Texas Gothic

  When Deputy Kelly finished with Dr. Douglas, Mark excused himself and went to talk to her. The deputy traded places, heading toward Phin and me. A coil of worry twisted tight in my stomach, and, eyes still on the approaching man, I grabbed Phin’s hand to get her attention.

  “I can’t lie about the ghost,” I told her. “Or about being in the pasture last night. You’re going to have to cover for us.”

  “But we didn’t do anything wrong,” said Phin.

  “I know. But he already doesn’t like us, remember?” And with more than just a ghost prowling the fields at night, I thought it was better to keep as few people distrusting us—or fearing us—as possible. “Just … no ghosts, no magic, okay?”

  Deputy Kelly reached us before she could reply. Flipping to a new page in his notebook, he looked us up and down and asked, “You girls hear or see anything weird last night?”

  Well, there was a loaded question. I could have filled his notebook. Phin said, “Like what? ‘Weird’ is a very relative term.”

  He gave a snide sort of chuckle. “Especially for your family, huh?”

  I stared at him coldly. Like his cattle-thieving relatives had room to talk. “I didn’t see or hear anything here at the dig site,” I said truthfully.

  My phrasing didn’t get past him. “What about anywhere else?” he asked meaningfully. “Were you out and about last night?”

  Phin, prompted by my squeeze of her hand, said, “I was out with Mark in town until around one. And at home after that.”

  But the deputy was looking at me. “How ’bout you, Miss Amaryllis? Did you go anywhere on the McCulloch property?”

  Crap.

  I blinked innocently. “Like where, Deputy?”

  He lowered his notebook and looked me in the eye. “What about the rumor I heard that your car was parked out by the three-six gate?”

  “The what?”

  “That’s the mile marker. How we identify which gate we’re talking about when someone has to run up here for the latest emergency.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well?” he asked impatiently. “Were you parked outside the three-six gate?”

  Phin stepped in for me. “Flat tire, didn’t you say, Amy?”

  Deputy Kelly looked at me. Waiting. On one hand, he was the law and maybe someone should tell him that my tire had been slashed. On the other, I noticed that Ben, who had been so worried about it, hadn’t told the officer when he’d had the chance, either.

  I picked my words carefully, and it seemed I didn’t have a lot of conscience when it came to Deputy Kelly. “Yes. Flat as a pancake.”

  He closed his notebook and put his pen in his pocket. “Listen, girls. I’m hearing all kinds of rumors about you two. Looking for ghosts in the middle of the night. Doing some kind of hoodoo voodoo to find these bones in the ground. But I got to tell you, I’m not going to put up with any hinky goings-on. Trespassing. Roaming around at all hours. Digging up people’s graves on your own.”

  I stared at him, almost too shocked to be outraged. “You think we did this?”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Phin, dismissing the accusation entirely. “That would destroy valuable scientific evidence.”

  “And besides,” I added, “we’ve been here helping the dig for two days. What reason would we have to come back at night and do something like this?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, hostility curdling his voice. “Maybe you’ve got the gold bug. Maybe you’re trying to exorcise the Mad Monk. Maybe—”

  “Is there a problem, Deputy Kelly?” Ben stood behind the lawman, Mark at his shoulder to back him up. Steve Sparks completed the group, though he stayed to the side, distancing himself.

  “He thinks we did this,” said Phin, calmly pointing out that there was, indeed, a problem.

  “They couldn’t have,” Ben told the deputy. “I was with Amy until late, and Mark was with Phin. And then Mark was with them the rest of the night.”

  The deputy’s brows shot up. “With both of them? All night?”

  “I crashed on the couch at Goodnight Farm,” said Mark. I hadn’t thought it possible for a warm-natured guy to be so icy.

  Robbed of a target, the deputy pocketed his report book and faced Ben, but I noticed he addressed Mr. Sparks just a little bit more, as if they were the adults and Ben was just a kid college student. “I don’t see what else I can do here. I’ll file a report, of course. And Dr. Douglas says she’ll be responsible for gathering the, er, remains. But I doubt we’ll figure out who did this.”

  Mr. Sparks said, “I could put a man out here at night to watch over the place.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” the deputy said casually. “If they didn’t find anything, they won’t be back. If they did, they won’t, either.”

  Ben looked annoyed at the way the officer seemed to have wrapped everything up in his mind. “Thank you, Deputy Kelly,” he said, implying dismissal with the formal address.

  The deputy colored slightly but took his leave—slowly, wasting our time in his passive-aggressive way—and walked to his Blazer.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, I exploded. “The nerve of him! What kind of person accuses someone of grave robbing?”

  Mr. Sparks raised his brows. “A lawman who knows, but can’t prove, that you’ve been jumping fences?”

  It was such a casual yet accurate accusation that I floundered for an answer. To my surprise, Ben came to my defense. “You can hardly compare a bit of nosing around to this,” he said. “The Goodnights are odd, but they’re decent folks.”

  Sparks looked pointedly doubtful about that. “Whatever you say, boss,” he drawled as he turned to follow the deputy down the hill.

  Ben frowned after him. I wondered if he had noticed how often Steve Sparks came up in his mother’s conversation, and how he felt about leasing the beautiful bluff for cell towers the way the ranch manager wanted. Whatever was going through his mind as he watched Sparks walk away, he didn’t share it. Not even in his expression.

  “When are you headed back to Austin?” Ben asked Mark when he’d turned back to us.

  “We were supposed to dig some test holes today, but we’ll probably spend our time cleaning all this up and packing things to take back to UT. Some of us are staying through the party, since your mother was nice enough to invite us.” He glanced at Phin and me. “I thought I might hang around longer. Keep an eye on things.”

  He could have meant the dig site, but I was pretty sure he meant our mystery. And from Ben’s nod, that was why he’d asked.

  “You can stay at the farmhouse,” said Phin. “Might as well, since the deputy now thinks we’re hooking up anyway.”

  “Well then,” said Mark, managing his first smile of the morning. “That’s a gracious offer.”

  She frowned, confused by his roguish tone. “It’s just a couch.”

  Mark put his hand on his heart like she’d wounded him, flashed a short-lived grin, then excused himself to go back to Dr. Douglas.

  “Just FYI,” I told Phin, “he was flirting with you.”

  She looked at me, then at Mark’s departing form. “Oh. That explains a lot. I’m good at a lot of things, but flirting isn’t one of them. Especially with someone I find extremely attractive.”

  I was very aware of Ben standing there, watching our exchange with confusion. “Here’s a tip,” I said to Phin. “Don’t overthink it. It’s more of an instinct than an intellect thing.”

  “Right,” she said. “Pheromones.”

  With a sage nod, she followed Mark, leaving me with Ben, who shook his head in gentle disbelief. “You really are the weirdest family.”

  “Thanks.” I fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, thinking of the irony of me telling Phin anything about flirting. “How are you?”

  “Fine. Though I’d like one morning without a crisis.” That made me smile, and he asked, “What?”

  “I was thinking the same thing when the dogs woke me up.”

  He smiled slightly,
too; then it slipped away. “Listen, Amy. I meant what I said last night. You need to be careful. No more jumping fences. Not to ghost hunt, and not to play girl detective.”

  My amusement evaporated, and I raised a challenging brow. “Play?”

  “You know what I mean.” It wasn’t quite an apology. “Someone doesn’t want you nosing around. Maybe the same someone who doesn’t stop at desecrating graves.”

  I didn’t want to admit he had a point, and I couldn’t lie and say I wouldn’t poke around or ask questions. Especially at the party that afternoon, with all the county concentrated in one spot.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said.

  He wasn’t fooled, and gave me a long stare. I stared back until he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

  “Fine. I’ll see you at the party later.” As invitations went, it wasn’t the most gracious. Even when he added, “You don’t have to climb over the fence; you can use the front gate.”

  Phin and I walked home. The early-morning air was cool and damp, especially so close to the river. The plants in their beds soaked in the dew, row upon row of them in orderly, irrigated ranks. All that organization wasn’t very Goodnight, until you breathed in the jumble of fresh, green scents, which tumbled together in my head and pushed out, just for a moment, all of the noise and worry.

  It was a shame to spoil it, but I had to tell Phin about the ghost in the cave. I hadn’t had a chance the night before.

  “So,” she clarified when I finished, “it told you to be careful at the same time it was choking you?”

  I’d realized that Phin’s questions weren’t out of disbelief, but a sign that something didn’t square with her logic. And in this case, I agreed.

  “I know. I can’t figure it out, either.” I stopped on the path through the lavender fields, glad for the sun and the smells. “Unless it was a threat.”

  “But you’re doing what it said.” She sounded outraged on my behalf. “You’re looking for it in the ground and you’re looking into the stories.”

  “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Phin.” For once I was calmer than she was.

  “I just wish I knew how to help you.” She set her hands on her hips, her ponytail swinging indignantly. “All I can think is that this ghost is an ungrateful bastard.”

  At the sight of her looking like a tall, irate pixie in pink cargo shorts and cussing out a ghost, I had to laugh. It was slightly hysterical but utterly uncontrollable. Maybe frustration and anxiety had sent me over the edge. I laughed until I was wiping tears from my cheeks; then Phin’s offended expression set me off again.

  I finally pulled myself together and started walking back toward the house. The goats awaited their breakfast, and I had a lot of detective work ahead of me.

  And then I stopped again. “I just remembered something Mom said.”

  “That Daisy is coming today? I hadn’t forgotten. Trust me.”

  “No.” I waited until Phin had stopped, too, and turned to look at me. “She said my conscience controlled the triple promise. The, um …” I tried to remember the word she used.

  “Geas,” Phin supplied. It sounded like “gesh” when she said it. “Mom’s right. That’s why the vow isn’t unbreakable. Enough willpower can override the subconscious, um, conscience. Except for people who are all conscience.”

  “I am not.” I faced her, mirroring her earlier posture, hands on my hips. “But here’s the deal. If my conscience is in charge, why did the vow take, when I thought she was saying ‘goats’? I should be obsessively cleaning their stalls and putting out their feed and …” I trailed off at her expression. “Oh. I guess I am.”

  “Yes. You are,” she said. “But the other part, the ghost vow, that’s simple. Your subconscious realized what needed to happen. You knew the ghost needed dealing with.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said, but some truth of it wouldn’t shake loose.

  Phin sighed and started walking again. “I know it doesn’t. That’s why I hate psychology.”

  Dogging her footsteps, I spoke with a desperation that came from trying to convince myself. “For me to do that would be the most illogical, counterintuitive, self-destructive … Phin, ghosts are the whole reason I stay out of the supernatural.”

  She stopped abruptly and stared at me. “Ghosts are your thing, Amy. Your affinity. Don’t you remember? Have you seen the size of that box of books and videos that Mom sent? Grown-up books that you read when you were ten.”

  “I beg to differ,” I said, because that was crazy. “First La Llorona tries to drown me, now this thing is freezing me to death at the same time it wants me to look for it—”

  This time when Phin put her hands on her hips, it wasn’t funny. “Do you even remember what happened with La Llorona?” she asked, chiding me like a kid.

  “I remembered they found us soaking wet from the river.” Pulled there by cold, slimy hands, water over our heads …

  “Amy,” said Phin, yanking me out of the past. “You saved me.”

  I gaped at her, uncomprehending. “I did what?”

  “The ghost was exactly what they said in legend. A woman with a veil. She grabbed me, threw me into the river, and the veil wrapped around me, dragging me down. And you made her go away.”

  Her words percolated through my memory but didn’t meet any answering images. “How is it possible I don’t remember that? Maybe Dad and the park rangers scared it away.”

  She gave me an irritated look. “I think I remember who saved me. I couldn’t see or hear what you did, but it was you. You made her let me go.”

  That settled it for Phin. She headed for the house and didn’t look back.

  My sister had never been delusional. Eccentric, absent-minded about some things and infuriatingly single-minded about others, yes. But I’d never known her to imagine something, or even misremember it.

  Except this. Because it could simply not be true.

  28

  i’d been a little worried about how we’d be received at the McCullochs’ barbecue. Hate mail will do that to you. But when I saw the size of the party, I relaxed a bit, hoping we’d be anonymous in the crowd.

  Well, some of us would be. We’d see how long that lasted once Daisy arrived.

  Mark parked in the makeshift lot behind the horse pens. I gawked at the view—we were in the highest part of the region, overlooking nothing but hills and river and cattle pasture for miles.

  An enormous live oak tree—easily hundreds of years old—shaded a courtyard made by a long building with well-tended wood walls and a huge stable with training pens for the horses. The party, though, centered around a marquee tent, pitched for the day. Crowds ate at long folding tables, and a band played on a stage, raised in front of a dance floor.

  There was also a large, fenced swimming pool, a sand volleyball court, and a horseshoe pit. And food. From the parking area, I could see the smokers and grills and the full-to-groaning buffet tables and beer kegs.

  Mark glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I guess when you have a hundred years of practice …”

  “No kidding.” I climbed out into the afternoon heat and the smell of dust, roasting meat, and a bit of chlorine from the pool. “Okay, here’s what we have to accomplish today,” I said as the others joined me. “Try and find out about the Mad Monk’s previous appearances. See if there’s any correlation of location, timing, and what’s going on nearby. I’m on the lookout for owners of diesel trucks—”

  “Can we eat first, Nancy?” Mark interrupted, sounding amused. “Amateur detective work is hard on an empty stomach.”

  “If you must.” I looked at my sister, who was eyeing the people with trepidation. Crowds were one of the few things that rattled her. “Remember, Phin,” I said, “don’t talk about magic or real ghosts if you can help it. At least, not with anyone you don’t know.”

  She sighed. “All right. I’ll try.”

  “Come on, then.” Pushing my sunglasses firmly onto m
y nose, I prodded her toward Mark, who took the hint—or the chance—to put an arm around her waist and keep her moving.

  “Amy! Phin!” Jennie waved from the sand around the volleyball net, where she, Caitlin, and the guys were playing. Lucas waved, too, and I winced as Emery spiked a ball that hit him in the side of the head.

  We waited while the dig team dusted off their sand. “Oh my gosh,” said Jennie when she reached us. “Mark told us about your car. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  I made a no-big-deal noise. The only way I could not give in to my anxieties was to keep focused on my goal. I figured that was why Nancy Drew took being conked on the head and tied up in attics in stride. There wasn’t room for hysterics and clue hunting.

  “Did you collect everything at the dig site?” I asked. That had been the plan, but Mark hadn’t said whether they’d finished. He’d been distracted teasing Phin for looking like Gidget, with her strawberry-blond ponytail, cuffed shorts, and puff-sleeved top. The reference was lost on Phin, who didn’t watch a lot of movies at all, let alone ones from the fifties. But I thought it was funny.

  “We did,” Caitlin answered. “Those bastards …” The band covered up the rest of her comment, though I probably would have agreed with it. I was feeling free to like her since Ben said their “date” wasn’t “like that.”

  “Do you think they got anything valuable?” I asked her.

  “To quote Dr. D, ‘The real treasure lies in historical significance.’ ” She scowled. “But if they did find anything, I really hope they don’t profit from it.”

  Lucas walked up with—what else?—a beer. “Helluva party, huh?”

  “Where’s Dwayne?” I asked, realizing we were missing one.

  “We set up a schedule for keeping an eye on the site, just in case the grave robbers come back.”

  I looked at Mark. “You made him miss the party?”

  “We’ll trade off,” he said. “I made a schedule.”