Welcome to the Punkhorns (Shepard & Kelly Book 1) Page 8

  “Unacceptable. We have a deal; it’s written in ink. Good luck taking that one to court, Mr. Mayor,” BJ barked back into the phone. His shouting made Rachel flinch. She could smell the tuna sandwich he had for lunch on his breath.

  “Look, this isn’t ideal for us either. There’s just no way around this. I had our counsel file an emergency hold on the land, and that should be in place until we can wrap this up. Ideally, we find them holed up at home or limping out of the woods with a broken ankle.”

  Rachel was horrified. “What are you doing to find them?”

  “We had a team of volunteers head out in two waves: some on kayaks and others with scuba gear looking below the surface. We’re getting some equipment on loan from neighboring cities and have begun our grid search of the land around the pond. I can assure you; we’re doing our very best to get this resolved as soon as possible. We just need some time.”

  “Look, I fully believe that my lawyers are more powerful and persistent than yours in this rinky-dink little town of yours. This is a done deal. We’re starting construction on Saturday, as planned,” BJ said matter-of-factly. Rachel had wondered when the ripple effects of the drownings and missing people would come back and throw a wrench in their plans. Moreover, she was worried about the victims.

  “Mr. Baxter, I respect that you want to move this along. Truly. Nobody wants this to be over more than I do. I mean that. You’re more than welcome to help us with the search if you want to expedite things. The sooner we have the area scoured for clues, the sooner it will be yours,” the mayor said.

  “When?” Baxter replied.

  “When could we use your help to search?”

  “No, when will you be done with my land?” BJ growled. “You have until Saturday at 8 am to figure this out, Mr. Mayor, or maybe we take a chunk of our fee back from your dried-up little bank account.”

  “I’ll circle back on Friday and give you an update. In the meantime, if either of you wants to help-” The mayor’s last sentence was cut off as BJ hit END and hung up the call.

  “Why’d you do that, BJ? He was just going to share how we could help,” Rachel said.

  “I don’t want to help. Baxter Construction does not help. We build. Simple as that,” Baxter retorted.

  “Well, I’d like to help. Those poor families...”

  “Rachel, I don’t want to mix words here,” Baxter said. “If you help the police, you’re fired. I won’t have anybody on my staff parading around town supporting their attempts to delay the inevitable.”

  “I think you mean mince words and no, that won’t work for me. Sorry, BJ. I’m a citizen in my off-hours and I have every right to help. If you want to take action, I’m more than happy to loop your father in to see what old Bart thinks about you firing a respected employee for helping search for missing persons,” Rachel spoke without taking a breath.

  Baxter scoffed and then stepped away towards his Jeep. “I’ll find a way to make sure we move forward on Saturday. You just make sure nobody is trespassing on my site taking my equipment. I’m having O’Toole come out from Boston to lead the site. He should be here by Wednesday evening.”

  Rachel didn’t mind Mark O’Toole and was grateful to be relieved of babysitting duty. Nobody was going to walk off with a bunch of heavy machinery without the whole town noticing. Still, she knew that if she left the site for even a moment, Baxter would be on her like a hawk. Vulture may be a better fit, actually.

  Rachel opened the call log on her phone and redialed the mayor.

  When he answered, she spoke firmly and confidently. “Mr. Mayor, it’s Rachel Spokes. I’d like to help in any way I can.”

  FIFTEEN

  Tuesday, August 7th

  Casper’s eyes lit up when he heard his car start on the first try, considering the fuel gauge had been on E for a week. He willed the car down Somerville Ave and into the Cumberland Farms station across from Conway Park. The park had been closed to the public for nearly two years after some bacteria outbreak infected twelve children. Casper had emailed the town multiple times in an attempt to sell the epidemic as a paranormal event but didn’t get any traction.

  Hoagie sniffed through a cracked-open window as Casper pulled out his wallet and inserted his worn Mastercard. He’d felt comfortable using the card since he knew there was at least a small amount of cash coming his way from this Brewster job. He wondered if he should have pushed for a higher rate on the phone, but figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

  Let sleeping dogs lie. What a silly proverb. Casper heard the pump click and turned his car on to see that it was full. He snagged the receipt from the feed and inserted it into his brown leather wallet, safe and sound for whenever the Brewster Mayor coughed up the paycheck. As he coasted up towards Assembly Square, he fumbled with the radio but quickly opted for a podcast instead. He chose the latest episode of Reply All between glances up at the traffic ahead of him. After a long pause at the red light by the Somerville Library, Casper hopped onto 93 South and settled in for the long crawl through the city limits and southbound towards the Cape.

  Reply All was discussing an internet meme that was well outside Casper’s limited knowledge of the web. Still, he found solace in the witty banter between the hosts. The partnership they had made him yearn for one of his own. He had never found a partner of any kind; romantic, professional, roommate, anything (that is if you don’t count the thousands of strangers on the r/clasutro subreddit). In his early years, he had felt that was a reflection of the people around him, but as he’d grown older; he realized it was very much a reflection of his selfishness and need for control. More recently, he had realized that Hoagie was a better partner than any human could possibly be.

  Bumper-to-bumper traffic finally cleared once he hit North Quincy, and it was smooth sailing down until he met the turnoff for the Sagamore Bridge. The four-lane bridge passed over the Cape Cod Canal and was one of two main entryways that led to the hook-shaped landmass that was the Cape. Casper had missed a turn on his previous trip out, and the voyage over the Bourne Bridge added an extra twenty minutes to his trip.

  The scenery from the highway was limited as Casper crossed over the bridge and onto the Cape. Hoagie sniffed at the salty air that snuck in through the cracked window next to him. He could recall from his book tour that, although he was sandwiched between two pristine beaches on both sides, the highway continued forth as if there was nothing to see. The tour had been frantic and over-scheduled, so he had barely escaped to see the ocean once, let alone enjoy all that the Cape had to offer. He considered that this trip may yield a bit more downtime and a trip to the beach was overdue.

  The turnoff for Brewster came, and he wound through neighborhood streets as his GPS guided him towards the Brewster Coffee Shop. Casper couldn’t help but notice that most of the shops in town weren’t too outlandish in their naming conventions. There was the Brewster Store, Brewster Scoop, and so on. The simplicity of a small town appealed to Casper, who had spent many nights paralyzed by the brightly lit restaurant signs that lined the city streets of Boston.

  The parking lot was a mix of gravel and broken seashells, which cracked into smaller pieces as Casper steered over them and into a vacant spot. He surveyed the outdoor tables and saw a tall man in a suit sitting alone. As Casper approached, the man stood and nodded. Hoagie burst out towards the table with a rush of energy that often followed an hours-long car ride. Casper was relieved to see the Mayor bend over and take Hoagie’s friendly licks as a welcome greeting.

  One advantage of bringing a dog as a sidekick meant that meetings typically were held outdoors. Hoagie had a lot of benefits, but at this moment, Casper was most grateful for that one. He didn’t have to survey the cramped restaurant interior to memorize the exits. Instead, he could just plop himself down in the rickety chair that sat across from the Mayor.

  “Casper. Great to meet you. I’m Peter Peck,” the gray-haired man said.

  “Likewise, Mr. Mayor. I don’t remember seein
g you at the book reading, but I apologize if we’ve met. It’s been a few years.”

  “No, sorry, my wife. Ann. She helped set up the reading and was the one who passed along your name. I glanced at your photo in the book jacket before coming so I’d know who to look for,” the Mayor began. “Please, sit, can I grab you a sandwich or a coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great, sir. Black,” Casper said. Hoagie let out a groan as if he could understand the conversation. “And could I get some water for Hoagie?”

  The Mayor frowned and looked around the outdoor seating area. “Trust me; you’ll want some cream or sugar in this junk. It’s basically sludge. The water is A+, though,” he said and winked at Hoagie.

  “Cream it is,” Casper chuckled. The Mayor waved over the waitress and ordered. He greeted her by her first name, and Casper wondered if that indicated that the town was a tight-knit community or if a good memory was a political skill that came with years of experience. He settled on both being true.

  “Casper, I’m going to be straight with you. We’re in a bit over our head here and need this resolved as soon as we can,” the mayor continued. “What’s the best way to get you up to speed? I have files for you to review but want to get you started myself.”

  Casper pulled out a moleskin notebook and flipped through for an open page. “I’d say it’s best to start at the beginning and we’ll take it from there.”

  The mayor recounted the past few days in detail to Casper. He repeated more than once that most of the background information on the victims and the Punkhorns was in the files. The mayor was more detailed in his background on Baxter and the town’s financial woes that led to the construction company’s involvement.

  At first glance, Casper had a hard time believing this case had any actual supernatural elements. He worried that the truth would surface well before he could earn enough to make the drive out worth his while, but tried not to let his doubts show. The files that sat on the wobbly picnic table were thick and unruly. Casper knew that he should start with the group who had already been digging into the subject.

  “What’s the relationship like with the police? Will they be accommodating to an outside detective?” Casper wondered.

  “I’ve done my best to explain my rationale. Again, I’m not claiming that I believe any of this, but I just know that the fear will permeate if we don’t explore every avenue. Still, there is some resistance on the force. They’re happy to share their files and keep you up to speed, but I wouldn’t expect a fresh-baked pie waiting outside your hotel room,” The mayor said.

  “That works. I’d like to set up a time to speak with them. Mostly to introduce myself and let them see that I’m harmless. Ideally, they can share any clues they found in the search,” Casper said as he scribbled in his notebook.

  “We can set that up.”

  “Great. Then I’d love to speak to the folks that live nearby. How many residences did you say are in the vicinity of this land?”

  “In terms of displaced homes, there are three that accepted offers from Baxter for their land. The houses will be bulldozed towards the end of September, I think. The only real sympathy the company gave was that they would give the homeowners time to pack up and find a new place.”

  “Great. That’ll be my priority after checking in with the police. Can you let them know that I’d like to stop by and talk this afternoon?”

  The Mayor sighed. “Look, I know these people and they’re good people. Salt of the earth. Truly. But I don’t know how they’ll take to somebody with “paranormal” in their title, asking them if they think their property is haunted. So, with that in mind, I’d like to see the interviews happen in tandem with the police. I believe they’re offering up a detective to go along with you.”

  Casper was disinclined to accept the babysitter but knew that the Mayor was probably right. Plus, they hopefully knew Brewster better than anybody else and had a reliable read on the situation. Casper nodded in agreement.

  “I’m still finalizing a room for you while you’re in town. Most of the hotels here are high end, resort-types and are entirely booked out except for a few penthouses, and can’t say I have the budget for that. In the meantime, there’s a standalone apartment in my basement that will work for now. That okay?”

  Casper didn’t mind one way or another, but knew that location would be crucial to the case. “I don’t need much space. Just a place to lay my head and layout some paperwork if this gets to that point. The important part will be the location. How close do you live to The Punkhorns?” Casper said.

  “Just around the corner. Up the road a bit but it’s walkable if you’re looking for a hike.” The mayor stood and extended a hand.

  “That’ll work just fine,” Cooper said as he shook the Mayor’s hand. “I’ll be by after I’m through for the day. Text me your address.”

  “Sounds good,” the mayor said. He stood and brushed off his pants. “Well, “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll just need these files back when the case wraps up.”

  As the mayor walked to his car, Casper flipped open the first of the stacked folders. Through the years, there were always cases that seemed strange and unusual, typically with low stakes and little harm. This story, however, felt like a punch in the gut. It was calamitous and monstrous.

  A small oscillating fan blew a breeze through his thinning blonde hair as he sat and dug into the stack of papers behind each tab. Brewster Police Department appeared to be quite thorough and detailed. Casper could only hope they were open-minded as well.

  A wiry waiter in a pale blue t-shirt and maroon apron approached Casper’s table with an expressionless face. Casper closed the folder and looked up at the man.

  “Can I get you anything?” the waiter asked.

  “No thanks, Ian. Just need to park myself here for a bit to look over some paperwork.”

  The waiter looked dumb-founded. “How the heck did you know my name is Ian?”

  Casper pointed to the man’s nametag without looking up. Ian gave a cackle that filled the empty outdoor seating space.

  “Well, I’ll be. Nice one. I thought we had met before or something. I meet a lot of folks out on the waves, but it’s hard to recognize them with a shirt on,” Ian said, hovering over Casper as read.

  “Nope, just an observant tourist passing through,” Casper responded. He closed one folder and opened the next.

  “You can’t be a tourist. What kind of tourist meets with the mayor when they come to town?”

  “He was just here to meet my dog. The dog’s a local celebrity. Saved a child from a burning building.”

  “No shit. That’s impressive!” Ian chortled. “But I know who you are now. I’ve heard about you.”

  “None of its true.”

  Ian giggled. “You’re a rare breed. You’re the ghost dude, right? Here to figure out what’s going on in the Punkhorns.”

  Casper nodded.

  “Dang! See, I knew it. So, are those files about the ghosts or what?” Ian continued, either ignoring or missing the hint.

  “I can’t really say much, Ian. Sorry, I’m sure you understand,” Casper said. “Mind if I have a few minutes alone to dig in here? I’ll wave if I need anything or decide to head off.”

  The hint to buzz off hung in the air like a bee next to a sunflower. Casper waited for it to land, but his patience grew thin. “Mind if I have a little privacy?”

  Ian chuckled so hard Casper could see his back molars. “You bet! Well, good luck with all that. I’ll just be over there if you need me.”

  Ian jogged over toward the kitchen with a hitch in his step. Casper put his head down and tried and soak up the details of the case that seemed to loom over the entire town. Casper knew Ian was ultimately not that far off, nor was he the last skeptic that Casper would run into while working the case.

  Casper was all too familiar with the skepticism and hostility that his profession could cause in small communities. Hell, Casper was a massive skeptic himself. He
had trouble convincing the world of that and had decided it was better off for business if he just let the reputation live on as it was.

  Casper Kelly didn’t believe in ghosts, ghouls, spirits, or any of the sort, but he had neglected to add that to his website or business card. Regardless, it was what made him such a competent investigator of the supernatural. He knew deep down that there was always an explanation. He also knew deep down that he was basically a modern-day Scooby-Doo, unmasking hooligans and mysterious circumstances that others chalked up to the paranormal. Well, maybe Hoagie was Scooby. Does that make me Shaggy or Fred? Crap. I can’t pull off a white sweater!

  Regardless, he was just missing the Mystery Machine. And the endless line of haunts and spooky stories that needed his attention. Oh yeah, and the team to back him up.

  SIXTEEN

  Tuesday, August 7th

  “Stick with your group and stay within your quadrant.” The firefighter leading the search operations had sunken eyes but once she saw the tattoo just up under his right sleeve Rachel instinctively wondered if he was single. “These are the three folks we’re looking for. Depending on your quadrant, you may be solely focused on one victim. Remember, they will likely be injured, incapacitated, or unconscious. Alert your group leader if you find anything at all.” He gestured towards a shaky bulletin board holding three photos.

  Rachel’s eyes were drawn to the photo labeled “Melanie Strong.” It might as well have been her twin. Rachel had felt the glances from the thick crowd of volunteers while they’d walked through each victim and what they were last wearing. She froze at the thought of how scared she’d be if she was lost, injured, and alone somewhere. As she shook her head of the image and back to reality, she could smell the pines in the winds that filled the air. She came back to attention when her group leader stood in front of them with further instructions.