Ghost Killer (6 page)

“Yes,” she agreed. The GPS beeped and told them their destination, the LuCettes’ motel,
was coming up on the right.

“Let’s head clear through the town to the former scary place,” Zach suggested.

Clare’s teeth clenched and she had to loosen her jaw before asking, “Why?”

“Best to see the layout of the town, what’s here and now.”

In a stifled voice, Clare said, “All right. I’ve already programmed it into the system.”
She changed the destination.

He reached out with his right hand and slipped his fingers behind her head, massaged
the knotted muscles of her neck. “Easy, Clare. How’s the ghost situation?”

She tried to relax so his fingers would do a better job, and glanced around. “It’s . . .
it’s okay.” She frowned. “I don’t sense anything.”

“Not even Enzo?”

“No, he hasn’t been with us since we got in the car.”

“Though he got in the car, too.”

She shook her head, liked the tug of some of her hair caught on his fingers. “I still
don’t know much about how ghosts travel, especially Enzo.”

“We might need to find out how fast ghosts travel. Especially how fast the evil phantom
might get to the motel with Caden from the confluence of the Willow creeks,” Zach
said, slowing at the stop sign. He angled his chin at a sign in front of them. “Historic
Creede, here we go.” He took a right.

Clare tensed, and he tugged her hair. “I’m driving, you don’t have to deal with ghosts
pressing around the car, and the minute they get too bad, we’ll turn around.”

She pulled her head away from his fingers and he put both hands on the wheel. “I don’t
know how I’m going to do this, get rid of a threatening ghost,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I don’t know nearly enough.”

“But you packed some of your great-aunt Sandra’s journals.”

“Yes, one where she destroyed a ghost that drove people mad.” Clare swallowed. “We
know such ghosts have that negative core.”

“Probably was murdered, committed suicide, or was a bad dude in life,” Zach said.

She found her hand twisting a strand of her hair. She’d never done that under pressure
as an accountant. Not even at eleven fifty-five p.m. on April fifteenth.

“I’m extrapolating from what Enzo told me, getting it straight in my mind.”

Zach’s lips formed a half smile. “Getting the rules down, so we can plan.”

“I sure hope so.”

“We’ll figure the whole thing out,” he said. His voice was steady, but his jaw flexed
as if he had doubts, too. “There, straight ahead, see the cliffs that all the postcards
show? We’re coming up on the business district, historic Creede.”

He drove slowly, and Clare stared; more, she extended all her senses and felt . . .
nothing. Rolling down the window, she let in the snow-fresh air. It had melted away
and left wet streets. She stuck her head nearly out the window.

“What,” asked Zach.

She wet her lips. “Nothing. I
feel
nothing. No ghosts at all. No lingering shadows or shades of emotions from ghosts
that have left, no ghosts out of my time period . . .”

Zach’s hands flexed on the wheel. “That’s not good.”

“No.”

Uh-oh,
said Enzo, his head resting on Clare’s right shoulder.

ENZO CONTINUED, THERE
ARE no ghosts. It’s eaten ALL OF THEM
! He howled, a long and lonely, despairing howl that raised the hair on the back of
her neck. Zach’s shoulders hunched.

I AM THE OOOOONLY GHOST IN TOWN!

“Stop it,” Zach snapped. “You don’t want to attract its attention.”

Enzo leapt through the seat and Clare—no mistaking when a ghost passed through her—and
huddled in the passenger seat well, draped all over Clare’s feet and lower legs and
her tote bag. Her feet chilled and even the outside air seemed warmer. She rolled
the window up and braced herself to pet her ghost dog.

When she touched a ghost, the chill was worse—at least double, maybe even quadruple—she
didn’t know the multiplier. Cold, cold, cold. When she’d helped previous ghosts on
she’d had to initiate contact, merge with them, and it had been a race to send them
on before the cold froze her heart.

She leaned forward and petted Enzo’s head. He nuzzled her palm and licked her hand.
“I only need you to answer some questions, then you can return to Denver before dark,
if you like.”

I am your companion. I will stay with you.

“We’ll protect you,” Zach said.

We will protect each other,
Enzo replied staunchly.

With a last pat on her phantom Lab’s head, Clare withdrew her numbed fingers and turned
to Zach. “You hear Enzo well, then?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk about that, either, so Clare let it lie. She met her
dog’s big eyes. “We’ll protect each other,” she agreed.

His tail stirred chill air in the car.
Yes, you will kill the big, bad ghost with the big knife!

Zach’s gaze cut to her. “Knife?”

She cleared her voice. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about that.”

“Big knife.” Now he smiled.

“I’m also hoping that you’ll help me with defensive moves or something.”

His smile stopped and his expression turned grim. “A knife. For killing evil ghosts,
right, Enzo?”

Yesss.
A hiss that went outside the range of her mental hearing and hurt her head.

“Where’d this knife come from?” Zach asked.

“I didn’t know I had it,” Clare said. “It was in a secret compartment in Great-Aunt
Sandra’s work chest. The Other showed me how to find it. I haven’t looked at it yet.”

It is a very powerful weapon,
Enzo assured.

“The Other, huh. He say anything else?”

In a small voice, Clare replied, “Only that there was a price to pay to use it.”

Zach growled, “Of course there is.” She heard a definite inhale and exhale from him,
then he continued matter-of-factly, “There’s always a price to be paid for killing.”

Just that told her that he’d killed, probably in the line of duty when he was a peace
officer. “I’m sure.”

“The confluence was where Caden said the murder-suicide was. Huh.”

“What?”

“Most murder-suicides are usually in the home. Personal. Private. Intimate.”

“Oh.”

“Sharp kid, he’s given us solid background to work with.”

“Yes, that’s a help.”

They got into the canyon proper and Zach’s breath caught at the same time hers did
at the striking rock formations.

“Amazing,” Zach said.

“Yes. Incredible rocks and gorgeous views, even more so with the aspen turning gold.”

They drove past the firehouse built into the side of a hill, the mining museum, and
the community center—also underground—passed ponds on their right where Willow Creek
was, then bushes masked the running water. The asphalt road gave way to packed dirt
with some sharp rocks and Zach slowed, taking more care.

“This was Stringtown,” Clare said. “It was up against the canyon walls, though I think
the stream moved some. There was both a fire and a flood in 1892, the year of Robert
Ford’s death, and the fire took out most of Jimtown.”

“Jimtown?”

“Jimtown or Gintown.”

“I’d suspect the latter was the first name, then it slid into respectability.”

“Probably. We’re heading for the Bachelor Historic Driving Loop. It starts where the
creeks join.”

“Lots of history. Still no ghosts?”

“No, and it’s creeping me out.” Because there should be plenty in such a mining town.
How soon she’d become accustomed to catching sight of shadows from the corners of
her eyes.

Ahead of them the road split. On the right above the confluence of the streams, it
became a large parking area before snaking up another canyon. On the left, it narrowed
and headed around a rocky cliff.

“This is it,” Clare said at the same time the nav did. She turned it off. The roads
were sparse enough that they wouldn’t be needing it.

Zach pulled into the lot where the point of the cliff twisted into a spar, thrusting
into the sky. He parked near the three covered tourist information billboards, farther
away from the triangle of land piled with rocks that dropped off into the junction
of the streams. Where Caden had said the scary spot had been.

Zach got out and so did Clare. Drawing in a big breath of cool and misty air that
had nothing to do with ghosts and everything to do with oncoming winter, Clare stretched.
Naturally, she’d gravitate to the billboards, but she set her shoulders and followed
Zach toward the point of land in a Y with the arms embracing them. Mid-sized sharp
boulders were stacked near the drop-off, no doubt in an endeavor to keep people from
standing at the very edge and falling into the shallow but tumbling stream.

Bushes mostly concealed East Willow Creek, the one against the canyon wall.

“Feel anything?” Zach asked, swinging his cane a little like he might be dowsing,
sensing energies or something.

“Do you?” she shot back.

His smile was quick, sincere, lethal. “I asked you first.”

So she gingerly walked around, closing her eyes now and again.

“Don’t do that,” Zach said roughly. “Not when I’m here to help you.” He took her arm
and began to walk her around and she kept her eyelids shut. “Stop. Here.” She scowled.
“Just the faintest tingle.”

He let go of her and when she opened her eyes he was several feet ahead of her and
squatting. They were behind the billboards. “Look here,” Zach said. “No grass here
and there should be. Patch of bare ground, probably a lot of trampling went on.”

Clare’s stomach dipped and her throat tightened. “You think that’s where the murder-suicide
took place.”

“That’s right.” He stood and walked back up to her. “Let’s look at this outcropping.”
So they did. Straight on it blended against the rest of the cliff; from the east side
it wasn’t too imposing, just part of the cliff. And when Clare looked at it at one
particular angle, when it was framed between two other jutting rocks, it appeared
to be a triangular witch’s hat.

“If I were an evil ghost, I’d hang out here.”

She answered through cold lips. “If you were stationary. From what Caden says, it’s
not stationary.”

Zach’s brows raised. “It isn’t here right now?”

“No.”

“Damn good. I don’t want you confronting it until we know more.”

“Thanks.”

At that moment a police siren screamed for several seconds, then cut off. Zach’s head
had jerked up, his nostrils flared. “Another unit has joined a previous one.” He turned
away from the east entrance to the Bachelor Historic Tour, angled his chin. “It’s
up the other road. Not too far. What’s up there?”

Clare shook her head. “The other end of the loop. Some famous mines.”

“Let’s go.” He waved toward the car door, but didn’t take her arm. Keeping his gun
hand free.

“Are you sure—”

Without glancing at her, he said, “I’m sure that if there’s been a death that the
damned Counting Crows Rhyme predicted, I want to know about it. I want that relief.
God help me, I hope it’s already happened.”

“Oh. Yes.” Clare swallowed and got back in the car.

They hadn’t gone more than a half mile before Zach stopped where two silver full-sized
trucks blocked the road. Definitely a death scene. He could feel it in the strained
atmosphere even inside his cab.

A sheriff’s deputy glanced at them and began to walk toward them. Zach swung out of
the truck and matched the deputy in gait and attitude. The man relaxed, then frowned
a little at Zach’s cane.

“The road is closed,” the younger man said.

“I can see that. Just curious.” He scanned the area, couldn’t see much, but the setup
had him shaking his head. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you.”

The guy grunted. Zach handed him his card—one of his cards from his former life, hoping
that it would prompt the man to talk. “I retired a month ago.”

“Zach Slade from Montana, eh?”

“Yes.” He offered his hand.

“I’m Johnny Linscomb.” He shook Zach’s hand.

“What’s up?” Zach asked.

Linscomb removed his hat and ran his hand over his buzz cut. “Terrible accident.”

“Accident?”

“Yeah. Falling rock. Happens. Plenty sharp.” He looked at the cliff and Zach followed
his gaze, then around the road. Yes, many shards of rock splinters.

“Helluva thing.” The deputy shook his head. “Hit one of the guys in the head . . .
spike to the brain. The other died of a fragment straight through the carotid artery,
God. Freak accident. Really weird. What are the odds?”

Clare might know them, but Zach sure didn’t. He shook his head along with Deputy Linscomb.
“Most I’ve ever seen rockfall kill is when a boulder hits a car.”

“Weird.” The deputy liked the word.

Strange, unexplained deaths while an evil ghost was on the loose? Zach didn’t believe
in this coincidence. “When did it happen?” he asked. He had to know if the damn Counting
Crows Rhyme still had good radar.

“Not too long ago, an hour, maybe. They were found quickly. We aren’t that slow around
here.”

“So,” Zach leaned a little on his cane, trying to frame the words he wanted to say.
Something had triggered the evil ghost; could this incident be tied in with all the
other weird woo-woo? Negativity seemed to be the snag. “Are they upstanding members
of the community who’ll be missed?”

The deputy looked startled. “Funny you should say that. They’re from out of state
and were poachers.”

“Poachers?”

“Yeah, they had a small game hunting license, for bobcat—or rather the owner of the
group license did. He’s not here. We called him and he’s on his way. Apparently these
two left on their own, said they were going to view the mining museum or something.
Not hunting season yet.” The man’s lips thinned. “They got a lynx, a protected Canada
lynx.” He spit out the words. “Not a bobcat.”

Zach blinked. “Lynxes have long ear tufts and bigger paws than bobcats.”

Linscomb slanted him a look. “That’s right. You know that.
I
know that. Did these dim bulbs? Dunno. But they weren’t on the up-and-up, that’s
for sure.”

Shaking his head, Zach said, “Tough job. Sorry you have to do it.”

“That’s the work.” His gaze went to Zach’s cane, then away as a man walked with even
more authority toward them. “Can I help you?” he asked in a peremptory tone.

Zach toughened his own stance into one that said he’d been on the job. The guy’s eyes
narrowed, he dipped his head. He was a couple of inches taller than Zach and thinner
and younger. “Or do you think you can help me.” Not a question.

Zach figured talking about an evil ghost would get him nowhere. “Sorry to interrupt
your work, Sheriff,” Zach said, offering his hand. “Zach Slade, in town for a while.”

“Mason Pais. You’ll be here how long?” The man’s grip was firm, the shake was short.
His fingers felt a little cool.

Zach didn’t say he’d be there as long as it took. “A week maybe.”

“Enjoy Creede,” the sheriff said, dismissing him.

“Thanks, I will. I’ll leave you to it. My lady and I can check out the Bachelor Loop
tomorrow.”

“Have a good stay,” Linscomb added.

“We’ll do that.” He gave them a half-salute, and walked back to Clare, swinging into
the old cop stride, no matter that it tired his leg.

He figured either Linscomb or Pais would check him out, maybe before he and Clare
got to the LuCettes.

Zach sure as hell hoped he didn’t see any more sets of four crows, but he doubted
that hope would come true.

He told Clare briefly what had happened, but made it evident that he wanted to think
about the situation and discuss it later. He got the impression that she did, too.
He reversed to the last large turnaround spot, then drove back into town.

The LuCettes’ motel was a medium-sized U-shaped building of dark wood that had been
treated to withstand the mountain elements. What looked to be a small swimming pool
behind a fenced area had been covered for the season. A boy sat swinging in a little
playground, watching their car as they pulled into the sparsely populated parking
lot.

Zach heard Clare catch her breath. “Caden.”