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Detroit, Michigan, USA
1st of January, 11:50 p.m. (GMT-5)
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Martinez christened the new year with three lucky tamales—usually for lunch because who starts New Year’s Day with breakfast? It was something her family always did when she was growing up, and she’d decided to continue the practice after a lapse of a few years in college.
Finding New Year’s Day tamales was easily accomplished in Portland, where the weather was mild and she knew the city, but it was proving more difficult in Detroit. Solidly below freezing with thick fat snowflakes falling, she’d already gone to two places just to find one closed permanently and the other with a handwritten “Family Emergency” note on the front door. She parked in their lot and dug around on her phone, determined to hold with tradition despite the foreign terrain.
Her persistence paid off, and she finally found a location that answered her call. It was a cash-only place adjacent to a warehouse district, and the reviews describing it as “humble” were being generous, but it hit the spot. It was the kind of place that made its own horchata and had a crockpot of home-pickled jalapeños beside its salsa bar.
As she dug into the last of her tamales, the Spanish weather report ended and the business news hour started. The lead story was the surprise resignation of Charles Roberts, founder and CEO of Detrop Pharmaceuticals, due to a terminal illness. The CEO wasn’t expected to live out the month, and he was being replaced by another founder, Emily Thibodeaux, the current COO. The anchor made a brief comment on Roberts’s legacy of philanthropy through the repeated release of drug patents, making his groundbreaking medications more affordable to people all around the globe. Martinez scarfed down the last tamale and checked the business news sites online. After five minutes, she called Wilson’s mobile.
He picked up on the fourth ring. “This is Wilson.”
“Have you heard the news about Detrop Pharmaceuticals?”
“No,” he answered in a curt but polite tone. Martinez could hear voices in the background, and he was more terse than normal. He’s not able to speak freely, she surmised.
“The CEO just resigned due to terminal illness.”
“What kind?”
“They didn’t say and none of the information I can find online says, either. Also, he’s known for great acts of philanthropy,” she added suggestively. “I think we should check it out.”
“Agreed. Hold on a second.” She waited a brief moment, and then he returned. “Sorry about that, couldn’t talk. This can’t be a coincidence. I’ll notify Leader. I suggest you get packed again. Where’s Detrop Pharmaceuticals located, and where can we find its CEO?”
“Cambridge, Mass; CEO lives in a brownstone in Boston.”
“At least it will be a short flight,” he commented before hanging up.
Martinez looked up to the television, but commercials were now playing. She decided on a fourth tamale for extra luck before going back to her hotel.
*****
Wilson slid his phone back into his pocket and returned to the living room of his old house in Corktown—his abode prior to building the 500. “My apologies,” he addressed the two young men inside. “I had to take that. So you’re wanting out of your lease?”
“We hate to ask, but we can’t take it anymore,” the taller of the two, flanneled and bearded early-twenty-year-olds responded. Wilson did not understand the lumberjack look.
“Have you been doing what I suggested? Leaving all the doors open? Not going into the basement or the attic?” Wilson prompted.
They heartily nodded, and the taller continued, “We’ve done that, and they still keep slamming them shut. We even put felt protectors—the kind for chair and table legs—along the door jams to soften the sounds, but they’re doing it throughout the night.”
The smaller of the pair chimed in, “I know you said the place was haunted before we signed the agreement, but man, I didn’t really believe in stuff like that. I thought you were just being weird.” He squirmed uncomfortably. “A few bumps and noises at night that I can cover up with earplugs is one thing, but this...I can’t take any more of this. It’s scaring the shit out of me.”
“It’s okay, they don’t hurt anyone,” Wilson explained, “but I understand what you’re saying. I’ll make you guys an offer: you won’t have to pay rent this month, but you’ll have to stay another week and see if I can get them to calm down. If I can’t, we’ll break the lease, and you can leave whenever you want. I don’t want you two living somewhere you don’t feel safe.”
They looked at each other and had a silent conversation between facial expressions and nods—a month’s free rent was a sweet deal. They both agreed.
“Good,” Wilson praised them for their sensibility. ”It sounds like I have some last-minute unexpected travel for work, but it shouldn’t be more than a day or two. Once I’m back, we’ll set up a time for me to come over and placate our restless guests. In the meantime, take these.” He handed them each a silk sachet. “Place it over the threshold of your bedroom door. This will keep Millie and Wolfhard out of your bedroom while you sleep.”
They accepted the parcels, skeptically examining them. “Millie and Wolfhard?” the smaller questioned.
“That’s the ghosts’ names. There’s a third one, but she never says anything,” Wilson explained. “Now, whatever you do, don’t break the seal on the sachets, and know this—once you put them up, the ghosts are going to get more rambunctious because you’ve just made part of their house off limits to them. They’re not going to like it, and they will make their displeasure known.”
“That sounds threatening,” the larger tenant commented.
“It will seem so, but remember, they’re all bluster. They can’t really hurt you.”
“Couldn’t they like, throw knives at us or something like that?” the smaller worried.
Wilson gave the kid a reassuring smile, but it was all teeth and no eyes. “That’s not a possibility here. They were Quakers and committed to peace. They were killed because they chose to not defend themselves, and they aren’t going to start resorting to violence now.”
That seemed to calm them down. How bad could Quaker ghosts be? the taller one reasoned in his head to justify staying in the house for a month of free rent. Wilson left his tenants and made his way back to the 500, and as he drove away, the smaller one muttered under his breath, “Oh man, that guy is really weird.” The other said nothing, but nodded slowly, his thick beard moving up and down over his plaid shirt.