Beneath the Mall of Madness (A Jaspar Windisle Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

***

Fiona, who was happy to see Gregory again, had some ideas. She was waiting in the marsh where the church had made great progress in building their wall. Mordecai showed her the pictures he had taken. We discussed our ideas for a while. Fiona liked the idea of sealing the crack. The only trouble was doing it without getting attacked.

“We can use bait,” she said. “Some of us can stand below the portal and make a fuss while you pour concrete, or whatever your plan is.”

“Why will you be involved?” Cecilia asked. “You’re never going to get down there with your leg.”

“I will. It’ll just take me a while. And I’m going because I have the most experience with portals, and there are a few things I’d like to try.”

“Such as?”

“Some of those runes look like they can be modified,” Fiona said. “Do you see how they’re halfway between the markings on my portal and the signs in the tunnels? With a line or two added or erased the spells can be changed. If I can reverse the gate then eventually the chupacabras will be gone. Then the only danger it would pose would be to really determined idiots sending themselves through a deadly portal.”

“That sounds reasonable to me,” Cecilia said.

Steve had to go make arrangements with the surviving construction crew. While he did that I went back to the Fry house and sorted through more stuff. True to his word, Zebulon followed me. While we did that, Earl and the sheriff oversaw hauling the bodies out of Bishop’s Corner.

***

“We’re definitely getting a visit from the feds now,” Zebulon said as I sorted through the laundry.

“I hope to be gone before that happens,” I told him.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “You live in California don’t you? It must be a lot faster paced than here.”

“I don’t mind a slow pace,” I said. “It’s all the murders I don’t like. It’s nerve-racking.”

“Really? You seem calm, all things considered.”

“I’m not unused to violence, but there’s a limit.”

“So this is about avoiding The Man?” Zebulon guessed.

“Something like that,” I said. “I try not to attract attention. It’s why I joined the army during World War II even though I was old enough to miss the draft.”

“I hate to tell you this,” Zebulon said, “but you look
young
enough to avoid the draft. How old are you, anyway?”

“About three hundred. That’s how far back I can remember.”

“Wow. Did you fight in the Revolutionary War?”

“No, I was barely aware that it was going on,” I told him. “I was in Spanish territory at the time.”

“So you’re not a native?”

“It depends. My earliest memories are of North Carolina. Then I left and came back. It ended up working in my favor. It gave me a reason to get papers before they demanded so much documentation. I would never have thought about it otherwise.”

“That’s weird,” Zebulon said.

“What is?”

“Papers are something you need in evil empires,” he said. “Not the United States.”

“Just try to get anything done without them,” I suggested. “Or think back to all the times you’ve needed to show your driver’s license to get something done. I can’t let my passport lapse because I don’t have a birth certificate, and even if I knew where I was born, no one had birth certificates in the eighteenth century.”

“I’d never thought about that,” Zebulon said.

“In some parts of the country they send you straight to jail just for not having valid ID,” I told him. “Not that I think it’s likely here, but I also want to stay out of any system that might spot the missing pieces in my paper trail.”

“I can see where you’re coming from,” Zebulon said. “On the other hand, if your paper trail ends in Florida where are they going to deport you to? I don’t think Spain’s going to take them back at this point.”

“Countries can surprise you,” I said. “After finally ending centuries of fighting over territory France tried to surrender to England when they weren’t even at war. Anything can happen when money and politics are involved.”

“I never heard about that,” Zebulon said.

“It wasn’t one of either country’s finer moments.”

“Are you going to spend the night here?”

“No. I’m going to stay at the hotel. Why?”

“Just checking. It’s probably safer at the hotel anyway.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“There are more people there, and they installed security cameras a few years ago . . .”

“No, I meant the mandatory bedtime,” I said. “Everyone seems to know about it, but I haven’t heard why it happens.”

“I’m not sure myself,” Zebulon said. “It makes closing the bar interesting, I can tell you.”

“It extends that far?”

“That’s right.”

“And it doesn’t have any side effects?”

“Well, weird dreams sometimes, but other than that no. Jeremiah’s family has lived there for almost a hundred years, and none of them stood out as unusual. If anything, Jeremy’s more normal than the rest of us. He even left town for a few years.”

“Hmm.” I thought there was more to Jeremiah than met the eye. Then again, the Whateleys had a habit of accusing each other of normalcy.

“Hey, would you like to follow me to work tonight?” He asked. “I could take the evening off to watch you sort towels, but the bar is less isolated.”

“I’m not going to sort laundry all night,” I protested. “I’m just trying to handle a bit at a time, and linens seem like they might be useful. Most of this stuff is headed to either a thrift store or the dump.”

“I’ll give you a discount,” Zebulon coaxed. “I’ll pay for your dinner, too.” I looked at the mound of sheets I hadn’t sorted yet and multiplied it by the other rooms in the house.

“You’re on,” I said.

As we left, I looked around the yard, checking for cultists, plant monsters, or anything else that might threaten Steve’s investment. I could see a glimmer of light through the trees in the direction of Fiona’s house, and a brighter glow from the other side. The other neighbor’s house was closer than I’d thought. I wondered what secret obsession had driven them to live between a haunted town and looming cliffs. On the way to the bar, I entertained myself with possible scenarios stranger than guarding a portal or digging a network of tunnels. In reality, they were probably a retired computer programmer who liked their privacy or something else boring. I didn’t bother asking Zebulon. The truth would only be disappointing. 

I was popular at the bar. Everyone wanted to hear about the tunnel first hand. It got overwhelming after a while. I was regretting making an appearance, and the feeling intensified when Dr. Finch showed up. Here was someone I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to again.

“I heard you found something,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied. “A bunch of dead people.”

“That must have been rough,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m done drinking for the evening,” I told him. “I’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

“Then why are you at a bar?”

“For the company,” I said. “What about you? I thought you didn’t like this part of town.”

“When I heard you recommend it I thought it might merit a second look,” he said. “I’m afraid I don’t see the charm.”

“It’s a bar,” I said, “they’re not usually charming.”

“What I mean is the clientele doesn’t seem like your sort of people.”

“And the people at the club did?” I wondered who would be my sort of people. The hotel bar was divided between young professionals at the bar itself and older couples eating at tables. It was the sort of crowd I’d like to think I fit into, and if I ever gave up on trying to be normal this town or one like it was probably where I would end up. Dr. Finch was fiddling with an ashtray now. Zebulon was closer to the entrance, fixing drinks.

“I suppose not,” he said. “You struck me as someone who preferred quiet,” ‘My kind of people’ was no people at all? Dr. Finch sure knew how to give a compliment. And he sucked at reading people.

“You don’t get peace and quiet when you’re the center of the news,” was all I said.

“That’s right,” he said, putting the ashtray down. “It must have been shocking.”

“It was.”

“Didn’t you say you were some kind of psychic? The emanations must have been terrible.”

“They were.” Thinking back, I don’t think I
did
tell him I was psychic. Dr. Finch must have been checking up on me. If I’d needed a reason to be wary of him, I had one now.

“I don’t see how you can bear to stay so near to such a terrible place.”

“It isn’t like I’m moving in,” I said. “I’m confident in the hotel’s security system. What about you? It must be just as shocking to have been on a tour so many people were killed on.”

“Oh yes. A certain amount of risk is implied in monster hunting.”

“To me, it looked like the only monsters those people encountered were human.”

“That happens too. What other impressions did you get?” Now he was being nosier than the locals. Maybe he was one of those people who let their interest in their hobbies override good manners. Or maybe all ritual murderers enjoyed talking about their crimes.

“That they died badly,” I said. “Really, I don’t like to talk about my gift, especially in public.” And never with a guy I knew was a mass murderer.

“Of course, of course. Tell me, what were you doing down there?”

“Monster hunting,” I said. “Steve wanted to see the sights while he was here, and he’s my employer, so. . .”

“And the locals?” Dr. Finch’s voice seemed harsher. It was almost like he didn’t believe me.

“Even apart from his Jesticorps expense account, Steve’s richer than God,” I said mildly. “If he wants to pay me to go sightseeing I don’t question his motives. Or who else he hires.” That was true enough. I’d cut Steve a lot more slack on this trip than I usually did. He seemed to be under a considerable amount of stress that I didn’t feel like adding to.

“I see.”

“How about you?” I asked. “With all the murdering going on around here, are you going to cut your vacation short?”

“No, no. I’m sure my hotel is perfectly safe.”

“So the prospect of Jason stalking the woods doesn’t bother you more than Bigfoot?” He laughed.

“I can assure you, I’m prepared to deal with a human assailant.” I knew that. Some of his victims had tried to defend themselves. Was there more to it? Was he admitting he wasn’t human on some level? I wasn’t cut out for investigating this sort of thing. I wanted another drink now, and I really wanted Dr. Finch to get lost. To that end, I shifted the topic.

“Are you going to apologize to Dr. Cassidy?” I asked him. I was curious, now that she’d been vindicated. He looked annoyed.

“My response was reasonable at the time,” he told me. “She was hysterical.”

“For a good reason,” I noted.

“I was not hysterical,” Cassandra said coldly. I jumped. I’d had no idea she was in the bar. “And I wouldn’t accept an apology if it was offered.” Dr. Finch sneered at her. It was the same look he’d had on his face when he was shooting tourists.

“You’re still overwrought,” he said to her. “It’s no wonder, with your students being killed. Who knows what this incident will do to your funding. Or your job.”

Cassandra stared down at him. Up until that moment, I’d dismissed her as a somewhat silly woman who didn’t understand what she was dealing with. As she glared at Dr. Finch, I got the feeling that she knew exactly what she was dealing with now, and there was going to be hell to pay. Dr. Finch stared into eyes that reflected death more surely than any shade I’d ever raised and seemed to pale a little.

“What I meant was it’s been a terrible time for you, and-”

“I know exactly what you meant,” Cassandra said. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your vacation, Doctor. If you will pardon us, I have some business with Mr. Windisle.”

“Yes, excuse me,” he said. Once he’d left the bar, she took his seat.

“He killed them,” she said. She didn’t look at me. She stared into the mirror over the bar instead.

“Yes,” I told her. “The police are building a case right now.”

“I’d like a whiskey please,” she said to Zebulon. “Why can’t they arrest him now?”

“No physical evidence I would guess.” Now she did turn to look at me, and I wished she’d dismissed me instead of Dr. Finch.

“Do you still have a key to that dead man’s house?” she asked me.

“Yes. I’m still going through his things.”

“I want back into his cellar,” she told me. “I have some things I need to do, and my hotel room doesn’t have enough space.”

“Is this about your rock measuring machine?” She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded slightly.

“You could say that,” she said.

“Then I’ll let you in tomorrow morning.”

She smiled at me.

“Thank you,” she said. “It means the world to me.” She stayed long enough to finish her whiskey and headed back to the hotel.

“She’s up to something,” Zebulon said.

“You think?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to let her use that house?”

I shrugged.

“At least she isn’t going after him with an axe. With the mood she was in, I didn’t want to get on her bad side.”

“You’re right about that. Are you really done drinking for the night?”

“After that conversation? I think I could do with another drink.”

***

The next morning there was a group of concerned citizens waiting for me in the lobby. I greeted them.

“The FBI has finally taken notice of our situation and has a team on the way,” the sheriff said. “Unless some miracle occurs, they’re going to consider you a person of interest.” I nodded. “I don’t want you to talk to them.”

I raised my eyebrows at that.

“Why not?” I asked.

“What would you say?” He asked. “You’ve been an eye witness to at least three murders in the last two weeks, and you were in the vicinity of a dozen more. And every single one of them involved monsters or cultists. There’s no way they won’t ask you a question that none of us want to be answered.”

“I don’t see why they would,” I said. “All the deaths I witnessed personally involved bullets, and no one’s trying to hide the radish monsters. They’ve gone viral.”

“I’m more worried about what they’ll ask when they run out of reasonable questions,” Sheriff Warren said. “I don’t need them finding out we have a town full of witches and wizards.”

“Even if I
do
tell them the monsters live in a magical cave won’t they dismiss me as a flaky psychic?” I asked. “That’s what usually happens when I say something controversial.”

Earl shook his head.

“They might, or they might see you as the kind of flake who might go crazy and kill people. Especially since your alibi for quite a few of the murders is your stay in an enchanted hotel.”

“Then they won’t care what I say because they’ll think I’m insane.”

“I’ve put a spell on the police station,” Cecilia said, “so people won’t name you in their statements. With luck, they’ll never know you were involved at all.”

“That seems like a lot of effort,” I said. Cecilia shrugged.

“You’re one of my best customers this month,” she said, “and you saved my life. This is just payback. But I don’t dare cast spells on federal agents, so it’s not a sure thing.”

“Maybe I should just leave town,” I said.

“I’m going to need you here a week or two longer,” Steve said, emerging from the lounge. He gave no indication he’d heard the earlier part of the conversation. “To no one’s surprise, my request for a new survey has met with resistance.”

“What do you still need me for?” I asked. Not that I wouldn’t love to spend months in Towenridge while Steve’s legal troubles were sorted out, but I did have other things I could be doing. With what I had been paid so far, I could spend the next year on vacation. Preferably somewhere warm and sunny.

“You can tell me if we’ve found all the corpses for one thing.”

“Same with us,” the sheriff said. “I’d like to hire you for that, once the FBI has left. Now that we know they’re there it just doesn’t seem right to leave those people lying at the bottom of the hill.”

“I can do that,” I told him.

“In the meantime, keep a low profile.”

“How low is a low profile?” Theresa asked. She’d been eavesdropping from the front desk.

“Pretty low, I’d say,” Steve told her.

“Is the soda fountain low profile?” She asked. “Because I want to go but my friends are busy, and Dad says I can’t wander around alone while a serial killer is on the loose, even if it is a half-day at school.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” I told her.

“Sure,” Cecilia said. “I mean, why would the FBI be at the soda fountain?”

***

Because they love ice cream soda, is why. No sooner had Theresa and I sat down that afternoon than two men in black suits stepped in. The youngest started laughing as soon as he entered. They both had tans. The one who was laughing was lightly browned; his companion looked orange. The latter had dark hair that he wore greased back while the former’s hair was tousled and frosted. I thought the FBI’s hair regulations were stricter than that. I had heard that their standards had relaxed. Or maybe this obscure little town had been sent substandard agents. The laughing one was wearing sunglasses that were completely unnecessary at this time of year. While his partner studied the menu, he went straight to the juke box.

“Hey,” he said, “the songs are only a quarter!” His partner grunted in acknowledgment and continued ordering. “They only have the oldies, though.”

Theresa sighed

“There goes the atmosphere.”

“You can come back later,” I told her.

“But you won’t be here!”

“Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“First of all, you shouldn’t take that job from the sheriff,” she whispered after making sure the agents were preoccupied with ordering. “He didn’t tell anyone else to keep quiet or avoid anyone. I think he’s up to something.”

“I appreciate your concern,” I told her. “I don’t see how I can get out of it though. He told me not to leave town, and I don’t see him changing his mind before these gentlemen leave.” She frowned at me.

“You should turn him down anyway. All our most interesting guests disappear, and he never does anything about it. Earl isn’t any better. He spends most of the time he’s supposed to be patrolling visiting Fiona.”

“Doesn’t she live in a dangerous area?” I asked. “Maybe she needs the help more than anyone else.”

“Oh please,” Theresa said. “They’re
dating
. He’s visiting his girlfriend while on duty.”

“If you don’t like the way the police are doing their jobs have you tried complaining to your uncle? He
is
the mayor.”

“He said the same thing you did!” Theresa said. “Then he said it would all make sense when I got older, but I
am
older, and he still won’t take me seriously.”

Now I was in a sticky position. Since I had an ally, however young, I didn’t want to antagonize her. On the other hand, if the Whateleys hadn’t explained to their daughter that those ‘interesting’ people were probably cultists it wasn’t my place to do it. In the end, Theresa won. She was trying to protect me after all.