Ghost Town (15 page)

And speaking of paranoid, she scanned the crowd to see if Mitch was there. He had always been controlling, but the vibes he had given off outside the hotel earlier had raised all sorts of alarm bells for Amber. Something had happened to change him, to deepen his anger and bring it closer to the surface. She was more frightened of him now than she ever had been before. She saw no sign of him, though, and more important, she didn't sense his presence. Trevor believed that she was psychically sensitive, and while she knew that her dreams sometimes provided insights she couldn't get through rational means—as with her nightmare about Tonya's murder—she wasn't ready to believe that she possessed true psychic powers. Still, she was relieved not to feel Mitch anywhere close by.

She was also glad that she didn't catch any glimpses of the shad
owy figure she had seen standing next to Mitch outside the hotel. She hoped that sighting had been a result of her imagination, too, but she feared otherwise. She really needed a chance to talk to Drew about Mitch and to tell both him and Trevor about the apparition she had seen. But she could hardly do it now, especially with Connie in tow. She supposed she could try to put up with Connie for Drew, if for no other reason than to make his life at work easier. But she didn't have to like it.

The Beyond the Veil Museum, like Jenn's bookstore, was housed in an older building. Two buildings, actually, connected by an additional section that been constructed between them over the years. The property was enclosed by a black wrought-iron fence, and each building was two stories high and painted a dark purple with black shutters and a black roof, like a cartoon version of a haunted manor. This effect was compounded by the mechanical skeletons erected in the museum's front yard. They stood in various poses near headstones engraved with names such as Mr. and Mrs. Kreep (dressed as a bride and groom), Prof. N. O. Boddy (in a tweed jacket with elbow patches), and Dee Ceased (in a cheerleader outfit complete with curly blond wig). The Digger Brothers both held shovels, but while one was digging down from the surface, the other was digging his way up out of the ground. The skeletons—plastic bones yellowed and clothes faded from long exposure to the elements—moved with slow, whirring motions, jaws clacking in arrhythmic cadence. The tableau was supposed to make the museum appear to be a fun tourist destination, but considering what had happened within its walls that day, Amber found the skeletons more disturbing than cute.

“Couldn't they have turned those things off?” she said.

“I think they're amusing,” Connie said. When everyone looked at her, she added, “In a morbid way, of course.”

Amber exchanged glances with Drew, and he responded with a little shrug. They made their way through the crowd until they
reached Carrington, Erin, and her crew. The boom-mic operator was a petite girl in her early twenties whose short hair had been dyed a garish blue more suitable for an anime character, and the makeup artist was an older woman in her thirties with long, flowing hair that had gone prematurely white. Like the cameraman, they were dressed in T-shirts and jeans, and both women wore flip-flops despite the cool weather.

The cameraman turned to look at the four of them as they approached. “I assume these are the friends you mentioned, my queen.”

“Shut up, Raymond,” Erin snapped. She pulled out her cell phone and ignored them while she made a call.

He turned his attention back to Amber and the others. “She's in a foul mood because the chief won't let us inside. I'm Ray Somers. That's Sarah Brooks, and she's Pattie Jordan.” He nodded to the mic operator and the makeup woman, who both smiled in greeting.

“As you can see, our stalwart camera monkey has a bit of a mouth on him,” Carrington said. “But he's right about Erin. The chief didn't even come out to talk to her this time. He turned her down over the phone.” Pattie dabbed at his nose with a makeup sponge, and he brushed her hand away, scowling. “That's enough! You make my skin look any more orange, and everyone will think I'm a jack-o'-lantern.”

Pattie gave him an irritated look and then looked at Amber and the others. She turned toward Erin and asked, “Should I make them up, too?”

Erin was still on the phone, evidently waiting for someone to pick up, since she wasn't talking yet. She waved Pattie's question away without answering it.

Pattie looked at Sarah. “What do you think?”

“Don't ask me, sweetie. If I've learned anything working with Erin, it's that there's no way to guess what she wants. Ever.”

Pattie sighed. “True that.”

There was something about the tone in Sarah's voice as she said “sweetie” that made Amber think the younger woman used it not as a generic term of endearment for a coworker but rather as a person speaking casually to her lover.

“Shit!” Erin shoved her cell phone back into her pocket. “Now he won't even answer!”

Amber assumed she was talking about the chief.

“When you spoke with him earlier, did you tell him
I
was here?” Carrington asked.

Erin shot him a withering look. “I hate to break this to you, Arthur, but you're only a legend in your own mind.”

Ray smirked, and Sarah and Pattie looked as if they were trying very hard not to smile. Carrington, however, did not look amused.

“I suppose we'll have to shoot some interior footage later,” Erin said. She turned to Amber and the others. “Sorry I had you guys come here for nothing. I even had Arthur bring his ghost-hunting equipment.” She gestured to a pair of metal cases resting on the sidewalk next to the fence. “I thought you might be able to use it inside, and we'd see what sort of readings you'd get.”

“What kind of equipment?” Trevor asked. He sounded as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

“Top of the line, of course,” Carrington said. “Would you like to see?”

“You know it!”

Carrington led Trevor over to the cases. He turned one onto its side and opened it, and Trevor became even more excited as Carrington began showing him the contents.

“Do you really think you'll be able to find out something if you go inside?” It was Jenn. They turned to see that she had joined them. Her eyes were red from crying, but she seemed in control of her emotions at the moment.

Amber looked at Drew. He appeared uncomfortable, and she
knew why. He didn't want to promise something they couldn't deliver. She turned back to Jenn.

“You were at our presentation,” she said. “Everything we said was true. We did it once, and we can do it again.” She hoped.

Jenn looked at her for a long moment, as if she were searching Amber's eyes for any hint of deception or overconfidence. Finally, she nodded. She took out her cell phone and made a call.

“Peter? It's Jenn. I'm standing on the sidewalk outside the museum. I have some friends here with me, and I think they might be able to help.”

“I'm not sure
about this.” Chief Hoffman looked them up and down, and from the expression on his face, it was clear he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

At least the man had allowed them to enter the museum, Drew thought. That was something. And he had permitted Erin and her crew to set up their equipment so they could film their conversation with him.

They had gathered in Beyond the Veil's lobby. From what the chief had already told them, he had done the initial questioning of the staff, and they, along with the museumgoers who had discovered the bodies and everyone else who had been inside the museum when the murders took place, had been taken to the staff offices, where they were being questioned further by the police. The medical examiner had finished his on-site inspection of the bodies, and they'd been bagged and were on their way to the county morgue.

“If the media get wind that I let you do a psychic investigation in here, I'll probably lose my job.”

“In Exeter?” Jenn said. “If anything, it'll end up getting you a raise. Peter, you know me. Just because I run a bookstore that specializes in the paranormal doesn't mean I believe in it. But I know
you
do—at least a little.”

The chief looked embarrassed, but he didn't explain.

“If I, a confirmed skeptic, believe that these people are the real thing, isn't that reason enough to give them a chance? Besides, what can it hurt?”

“My reputation. My credibility. My self-respect . . .” The chief sighed. “All right. Leave no stone unturned, I suppose. I'd rather have you come back later, but if I say that, you'll probably just tell me that the psychic impressions are strongest when they're fresh.”

“As a matter of fact—” Trevor began, but Jenn shushed him with a look.

As the chief continued, his voice took on an official tone. “Here's the deal. I can't allow you to disturb the crime scene, so you won't be able to enter the room where the murders occurred. And I can't let you talk to any of the witnesses we're still questioning. I've got a couple of officers searching the museum for evidence. Don't get in their way. And if you find anything—anything at all—that you think might be evidence, don't touch it. Call me, and I'll have one of my people check it out. I'll expect a full report once you're finished. Clear?”

Drew, Amber, and Trevor nodded. He was surprised to see Connie nodding, too. Carrington stepped forward then.

“Don't worry, Chief. I intend to personally oversee the entire investigation, and I assure you that the highest standards of professionalism will be observed at all times.”

“I wasn't aware that this investigation had an
overseer,
” Trevor said.

Carrington gave him a smile. “My tools, my rules.”

Trevor made a face, but he gave no further protest.

The chief looked at Jenn. “Are you sure you're up for this? You've been through a lot today. Maybe it would be better if you waited outside.”

“You're sweet to worry about me, but I'll be OK. If it gets to be too much for me, though, I promise I'll leave.”

A look passed between the two of them, and Drew realized
they had a closer relationship than he'd initially thought. He didn't think it was romantic in any way, but it was more than friendship. A father-daughter thing, perhaps.

“You'd better.” The chief turned to Erin. “You can film in here, but I don't want you sensationalizing the murders, out of respect for the victims' families. If you do, I'll bring you up on charges of interfering with a police investigation, and I'll confiscate your film as evidence. And before you make any promises, Jenn will tell me if you go back on your word. Right?”

“Sure, Peter,” Jenn said.

Erin didn't look offended by the chief's words. “No worries. I'm trying to make a documentary about the paranormal, not a true-crime film.”

Drew didn't believe Erin. Whatever her original intentions for her film were, she seemed too driven a person to let an opportunity pass her by, especially when it could lead to her film getting stronger advance buzz and perhaps wider distribution. A film about a town that celebrated the paranormal was one thing. But a film about a town that celebrated the paranormal
and
where a series of mysterious, sinister murders had taken place? That was quite another.

“And make sure your crew is careful,” the chief added. “I don't want any more accidents happening.”

“Accidents?” Trevor said.

Erin looked suddenly uncomfortable, but she ignored the question. “Will do,” she said to the chief.

Drew, Amber, and Trevor shot quick glances at one another. There was a story there, one they would have to look into later.

“What can you tell us about the murders, Chief?” Trevor asked. He removed a pen and a small notebook from his jacket pocket, opened it, and prepared to take notes. “Any information you can give us will help.”

“None of this better get out to the media,” he said. “If it does—”

“Yes, yes,” Connie said, sounding impatient. “The full wrath of the law will come crashing down upon us like God's sledgehammer. We get it.”

Drew looked at her, but she steadily avoided his gaze. Something strange was going on with her. He had known her to have a sharp tongue from time to time, but that normally manifested in a blunt directness that some people found offensive. But he had never known her to be such a . . . well, such a smartass.

The chief scowled at her, but he didn't respond to her comment. “The deceased were Donner Cummings, forty-two, and Rachel Hartwell, twenty-eight. Both lived in Indianapolis. Based on how they were dressed, we assume they were tourists in town for Dead Days.”

Trevor opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Carrington jumped in.

“And precisely how were they dressed, Chief?” he asked. He gave Trevor a smug smile that said,
See? I
am
in charge
.

“Cummings was dressed as a Ghostbuster. You know, like in the movies. Hartwell dressed like a typical Goth kid.”

Trevor was busy writing that down, so Drew asked the next question. “How did they die?”

“According to the medical examiner, Cummings was strangled. As for Hartwell . . .” Chief Hoffman hesitated. “The ME said that it looked like she'd drowned. But there was no water at the scene, except for a bit that appeared to have leaked out of her mouth. There's nowhere in the museum where she could've come into contact with enough water to drown her, except a restroom, I suppose. But that doesn't seem likely.”

Drew glanced at Jenn. She was trembling, and she held her hand to her stomach, as if she were feeling nauseated. Trevor was too busy writing to notice, but Amber walked over to her and took the woman's hand. Jenn gave her a grateful look and held on to Amber as if she were a lifeline. Drew loved how sensitive Amber
was to the emotional environment around her, and not for the first time, he thought what a terrific therapist she would make.