If Catfish Had Nine Lives (Country Cooking School Mystery) (11 page)

“I hope so.”

“I wish I knew what you two were talking about,” Jake said.

“Jerome discovered Astin’s remains when he was alive—when Jerome was alive,” I said.

Jake’s eyes opened so widely and lit so brightly that I almost thought Santa himself had come into the room.

“Well,” I amended, “he’s not exactly sure where they are. He’s trying to remember the details.”

“Oh.” Jake deflated.

“Excuse me, Isabelle. I need to go,” Jerome said before he disappeared.

“Uh,” I said, but he left so quickly. “He’s gone.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll get more details, but he left right before I could get to the good stuff.”

“So far, you’ve had some pretty good stuff. I’m ready for more,” I said.

“Happy to oblige. It’s about the other ghost and the letter you need to deliver.”

He rummaged around some more and pulled out two small pieces of paper.

“I took some notes to better explain this,” he said as he laid the papers out on the table in front of me. “It’s not much, but it’ll take you right to the person I think you need to see.”

“Great. Show me.”

“Okay, the letter was to Elaine and Frederick Morrison, from her brother, Isaac.”

“Right.”

“Elaine and Frederick were both killed in a house fire when they were very old—that’s just an interesting tidbit and has nothing to do with the letter. Anyway, they had three children, two of whom died in childbirth.”

“Good grief,” I said.

“I know, but that’s what people did back then—lots of dying.”

I’d heard that recently.

“But one child must have lived if you have something.”

“Yes, their daughter Ashley lived to be very old; died in her sleep. She had twelve children. All of them lived to be pretty old, too.”

“See, not everybody died all the time.”

“With those twelve, I had twelve avenues to search, but I chose to start with only a couple. Her son Elroy didn’t take me anywhere; not much of a record of his life. But her daughter Jenny took me to something pretty good.”

I nodded to prod him along.

“I’ll skip over her kids’ names and go right to her grandson. It’s Jim. Jim Morrison.”

“The police chief?”

“The one and only.”

“Cliff’s boss?”

“Yep. Why? Is that a problem?”

“I don’t know. It might be. Probably not. The ghosts have caused him more trouble than he’ll ever realize, of course. I’ll just have to figure out how to handle it appropriately.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got me.” He tapped his chest. “I’ll do it.”

I hadn’t even thought of asking Jake to be our messenger, but it made sense. Jake could say or do anything regarding a historical aspect of Broken Rope, and he’d be quickly and easily believed.

“That’s a great idea. Let me call Gram,” I said as I pulled out my cell and dialed.

The crowd inside the jail was an eclectic one, though two of the members were invisible to everyone but me and Gram.

Jim and Cliff were both there, each of them seated in their own desk chairs. I didn’t recognize the person who was lounging in the back cell, but a quick tête-à-tête with Cliff assured me that the old man had nothing to do with the murder.

The two police officers had been surprised to see Jake and me enter the building. They’d both been huddled over something on their desks, and seemed hesitant about a conversation regarding something other than the police matters they were investigating, but we told them we could be brief.

Gram joined us a few minutes later. So did Joe and his horse. Gram had explained to me that the two ghosts had wanted to be present when the messages were delivered, no matter how or where they were delivered. She claimed they’d been in even more cramped locations than the jail lobby.

Of course, Jim, Cliff, and Jake couldn’t see Joe and his horse, but Gram and I could. They didn’t seem to bother her at all as they filled up the space in the front of the jail, the area with a wall covered in handcuffs and a cuckoo clock that chirped every fifteen minutes. They couldn’t cause any trouble, but their presence made me slightly claustrophobic.

“Miz, what’re you doing here?” Jim asked when she came in. “I thought this was just about something Jake found.”

“I was curious.” Gram shrugged. She sounded fairly convincing as she smoothed her NC State T-shirt.

“Okay,” Jim said, not as convincingly.

“Thanks for taking the time,” Jake said as he scooted a chair to the other side of Jim’s desk.

Jim scratched his head and pasted patience onto his face.

“What do you have, Jake?”

“Well, every now and then I come across something that turns out to be such a gem. I can’t help but research everything to death, you know that.”

“I do.”

“Well, my research led me to you this time, and I thought you might want to know about it.”

Jake unfolded a piece of parchment paper. He, Joe, and I had done what Gram told me that she had done—reconstructed the letter. Jake had the parchment and he was quick with calligraphy-like writing, so it was easy for him to create a quick and dirty forgery. He didn’t think Jim would pay the least bit of attention to its validity. He seemed to be right. Jim sent the paper only a cursory glance. He might ask to look at it more closely after it was read, but Jake was ready with a lie if need be. He’d tell Jim that his documents were too delicate for more than him to touch them, but he’d be happy to get him a copy later.

“Oh . . .” I said as the horse’s head came over the low gate that bordered the front lobby. The animal sniffed at Jim’s head. I had the urge to apologize for its intrusive behavior, but of course Jim had no idea that a horse’s nose was next to his ear. Could the ghost horse smell things?

“What?” everyone asked aloud—or just looked my direction with questioning eyes.

“Nothing. Sorry.” I looked at Gram, who winked at me.

“Okay, well, anyway,” Jake said, “I found this letter, and it led me to you, Jim.”

“I got that. What’s it say?”

“This is a letter written to your great-great-grandmother. It’s from her brother, Isaac. I don’t think she ever received it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I found it with some other letters that were part of a group of letters that never got delivered. They were supposed to arrive in Broken Rope via the Pony Express, but something must have happened.”

“Sounds feasible,” Jim said, and true to our prediction, he didn’t push for deeper answers.

Jake cleared his throat and read the letter. I watched Jim. I watched Joe and his horse. The ghosts were mostly unmoving—in the stillest way a horse could be, I supposed. But Jim’s stern features surprisingly transformed. He’d been sitting back with his arms crossed in front of his chest, but he relaxed as Jake read. He sat forward and placed his arms on his desk. His crinkled forehead remained crinkled, but the crinkles became more curious than impatient.

Jake finished the letter and folded the parchment. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I shrugged. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen next either. Nothing had changed. The ghosts were the same, and Gram had started to inspect her fingernails.

“I see,” Jim finally said after a long moment. “That’s very interesting, Jake.”

“It is? I mean, yes, I agree that it’s interesting, but I’d love to know more. Have you ever heard anything about these people?”

“I have, in fact.”

That got everyone’s attention, including Gram’s. She looked up from her fingers.

Jim smiled and then laughed a tiny bit—nothing jovial. Ironic, maybe.

“Everyone wondered what happened to him. Isaac became the family story. No one knew that he might have traveled east to fight in the war, or even considered it. I guess if that letter had been received they would have at least known he was thinking about it, but the communication just stopped—long before that letter. He was labeled ‘the coward’ because he never wrote home and, as far as anyone knew, never went back to Georgia. Sadly, he became an embarrassment. Shoot, maybe he did fight in the war after all. No matter what, he must have died shortly after sending that letter.”

“No one heard when he died, or where?” I said.

“Don’t think so.”

“I gotta say, I think it’s kind of amazing that you even know about him,” I said.

“Some stories fade but don’t die, I suppose.” Jim smiled. “My dad would have loved to read that letter. He spent a few years trying to track down what happened to Isaac.”

“I wish I would have found it sooner,” Jake said.

“It’s just good to know it existed. At least he tried to let people know what he was thinking and that he might not make it home. Gosh, Jake, when you find these things, do you ever wonder how different life might be for lots of people if things never got lost or miscommunicated?”

“All the time, Jim.”

“I bet.”

I looked at the ghosts and at Gram. Still, nothing changed. No one behaved differently, but I didn’t know if they were supposed to. We hadn’t discussed it that much.

“Jim,” I said because I wanted to stall a little longer, just in case. “What do you think this will mean to your family now?”

Jim blinked. “Just the knowledge changes everything a little. I doubt it will do much to transform our lives, but there’s a long history of not having an answer, of being embarrassed. Answers are good. Now the stories that are passed down have more satisfaction and less negativity attached to them. We didn’t know what happened to him, but now we have some idea that he tried to communicate.” He laughed. “It’s like there’s a punch line, a twist to the story, a happier ending. That’ll be fun.”

“I like that,” I said.

Jake looked at me as if to ask what he should do next. I didn’t know, so I looked at Gram. Jim decided for us.

“That all?” he said.

“I believe so,” Jake said.

“Well, we need to get back to it, then,” Jim said. He’d had his moment of sentiment.

“Got it.” Jake stood. Gram and I followed suit, and then she and I paraded out of the jail as Jake carefully refolded the fake letter, keeping the act going. Cliff and I shared a glance, but it was clear that he didn’t feel like he could take the time to talk to me privately or give me any new details. Hopefully later.

“Well, should we check out the next letter? We still have time,” Gram said as she and I stood outside on the boardwalk. Joe and the horse were now in the middle of the street. “We can move to Jake’s archives. Joe, come on, bring the horse.”

“So, that was it?” I said. “Was something else supposed to happen?”

“Nope. Just moving on to the next letter.”

“That’s a bit disappointing.”

“I do think we’re getting closer to something happening though. Come on, let’s get into Jake’s.”

Gram led the way across the street. Joe and the horse followed her.

Jake was the last one out of the jail, and he stopped next to me as he watched Gram.

“Did that do what it was supposed to do?” he asked.

“Nothing happened, but I think so. I think all the letters have to be delivered before the ‘big thing’ happens. Gram wants to read the next one. She and the ghosts are going to your archives.”

“I wish I could see that horse. Come on. I’d like to hear about the next letter.”

The horse’s big body in the back room made me uncomfortable, so I asked if we could leave him in the front. I was certain the animal agreed with my plan as he focused his brown eyes on me. He blinked his long, mostly transparent lashes and briefly lifted one side of his mouth. Was he really trying to communicate something? Unless he started tapping Morse code with his hooves, I would probably never know. I doubted that even in their ghostly form could animals master a spoken language. I nodded at him just in case, though. At least he should know I was aware of his attempts at communication.

“Two more, Miz,” Joe said with a bright smile. “Two more and I think everything will be taken care of.”

Taken care of?

Joe reached into the
mochila
, but stopped cold when he saw something on Jake’s table. I moved so I could see what had had such an effect. Joe was looking at Jake’s picture of Astin Reagal.

“Who . . . who’s this?” Joe said.

“Jake, Joe sees the picture of Astin. He’d like to know more about him. He’s standing right about here.” I pointed at Joe.

“There’s a chance you knew him, Joe. He was a Pony Express rider, too. His name was Astin Reagal. He disappeared on the trail.”

“I know,” Joe said.

“He knows,” I said to Jake. “How do you know? Did you know him?” I said to Joe.

Joe shook his head slowly as if to clear out some cobwebs. “I . . .” He looked up at Gram.

“What is it, Joe?” she asked.

“I knew him,” Joe repeated.

“Right. How?” Gram asked as she peered at the picture through some reading glasses she’d put on.

“I don’t think I should tell you,” Joe said. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Joe shook his head some more.

Gram sighed. “Okay, but when?”

“Let’s get the last two letters delivered, and then I’ll tell you.”

Gram looked at me and Jake. “Okay.”

“Jake,” I said. “Joe somehow knew Astin but he doesn’t think he should tell us how until we get the last two letters delivered.”

Jake blinked. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

That was the first I’d ever heard Jake say something less than flattering about the ghosts.

“I know, but it’s how they work,” I said.

I wanted to protest, I wanted to bargain; I even wanted to threaten not to look at one other letter until Joe told us how he knew Astin. But it would have done absolutely no good. I would have made a ruckus and then Gram would have calmed me down and told me to go ahead and read the next letter.

“Let’s get to it, then,” Jake said.

“Could we dim the light, Jake?” Gram asked.

“Certainly.” Jake hurried back to the switch on the wall and dimmed the light enough that the live humans could still see each other and the ghost became dimensional enough that I thought I’d be able to hold and read the letter without too much effort.

Gram inspected Joe. He blinked away the trance that Astin’s picture had put him in.

I tried not to be irritated by Joe’s unwillingness to tell us how he knew Astin Reagal. I tried to look at it a little differently; before that moment, we truly didn’t
know
that there was any connection between Joe and Astin. Now we knew. More would be revealed. And the coincidences actually might have more substance.

“Here,” Joe said with a shaky voice as he handed me another envelope.

I took it as Gram squinted at Joe, though she didn’t say anything. This letter was smaller than the first one and tinged more yellow.

“Can you see the letter in my hands?” I asked Jake.

“No.”

I held it, noting its substance, though not its texture. “It doesn’t have a full address, just a name—
Alicia Zavon
—and
Broken Rope.
Wait, Alicia Zavon. I know that name. Jake?”

“If it’s the Alicia Zavon I’m thinking of, and I bet it is—how many could there be?—then she’s definitely one of our legends. She killed her husband.”

“Even I know this one,” I said. “Alicia Zavon and her husband were old—very old for the time. In their seventies, I think?”

Jake nodded.

I continued, “And one day she ‘up and got teered of him hittin’ on her with his fists,’ so she loaded up his shotgun, put it to his back and marched him downtown, and shot him in front of everyone.”

“There’s more,” Jake said.

We all, including Joe, looked at Jake.

“Alicia fell victim to the town’s biggest legend. Her rope broke.”

“Ah,” Gram said. “That’s such a bizarre occurrence, and it happened more frequently than I think anyone would have imagined. I don’t know if our ropes were poorly made or if we were just cursed to fail at hanging criminals.”

“It’s said that Alicia roams the streets every Valentine’s Day, the day she was hung. Twice.” Jake said. He looked at Gram.