The Traveler: Book 5, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed) (23 page)

His ears perked up. “Was that a question?”

“Know who they are?”

“You know that I do, or you would not be here.”

“Now there are two homosexuals you don’t like.”

He chose his next words carefully. “I pity them.”

“Because they’re gay?”

“Because they’re going to hell. And we only wish to help them. But instead of accepting our help, they throw it back in our face like
we’re
evil.”

“Maybe they just want the same things everybody else wants.”

“That’s all well and good. But man does not decide what is right and what is wrong. God does.”

“What exactly does the manager of spiritual operations do all day long?” she asked.

He smiled. “The job title says it all. I manage.”

***

The man’s hands were shaking. The ghost had made him strangle Renee also. He understood why. That way, the MO for these deaths would be different than the others. It wouldn’t appear as if a ghost had done this. It was the smart thing to do.

But
he’d
had to do it.

He’d hypothetically killed people in his mind before. His own father, after a hard spanking. The bully in high school. That guy at the bar one time. His wife, after he’d caught her cheating.

But never once did he think he’d actually kill any of those people. Until a half hour ago, he didn’t think he would have it in him to kill another human being. All he ever wanted was to be a successful businessman, but he’d chosen the wrong woman and she had backed him into this nightmarish corner.

Renee wasn’t innocent, but the old woman—Renee’s
mother
—was. She hadn’t deserved to die.

The man left the house in a hurry, too spiked on adrenaline to remember to act natural. As he raced back to the car, he saw no one about. The day had turned cold again and the sky grew darker. He got into his car. He could barely get the key into the ignition because his hands shook so violently.

He managed to get out of the neighborhood without incident. The whole time, his eyes jumped back and forth from the road ahead to his rearview mirror. He fully expected a police car to come tearing around the corner any moment and force him off the road.

But nobody came.

He drove for fifteen minutes until he found a chain restaurant. It was almost dinner time, but he wasn’t hungry. Instead of going inside, he sat in his car. He began sobbing uncontrollably as he continued to shake.

He couldn’t get the image of the old woman out of his mind. He’d kicked the phone out of her reach and to keep her from screaming, he’d strangled her. He’d surprised himself by his quick thinking too. Instead of using his dominant hand, he’d choked her to death with his left and had been smart enough to use a towel so he didn’t leave prints.

He got out of the car and walked to the back of the restaurant and tossed the towel into the dumpster when he was sure nobody was looking.

He made five more stops on his way home to dump the things he’d taken from the house. Hopefully the cops would view it as a home invasion gone horribly wrong.

Daria and the cop whose name was either Jared or Garrett drove in silence. She had asked him to repeat his name a few times, and he had politely done so. But he spoke so quickly, she just couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Ahead, Mark Schubert’s Lexus changed lanes. The cop slowed and followed suit. He was good at this. He kept at least one car, if not two, between them and the Lexus, but he was never in danger of losing the man.

“So are you married?” she said.

He smiled and said something. Why did everyone speak so quickly? It took her a moment to piece it together:
I have a girlfriend.

“How about you?” he asked.

Oh no. Now she would have to tell him about C, which was exactly what C didn’t want to happen. Why didn’t she think her questions through before she asked them?

“Yes, I have a wonderful man.” She left it at that.

The cop nodded as if this made sense.

“So what do you normally do? When you’re not following somebody?” she asked. She realized how silly she sounded.

“I’m getting ready to take my exam.” He smiled. “I love wearing the uniform, but my real dream is to be a detective.”

“You have to take a test?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “The department has a quality mentoring program.”

She had never been good at small talk but this conversation was beginning to go really well. Jared or Garrett (or was it Barrett?) was opening up to her. She knew C didn’t like the police but this boy seemed like such a nice cop. She was glad people like him joined the force.

“That’s wonderful! Is Ms. Christie your mentor?”

He shook his head no. “Christie’s too young to be a mentor.”

Jared or Garrett lapsed into silence. She was having such a nice time talking to him, she didn’t want the conversation to end.

“Tell me about your mentor.”

“Kinz is a good guy. He’s seen it all.”

Daria’s blood ran cold. She knew that name. “Is he now?”

“Yeah, he’s a detective’s detective.”

“Oh-my-God that’s nice.”

This time she let the conversation die.

Kinz
.

She knew the name.

He was the cop she’d seen. She was sure of it, even though she’d never laid eyes on him before. The name stood out for her. She considered whether to tell Eddie. She trusted him, and she could tell he respected her opinion. But he was awfully close to Detective Christie. Ultimately, Eddie answered to her and the chief, no matter how he tried to distance himself. But it was more than that.

Anybody with a pair of eyeballs would have noticed how often Eddie and Christie looked at each other. They shared an obvious mutual attraction. So whatever Daria told Eddie would likely make its way to Christie.

Jared or Garret or Barrett tapped the brake. “He’s stopping.”

Daria was pulled back into the moment. “Where are we?”

“A bar.” The cop pulled into the parking lot. “Probably grabbing a drink or two before he goes home.”

“A bar?” Daria hated them. She didn’t like to be around men when they were drinking. When she’d been younger, a drunk man had tried to take advantage. If it weren’t for the mace she always kept in her purse…

The cop backed into a spot and killed the lights. “I’ll wait here.”

“I don’t want to go in there.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like bars.”

The cop nodded. “I don’t either. But isn’t it a good place for you to get a reading?”

“Oh-my-God yes, but…” Daria thought of Eddie McCloskey and knew he would disapprove of her backing down. Eddie was a recovering alcoholic so he probably hated bars too, but if the investigation called for him to go inside, he would.

She just wished C were with her. He always made her feel safe.

“I’ll go,” she said.

“You’ll do great.” The cop smiled. “I’ll be out here.”

“You’re not going?”

“Too many people know who I am.” He took out his wallet and handed her a twenty. “Go to the bar and buy yourself a drink.”

“I don’t drink.”

He kept smiling. “You don’t have to drink.”

“Okay.”

“Keep your jacket on,” he said. “In case he suddenly decides to leave, you can get up too and it won’t look as suspicious.”

“Okay.”

“Make up a story. Pretend like your husband is running late and you decided to grab a drink before meeting up with him.”

Daria took a deep breath. She could do this. It was silly being scared of bars. She wasn’t scared when she went dark at houses and communicated with ghosts. Bars were nothing.

Jared or Garret said, “You can do this.”

Daria got out of the car and almost twisted her ankle in the parking lot. But she managed to get inside the bar without falling.

It was dark and loud. A jukebox blasted classic rock while men played darts in the corner. An enormous TV played a basketball game. Everybody in the place was wearing a t-shirt with a college name on it. Many of them said PITT or DUKE.

Then she realized. It was March-Whatever, when all anybody talked about were the college basketball games.

Someone must have made a good play, because a lot of guys in the bar cheered. She looked around for other women. The only ones she saw were waitressing and wearing teeny-tiny tops and short shorts.

She couldn’t have been any more out of place.

Daria spotted Mark in a booth with two other guys. They were huddled over their beers and watching the basketball game.

She scanned the bar and found a spot that was relatively close to Mark. The bartender was a woman less than half her age with a ring through one nostril and tattoos up one arm.

The bartender said something. But she spoke so quickly and the bar was so loud Daria had no idea what she said.

“I’m sorry?”

The bartender smiled and leaned in. “Can I get you something?”

“Yes, something with alcohol in it.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Would you like a mixed drink?”

“No thank you, I don’t like beer.” Daria was pretty sure beer and mixed drinks were the same thing.

The bartender smiled. “Okay, I have an idea.”

Daria wanted to ask her more about their drink menu then realized it didn’t matter because she wasn’t going to try the drink anyway. She took the open stool in front of her and put her purse on the bar. She pretended to fish for her makeup for a moment, then pulled out her K2 meter. It was an older unit, so it was smaller than a TV remote. She put it on the bar and aimed it at Mark. It was a good thing no one was sitting near her and everybody was paying attention to the game, because her equipment didn’t exactly look like a cell phone or an i-Thingy.

“Here you go,” the bartender put a tall glass with an umbrella straw in front of her. The liquid in the glass was green. “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.”

“What is this?” Daria asked, not because she cared but because she figured someone would have asked what it was before they drank it.

The bartender told her, but Daria couldn’t hear her over the noise. Two more guys bellied up to the bar, and the bartender hurried off to take their order before Daria could ask her to repeat herself.

Daria wasn’t quite sure what to do with her twenty. In movies she’d seen people put money on the bar, so she decided to give that a try.

When she turned back to her K2 meter, she nearly fell off her stool.

Four solid, unblinking lights. Almost the strongest reading possible.

Then someone must have made another good play in the basketball game, because everyone started cheering. Mark practically jumped out of his booth in celebration.

And the fifth light on the K2 lit up and held steady.

“Oh-my-God,” Daria said.

***

“I’m being careful,” Stan said.

“You’re a father now,” his wife, Moira, said through the phone.

“I said I’m being careful.”

“You better be.”

At first she’d told him no. Then she had said the decision was his—he could go if that was what he wanted to do. He’d been married long enough to know that was a trap. So he’d been wisely non-committal. Then she had said he
should
go because it was an important investigation that could help a lot of people. Finally, she’d said he knew this was what he loved and it wasn’t right of her to keep him from it. Only then did he say he was going. But now, on the phone, she’d reverted back to her original opinion.

“This is really dangerous,” she said. “Worse than the Moriarty house. How are you even going to stop the ghost?”

Stan took a deep breath. “We’ll find a way. I believe in Eddie.”

“I’m glad one of us does. He’s a loose cannon and has gotten very lucky of late.”

“I mostly agree with you. But I still believe in him.”

He heard Maddy begin to cry in the background. Moira said, “That’s the Mom-Signal.”

“You’re a great mother, you know that?”

“Stan, please be careful.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

They love-you’ed and hung up. Night had fallen.

D’Amato came back to the car and got behind the wheel. “It’s just him and the wife. No company. How close do you have to get?”

“Let me try it here first. I’ll move in later.”

Stan already had his state-of-the-art K2 meter out. They’d made this one bigger than the last model, so it was like carrying around an iPad. He switched it on and pointed it at Mark Schubert’s house.

“How long does this usually take?” D’Amato said.

“Usually a lot longer than this,” Stan said.

He held up the K2 meter and showed it to the cop. All five lights were blinking.