Southern Haunts (14 page)

“Then what’s this all about? I mean, I think I know, and I have an answer that’ll make you happy. So why are we both so nervous?”

Reaching across the table, Sandra held Max’s hand. She gave him a slight squeeze. “Nothing to fear. I went to the doctor today, so that I could schedule —”

“Max? Sandra?” Drummond’s voice blared from down the hall. Max only had enough time to share a look of disappointment with Sandra; however, he swore she looked relieved. Drummond soared in. He circled the ceiling before dropping into the table, settling himself between them.

“I tell you guys, you would never be able to solve a case without me. It’s crazy. You’re always relying on me finding these people, and I have done it again. I have found a connection. Without me, you’d still be digging through your books, I’m sure.”

Max thumped his back against the chair. “Are you going to keep boasting or are you going to actually tell us something?”

“You wanted a connection, I give you Floyd Johnson.”

Chapter 16

Drummond held still
after his triumphant declaration. His eyes fell upon the food and the candlelight and the perturbed gazes directed at him. “Am I interrupting one of your married date things?”

“Yes,” Max said, tossing his napkin on the table.

“Sorry about that. I can come back.”

Sandra wiped her mouth. “Don’t be silly. We can date anytime. This case is much more pressing. So, tell us, who’s Floyd Johnson and when do we meet him?”

Drummond bit his bottom lip and rubbed the back of his neck. “I may have misspoken. I don’t exactly have Floyd Johnson in hand, but I know he’s the man we want.”

Pushing back his chair, Max said, “At least, tell us how you know that.”

“Floyd Johnson was a former employee of the Casper Company. And though he didn’t die tragically at the Darian house, he did die tragically.”

“Tragically? What happened?”

“I don’t know exactly. We can ask him when I find him.”

“You don’t have the guy, but somehow you know all about him. Except you don’t know the key details of what you do know. How does that happen?”

Drummond kicked the back of Max’s chair — a reminder that he could still touch the corporeal world. “Just because I’m dead, doesn’t mean I don’t know my job. I’m a good detective. Part of that means developing a network of contacts and informants. People on the inside and outside of every situation to help me out. You got yourself a network together yet?”

“Well —”

“Exactly. You still got a lot to learn, and it’s important you start to do that learning. Get yourself a network of people here in the real world. I’ve been doing my end of it in the Other, and it’s those contacts that have provided us with the information we needed. That’s how I found out about Floyd Johnson.”

Sandra offered a warm smile. “You’ve done well, and we appreciate it.”

“Doesn’t always feel that way.”

“I certainly appreciate it.”

Max hurried to add, “And I do, too. Wasn’t trying to question your abilities.”

Mollified, Drummond continued, “Well, all we’ve got to do is find him now, and we’ll get all the details that we can. I’ll go back to the Other and see what’s what.”

Sandra blew him a kiss. “I wish I could give you a hug, too.”

As much as a ghost could, Drummond blushed. “For you, Doll, this is hardly trouble. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Drummond left.

In the silence that ensued, Max’s mouth twitched from side to side. Sandra got up and disposed of the fast food bags and cartons.

“I’m sorry our date got interrupted,” she said.

Max shook his head — not because he didn’t believe her, though he had seen her relief. Rather, he shook his head at his own thoughts. “None of this is adding up.”

“You mean the case?”

“What do we have? A haunted house that we can’t find the ghost haunting it. A house built in the 1920s, yet everything about it, like the bottle, comes from decades earlier. Even this Floyd Johnson is a former Casper employee, so how can he possibly be connected to a house that wasn’t even built until the guy was very old or, more likely, dead. And now, we have this piece of wood with the name Unger on it, and that could be any number of things.”

“I know how frustrated you feel. I feel it, too. But we’re going to have to —” Sandra’s cell phone rang. Glancing at it, she frowned. “It’s Libby.”

Max listened to her end of the conversation — the concern in her voice, the subtle gasp, and the dreaded question
What happened?
When she ended the call, Max said, “Shawnee got attacked again, didn’t she?”

“Worst one yet.”

Sandra tapped on her phone a moment and then handed it to Max. Libby had sent over a photo of Shawnee that made her look like a domestic abuse victim. Blood glistened on her forehead from a gash leading into her hairline. Her nose had swelled and blood dribbled down to her mouth.

Scratching his head, Max stretched his back. “Guess the day’s not over. Let’s get going.”

He paused a moment as he watched the last of their fast food date swept into the trashcan. He knew the pregnancy issue had been swept away as well, but even though they wouldn’t get a chance to talk about it all now, he could still be the man Sandra needed. For the moment, that meant helping the Darians. Soon, it would mean being a father — the best he could be.

Sandra’s fingers snapped in front of his face. “You there?”

Max grabbed his coat and keys and headed for the car. “Come on. Let’s go help the Darians.”

Chapter 17

Max tramped across the Darians’ front lawn
and into the house. The drive over had been filled with tense silence. His thoughts had been consumed with the failed conversation over Wendy’s dinner as well as his frustration towards Libby and the Darians. He understood that Wayne and Shawnee couldn’t move away, that they had to deal with the problems of this house, but that didn’t mean they had to stay there and keep getting attacked. They could try to sleep in a hotel, at least.

Max chided himself. Angry thinking wouldn’t help the situation. Besides, he had been the one to tell Wayne that they couldn’t run from this.

Stepping into the living room, Max’s thoughts only strengthened —
the Darians should try to run away
. The place looked ransacked. Every piece of furniture had been upended. Several pillows lay in shredded bundles. Their stuffing covered the torn carpet like snow. Shattered picture frames and a broken lamp littered one corner of the room. A jagged crack marred the flatscreen. Parts of the sensitive and expensive filming equipment breached the far wall like a sculpture intruding upon the room.

“Carl’s going to be pissed when he sees that,” Max said.

From the kitchen, Libby called out, “We’re in here.”

Sandra hurried ahead while Max yanked the camera tripod out of the wall. When he joined the rest in the kitchen, he found Shawnee sitting with her head tilted back and holding ice against her face. Libby hovered over her like a stage mother.

Stroking Shawnee’s hair, Libby said, “The spirit attacked her while she slept on the couch.”

Max said, “Did you call for an ambulance?”

“Are you crazy? That would be the stupidest call. Yes, 911, a mysterious ghost-thing tried to kill my friend.”

“Not about the spirit world, but for her and the baby, surely the paramedics could do something.”

Shawnee dismissed them with her hand. “I’m fine.” But her hand swayed like a walking drunk.

Kneeling before Shawnee, Sandra touched the woman’s belly. “Son of a bitch,” she said and stormed out of the room.

Max followed in her wake. He had to make sure she didn’t act in a rage. Strong emotion was always food for these kinds of things.

Sandra charged up the stairs. Before hitting the top, a forced ripped her backwards. Max had only reached the third step when she came crashing down. He caught her, and they tumbled to the floor, his head banging into the front door.

“Sandra?” Libby called from the kitchen. “You okay?”

“We’re fine. Thanks for asking,” Max said as they untangled. “Well, it wouldn’t be a proper case, if I didn’t get beat up a little.”

When she didn’t react with even a slight chuckle, he worried she might have been seriously injured. Looking upon her, though, he saw nothing physically wrong. However, she stared up the stairwell, face pale, her bottom lip trembling.

He reached out for her but held back. He didn’t want to startle her. “What’s there? What do you see?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I still see nothing.”

A terrible chill slithered across his skin. He knew that feeling. It happened whenever a ghost touched him. “I can feel it. Can’t you?”

Sandra nodded.

“If you can’t see it, then what the heck is it?”

She jumped to her feet and dashed for the kitchen. Max followed but he could hear her yelling long before reaching her side.

“Why are you still here?” she cried out. “Pack up your stuff and get out of this house.”

As Libby spoke, she pulled out some glasses and filled them with peach schnapps. “I know how frightening it can be in here, but understand that first, nothing else has happened here, not like this, until you and Max showed up. Also, I wanted to make sure Shawnee was safe before attempting to move her. But then I realized that without knowing what we’re facing here, how can we know anywhere else would be safe?”

“So your answer is what? For all of us to get drunk and try to forget about it?”

“I just wanted to calm things down.”

“Calm is not what is called for here. You need a healthy panic. You need to leave this house.”

Libby threw back her glass and winced as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. “Have you found anything in your research to suggest that this house has attacked other people? That there’s any history in this house?”

Though Sandra knew the answer, she still looked at Max. He could see the wish in her eyes that his answer would be different. He offered the best he could, “Not yet.”

“Then it’s possible, maybe even likely, that whatever is attacking Shawnee is not connected to the house but to her. Move her and it will follow.”

Hearing his own words echoed, Max thought they sounded hollow. They could try, couldn’t they? Take Wayne and Shawnee to a hotel and see if they get through the night. They were certainly not safer in the house.

Libby went on, “At least here we have some information and some sense of where it resides strongest — the baby’s room. If we go to a different house, an office, anywhere else, we’ll be starting over at square one. Do you think Shawnee wants to start over at square one?”

Sandra slammed her hand on the table, and Shawnee jumped. “I think she would prefer to live and have her baby be safe. It doesn’t matter what square we’re standing on. Maybe if you knew how to do your job better, this wouldn’t be happening.”

As Libby’s face reddened and her mouth tightened, Max stepped in. “Both of you, stop. Remember discord feeds these kinds of things. You two have got to make nice. For Shawnee’s sake.”

Shawnee stood and removed the ice from her face. Max knew how bad it must have hurt. He had been punched in the face enough. The bruising would swell more and it would be awhile before she could chew without sharp throbs in her jaw and cheek.

Shawnee clasped Libby’s shoulder and Sandra’s. “It’s my baby, and I say we all go. If this thing follows us, we’ll deal with it. But I can’t even sleep in here.”

Before anyone could argue, Max said, “Great idea. Let’s go.”

“There’s only one thing I need — my back-pillow. It’s in my bedroom, and I have to have it.”

“Can’t we go buy you a new one? Or if we put you in a hotel, I’m sure there will be plenty of pillows.”

“Have you ever been pregnant? Anybody in here? Because I can tell you, none of you know what it’s like. It hurts, and that pillow is one of the few saving graces I can cling to.”

Sandra tried to hide the painful look at Shawnee’s words, but Max saw it. Sandra said, “Honey, go get the pillow.”

Max did not argue. He wanted to, but he wanted to get out of that house more. Arguing would only delay them, and he would still end up getting the pillow.

Sandra wore her determined, purposeful look. “Now, Honey.”

With that, Max found himself climbing the staircase. His nerves jangled as he expected to be rifled back down at any moment. His temples thrummed with the heavy beat of his heart. Each step seemed to add more stairs as he went. He climbed and climbed, wondering if he would be assaulted or shoved or sent into a dark memory, but soon he reached the top and found that only his mind had plagued him.

The hall stretched out before him. All the doors were closed save one — the baby’s room. He would have to walk by that open door to reach the master bedroom. His legs refused to move.

“Come on, Max,” he whispered. “Get down that hall, grab the pillow, get out of this house.”