Welcome to the Punkhorns (Shepard & Kelly Book 1) Page 7

  Delaney paused before responding. “To me, our best bet is to keep searching the surrounding areas of the pond, which includes the trail that Aaron Sun was last seen on. We’ll need to assemble a team of volunteers to make sure that we can cover every inch. We’ve got maybe eight hours of daylight left, so we need to act fast. Maybe call the Fire Department volunteers.”

  Ann was impressed by the young woman’s confidence and command. “I think that’s a great plan, Detective,” Ann said.

  “I’m on board with that as well. If we don’t find any signs around the pond, are you able to find room in the budget for us to drag it? We had divers heading in soon but they’re not experts, just locals who have scuba gear and time to spare. We’ll need to do a more thorough search than whatever the imaging device on loan from Hyannis provides,” the chief said.

  “We’ll find room, Frank. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to a cadaver search,” Peter said as he stood. “I think we also need to consider the other angle here.”

  Ann was surprised that Peter was bringing up the lore of the land to these two. She’d assumed he shrugged all of the history that Sally had shared but it seemed something struck a chord. “I agree, this will start a wildfire of gossip and fear in town,” Ann did her best to prompt Peter to elaborate.

  “The other angle? The urban legend nonsense?” Chief Slimmer looked less than enthused. “I don’t, I mean-”

  “I’m not saying it’s entirely on you here. We’ll see if we can find somebody in town with expertise that lends itself to these sorts of events. You and Detective Shepard here keep working the search. We’ll hope that turns up an explainable result. But I would be doing the town a disservice if I didn’t push to explore the, well, unexplainable,” Peter stood as he spoke, indicating to the visitors that it was time to get down to work.

  As he ushered them out the door with reminders to keep him in the loop, Ann walked to the study and searched through the bookshelves. In moments such as this, Ann kicked herself for color-coding the books and not using a more logical system. Her hands danced along the spines of the white covers, then the red and finally to the orange. She pulled one from the stack and carried it to the kitchen.

  Peter was pouring himself a cup of coffee when she joined him. “I’ve got an idea,” Ann said.

  Peter turned and faced her; his face had lost even more color since the police had left. “I’m open to any and all at this point.”

  Ann placed the book she’d chosen on the kitchen counter face up so Peter could see it and then flipped to the “About the Author” page. “We had this young man in for a reading a few years back. He’s based in Boston. Seems exactly like what we need,” Ann reassured him.

  “What in the world is a Supernatural Private Investigator?” Peter looked back up at Ann and understood she was serious. “You want me to hire this… Casper Kelly character?”

  “He’s well-known in the region for solving some pretty big cases. Usual result is that it’s explainable, and not just something supernatural. Which, if you ask me, is the best result that we could hope for.”

  Ann could sense Peter’s hesitancy as he flipped through pages in the book. “Did I mention that he’s probably cheap?” she said.

  That grabbed Peter’s attention. He closed the book and tossed it back on the counter. “You really think it’s my best move?”

  “I’m not the Mayor, so take this as you will, but I’d hire him in a heartbeat. You’d please the folks that are spooked out and most of the skeptics will brush it off nonsense. Seems like a win-win to me,” Ann said.

  Peter walked over and hugged his wife. Ann could feel his long arms around her back, gently squeezing her close. He whispered in her ear as they embraced. “If you think it’s our best shot, I’ll call him right now.”

  TWELVE

  Monday, August 6th

  Delaney sat stock-still with her gaze fixed on the shabby brown tile floor of the Brewster Police Station. She’d relied on a similar technique to zone out in the past when a case didn’t make sense. The bleak, drab color of the floor somehow helped numb her surroundings and allowed her to focus on the facts of the case. This time, however, her focus was broken by the clatter of clumsy footsteps approaching her desk. When she looked up, she saw the chief had parked himself in a chair with uneven wheels beside a stack of messy papers on her desk. He fumbled awkwardly in the tiny chair, trying to get his body into a position where the chair wouldn’t tip under his weight.

  “What’s our move here, Chief?” Delaney asked.

  “Well, first off, I want to thank you for your discretion with the mayor. You handled that like a veteran, and I think it made a lasting impression on him.”

  Delaney nodded but averted her eyes to avoid making eye contact with her supervisor. She had never been comfortable taking compliments or positive feedback; but she tried to crack a smile to let the chief know she appreciated the kind words.

  “Let’s run this down. Give me a basic outline, Shep.”

  “Chief, you know the facts as well as I do—”

  “Always a good exercise. Lay it all out there. So?”

  Delaney sighed and looked up at Slimmer. “Okay. Melanie Strong and Grace Lee both went missing from Seymour Pond just past 9 AM. Aaron Sun was running in the Punkhorns with a friend around the same time and he’s also gone.”

  “Anything that connects the three of them?”

  “Well, Grace and Melanie were both protesting against Baxter Construction. As far as we can tell, Aaron doesn’t have any connection.”

  “Besides the obvious one. Location.”

  “Sure. That’s the only clear link for all three. They all went missing in or around the Punkhorns.”

  “Any leads or suspects?”

  “Not much. We’ve got the overzealous BJ Baxter, who keeps popping up and would clearly benefit from quieting the protestors.”

  “But he’s also got the contract in hand. Why screw up a good thing by committing homicide?”

  “Well, for starters, I don’t feel comfortable calling this anything besides a missing persons case at this point, Chief. I get where your head is at and I’ll be there soon. For now, I’m still optimistic. But to your point, I agree. Baxter’s motive is weak. The only thing I’d note is that he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.”

  “Well, yeah, but he’s definitely a tool,” a voice from behind them caused both Delaney and Slimmer to turn. Officer Ruiz stood with his hands on his hips and a grin covering his face.

  “Ruiz, we were just running down the case. Anything to add?” Slimmer asked.

  “Nothing you don’t already know. But Delaney, your buddy is in interrogation room B. He may need a few minutes to calm down but he came willingly.”

  “Thanks, Ruiz,” Delaney said. She saw the perplexed look on Slimmer’s face and elaborated. “I had Ruiz bring in our strongest suspect at the moment.”

  Slimmer groaned. “That asshole. He’s not smart enough to take out three people at once, let alone one.”

  Delaney stood. “Gotta check all our boxes, right? Let’s go see what Morris Hanifin’s alibi is this time.”

  Ruiz handed Delaney a thick file folder outside the interrogation room, but she didn’t need to open it to know Morris Hanifin’s backstory. He was Brewster’s resident crook. Typically, Morris stuck to breaking and entering or crashing a wedding on the beach. Last summer, he had stepped into a new realm when he robbed Kate’s Seafood’s roadside stand off 6A with a pistol. The terrified cashier handed over the cash but couldn’t give an accurate description to the police when they arrived. Morris had that effect on people; he struck fear in the entire town. The entire town, that is, besides the police department.

  Delaney had taken advantage of a lull in cases to focus her time on bringing Morris Hanifin down, but nothing stuck. He was instead left as a thorn in her side that she wanted to remove permanently. She hoped that he was dumb enough to leave a trail of breadcrumbs that could allow her to prove
he was part of this mess.

  Hanifin was sitting back in his chair with his arms crossed across his chest when Delaney entered the interrogation room.

  “Ah, Detective. We meet again,” he said with a smirk.

  “Mr. Hanifin, thanks for coming in today. Do you know what this is about?”

  “Your buddy who brought me in wouldn’t say, but I have a feeling it’s something to do with those poor missing people.” He faked a pouting bottom lip.

  “That’s right. Did you have anything to do with that?” Delaney said, cutting to the chase. She had no time for bullshit and games when there were lives hanging in the balance.

  His smirk turned into a scowl. “No foreplay? Just diving right in. I like it. I do. But no. I’ve got nothing to do with no missing people. I’m a good citizen, remember?”

  “I have a hard time remembering that, for some reason.”

  “Well, I hope you can find them, or their bodies at least. Shame to see such youth taken from this world,” Hanifin said, and stood to leave. “Tragic. Truly.”

  “Can I ask two more questions, Mr. Hanifin?”

  “Is one of them if I’m free for dinner? Because the answer is yes for you, dear.” He winked at her but kept his distance.

  Delaney, as she had done far too many times before, brushed off the unwanted advance and pushed on. “Why were you cussing and spitting at protestors on Sunday afternoon around 2 PM? Witnesses place you just off Massasoit Trail near the Baxter Construction site.”

  “I don’t remember where I was Sunday, but I have no interest in protesting anything. You said witnesses saw me?”

  “I personally saw your truck. Matched the plates to the registration. Others say they saw you driving.”

  “Ah, I loan my truck out all the time. Folks need it to drive over to the dump off Run Hill Road to drop their trash and recycling off. I leave the keys in the ignition.”

  Delaney made note of this as Morris moved toward the door. “One last question, Mr. Hanifin. If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Where were you around eleven in the morning?”

  “At the Brewster Store chatting with my girl, Betsy Ryan. Far away from your little crime scene.”

  “We’ll follow up on that if you don’t mind.”

  Morris turned the handle of the interrogation room door and smirked at Delaney. “Don’t mind one bit. I’ll see myself out now. I think I know the way.”

  Chief Slimmer entered the room a minute later, and Delaney pulled her head out of her hands to look at him.

  “Okay, so he’s got an alibi. An easy one to check. I’ve already put Ruiz on it.”

  “Thanks, Chief. It’s just, well, I was hoping he was our guy. He’s the only strong suspect we’ve got at the moment. Now we’re back to Baxter or something supernatural. I don’t like our odds. The clock is working against us here.”

  “Well, I just got word from the Mayor that he’s bringing in a consultant to help us out with that last possibility.”

  “The supernatural? Did he call the Ghostbusters or something?”

  “Pretty much. PI with a specialist in this kind of event from Boston. Should be here by midday. I’m having you take the lead on getting him up to speed on this case.”

  Delaney let out an audible groan. The prospect of having to corral some weird, in-touch-with-the-spirit-world, ghost whisperer was far from appealing. She lowered her forehead onto the cool wooden table in front of her.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes, sir!’”

  Delaney’s voice was muffled against the top of the desk. “Yes, sir.”

  “And Shep? Play nice.”

  THIRTEEN

  Tuesday, August 7th

  Union Square inconveniently sits just between the Porter and Harvard stops of the red line of the MBTA in Somerville. Residents are left to decide between the two stations if they need easy transport into Boston and don’t have the patience to wait around for a bus that may never show up. The neighborhood, infamous for the creation of Marshmallow fluff for sandwiches, lagged behind others in Somerville as they became trendy and ideal for an influx of young professionals eager to escape sky-high Boston rents.

  Hoagie sat on a folded towel in the corner next to his plush, comfortable bed. No matter how close Casper moved the bed to the couch, Hoagie insisted on sitting at Casper’s feet while he watched TV or tried to read a book. Writing hadn’t quite been an option lately with the staggering decline in relevant work. He had considered fiction but knew he wasn’t much of a storyteller.

  “Maybe I’ll write a story about you, Hoag!” Casper said while he scratched Hoagie’s head. “I could call it, Hoagie the Hero!” Casper chuckled to himself. “Get it, Hoag? Like the sandwich?”

  The sad realization that Hoagie had, in fact, no idea what a sandwich was, or that he was named after one, dawned on Casper with a crippling sadness. The feeling, however, was entirely erased as Hoagie jumped, lowered his front paws with his back hips wiggling up in the air. It was playtime.

  Casper heard his phone vibrate and ignored it. He had worked yesterday morning and now it was Hoagie time. Yesterday’s was only a small job, overseeing the blessing of a new property being built up in Saugus. He had used that paycheck to pay his cable bill for once. Some people just like the assurances that his services can provide, almost like he was the equivalent of an organic certification on fruit. Yup, no ghosts. You’re right as rain! Enjoy your home. Since it reactivated, he’d barely turned the TV off. He even slept with the TV switched on so he could fall asleep to reruns of Seinfeld and Law and Order. The phone vibrated again.

  With a grunt, Casper reached across the twin bed and pulled his phone off the charger. The damned iPhone was six years old now and barely went an hour without needing to be plugged into a charger. He saw that a Massachusetts area code was calling but didn’t recognize the number. He let it go to voicemail. Within seconds after pressing “Ignore,” the phone rang again. Casper did a quick inventory of the overdue bills he had and attempted to make an educated guess which of the lovely utility companies were calling today. He answered.

  “Uh, yes, hello. Is this Casper Kelly? The private investigator?” The voice was gruff and grating. Casper assumed it was an older man.

  “Yes, that’s me. May I ask who’s calling?” Casper was used to the creative techniques that these collection agencies used to get the ball rolling.

  “I’m Peter Peck. I’m the Mayor of a town out on Cape Cod. Brewster. You did a book signing at the library here?”

  “Sure, seems familiar. A lot of those places tend to run together though.”

  “Okay, well, either way, we’d like to have you out here and see if you’d be able to help us,” Mayor Peck continued. “We’ve got some unusual activity out here and need to resolve it as quickly as possible. It’s, well, it’s apparently up your alley. You are an expert in ghosts and legends and such? Somebody I trust suggested your name.”

  The thought of a referral made Casper smile. “I’d be willing to give it a go. What’s going on?”

  “I’ll happily fill you in when you’re here, but we’ve had three people go missing in the same few moments, in the same place.”

  “Is this place significant?” Casper’s interest was piqued.

  “It’s not insignificant if that makes any sense. There’s a lot of stories about the place being haunted. It’s called the Punkhorns.”

  The name Punkhorns struck a nerve, but Casper pressed on. “Alright, well, what’s your budget like?” Casper knew he’d accept almost any number that was thrown back his way.

  “Well, we can pay you a small fee if you come out for the day and a larger fee if this gets resolved. Nothing substantial. If you decide to stay, we can put you up for free and take care of meals and such.”

  “Gas, too?” Casper was always amazed that these folks never considered the incredible sums of money that disappeared into his gas tank as he drove around the East Coast.

  �
��Gas too. Just, can you come today? Now?” His voice cracked as he spoke. Desperation was always a PI’s friend.

  “Mind if my canine sidekick tags along?”

  “No issues there. So, are you in?”

  “Sure, text me an address to meet you for lunch and I’ll be out there in two hours.” Casper had planned to do laundry but figured he could swing one day’s worth of clothing out of the dirty hamper. As he hung up and waited for the destination address, he thought through the questions he wished he’d asked before accepting. He always worried that his eagerness was going to work against him on one of these jobs. This could be the one.

  Casper tossed some clothes and a few days’ worth of Hoagie’s food in a duffel bag that had seen better days. He whistled for Hoagie and he came running, his paws sliding on the hardwood floor as he tried to stop in front of the door. Casper clipped Hoagie into his blue harness and attached the leash. As he slung his bag over his one shoulder, Hoagie pulled with all of his might toward a squirrel just outside the front door. Casper shifted his weight back and locked the front door behind him.

  “Hoagie, I don’t think you’ve ever been to the beach. Have you?”

  Hoagie’s trot picked up in pace as they left the quiet side street and approached Casper’s car.

  “Yeah, me neither. Well, let’s hope we get some time for you to frolic in the sand before we head home. After all, I’m not sure what we’re getting ourselves into this with this case.”

  FOURTEEN

  Tuesday, August 7th

  “Go ahead, Mr. Mayor, you have me and Mr. Baxter on the line,” Rachel spoke directly into the bottom of her iPhone. BJ stood close by, listening intently to the Mayor’s every word. They were both huddled behind a massive Caterpillar front loader to block the continuous wind blowing out of the Punkhorns. BJ had insisted they check on the equipment after the earlier incident with the protesters.

  “We’re going to need to put a big pause on construction after the incidents at the pond and the trails yesterday. I have my best people from the police force working to conduct a thorough perimeter search, and combing through the trails for any signs.” The mayor’s tone was direct and flat. Rachel still thought he sounded worried.