Ghost Town (19 page)

Trevor looked at Amber. “Did you ever have any strange experiences with Mitch?” His face immediately reddened. “I, uh, I mean . . . shit!”

Amber smiled. “Don't worry. I know what you mean. There was never any hint of paranormal activity in his presence. But back then, I was so depressed and on so many meds that it felt as if my head was stuffed with wet cotton all the time. It's hard to be psychically aware when it's all you can do to function from day to day.”

“And just because the Dark Lady appeared next to Mitch, that doesn't mean there's any link between them,” Drew said. “Perhaps she was drawn to him for some reason.”

“The museum organizers did put information about her in the same room as the banshee and those other spirits,” Trevor said. “I suppose she could turn out to be a harbinger of ill fortune after all. Maybe she was attracted to Mitch simply because he's bad news.”

“She wouldn't be the first woman to go for the bad-boy type,” Connie said.

Amber gave her a look that said she wasn't funny, but Connie just smiled back sweetly.

“Greg did say there were bad
things
in town,” Drew said. “Perhaps he was referring to both Mitch and the Dark Lady.”

“Exeter is the Most Haunted Town in America, remember?” Trevor said. “It's supposed to be crawling with ghosts. There could be any number of bad things here.”

“Whatever the things are, Greg told me we had ‘drawn their attention,' ” Amber said. “But he didn't say how we'd done it.”

“Before we go any further, let me just say that it was damned rude of Greg to dead-dial you from the afterlife and leave Drew and me out,” Trevor said.

“If you had been in the women's restroom at the time, I'm sure he would've been happy to say hi,” Connie said. “But I thought you suspected your former friend of having a hand in these killings.”

“I
do
suspect him,” Trevor said. “He killed two people—that we know of—and he would've killed a lot more if we hadn't stopped him.”

“You said he was possessed by some sort of evil force,” Connie said. “Maybe he wasn't completely in control of his actions. And from what I understand, he
did
help save your lives in the end.”

“True,” Trevor said. “But he told Amber that the Darkness was still a part of him. By his own admission, he can't be trusted.”

“I suppose you're right,” Connie said. She fell silent after that, her manner subdued.

Drew didn't understand her reaction, but he didn't have time to worry about it now.

“The chief said the man who died at the museum had been strangled. As awful as it is, it's an ordinary way to die. Nothing necessarily paranormal about it.”

“You think . . .” Amber paused, swallowed, started over. “You think Mitch did it? But why?”

“I have no idea what his motivation might've been,” Drew said. “But it's clear he has anger issues and is capable of violence.”

“Yes,” Amber said, “but murder? I don't know if he's capable of going that far.”

“Given the right circumstances, any human being is capable of going that far,” Connie said.

She sounded so certain, Drew thought, as if she spoke from experience.

“Are we supposed to believe that Mitch also somehow drowned the woman in the museum?” Trevor said. “And that he rigged the security cameras to fail so he could commit his murders unseen?”

“Seems unlikely, doesn't it?” Drew said.

“He's part of this, though,” Amber said. “Somehow. I can—”

“Feel it,” Connie said.

Amber looked at her defiantly. “That's right.”

“For what it's worth, I agree.”

“You do?” Amber said, surprised.

Connie nodded. “The question is how he's connected—and how deeply.”

“We should tell the chief about him,” Drew said. “Jenn said he was open to the possibility of paranormal explanations for events. He may be skeptical, but there have been three deaths in his town in less than twenty-four hours,
and
they've occurred during the
most important tourist event of the year. He'll at least be interested in bringing Mitch in for questioning.”

“Drew and I can go talk with the chief,” Amber said.

“You don't have to,” Drew said. “I can—”

“I need to go. I'm the one who can testify to how violent Mitch can be.” She turned to Trevor. “Are you going to come with us?”

“I think I should try to learn as much about the Dark Lady as I can,” he said. “I'll talk to Jenn, see how much she knows. Maybe I'll do a Web search and see what turns up.”

“You're forgetting about another source that's much closer at the moment,” Connie said. She pointed toward the bar where Carrington sat. He downed the last of his Scotch and ordered another.

“Him? He won't be any help,” Trevor said. “He's a showman, not a serious researcher.”

“I used to read his books when I was a teenager. He might not be much of a scientist, but he knew how to tell a hell of a story. He may know a lot more about Exeter's history than you think.” She paused. “Sometimes we have to accept people for what they are, not what we want them to be.”

Trevor scowled. “I thought you claimed to have no interest in the paranormal.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? It was an adolescent phase.”

“I'll give the chief a call,” Drew said.

Trevor sighed. “I suppose I'll go over and see what Carrington has to say.”

“Mind if I go with?” Connie asked him. “I used to be something of a fan. Plus, I'm good at getting people to talk to me. Comes with the job, you know.”

Drew doubted that Trevor liked the idea of Connie horning in on his conversation with Carrington, but her experience as a psychologist might come in handy. If nothing else, maybe she could
keep Carrington focused so he didn't run off on tangents every few minutes.

“Sure,” Trevor said. “Glad to have the help.”

Connie smiled. “You're a lousy liar, but I appreciate you letting me tag along.”

“One more thing,” Drew said. “Let's not tell Erin. I think we might get more out of Carrington and the chief if they don't have a camera pointed at their faces.”

“You know she'll complain when she discovers we left her out,” Amber said.

“Let her,” Trevor said. “At first, I was thrilled that she wanted to include us in her documentary. More publicity for my new book, right? But she and her crew are starting to get in the way. It's better if we can investigate on our own.”

“Good luck with that,” Connie said. “Erin strikes me as the kind of person who doesn't let go once she sinks her teeth into something. At least, not without tearing off a mouthful of flesh first.”

Drew looked at Connie, once more struck by how odd she had been acting.

“Problem, Drew?” she asked.

“It's nothing. I've just never known you to use such . . . colorful language before.”

Her smile turned into a grin. “What can I say? I'm just chock-full of surprises.”

Erin grinned as
she watched the footage from the museum play on her laptop screen.

“Here it comes . . . get ready for it.”

She sat at the desk in her hotel room, computer open in front of her, her crew standing behind her. As they watched, the word
Stop
appeared as if by magic on every surface in the room. The image flickered once or twice and at one point blurred out entirely, but otherwise there was no interference. The footage couldn't have
been more perfect. Clear enough to be seen but not so clear all the way through that it looked as if they had used special effects.

“I was hoping that watching it on the small screen would make it less terrifying,” Pattie said. “But it doesn't. It's just as bad.”

“Sure is!” Sarah leaned against Pattie, and the older woman put her arm around her.

“I'm still too stunned to be scared,” Ray said. “I mean, I filmed the whole damned thing, and I'm still not sure I believe it.”

“Well,
I
believe it,” Sarah said. “And I don't want to ever experience anything like that again!”

The footage ended, and although Erin was tempted to play it over, she didn't. The last thing she wanted was for any of her crew to get so spooked that they quit. It wasn't as if they would be walking out on a big paycheck if they left. As little as she could afford to pay them, they were almost working for free. Since she hadn't been able to use money to motivate them, she'd had to find other ways. She'd told them that the film would be good exposure and a great addition to their résumés. It might even win some awards at festivals, get picked up for broadcast on a cable network, eventually see a DVD release . . . It could end up being a stepping-stone to bigger and better things for all of them. But she knew none of that bullshit would work on them right now. It might later, once they'd had a few days for their nerves to settle down, but she couldn't give them any time off. This was the last weekend for Dead Days, and the big parade was that night. She needed them to keep working.

“You know what we've got here, right? This is the best footage of an actual paranormal event that's ever been captured. We're going to make history! This footage will be spread all over the Internet. People will debate whether or not it's real and, if it is real, what that means. We may have found the first definitive proof of life after death!”

“People will just say we faked it,” Ray said.

“Some will, sure,” Erin said. “But specialists will examine the
footage, and they won't be able to find any evidence that it was faked, because it wasn't. We'll be famous! And afterward, we'll be able to write our own tickets. Any kind of job you want, you'll get. Writing, directing, producing . . . it'll be your choice.”

She hoped she wasn't laying it on too thick, but she truly did believe this film was going to change their lives.

“Maybe you and Carrington will get famous,” Pattie said. “Or in his case, more famous. But we're just the crew.” She sounded skeptical, but it was clear from her tone that she was tempted by the scenario Erin was painting for them, and she wanted it to be true.

“Your average Joe and Jill on the street may not think much about the people behind the cameras,” Erin said, “but industry professionals know better. Of course, it'll be up to us to make the most out of the opportunities we'll get, but they'll come, believe me.”

Her crew was silent for a few moments after that, and Erin knew they were all imagining the possibilities. One thing you could always count on about people who worked in the arts: they were all dreamers. And the easiest way to manipulate them was to steer their imaginations in the direction you wanted them to go.

“But if there really are ghosts in this town, do we want to disturb them any further?” Sarah said. “I mean, people have
died,
Erin! None of us wants to be next.”

“When you find a hornets' nest, the last thing you should do is stick your hand in and shake it around,” Ray said. “You're just asking to get stung—a lot.”

“And it's not just those three who died in the last day,” Pattie said. “Don't forget Alex.”

Erin closed the laptop more forcibly than she needed to. “That was different. What happened to him was an accident. And we all agreed to keep working on the film because that was what he would've wanted.”

“That was before these latest deaths happened,” Ray said. “Yeah,
at first, it seemed like Alex died accidentally. But now . . . well, let's just say I'm open to alternative explanations.”

Erin examined her crew's faces. Each of them was scared, Sarah more than the other two. She looked as if she were fighting to hold back tears. Erin knew that she needed to try another approach if she didn't want her crew walking out on her in the next few minutes.

“Look, we're almost done with this shoot. We're scheduled to film at the college this afternoon and then tonight during the parade. After that, it's a wrap. If anything else comes up—”

“Like another murder?” Pattie asked.

Erin ignored her. “If anything else comes up, I'll shoot it myself. All right?”

Her crew looked at one another, silently conferring. She honestly didn't know which way they were going to decide until Ray let out a long sigh.

“What the hell. It's just a tiny college and a rinky-dink parade. What can happen?”

Erin smiled.
A lot,
she hoped. And with any luck, they would get it all on film.

Mitch sat in
his Impala, listening to a hard-rock station on the radio. It was funny. He should have been hungry for lunch by now. He glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that it was well after noon. Hell, he hadn't had any breakfast that morning—he should be
starving
. But he didn't have any appetite at all. In fact, his stomach felt a little upset. All he'd had to eat the day before was fast food, so he figured that was the problem. That junk had got his whole system out of whack. He would make sure to eat a decent meal the next time he was hungry, and that should fix him right up.

He was parked behind a Mexican restaurant several blocks from the hotel where Esotericon was happening. He had his windows down, and the greasy-spicy food smells drifting in made him feel
even queasier. He rolled his windows up, but that only trapped the food smells in the car with him. He concentrated on breathing through his mouth, and that helped.

He didn't know where the Dark Lady was. She came and went as she pleased, without so much as hello or good-bye. One moment she was there, the next she wasn't. Wasn't that just like a woman? Not that he was sure she
was
a woman. Oh, she looked like one . . . at least, he thought so. He had trouble looking at her directly. Every time he tried, his gaze slid away from her, as if his eyes refused to view her image. Or maybe he simply didn't want to look at her too closely for too long, afraid he might see past her veneer to what lay beneath. Her voice sounded like a woman's, and she gave off a distinctly feminine energy, but he couldn't help feeling that it all was a disguise, a costume no different from the Halloween outfits worn by the idiots thronging the streets.