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“One piece of the puzzle is in place,” Gera said with satisfaction as she pulled out from the hotel. She had a brand-new tire and a shiny, buffed fender, free of any telltale scrapes. She would need to call Grant and thank him. “Now for the other nine hundred and ninety-nine pieces.”
While Jake began the difficult task of talking to his surrogate grandparents, Gera decided to run into town. There were several things on her to-do list.
As she entered the hairpin curve where Clark Street segued into Main, she got a whiff of a strange and foul odor.
“What is that?” she said aloud, sniffing. “Did the mechanics leave something in my car? It smells sort of... musty. Cloying.” She sniffed a few more times, curling her lip in distaste. “Whatever it is, it reeks.”
She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, on the passenger side, just as something flashed in the rearview mirror. It hit her at once, where she knew that smell, and what moved in her backseat, and on her floorboard. Snakes. Plural.
“Don’t panic,” she told herself, but her voice was unnaturally high. Her eyes darted around, searching for a place to pull over, even as she frantically tried to keep track of the snakes. Off the top of her head, she counted six, all slithering and slimy and darting out their forked tongues. She couldn’t help but squeal. She was in the middle of the curve, with no place to go. A car was behind her, already dangerously close.
Gera saw a seventh snake, this one dropping down from the visor and dangling between her and the windshield. When it twisted its scaled body and darted its tongue, appearing ready to strike, Gera knew what she would do.
She jerked her steering wheel hard to the right, directly in front of an oncoming car. She didn’t care whether or not the car—a blur of blue shiny metallic and a god-awful horn—made the curve as it quizzed past her with only inches to spare. She didn’t care about the car on her bumper, or whether the other cars ran into a ditch or into each other. All she cared about was vacating her own car.
She was more or less on the road in front of the fire station; the Mazda bounced along the edge of the pavement, passenger tires in dirt. Not much of the town lay beyond, primarily a utility works and access to the mine roads. Without preamble, Gera opened her door and bailed. Her saving grace was that the car rolled along at no more than fifteen miles an hour. Curling herself into as small a ball as possible, she tried to protect her head, knowing she was about to hit asphalt. Tuck and roll, Gera. Tuck and roll.
––––––––
IT WAS A HUGE ORDEAL. An even bigger spectator event.
By the time the medics ran from the firehouse, Gera was on her feet. Her arms were scraped and leaking blood, but the rest of her seemed to be in one piece.
One would think she was the first person to ever jump from a moving vehicle. The first person to create a roadway of her own, her car rolling along at a slow, unassuming speed as snakes slithered out from the opened door. The first person to have her car roll to a slow, peaceful stop, atop a three-story building. It was, after all, a town layered in tiers.
Tourists and townspeople alike came out to take pictures. The fire trucks cranked their engines and fired up their lights, with sirens screaming the entire four hundred feet it took to reach the car.
Chief Anderson and Royce Gibbons, the officer she met when she first came to town, were two of the first on the scene. Her little escapade interrupted their Sunday dinner at the café, which Gibbons assured her was of no concern. Miles Anderson made no such claim. He eyed Gera as if it were her fault her car had become a rolling snake den. The fact that two of the snakes were endangered species—and highly venomous, no less—only added to his aggravation. Arizona Fish and Game had to come out and remove the snakes and safely relocate them to their natural habitat. It seemed a waste of time and effort, considering their natural habitat was mere yards away, amid the rocky terrain of Mingus Mountain.
Gera was tempted to call Jake, but she didn’t want to upset him further. She had caused him enough trouble for one day, and it was only an hour past noon. After the medics patched her scrapes—and after steadfastly refusing transport to the local hospital—she accepted the chief’s offer of a ride.
He insisted on getting her official statement.
“Now do you want to press charges, Miss Stapleton?” Anderson asked as she sat at his desk.
“Is there any way to prove Billy Boy put the snakes in my car?”
“Probably not.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Might make you feel better,” he offered. “Like the wheels of justice are at least attempting to turn.”
She lifted a shoulder and discovered that it hurt to do so. “Why bother with the red tape?”
Miles Anderson leaned back in his swiveling chair, rocking it so far back she feared he might tip it over. He studied her coolly. “I don’t know what we’ll do with you, Miss Stapleton.”
“Well, let’s see. So far, your fair city has drugged me, stalked me, ruined my tire, possibly ruined my rental car, left me presents of stovepipe hats and poisonous snakes, and attempted to trick me into believing in ghosts. What else is left?”
“Attempts have been made on your life, Miss Stapleton. I wouldn’t sound so flippant, if I were you.”
“Did you consider my theory, Chief?”
“I considered it.”
“And?”
“Still has holes.”
Gera rolled her eyes.
“I’ll talk to him, Miss Stapleton. I’ll let Macandie know that we’re watching him and that if he tries anything else, or if he makes contact with you in any way, we’ll haul his ass back to jail. Not that it will be too big of an inconvenience for him. It’s his home away from home.” He tossed his pen onto his desk and muttered, “Good thing I’m no longer married to his momma. Can you imagine if that punk was actually my stepson?”
Gera stared at him. The man was just full of surprises. “You were married to his mother?” she asked, mouth agape.
“For six glorious, ignorant, stupid-blind months. Right up until I realized the kid she carried wasn’t mine.”
“Prom girl,” Gera whispered in complete surprise.
“What’s that?”
“Uhm, Grant told me about prom. About how you stole his date.”
“Only because he stole her from me first, luring her away with a big fancy limo and some sort of smelly flower he had flown in from Tokyo. Too bad that expensive corsage ended up crushed in the backseat of my Ford Mustang. Ground the stink right in,” he complained, some thirty years later. “And it was a brand-new car,” he lamented.
“But you won in the long run, right? I mean, you married the girl, even if it didn’t last.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I always suspected she was still fooling around with Young, even after the wedding, but she married Bart Macandie. Said it was his kid.” He shrugged his shoulders, in a show of no longer caring about the past. He was more concerned about losing the new car smell than he was about losing his marriage, Gera realized.
“How much longer are you in town for, Miss Stapleton?”
Her answer was deliberately vague. “A few days.”
“Can I trust you to stay out of trouble from here on out?”
Gera got to her feet. “The question to ask, Chief Anderson,” she said in an even, head-on voice, “is whether or not I can depend on you to help me out, should that possibility arise.”
***
DOES NOT PLAY WELL with others.
Wasn’t that what her report card used to say, more often than not?
“You’re still up to your old tricks, Gera girl,” she said aloud as she escaped the chief’s angry glare and hurried out onto the sidewalk. “What was it Grams always said? Don’t burn your bridges? At this rate, you’ll be swimming back to Indiana.”
When Jake called, Gera answered with a direct and breathless, “How did it go?”
“Better than I expected,” he admitted. “To be honest, I think they were relieved to have it all out in the open. They said they had felt awful, hiding it from me for all these years.”
“See? I told you.”
“You did. Thank you.” His voice was soft.
“So now what?”
“Now I have to bail on you. I’m sorry, but there’s some things I have to take care of here. Some of their tricks are on timers, and unfortunately, through the years they’ve forgotten some of the finer details.”
“Such as?”
“Where all the lasers are hidden, what the passwords are, that sort of thing. They both swear they don’t have a recording of babies crying, but I think they’ve simply forgotten. Now I have to tear this place apart, looking for it.”
“Sounds like a mess.”
“To say the least. I’m sorry, babe. I really wanted to spend the day with you.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow, I want us to do something.”
“What?”
“Anything. Do you realize I’ve never seen you out of your natural habitat? We need to at least leave the hotel.”
“I promise. What time will you be in tonight?”
“Uhm, an hour or so after dark. I’ll call you.”
“Okay. Hey, and be careful. I hear there was a wreck today, right in front of the fire station.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll do most of my research on foot,” Gera said. “In fact, that new tire looked a little iffy. I may call you to pick me up, if that’s okay.”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks, Jake.”
“No problem. Later, babe.”
She hung up, knowing she had left huge gaps in their conversation. No need to tell him that the tire looked iffy because it sat upon the roof of the old Hermann Building, tangled up somehow with the air conditioning system.
“Hey, guess what, folks?” She mimicked the voice of a cheery radio announcer. “Come on down, we now have rooftop parking, right here in downtown Jerome.”
Gera made a round through town, stopping by a few of the businesses on her list and talking with anyone who would spare her a moment or two. She was surprised at how quickly word of her mishap had spread through town, and how it actually helped to endear her to people. Often leery of speaking with a reporter, most people she came across couldn’t wait to talk with her today. They were more than willing to answer her questions, as long as she gave them a firsthand account as to how her car came to rest atop the newspaper office. If she heard it once, she heard it a dozen times: Now that was a story!
She showed up for the ghost tour, ten minutes before their scheduled start time. There were more people on Anise’s tour tonight, which was fine with Gera. It would make slipping in and out less noticeable.
“I’m so pleased you chose to join us again,” Anise said in her serene voice, delighted to have a repeat customer twice in a matter of days.
“Your tour was so informative,” Gera said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t retain it all, hearing it just once.”
“I think you will be especially pleased tonight.” The guide raised her arms so that her flowing robes danced around her arms as she gathered her group all in. “Please, come closer. I have wonderful news to share with you. I don’t know why,” she said, keeping her voice hushed and confidential, as if she shared a shiny secret with them all, “but often Sunday nights prove our best night for tours. Perhaps it is the sheer spirituality of a Sunday itself, or perhaps it is simply because it is the start of a new week. Nevertheless, quite often, we make wonderful contact on Sunday evenings. So come, let’s get started. We don’t want to miss a moment of opportunity.”
The tour followed in much the same pattern as before. They began at twilight, when the fading light of day gave way to the dark of evening, and played its tricks upon the human eye. Gera hung to the rear of the group, her eyes darting all about, watching the town around them as much as she watched the tour.
Her eyes skimmed rooftops along the far end of Hull. She just happened to be watching when it came on. Just a tiny spec of blue, indicating an electric timer. Gera checked the angle of the light and snapped a photo with her phone.
“Did you find an orb?” someone from the group asked her.
“No, just snapping randomly,” she smiled.
“I sure wish we could see one of these orb things,” the man grumbled. “This is the fifth or sixth ghost tour my wife has dragged me around to, in at least four different cities, in three different states, for crying out loud. For once, I’d just like to see a return on our money. Is a freaking orb too much to ask for?”
“Maybe tonight will be your lucky night,” Gera said. She moved subtly away, downwind of his whiskey-tainted breath.
Sure enough, just one street over, they saw the first of the orbs. Unlike most orbs that were best detected on cameras with a flash, these were visible to the naked eye. A stir of excitement moved through the crowd. They picked up the pace, eager to see more.
“See? I told you I had a good feeling about tonight!” Anise beamed, her face aglow with excitement.
Poor thing, Gera thought. She has no idea she’s being set up, right along with the rest of the town. They think it’s real.
Because it was a Sunday, Anise didn’t take the group to the church tonight. Instead, they visited the Upper Park and parts of Main Street early in the tour. Anise took them along the street, telling stories about historical businesses that once occupied this building or that.
They stopped in front of the Cactus Bar and heard the tale of a murder that had taken place there in 1899. Gera didn’t remember hearing the story on the first tour, but she noticed that several of the tales were different. It was good to have a repertoire, she supposed, so that the guides didn’t bore their own selves.
Gera pushed close to the plate-glass window, trying to get a better look inside the empty bar. It was actually closed for the evening, in deference, she supposed, to the Sabbath. She still didn’t have a clear view of the wall just beneath the extended cable, but perhaps if she leaned down...
“Are you okay?” Whiskey-Breath asked, spooking her. She whirled around, embarrassed to be caught peering so intently into the storefront.
“Y—Yes. I hear that Mac has often been spotted at this particular bar, so I was just hoping...”
She let her words slide away with a shrug. The group moved on down the street, toward the next point of interest. She lingered behind for one more look.
Gera turned back around to face the bar and had a terrible fright. Billy Boy’s face pressed directly against the other side of the glass, aligned almost perfectly with hers. Had the glass not been there, his vile mouth would have touched hers. Gera bit back a scream, but she stood her ground. The man rammed his face into the glass, knowing she couldn’t deny an involuntarily flinch, no matter how many times he did it. Each time was as shocking and revolting as the first, especially when he would flick his tongue out and make the metal snake dance. She could hear his laughter on the other side of the glass.
She waited until she was turning away, and then she whirled so suddenly, it was Billy Boy flinching this time. Gera flicked out her fingers, like fangs of her own, and made a hiss so loud it carried through the thick glass. A satisfied smirk lingered on her face as she caught up with the tour. She hadn’t anticipated seeing the snake man tonight, but in a way, it was an added bonus. If he thought a car full of snakes would stop her, he had another think coming.
Gera paid close attention as they approached the shadowed edge of town, particularly Queen Street. As she explained to Jake, she had studied the list of Mac sightings over the last few years and she had noticed a pattern. It was true, he did ‘appear’ most often on Sunday evenings, and usually within the same general vicinity. Not every Sunday, of course, and not always in the same location, because it would be too obvious. What Gera found most odd was that witness accounts of Mac’s recent crime spree, including the details by Billy Boy Macandie, centered on much the same information and location as these random sightings. Hadn’t Miles Anderson ever noticed the similarities?
Tonight, much like before, darkness cloaked the old Sliding Jail and the streets beyond. Gera felt it again, the sensation that someone watched her as she followed a few steps behind the group. It was difficult to keep up with them and keep her eye on a prime spot for a Mac sighting. She knew the general area she suspected, but the exact location was iffy. The same laser that created the orbs earlier could, conceivably, cast its beam just a bit further now, and show a nice shadow that could be mistaken for Mac McGruder’s ghost.
“Look!” someone suddenly cried from the group, excitement coloring her voice. “Is that him? Is that the killer ghost?” A chorus of gasps rose up from their midst, as a woman pointed in the direction well ahead of Gera. It was roughly the very location she had been eying, for it was documented in two police reports and numerous random sightings.
Before Gera could throw her phone up for a picture, a hand snaked around her throat and jerked her so violently she stumbled. The group had their backs to her, their attention focused in the opposite direction. When the hand moved from her neck, Gera knew a moment of relief, but the abatement was short lived. A thick cord, the size and texture of a slithering snake, slipped over her head and tugged against her vocal chords. Her air was immediately denied.
Gera tried making a noise, but it came out a mere gurgle. She tried fighting, but when she swung her arms, they struck empty space. She settled for tugging on the chord and trying to get a finger wedged between it and her skin, but it was impossible. The binding was too tight.
Gera tried tangling her feet with that of her attacker, but it took effort to move, and to think. Her energy was flagging at an alarming rate. Blackness inched in around her peripheral vision, turning the night darker than it already was.
“H—H—Help!” she warbled again, but it made no more sound than a raindrop falling on the water. She swung her foot again, a last-ditch effort to fight for her life. The tip of her shoe made contact with a small pebble. It flew through the air and pinged one of the other tourists in the calf.
The teenage boy turned around, ready to snap at the person responsible for the painful sting. Then he saw the struggle taking place a few feet away, and the color fled from his face. He opened his mouth to scream, but just like Gera, no sound came out.
She thought that would be the last thing she ever saw, the boy staring at her with bulging eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. But he finally made a noise, a small strangling sound that drew his mother’s attention, and she turned to see what was the matter.
The mother had no trouble screaming. The sound arched to the sky and reverberated off the adjacent buildings, held there for a moment in time, suspended between the crumbling bricks and the hallowed-out spaces, before ending on a shrill, shrieked note that repeated itself, over and over again. Where the son couldn’t begin to scream, the mother couldn’t stop.
The cord dropped from around Gera’s neck and she felt herself go limp. She sagged to the ground in an unceremonious heap, but as she fell against the pockmarked pavement, she thought to look back toward her assailant.
It was no surprise to see a long, dark coat and tall stovepipe hat disappear behind the Cuban Queen.
