Steve went over to the Castelles’ in the morning to meet Vivian. He left a message on Candy’s phone about where he was going and why, but he couldn’t imagine any reason for her to want to follow him.
She was a liaison, not a guard, and while he liked to have a connection with the local cops, he didn’t need to be constantly watched. It wasn’t as if he were any kind of threat to the community.
He met Buddy first. Last night he’d spent some time online looking up the two breeds the Castelles had indicated, wanting to know what he might be getting into with this “big” dog. If they didn’t get along, he’d ask to get to know Vivian without her pet. It would be better, however, if she had Buddy with her to relax her and give her a friend at her side.
The dog resembled the American Staffordshire breed more than he looked like a bloodhound, but he had some cute wrinkles on his forehead that seemed to give him character. He was also taller than an Am Staff, closer in size to a bloodhound.
Steve also quickly discovered that Buddy had the bloodhound personality: gentle, sweet, affectionate. It didn’t take them long to become fast friends, and Buddy showed absolutely no hesitation about welcoming Steve. The Castelles had been right about him—he was more likely to knock you over and love you to death.
Buddy also had a bloodhound’s nose. When he fixated on an odor, he forgot everything else until he was satisfied.
Which got Steve to thinking about the dog staring at the wall like that. Maybe he hadn’t been sensing danger. Maybe there was a smell that had caught his attention.
An interesting change in perspective.
As Steve sat on the grass with the large dog stretched out beside him, content to be scratched until Steve thought his arm might fall off, he thought about Buddy staring fixated at the wall.
There had to be some kind of odor, he decided. Buddy wouldn’t stare fixedly at a sound. But what? It could be almost anything. Maybe there was a smell in the wall itself or coming up from the basement. He’d have to check it out.
A good lead for a start. Something other than the obvious paranormal.
Although that didn’t do a damn thing to explain the voices Vivian was hearing, or the talking that Annabelle had briefly heard.
Lying back on the cold, hard ground, he stared up at the gray sky while Buddy sniffed him. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been an odor that had caught Buddy’s attention. He’d heard of dogs reacting to the paranormal, although that was another idea he needed to check out for himself. Maybe Buddy would wind up helping him with that.
At last he sat up, convinced that the dog wouldn’t be a problem, and headed into the house to meet with Vivian. While he didn’t want anyone to disturb his conversation with the girl, and it would be totally innocuous to start, he didn’t want to take the child away with him, not even as far as the backyard, on their first meeting.
He was sure Vivian had been given all the stranger warnings, especially in the big city.
Annabelle and Vivian were sitting in the kitchen. Steve smelled hot chocolate and Vivian had some of it smeared around her mouth. She looked at him rather suspiciously.
Central casting couldn’t have sent him a more photogenic child. Long blond wavy hair, bright blue eyes. A pretty child’s face.
“Viv,” Annabelle said, “this is Mr. Hawks. He’s going to try to find out about the voice you keep hearing.”
Viv’s expression didn’t relax very much. He guessed it was a topic she didn’t want to visit.
He queried Annabelle with his eyes and joined the two of them at the kitchen table. “You can call me Steve, Vivian,” he said pleasantly. “If I get to use your first name, you get to use mine.”
That brought a slight smile to Vivian’s lips. Annabelle handed her a napkin, and Viv wiped her mouth with it.
Buddy had followed Steve in, and now he sat beside Vivian, looking even larger when measured against the girl’s size. That dog had to seriously outweigh her.
“Buddy’s a great dog,” Steve said. “I like him a whole lot. But he’s so big. Does he listen to you?”
Viv nodded, set down her mug, then leaned over to hug Buddy right around his neck. The dog started grinning.
Okay, Steve thought. That relationship had been established.
“Did you get Buddy when he was a small puppy?”
Vivian answered for the first time. “He’s still a puppy.”
Annabelle spoke. “I think Steve is asking about when we first got him, when he was still a baby.”
And that was why he needed to gain Vivian’s trust so he could talk to her alone. Annabelle would mean well, but she’d insert as she thought necessary for clarity. Not what Steve wanted at all.
Vivian was okay with it, however. She let go of Buddy’s neck and spread her arms, palms turned inward. “He was this big.”
“Not very big at all.”
“Smaller than me,” Vivian asserted. “He slept in my bed.”
“Does he still? I mean, if he sleeps in your bed, where do you sleep?”
That drew a giggle out of the girl. “I make myself tiny.”
“I bet you do. Very tiny.”
And this added yet another wrinkle. If the dog was sleeping in her room, why was she so scared? Maybe because Buddy wasn’t protective? Or did she think Buddy didn’t hear the sounds because her parents didn’t?
Or, if she thought it was a ghost, nobody else needed to hear it at all?
Or even, from his perspective, voices didn’t bother that dog at all. Given how friendly he was, maybe it was just another background noise to him.
A little over an hour later, Steve departed, promising to return the next day. He’d played card games with Viv, who was on her way to becoming a card sharp. He’d never done so badly with a simple game of War. She had the devil’s own luck on a deal.
Vivian’s acceptance of him had begun. Good.
Now he needed to find a way to look into the history of the Castelle house. Was there lore associated with it? Was there some kind of notable history?
First place to start was the recorder’s office. All the details about who had owned and sold the land back to whenever they started keeping records of such things. Probably pretty decent records since he was sure that the Castelles couldn’t have gotten a mortgage without a clear title. The title company would have taken care of that.
When he checked his phone, however, he discovered the nearest title company was ninety miles away...and he couldn’t even be sure it was the right one. Chances were the Castelles wouldn’t know either. Mortgage companies tended to deal with title companies themselves, keeping the certificate on hand. And charging the client for it, of course.
Sometimes he walked the edge of being cynical. He supposed he was fortunate that after all those years of being a cop he hadn’t become hardened and jaded.
He wondered, too, when Candy would get back to him about meeting that retired sheriff. He was already champing at the bit for that interview.
As well as one with Vivian. That child was as smart as a whip, sharp as a tack or whatever overused simile you wanted. He anticipated she’d give him a view that her parents couldn’t begin to.
* * *
CANDY SPENT MOST of her day trying to track down Nathan Tate for Steve. No answer on the phone, not even his cell, and when she went by the Tate house, no one was home.
Well, people had lives. They weren’t all sitting around waiting for a chance to talk to Steve Hawks. Steve was just going to have to do the waiting, and she wasn’t about to knock on neighboring doors to find out where the Tates were. Man, imagine the uproar she’d cause. No explanation could ease the fears that would arise from a deputy asking those questions.
Giving up for now, she headed back to the office, believing there had to be something truly useful to do. Not that this department seemed to be overburdened most of the time. If you wanted excitement on a regular basis, this wasn’t the place to get it.
Just as she was about to enter, she saw Steve climbing the courthouse steps. The courthouse was located in a large area between four streets that contained a park, as well. It was aptly named Courthouse Square, surrounded on four sides by shops, a bakery and an ice cream parlor. Behind the sheriff’s office, facing the square, was a decently sized phone service to help people experiencing everything from abuse to suicidal thoughts.
People everywhere needed someone they could privately talk with, with someone who was objective and could give them advice or get them help.
Diners, like Maude’s, weren’t the best place to have a personal conversation. Too many ears might overhear.
Instead of going inside, she followed Steve to the courthouse in case she could help. She suspected he was headed for the recorder’s office, and she shortly was proved right.
She found him talking to one of the clerks and learning the reality of a truly small town.
“Well, Mr. Hawks, we may have nearly fifty years of records on microfilm and microfiche. I’m not sure about earlier records, or whether any were hit-and-miss. We’ve got other records over at storage, if you need us to hunt them up.”
“I hope I won’t,” he answered.
The clerk laughed. “I hope so, too. We’re a very small department because of budgets, and because we’re not all that busy.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I think you can tell we aren’t having a boom on sales of property, or purchases for that matter.”
It was his turn to laugh. “I hope you aren’t. A boom would disrupt your town, wouldn’t it? It seems so peaceful.”
She leaned forward a bit and lowered her voice. “This place is eternally hoping for a boom. At least we got the junior college.”
She promised to find the records she could on fiche and film. He thanked her and turned away, spying Candy immediately.
“Riding herd on me?”
She shook her head. “I just couldn’t resist seeing how you responded to this reality. We’ve got the same thing going on over at the sheriff’s. Recent records are digitized. Everything’s still on paper, though, because we don’t want any computer mess-ups.”
He laughed. “Gotcha. I hope I won’t have to ask anyone to dig into archives.”
“It would be greatly appreciated by the men and women who work over at the archive building.”
He glanced at the wall clock hanging just behind the recorder’s window. “Dang, I knew I was getting hungry. No lunch and it’s almost dinnertime. You said Mahoney’s is good?”
“Very good with a limited menu. There might even be some people there who’d be willing to talk to you about the Castelle place.”
He looked mildly surprised. “But not at Maude’s?”
“You might still be under suspicion over there. New fella.”
“Why is Mahoney’s different?”
“Give anyone a few beers and they’re much more likely to talk.”
He laughed again. “Come with me?”
He watched her hesitate, then she nodded. “Sure. Maybe my uniform will vouch for you more than a few beers. Of course, it could have a very different effect.”
He knew exactly what she meant. When he’d been in uniform, he’d noticed how quiet even a rowdy place could get when he entered.
As they walked down the street, taking in some of the spurt of Halloween decorations in the shop windows, he asked, “People around here don’t like to see uniforms?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m new, too. When some of the other deputies and I drop in after a shift, there’s usually a lot of friendliness. I don’t see as much if I go in alone.”
For the first time he considered how new she was here, and how that could affect most of her daily life. “It takes a while to get rooted?”
“Probably an entire lifetime.” She paused. “I never forget that at least ninety percent of the people here grew up together. This town, this county, is rare.”
“These days, yeah. People in other places are a lot more physically mobile.”
“I was an Army brat. Funny how close people in the military can get over time. We might change postings, but eventually you run into people you knew from a previous posting. Made it kind of difficult on kids, though.”
She paused as they reached the door of Mahoney’s. “When my dad was in, changes in postings occurred more frequently than now. Each move was wrenching, mainly because we were kids. You’d make a friend, then move. Next time you ran into them, they’d have changed and I would have changed, too. That meant starting all over again.”
She came by her interest in the military honestly. He tucked that away in his mental file. Then he reached for the handle and opened the door. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“No reason you should.”
Inside the bar was warming up for the evening. Some of the tables were already full. Country music played in the background. There were only a few stools at the bar that remained empty. Steve liked the atmosphere. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that this bar dated back to the days of the Wild West.
They settled at a table against a wall, and Candy sat facing the door.
A cheerful waitress came over to take their orders, quite a difference from Maude. Both ordered fried chicken, and Steve asked for a beer while Candy chose club soda with lime.
“Aren’t you off duty?” he asked.
“Not right now.”
Steve leaned back, wondering if she considered herself on duty because of him, or if she just didn’t like to drink. The latter was always possible. It made no difference to him as long as he wasn’t hampering her. He didn’t know how to ask because it really wasn’t his business. Her choice.
He noted again how attractive she was. A beautiful face surrounded by short, dark hair and decorated with warm brown eyes. Eyes that he had seen grow chilly.
Their drinks arrived quickly and were followed soon by the chicken. He suspected this bar turned over chicken swiftly. A quick scan of the people around them suggested he was right. Lots of plates of chicken out there. Well, that boded well.
At least there was no plate of fries to tempt him. He smiled.
“Something funny?” she asked.
“Only me. I was feeling grateful there are no fries.”
At last she laughed. “Good point. You’re killing my diet.”
“Mine, too. Oh, well. A couple of weeks of self-indulgence won’t kill me.”
“You ever heard that old joke? If I’d known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself.”
“Ha! No, that’s the first time. I like it.”
A thaw had begun. He felt Candy had let go of a little of her suspicion.
Well, he’d grown used to that ever since he started doing his show. Back when he’d been a cop trying to help frightened families, he’d been more warmly welcomed. It was reasonable for people to question his motives now, although he found it a bit tiresome to keep dealing with it. Maybe someday he’d be treated less like a con man. Although that was improving as his show became better known.
He just wanted people to realize he was honest. Maybe that was the thing that bothered him most. Oh, well, he’d chosen this path and he very much believed in personal responsibility for choices.
Which didn’t always make them easier to endure.
They ate silently for a while, and he wondered what he should be talking about. “You get anywhere with the old sheriff?”
Yeah, dude, bright. Bring up work when she should be enjoying dinner. With him, however, questions seldom stopped.
“No luck so far,” she answered, looking up from her two pieces of fried chicken. “He’s out of town, and I’m damned if I’m going to question neighbors about when he’ll be back.”
“Afraid of worrying people?”
“Of course I am. How many times did you flash a badge without creating a stir?”
“Rarely,” he admitted. “I met Vivian Castelle today.”
She nodded and wiped her fingers with a napkin. “How did that go?”
“Pretty well, actually. Bright kid, she opened up some with me after numerous games of War.”
“War?”
“A card game that even younger kids can play. She beat me soundly. I wouldn’t want to argue with that child’s luck.”
That drew a wide smile from her. “Like that?”
“It didn’t matter which of us dealt. Anyway, I’ll probably need some more time with her before she’s ready to talk about her experiences.”
“How come?”
“Because I need her to speak for herself without Mom or Dad correcting her or adding things to clarify. I want her story.”
“Makes sense.”
Well, she’d talk about the case, but not about herself it seemed. Silence until that came up. Past bad experience? Or her nature? Whatever the cause, he wanted to find a way around it. To discover something about her.
And maybe that was just a man’s response to a woman he found to be beautiful. Or maybe not. Crap. He’d heard women complain that men wanted to talk only about themselves. He didn’t want to be that guy. Yet here he was, talking about his job. Every single minute.
So he attacked the problem indirectly. “Still worried I’m taking advantage of people’s desperation?”
She paused, halfway through her second chicken thigh. A dark meat lover. “Maybe less than I was since I heard your interview with the Castelles.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you never once led them or prompted them. It was all about what they thought and felt.”
She’d noticed that. Good. He tried hard not to lead his clients. Another skill of a good detective. Let the witness or suspect tell it. Ask questions, but don’t suggest. Suggesting often led to lies that later wouldn’t stand up.
She spoke again as she finished her chicken and tried to wipe her fingers and mouth with yet another napkin.
Steve said, “Don’t you wish restaurants served those heated finger towels? Or the little bowls of hot water with lemon in them?”
“Oh, yeah, it would be nice. I’ll go to the ladies’ in a few to wash up. What about your cases?”
No diverting her. Easier than talking about Candy, apparently, he thought as he finished his own meal. “I told you about the cases with people who feared noises in their house, or the feeling that someone was looking in their windows. Or the figures they believed they saw.”
She nodded and crumpled the napkin on her plate. The waitress whisked it away and gave her another club soda. “That’s a general description.”
“It’s hard to cover one particularly. Lemme think for a minute or two. See if a case stands out. Do they serve Corona here?”
“They might. Most people just get draft beer.”
“I’m fond of Corona.” He lifted a finger and the cheerful waitress returned. He wondered if she’d be feeling this perky at closing time. There was little question this bar was going to get rowdier. “Do you have Corona?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s become really popular among our younger customers.”
“Thanks. Candy, do you want anything?”
“A nice cup of hot chocolate, Mary. Please.”
Steve looked wryly at Candy as Mary weaved her way back toward the bar. “I should have asked about the Corona when I first ordered. But the draft on tap is good.”
“I can’t tell the difference between one beer and another. Maybe because I drink it so rarely.”
“That would matter. Now about my cases when I was still a cop...”
* * *
CANDY WAITED PATIENTLY even after her hot chocolate and Steve’s longneck arrived. She wanted to hear this, hear what had been important enough to pick up an off-duty avocation. She had begun to think that he was truly concerned about people, but she needed more convincing.
“Well, I remember a case about an elderly lady living alone in a large house. She was very old, maybe close to ninety, and frail. Honestly, I couldn’t believe she was rattling around in that place all by herself. Still cooking for herself, still cleaning the areas she used. I was impressed, but what if she hurt herself? She didn’t even have one of those buttons to call for help, you know the ones that hang around the neck?”
She nodded. “I hear they’re not cheap.”
“That may have been part of the problem. Social Security doesn’t go very far, and she owned the house. That meant upkeep, of course, but I’d have bet she’d socked something away against that. In the meantime, she didn’t have rent to pay, and these days that’s as expensive as a mortgage.”
“Maybe so.” Candy could see that. “She was probably very independent, too.”
“She also didn’t want to leave because that house held more than sixty good years of memories for her. She talked about her husband, about her children and grandchildren. Even great-grandchildren. It was a short litany, waving at framed photos, but I stood there listening and wondering where all those people were. None of them might be able to talk her out of that house, but surely there was someone who could come stay with her?”
Candy shook her head.
“I know. I don’t know where they all were. Families often move away pursuing jobs. I get it. You joined the Army. I’ll bet your dad had been out for a while.”
“Well, yeah.”
“So okay. My parents are retired in Costa Rica. I can’t just bop down every weekend to visit. Or every month for that matter. But I can hire someone to help them out and check on them.”
“Good point.” She so far liked the way he thought. Concern for an old woman he didn’t really know. Thinking of ways to help his parents. “Anyway...” She pressed him.
“Anyway. I was doing a wellness check, not just answering her call. Back then I was a uniform, so I was pretty sure she felt better having me there. Having my partner, too, although he was outside checking around the house. Which was isolated. Still farmland, although run over by that time. Plenty of brush and woods to hide in, so he had his job cut out for him.”
“I can imagine. But one question?”
“Yeah?”
“Were all these places you checked isolated?”
“Nope.” He shook his head a little. “Some were in busy neighborhoods. Some people had neighbors who’d had experiences in their houses.”
Uneasiness trickled down Candy’s spine. Did she really want to hear this? Everyone carried a bit of superstition, even if it was as mild as knocking on wood. Was she about to run into hers?
This time he corralled himself. “Back to my elderly lady. Anyway, she was alone, isolated. Yeah, I was worried about her. I couldn’t mistake how frightened she was. I was even concerned that that kind of fear might kill her.”
“I didn’t think of that, but you’re right.” Candy frowned. His imagery was vivid.
“If you’d seen her, you’d have shared the same concerns. But back to the rest of it. She kept seeing this black shadow of a man. He’d just suddenly be there, in a doorway or beside her bed. Then he was gone, and she told herself she was imagining it. But when it kept happening, she wondered if she was losing her mind, so she didn’t call anyone about it. And then she heard banging and footsteps upstairs. Night after night. She was convinced someone had broken in, and after a week of that, she called us.”
“She took it for that long?” Candy was amazed.
“Yeah, I know. But she was afraid for her mind. Afraid someone would come and put her in an institution.”
“Rock and a hard place,” she murmured. She was building one hell of a picture in her mind and could well understand why Steve would hate leaving her alone. “You didn’t call anyone?”
“How could I? She’d made it clear that leaving that house would likely be the death of her. I didn’t want to be responsible for that.”
Candy put her chin in her hand, forgetting the large mug of hot chocolate that still steamed in front of her. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I searched the entire house for intruders. Top to bottom, including a dusty attic. Windows all locked, no sign of forced entry. I had to go back and tell her there was no one in her house. Then my partner came in and said he hadn’t been able to find signs of anyone outside, although he did say kids might have run away too quick to be seen.”
“That didn’t help, did it?”
Steve sighed. “Not on two levels. First, she hadn’t complained about anyone being outside. Second, even though everything that was troubling her was indoors, I couldn’t find a damn thing. I told her if she heard or saw anything more, she must definitely call the emergency line. I told her I’d make sure someone came right away. I made her promise to call.”
His gaze grew distant. “I left feeling like crap, feeling helpless. I got annoyed with my partner for dismissing it as an old lady all alone and wanting attention. He even called her batty. I couldn’t dismiss it.”
He drank some of his beer, then focused on her again. “I couldn’t just toss it for a lot of reasons, and one of them was I’d been hearing other complaints just like it. This whole haunting thing was beginning to trouble me. And that’s when it really began.”
She remembered her hot chocolate and lifted the mug. Mahoney’s made the best. Rich and creamy. “Did the woman call again?”
“Two days later. A patrol headed out there as quickly as they could and found nothing. Again. When I heard some officers talking about it being a waste of time and that the woman needed an ambulance, not a cop, I made up my mind I was going out there.”
“I would have, too,” Candy agreed. “Good for you.”
He smiled faintly. “Not within my purview as a cop, but within it off duty. She recognized me and we got going on a complete investigation.”
Dang, Candy thought, it was becoming increasingly difficult to distrust this man. He was really too handsome for one thing. Not storybook handsome, but appealing. Now she had to deal with her hormones, as well. Great. Just great.
She thought about the scene he had painted so effectively, mostly thinking about that poor old woman stubbornly living in a house she had loved for many decades, only to find herself terrified inside it. “Did you help her?”
“I don’t think so. I went out at night to her house to investigate. I stayed all night as often as my schedule would allow. Several times a week for a few weeks. Never heard anything, never saw anything. Nor did she.”
Candy nodded. “So you had to give up?”
“Sort of.” He shook his head, looking sad. “I installed cameras in every place she’d had an experience. I put sound-activated recorders in every room. I think they made her feel better, knowing I’d be watching and listening by long distance.”
He sighed and put his beer bottle to one side. “Never recorded anything. Then she died a few months later. It’ll always be a mystery.”
“You don’t like that.”
“Hell no. Sometimes there’s a rational explanation. Sometimes I can at least provide comfort, and sometimes I doubt I give people anything at all. I can only try.”
He leaned toward her. “You know what a psychologist told me?”
“What?” She wanted to hear this.
“A lot of his colleagues are seeing a large uptick in patients who come to them with complaints of anxiety, fear and depression. The patients are blaming it on the paranormal. The psychologists are blaming it on the huge number of ghost-hunting shows, and say they spend a lot of time trying to deprogram people.”
She felt her eyes widen. “My God. How did that make you feel?”
“Not good. On the other hand, I try to find reasonable explanations, and failing that I try to make people comfortable with what they’re experiencing. It’s all I can do. Considering the number of people who call for help, I can’t ignore the problem.”
Candy experienced her first sympathy for him. “Have you ever sent anyone to a psychologist?”
“Hell yeah. I just don’t usually do it on screen. Some things need to be kept private. Can we go?”
* * *
BEN WITTES WALKED into Mahoney’s in time to see that deputy and the ghost hunter leaving. Interesting combination.
One of the damn spirit voices emerged loudly into his head.
Get on with it!
Sure, as if he could just insert himself into that investigation. Just walk up and demand it.
Shut up! he shouted inside his head. Damn it, just shut up. He ought to be able to enjoy a sandwich and a beer without being pummeled by annoying spirits.
The voice that had been growing louder and more demanding quieted down, but the voices in the background became annoying mumbles, mainly because he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He ignored them as best he could. There were a couple of empty stools at the bar and he slid into one. Nobody greeted him, but he was used to that. His entire life in this town people had ignored him. Except for the bullies in school, but even then he’d realized he wasn’t the only one being bullied. Nothing personal in it, his mother had always said.
However, that one spirit was right. If he could get himself on that ghost-hunting show, he wouldn’t be ignored any longer. He had to manage it.
For a while it would even make him a big man around here.
That thought was satisfying enough that he smiled at his tuna salad sandwich and tried to figure it out. If the show’s producers didn’t call him back soon, he’d find another way.