Ghost Town (7 page)

“There might be another explanation,” Trevor said. He sounded hesitant, as if he were speaking against his better judgment.

Anger clouded Jenn's face. “Don't you start, Trevor! Tonya was killed by some lunatic, not by some kind of ghost!”

Amber frowned. “I don't understand. Your store—”

“Is a fun business,” Jenn said. “And that's all. I don't judge my customers, but for me, the paranormal is just a game, a way to indulge my imagination. I don't take any of it seriously.”

Drew and Amber looked at Trevor.

He sighed. “As you might've guessed, we've had this argument before.” He turned back to Jenn. “But it's different this time. Amber—”

“Will be happy to get you another cup of coffee, if you like.” Amber smiled, but she gave Trevor a look that said she wanted him to cool it.

Drew agreed. It was not the time or place to try to convince Jenn that not only did the paranormal exist, but it was also somehow tied in with her employee's death.

Trevor might not have understood why Amber wanted him to shut up, but he got the message and remained silent.

“Thanks, but I don't want any more coffee,” Jenn said. “I have to pee bad enough as it is.”

“Let's go, then,” Amber said. “I could do with a pit stop myself.”

She rose from the table and waited for Jenn to do the same. She wobbled a bit as she stood, but she seemed steady enough on her feet.

“I suppose I'll continue the time-honored tradition of women going to the restroom in packs.” Erin got up to join them.

Drew figured she didn't want to miss any bathroom talk that might occur about Tonya's murder. If Amber's eyes had been capable of emitting laser beams, they would've cut straight through Erin. But if the woman noticed Amber's disapproval, she didn't react to it. Drew doubted she cared one way or another what people thought of her, just as long as she got what she wanted.

The women moved away from the table, Amber staying close to Jenn in case she needed a steadying hand. When they were gone, Carrington said, “That was quite a story, wasn't it? And to think we were there filming a segment yesterday, only hours before the poor girl was murdered.”

Trevor pounced on the statement like a cat eager to catch a mouse before it scurried away. “You were? What was it about?”

“Nothing earthshaking, I assure you. Erin's been filming background on the town's various attractions over the last week. The Ancient Spirits bar, the Beyond the Veil Museum, and so forth. Important enough for the project, I suppose, but dull work. Erin insists on my being there to offer a quote or two about each place, which I dutifully provide, but the rest of the time, I'm standing around watching Erin and her crew work.”

“She has a crew?” Drew asked. “I had the impression she films alone.”

“It's a minimal crew: one camera operator, one sound person, one lighting-slash-makeup person. Occasionally, Erin will film on
her own if she doesn't have time to get the crew together, like this morning. But that's rare. It's quite a shoestring operation overall. Nothing like what I was used to in my heyday. I remember one time when we were filming a segment for
Beyond Explanation
in Las Vegas. We were on location at a casino once owned by an organized-crime figure back in the 1960s. Supposedly, he killed several of his enemies and concealed their bodies in the building's foundation during the casino's construction. There had never been any proof, of course, so we'd brought a medium with us to attempt to make contact with the spirits of the victims. We were in the middle of shooting my intro to the piece when a little old grandmother from Tallahassee hit on a slot machine not ten feet from where I was standing. She screamed in joy, lights and sirens went off on the machine, and coins started flooding out of the damned thing and pouring onto the floor. When she noticed us, she thought we were there to document her triumph and insisted that I interview her on camera. She refused to listen when I attempted to explain to her why we were really there. Finally, I relented and asked her a few questions to placate her, and she departed with her winnings, satisfied that she was now the celebrity she thought she deserved to be. Well, the crew and I had a good laugh about it, of course, and then resumed filming. And wouldn't you know it?
Another
damned slot machine paid out and interrupted me yet again! And since I'd interviewed the grandmother, the gentleman who'd won this time insisted he get
his
turn on camera as well. By this time, my good humor was wearing more than a little thin, so—”

Trevor interrupted. “That's a great story, but before the women return, I'd like to get your professional opinion on what happened at Forgotten Lore last night.”

Carrington scowled with displeasure at having his monologue cut short, but he put on a smile as he turned to Trevor. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“You know, your opinion as a paranormal investigator.”

Carrington looked at Trevor a moment and then laughed. “My boy, I have been investigating strange phenomena since before you were born, and if there's one thing I've learned in that time, it's that the principle of Occam's razor usually holds true. The simplest explanation is almost always the most likely one. So my professional opinion is that last night, poor Tonya had the unfortunate luck to encounter a lunatic with a strong throwing arm. Nothing more. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I'll get a coffee after all.”

Carrington got up from the table and headed over to speak with the barista.

“He seems more than a bit cynical,” Drew said.

“I thought you'd approve. Better that than too gullible, right?”

“I suppose.” But there was a difference between being objective and being snide, and Drew thought Carrington came down more on the latter side.

“It looks like we won't have to worry about Carrington trying to horn in on us, which is good.”

Drew frowned. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“There's obviously some kind of correlation between Amber's nightmare and Tonya's murder. And from the way Jenn described the scene inside the store—all the books off the shelves, scattered everywhere around Tonya, covering her . . . Do you really think one person stood there throwing books at her? And that Tonya just remained motionless while her killer pelted her with them? The only reason she wouldn't have fled is if she hadn't been capable of getting away. Once the coroner's report is in, I'll bet it shows she was hit numerous times from multiple angles, just like in Amber's dream.”

“There could have been more than one killer,” Drew said. “Or someone could've struck Tonya from behind, knocked her out, and then hit her with books.”

“But—”

Drew held up a hand to cut off his friend. “
But
I think the situation is strange enough to warrant looking into. Is that what you're talking about?”

Trevor smiled. “You read my mind, pal.”

Drew glanced in the direction of the restrooms. “Carrington may not have any interest in interfering with our investigation, but I don't think we can say the same about Erin.”

“Jenn? Are you
OK?”

Amber resisted the urge to knock on the stall door. If Jenn hadn't heard her words, she certainly wouldn't hear her knocking. As soon as the three women had entered the restroom, Jenn had gone into the stall—the only one—closed the door, and locked it. She had been in there for several minutes, silent the entire time. Amber was afraid she was crying softly, face buried in a wad of toilet tissue to sop up tears and muffle the sound.

Amber gave in and rapped a knuckle against the metal door three times.

“Jenn? Honey?”

No response.

Erin stood leaning against the sink counter, arms crossed over her chest. “I get that a girl needs her privacy,” she said, her voice raised so Jenn could hear. “But you can't stay in there all day. Other people have to pee, you know.”

Amber whirled to face Erin. “Leave her alone! You have no idea what she's been through!”

Erin raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”

Amber fixed her with a cold, direct stare. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

Erin met Amber's gaze for a three count, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor.

“That's my girl.”

The voice startled Amber, not the least because it seemed to be coming from inside her head. A mirror hung on the wall behind the sink, and reflected in it Amber could see the back of Erin's head and, to the right of it, her own face. But although no one stood next to her in the restroom, there was another face in the mirror. A pale, scarred ruin of a face.

Greg Daniels smiled, shiny-tight lip flesh cracking as it stretched back to reveal soot-blackened teeth.

“Miss me?”

Amber didn't scream,
but it was a near thing.

“Something wrong?”

She blinked. Greg was gone.

“No,” she told Erin, surprised at how calm she sounded. “I'm fine.” She returned to Jenn's stall door, doing her best not to think about what she had just seen. If she was lucky, it had been a hallucination. If not . . .

She rapped on the door again. “Jenn? We can take you home if you want. Or if you think you need something to calm your nerves, we can take you to see a doctor.” She had only recently weaned herself from the numerous prescription drugs she had been on, and she didn't like the idea of pushing someone else toward a bottle of “Mother's little helpers.” But given what Jenn had been through, she could probably use the pharmaceutical industry's assistance.

As before, Jenn didn't reply, but the lock
snicked,
and the door opened. Jenn came out, a wadded-up mass of toilet tissue clutched in her hand. Her eyes were red and still glistened with tears.

Once Erin saw her, she dropped her arms to her side and stepped forward. “Hey, about that ‘other people have to pee' crack? I'm sorry. I . . . don't handle emotionally difficult situations well.”

Amber was surprised. Maybe Erin wasn't such a jerk after all.

“That's OK,” Jenn said. She used the tissue wad to blow her nose and then tossed it into the trash. She gave Amber a weak smile. “Thanks for offering to help. I'm glad that Trevor has a friend
like you. Honestly, I don't know what to do now. I can't stand the idea of going home and being by myself, and while it's tempting to take a pill and escape reality for a while—
very
tempting—it's only a temporary solution. Reality will still be here when I wake up, you know?”

Amber knew exactly what she meant.

“Maybe you should try to stay busy,” Erin offered. “I admit, I'm already prone to be a workaholic, but doing something—anything—helps keep my mind occupied when there's stuff I don't want to think about.”

“I can't go back to the bookstore,” Jenn said. “I don't know if I'll
ever
want to go back!” She thought for a moment. “I was supposed to sell books at Esotericon today. Maybe I can still do that.”

“Are you sure you're up to it?” Amber asked. “I mean, given the topic of the conference, there'll be a lot of . . .” She paused. She didn't want to mention the word
death
. “A lot of dark imagery around.”

“True,” Jenn said, “but I'm used to that kind of thing. On the plus side, there will be a lot of people there, and the only thing they'll want to talk with me about is books.”

“All right,” Amber said. “If you really think it'll help. But if it gets to be too much for you, promise me that you'll let Trevor, Drew, or me know. We'll be at the conference, and we'll be happy to take you home.”

“I promise.”

Jenn and Erin started to leave, but Amber held back. When Jenn and Erin looked at her questioningly, she said, “Some of us really do have to pee,” which made the other women laugh. When they were gone, instead of entering the stall, she walked back to the counter and gazed into the mirror.

Greg was there once again, standing next to her. Only now, instead of his burn-scarred visage, he looked like a handsome man in his early thirties with short black hair, dressed in a dark blue
mock turtleneck. Amber knew it wasn't his real face, but then, considering that he was dead, he no longer had
any
kind of face, did he?

“Greetings from the Great Beyond.”
In the mirror, Greg's mouth moved, but Amber heard his words in her head.

“You're real. I can feel it.”

“Surreal
might be a more appropriate word, but yes. How are you and Drew doing? Still getting along? Is the sex everything you dreamed it would be? Do you call out his name when you climax, or do you just let out a shriek of ecstasy? Inquiring minds want to know!”

Her skin crawled, not so much because of what he said—although that was disgusting enough—but because of the leering tone in his voice. She kept her own voice even as she replied. “You found a way to communicate between the worlds of the living and the dead just to prove how big an asshole you can be?”

Greg smirked.
“No, but it's a nice side benefit. I'm here to tell you to watch yourself. There are nasty things in this town, and you've drawn their attention. All three of you have. If you're not careful, you'll find yourself over here on the other side of the mirror.”
He smiled, displaying teeth black with soot.
“With me.”

She frowned. “How do I know you're really Greg and not just something pretending to be him?”

“I'm not Greg. At least, not only. When I died—sacrificing myself to save you, Drew, and Trevor, I might add—I carried the Darkness that had possessed me over to the Other Side with me.”