Texas Gothic

30



the dig crew was vastly amused by my cousin.

Lucas watched with amazement as she downed two ears of corn, a pint of potato salad, and three tofu kabobs. Rather than ask where she put it all, he inquired, “How did you find us … your cousins, I mean. And the party?”

“I always know where I’m going.” She licked her fingers, and I swear, I saw Phin roll her eyes. “Also, there was a number on the pad by the phone. Some guy named Mark.”

She winked at Mark, who grinned back.

Ben had excused himself to do hostly things, but I suspected it was to cool off and make sure I hadn’t damaged his grandfather. Daisy’s arrival was better timed than she knew. Or maybe she did.

“So,” she said, digging into her third bowl of peach cobbler. “Tell me what’s been going on.”

“You mean you haven’t already Seen it all?” Phin capitalized the S with sarcasm.

Daisy smiled sweetly back at her. “You mean you haven’t already fixed it with your mad-scientist skilz?”

Mark watched with gleeful fascination. “Holidays must be so much fun at your house.”

“You have no idea.” I leaned back in my chair, because this could go on for a bit. “I worry every year someone is going to get strangled with the Tofurky.”

Ray’s Garage had left, and a DJ had taken their place. As dusk had fallen, the lights strung around the dance floor invited couples to take a spin. I watched them while Phin and the gang filled Daisy in. The scene was so happy and normal, while we sat there discussing skulls and specters.

Finally finished eating, Daisy pushed back her plate(s) and set her elbows on the table, all business. “And you’re sure it wasn’t the ghost that scattered the bones?”

Phin said, “There’s absolutely no evidence to lead to that conclusion. My philosophy is, if it’s at all possible for it to have been human action, presume it is.”

“Like Amy’s tire,” said Jennie. “And the notes on the windshields.”

Mark unfolded a piece of paper from his jeans and took out a pen from his shirt pocket. “Let’s look at what we’ve got. There’s the notes, Amy’s tire, the grave robber—those are the things we know are not supernatural. Then there’s Amy’s apparition—that can’t be human or natural, so it must be ghostly.” He looked at Phin for approval. “How’s that?”

“Good so far.”

“Let’s leave my ghost out of it for now,” I said, because the specter was different from everything else. Phin and Daisy had both caught on to that when they suggested we had more than one entity at work here. “We’ve also heard mechanical sounds in the field, and I saw the diesel truck. Nothing supernatural about those. So … there’s something weird going on in the pasture that’s not paranormal at all.”

Mark suggested, “Maybe those sounds and the truck were other ghost hunters. Ben said that sort of thing has been going on since the first remains turned up.”

Jennie looked over my shoulder and said, “Oh, hey, Ben. We were just talking about you.”

I swear, that guy needed a bell like a cat.

“So I heard.” I didn’t turn around, just let his voice drift over me, so I could filter through the nuances. It was much easier to say what his tone was not: not angry, not accusing, but not apologetic, either. “Can I join you?”

“Please do,” said Queen Daisy, and nudged out the chair beside me with her foot.

He sat, and I risked a glance at him. He was risking a glance at me. “We may mention ghosts,” I said, giving him fair warning.

“As long as you’re not mentioning them to my grandfather, I’ll deal with it.”

I started to tell him that his grandfather had come to me about the ghost, but Daisy interrupted.

“Amy.” She called me back to my theory. “You were saying? Something weird but not necessarily paranormal?”

Ben looked at me in surprise, I guess because I was capable of seeing a horse for a horse and not a unicorn. But I gave him credit. “It was something Ben said last night, about how he didn’t believe in the Mad Monk business, but there was something hinky going on in his pasture. I figured he knows this place better than anyone.”

He gave a modest cough, and I continued. “And Phin pointed out that the Mad Monk stuff is all hearsay or after the fact theorizing. So, say someone is up to something. They might use the Mad Monk legend as cover.”

Jennie laughed, though not meanly. “That sounds like a movie plot.”

With a grimace, I admitted, “I know.”

Emery, who’d listened to all this cynically—how else?—gave a snort. “Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Mad Monk.”

Phin cocked her head, analyzing my theory. “I always thought it was a stupid idea to generate a ghost rumor to keep people away. Wouldn’t they want to come and investigate?”

Mark chuckled. “That’s your upbringing, I think. Well, and those ghost hunter shows. They must frustrate the heck out of masked villains with complicated plots.”

“Unless whoever is messing around out there is counting on that,” I ventured.

Ben finally spoke up. “You mean, count on a bunch of idiots running around looking for ghosts?” The logic of the idea seemed to surprise him. “The trespassers could basically hide in plain sight.”

Jennie jumped on that idea. “If they got caught on the land, they could just say they were looking for the ghost.”

“It’s probably a local,” said Mark. “Otherwise they wouldn’t know the Mad Monk legend.”

Phin drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the table. “Ghost hunting would give them an excuse for being on the property. But how would they hide what they’re actually doing? Whatever it is.”

“Maybe it’s out of sight.” I glanced at Ben, looking for his input. “In a barn or something?”

He gazed thoughtfully back. “Or underground. In one of the caves.”

“Bootleggers used the caverns up at Longhorn State Park,” said Daisy. “I remember the park ranger told us.”

“Do people still bootleg liquor?” asked Jennie.

“To avoid the taxes, you bet,” said Lucas. “They also make incredibly cheap swill—poison, really—then sell it for slightly less cheap.”

“There are other things that might be traded and trafficked,” I said, and waited for them to catch up. Joe Kelly and his stoner friends had to get their weed from somewhere.

“You mean drugs?” said Emery. The idea definitely brought down the mood.

“This could be serious,” said Jennie, chewing her lip. “Maybe we should tell the police.”

“Do you think they’d believe us?” I asked. I knew Deputy Kelly wouldn’t. Not me and Ben, anyway. “That’s probably the reason movie amateur detectives always have to unmask the villains themselves.”

Ben didn’t quite roll his eyes. “And their plans always go so smoothly.”

Mark laughed, then checked his watch. “Okay. It’s time for someone to go relieve Dwayne. Who’s next?”

“Emery and I,” said Caitlin, pushing to her feet. “I drew the short straw.”

“So stay,” Emery said, getting up, too. “I don’t need company to sit around and wait for nothing to happen.”

Mark handed her a key on a tag. “Be careful. The van is signed out to me. If anything happens to it, they’ll never give me my doctorate.”

“I’m flattered by your faith in me.” She gave Ben a wave. A friendly, non-datelike wave. “See you, Ben.”

Lucas got up, too. “I think I’ll have a beer. Anyone else want one?”

“I do,” said Daisy.

“Nice try, kid,” said Lucas.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jennie followed him. Daisy watched them go, then turned back to Mark and Phin, and Ben and me. “This is very cozy. Everyone paired up.”

“Not hardly,” I said, meaning the dig team. But it sounded like I meant … well, Ben and me. Face flaming, I slid down in my chair, avoiding his eye.

“Uh-huh.” Daisy gathered her bag from the back of her chair. “I’m going to the house. Swing by and get me before your shift at the dig site. I’ve never read a mass grave before. It should be a kick.”

“Read?” asked Ben, and I really wished he hadn’t.

“I’m a clairvoyant,” said Daisy, ignoring Phin’s snort. “Among other things, I can read objects and places associated with the dead. I also have had some success as a medium, but that’s hit-or-miss.” Another snort from my sister. Daisy turned to Mark. “I don’t suppose you have any artifacts still here?”

“Everything went up to Austin with Dr. Douglas,” he said, looking genuinely disappointed.

“Too bad. The ground insulates things, makes them harder to read. But maybe I’ll get lucky.” She turned, waving her fingers over her shoulder. “Ciao!”

“Don’t touch my stuff!” Phin yelled after her.

I wondered if anybody would notice if I just crawled under the table.

“Come on.” Ben stood and held out a peremptory hand to me. “Let’s dance.”

I stared up at him. “Seriously?” He looked serious. A lot more serious than one would think, issuing a dance invitation. But then, it was more like an order. “After that boatload of crazy, all you’ve got is ‘Let’s dance’?”

“It’s a party. It’s my mother’s party. You look miserable and she’s going to blame it on me.”

“Instead of Daisy,” said Phin.

“Instead of all of you,” Ben said.

Across the way, I caught Mrs. McCulloch watching us with a pinch of worry between her brows. I was helpless against maternal disappointment, even when it wasn’t my mother.

“Fine.” I pushed back my chair and stood. Ben waited stoically and Mark grinned, much too broadly. “Maybe you and Phin should hit the floor, too,” I suggested sweetly, because our tiny tots tap dance teacher had refunded Phin’s tuition and suggested Mom use it to buy an art set.

Unsuspecting, Mark turned to Phin. “Are you game?”

She studied him for a long moment, as if assessing his motive, then shrugged. “It’s your funeral.”

He helped her over the bench and they were off. Then it was just Ben, waiting on me, and me, unable to avoid the inevitable, though I gave it one last try.

“I’m not much of a dancer.” I’d lasted longer than Phin in tiny tots tap class, but only slightly.

“That’s all right.” He took my hand and pulled me not entirely gently through the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“I mind.” I dug in my heels as we reached the concrete slab serving as a dance floor. The stage now held a DJ playing country music, and colored lights ringed the square, throwing a prism glow on the couples that moved in concentric circles. Mark and Phin were already there, laughing and looking at their feet.

Ben faced me, still holding my right hand in his left. “I should have known you’d be one of those.”

“One of what?” I snapped back, then grimaced at the taste of figurative bait going down my gullet.

He kept his expression mildly challenging. “One of those people who never wants to do anything they don’t excel at.”

“At which they don’t excel,” I corrected him. “And that’s not true.”

“Okay.” He shifted his weight slightly as we stood there, looking more like sparring than dance partners. “Name me one thing you do for fun.”

“I read novels.” I lifted my chin and dared him to say that wasn’t fun. “Not literary ones, either. Romance novels, mysteries, science fiction …”

“But there’s not much chance of falling on your face reading, is there?”

“Ha! I’m not going to fall on my face if I dance with you.” At least, not literally, I hoped.

He played me like a deck of cards. “Then prove it.”

I wanted to tell him I didn’t have to prove anything to him. But of course I didn’t. I stepped up close, put my hand on his shoulder, and jerked my chin toward the dance floor. “Let’s do this thing.”

He surprised me by laughing. Not in victory, but in a warm, that-was-fun way. And I had to admit, it sort of was, even if I’d lost that round.

Then he put his hand on my waist, pulling me closer, and raised our linked fingers. Our bodies brushed lightly, and heat spread across my skin everywhere we touched. It had nothing to do with the hot July night, and everything to do with being in the circle of Ben’s arm. His shoulders were broad, and his shirt was open at the neck, so I was eye level with the pulse that beat in his tanned throat.

How was his pulse so steady? Mine was skittering all over the place, and my breath went all ragged, even though we hadn’t yet taken one step.

“Ready?” he asked, and I searched his voice for any sign he was as affected as I was. I certainly wasn’t going to look up and meet his eye. What if there was nothing reciprocal? Worse, what if he saw, reflected in my face, the thrill that ran through me when my chest brushed against his, when our thighs slid against each other as we danced?

Or tried to. At my nod, he stepped off on the beat and neatly joined the couples circling the floor. After that, the feel of Ben’s body became an unwelcome distraction as I tried to concentrate on the steps.

It was a two-step, which should be easy. Two quick steps, one slow. I mean, even Phin was doing it; I saw Mark swinging her by. Shock made me lose the beat, and I got off step—again—bounced against Ben’s chest, rebounded and almost ran us into one of the other couples. And then I stopped, right in the middle of the floor, and another pair had to make a hasty detour around us.

“Wow,” said Ben, in bland understatement. “You really aren’t very good at this.”

“I know the steps.” I wanted to howl with frustration, but that would be even more embarrassing. “I just can’t seem to keep the beat.”

“Come on. Let’s stay moving.” He suited actions to words, stepping forward with his left foot, prompting me to step back with my right. Quick, quick, slow … This time I managed to keep the rhythm, but our graceless progress around the floor was more like a wrestling match than a dance.

“Maybe if you would quit trying to lead,” he said, the muscle in his jaw tight. “Stop trying to be in control.”

I laughed, and not in a good way. “That’s funny. You telling me to relax.”

He scowled, but just for a second, before it lifted with a grudging twitch of a smile. “Okay. That’s a fair point.”

“Maybe this”—I made a sawing motion with our joined hands, which was a pretty good imitation of our dancing—“isn’t all my fault. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

“I am a good dancer,” he said, with a bit of an edge. “If you would just let me steer.”

“Maybe I should steer,” I said, breathless because at some point he’d adjusted his hold on my waist, fingers spread from my ribs to the curve of my hip. He had to feel my heart beating double-time, but maybe he would think it was the exertion of the dance.

“You can’t steer,” he said equably, as well he might, since he was in control and I wasn’t. “You’re going backwards.”

“Why do I have to go backwards? Because I’m the girl and you’re the guy?”

“Because I can see over your head.”

My laugh was more of a snort, but it was a concession all the same. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

A smile acknowledged that briefly before turning wry. “Except for the fiendish plot of the Mad Monk of McCulloch Ranch.”

He’d gone for melodrama, but there was a grim thread beneath the drollery. Meeting Ben’s family had explained a lot. Like how every time he said “my” land, it wasn’t a greedy or egotistical word. It was a lonely one. He must feel the entire weight of the ranch on his shoulders. It wasn’t fair—I wasn’t sure it was true—but that never stopped anyone from feeling they had the sole responsibility of keeping things running smoothly. I should know.

“We’ll figure it out,” I promised. He blinked in surprise, and a tide of flustered embarrassment made me add, “Phin and me, and all the guys from the university. Maybe Daisy. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

His gaze shuttered. “You just want to find your ghost.”

“No,” I started; then I had to revise, “Okay, yes. But that’s ancillary to getting to the bottom of things.”

“Is it all just a mystery novel plot to you, Amy? Or some kind of experiment?”

I didn’t temper my bitter laugh. “Trust me. I’m invested in the discovery of the truth. It’s not just academic to me, Ben.”

“Personally invested?”

I hesitated, because I was talking about ridding myself of the ghost, and he was asking something else. This accord was new and uncertain. Not to mention intermittent. But someone had to go first. “Maybe,” I said.

“Maybe I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled, very slightly, and I realized that we’d stopped crashing into things. His grip had lightened until his fingers tickled my ribs, and my hand rested, feather light, in his. Which somehow felt like a stronger connection than the death grip we’d had earlier.

“Your cousin,” he began, and I braced myself, “she can really do what she says?”

God, I hated point-blank questions. I hated that he asked one now, in this moment, when I didn’t want to lie to him, even by twisting my words.

“She can do what she says. I could show you Phin’s pictures of psychic energy, or I could show you how Aunt Hyacinth’s cream healed my scratches. But you won’t believe me unless … well, unless you believe.”

Our steps had slowed, until we stood at the edge of the floor, not really dancing at all. He opened our linked hands, keeping the fingers joined, but showing my palm, which had been raw and red from climbing the rope the night before, but was now, at most, pink. Then he turned me under our arms, twirling me like a ballerina, but slowly. The back of my sundress wasn’t low, but it showed that the scratches from my fall were far more healed than twenty-four hours could account for.

“Unbelievable.”

I sighed and completed the slow spin. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“You take this completely in stride. How do you do that?”

“I’ve lived with it my whole life.” I shrugged.

Wariness—the first hint of it—crept into his expression. “So what do you do?”

I stepped back, knowing the moment was over. “I hold it all together.”