear, when we’re done with this case, I hope we never have to deal with them again.”

They walked into the bank, filled out a withdrawal slip, and handed it to Ms. Birch, the teller. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Porter,” Ms. Birch said. She knew every customer by name and that local touch always thrilled Max. It gave him a sense that communities still existed even as people stretched their worlds further and further apart.

As Ms. Birch clacked away at her keyboard, wrote something down, and clacked some more, Max noticed the stern worry on her face. “Something wrong?” he asked.

She trembled out a smile. “N-No. The computer’s just giving me a little problem. Hold on a moment, please.” She walked from behind the counter, across the lobby, and entered a manager’s office.

“What’s that all about?” Sandra asked.

When Ms. Birch returned, she had Ms. Arnez following along. The tapping of their heels on the floor sounded like nails pounding into a wall.
No,
Max thought,
pounding into our coffin
.

Ms. Arnez stopped in front of them. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but apparently there’s been a hold put on your account. I can’t authorize any withdrawals until the hold is removed.”

“A hold?” Sandra’s voice rose. “You mean our account is frozen?”

“That’s right. I suggest you contact a lawyer and check with either the police or the D.A.’s office to find out why this has happened, if you don’t already know.”

“Does it look like we know?”

Shifting on her feet, Ms. Arnez said, “Please, calm down. I know this is disconcerting, but since you didn’t know this was being done, it’s most likely a simple mistake. It’s happened before. The D.A. wants to freeze assets of somebody whose name is close to yours. Porter isn’t that uncommon a name, after all. I’m sure you can get it cleared up quit quickly.”

“What are we supposed to do for money until then?”

“Normally, I’d offer to loan you some emergency funds for the short term, but I’m sorry. We can’t help you. When accounts are frozen due to legal actions, my hands are tied. But I promise you, the moment you clear this up, we’ll be happy to get you cash right away.”

With an uncomfortable smile and a nod, Ms. Arnez walked back to her office.

Max thrust his hands in his coat pockets and led the way outside. “Looks like we’re skipping TCBY today. We need to hold on to that extra cash.”

They headed back to their trailer. Though Max still held Sandra close, the cold air chilled him under his skin. He knew the Hulls were powerful, of course — he understood they had hands in the police and politics and magic — but the idea that they could freeze his assets disturbed his sense of how the world worked. Public corruption was one thing, but manipulating a person’s private life burrowed deep into him and left him questioning whether or not they could stand up to the Hulls anymore.

But another thought struck him, and he laughed. To answer Sandra’s curious look, he said, “In order for us to cause this kind of reaction, we must be getting close to the truth — especially about Sebastian’s murder.”

“Doesn’t feel like much of a
Go Team
moment.”

“Being close to victory and achieving victory are two different things. But we’re close.”

Sandra wrapped her arms around Max’s waist. “I hope you’re right because being close to victory feels a lot like being close to defeat.”

“Oh, honey, that doesn’t sound like you. You’re usually the one telling me we’ve got to push forward, suffer through it, and it’ll all work out one way or the other.”

“Having our money cut off changes things. How are we going to fight back when we can’t even afford a loaf of bread? Or gas — how are we going to get around this place if we can’t afford to drive our cars?”

Max held the trailer door open for Sandra. “Isn’t that what our cookie jar is for?”

Sandra stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled down the cookie jar from above. She removed a layer of cookies and turned the jar over on the small dinette. Change rattled out and with a few shakes, she dumped the cash out as well. They counted it up in desperate silence.

At length, Sandra sat back. “Not bad. We can get by a few more days on that. A week if we stretch it.”

“Then we stretch it.” He scooped the money back into the cookie jar. “So, where do we begin?”

Drummond cleared his throat. “You could try back here.”

“Get out of our bedroom,” Max said.

“It’s not really a bedroom. More like a bedspace.”

“Then get out of our bedspace. What were you doing in there? Wait. Don’t answer that.”

Sandra smirked. “Do I need to burn the sheets now?”

“Relax, you two.” Drummond drifted towards them. “I was looking over those photos we nabbed at Freeman’s house. If we’re going to figure out what he was after, what the Hulls are hiding that he may have found, then it makes sense to retrace his steps.”

“Good idea,” Max said.

“It’s a pretty standard move. You should pay more attention. I’ve been doing this a long time. You’ll learn a few things.” Drummond waved his hand to stop Max from throwing out a sarcastic response. “Look, I’ll make this simple enough for you. These pictures are all over the area, but several of them involved the railroad. So, that seems the most promising place to start.”

Max walked over to the bed and brought back the photos. Five of them were of the same place — a large roundhouse filled with old locomotives and a few diesel engines. “If we’re going by the logic of what Sebastian had the most pictures of, then this is the place to start.”

“Hey, you are learning.”

“Only problem is we have no idea where this building is.”

Drummond rolled his shoulders which made him look larger. “
You
have no idea where the building is. Me, on the other hand,
I
know exactly where it is.”

“You’re going to make me guess?”

“We don’t have time for that kind of fun. This is the North Carolina Transportation Museum.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s in Spencer. Small town about a half-hour from here.”

Sandra dug her hand in the cookie jar and pulled out forty dollars. She stared at the cash for a moment, and Max felt the same desire he read on her face — shove the money back in the jar, forget everything, close their eyes, and wish it all away. But their eyes met, and they both knew the only way to deal with the Hulls — push forward.

Max smiled. “Let’s get some gas and hit the road.”

Sandra handed him the money and grabbed the car keys.

Chapter 16

Max accelerated onto Route 85 South
toward Spencer. The steady white noise of wheels on the pavement weaved around the tense silence in the car. With no access to money, Max guessed Sandra thought the same things he did — every mile in the car meant cash out of their pocket, every exerted muscle that needed food meant cash out of their pocket, every moment of life meant cash out of their pocket.

On the backseat in a bag next to Drummond sat the lunch Sandra had prepared — two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, tap water in a thermos. Max’s stomach groaned at the mere thought of the meager fare. It seemed crazy that they had to spend more on gasoline to feed the car than they could on the food to feed themselves.

“No, no, no, I’ve got to stay with them,” Drummond said.

Max glanced back to see Drummond talking to his pocket once again. “What’s Leed want?”

With a perturbed grimace, Drummond said, “He’s being a pain because he wants to help and he doesn’t have a body in which to do it. So, he’s asking for me to be his body.”

“You can do that? Let him possess you or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. He wants me to leave you all and go to the library with him.” Drummond said the word
library
as if it had caused a little vomit to rush up his throat. “He wants to do research on the witch, curses, stuff like that. I admit it was his area of expertise and he might be able to help us out, but you guys need me.”

Sandra snorted. “I think we’ll be fine on our own. We’re going to a railroad museum. Unless you once dated an engineer who later became a witch.”

“Oh, very funny. I’ll have you know I dated plenty of women who never turned to magic, witchcraft, or anything arcane.”

Max knew Drummond hated the library. He also knew that Leed would be a good researcher. It would drive Drummond crazy being forced to look up books, turn pages, and do all the labor of research so that Leed could read the texts, but the idea of having expert help hard at work while Max and Sandra did the on-site research appealed to Max. He thought it might also give Leed a sense of purpose.

“It’s a good idea. Drummond, go ahead and help Leed. We’ll be fine with this on our own. See if you two can turn up something.”

“Sure,” Drummond said, the scowl on his face and the growl in his throat not nearly as accommodating. To his pocket, he said, “Enough already, you’re getting your way. I’m going, I’m going.” Seconds later, Drummond disappeared.

At first, neither Max nor Sandra spoke. Less than a minute later, however, they both broke into hysterical laughter. The wonderful release warmed Max.

“Is it wrong that I found that so fun?”

Through rapid giggles, Sandra managed, “Not at all, Honey, not at all.”

Shortly after, they exited the highway and found the entrance to the museum — a road nestled between two grassy mounds with an unlit sign easily missed. Though the small town of Spencer designated the area with homes and a few local businesses, the majority of the land remained for the museum. As Max drove up to the grass and gravel parking area, he understood why.