Ghost Talker (11 page)

Clare sank back down into her chair, Zach leaned against it.

“Another quick deadline?” Her lips pressed together.

Mr. Rickman tapped his fingers. “You did very well last week, terminating that evil ghost before the big tourist weekend—”

“Cruisin' the Canyon,” Zach put in. . . like none of them knew.

“And we don't want to have any tourists harmed by the poltergeist at another large event.”

“Really, another special occasion!” Clare scowled.

Mr. Rickman nodded, glancing down at a sheet of paper centered in his blotter. “As you know, Mr. Welliam donates to the Buffalo Bill Museum. He informed me that there are only three large events in the year.”

Clare plopped back against the chair. “And we've run into one of them.”

Looking up at her with a steady gaze, Mr. Rickman nodded. “There's Buffalo Bill's birthday—”

“Not next weekend.” She'd been dipping into the history of her project.

“No, and a music festival last month. And on Sunday there is Buffalo Bill's Western Roundup.”

“Oh, goody.” The words, and the sarcastic tone, shot out before she could stop them. So unprofessional! Sitting up straight, feeling flushed, she apologized. “I'm sorry. I'm not accustomed to cases coming so rapidly in succession and needing such a quick resolution.”

Zach trailed his fingers through her hair, from scalp to shoulder, also very unprofessional, but he didn't seem to care about that. He said, “No one ever dropped nasty accounts on you at tax season?”

“Of course not! None of my clients would be so foolish, and the firm I work for—worked for—was very well organized.” She tilted her head to look at him. Yes, he appeared amused.

“Cops deal with messy stuff. Always,” Zach said. “That's pretty much a given.”

He looked at Mr. Rickman, who shrugged and said, “Some of our cases are easy and boring. Some are . . . touchy.”

“Uh-huh,” Zach said.

Clare set her chin. “I will do my best.”

“And your best has always been exceptional,” Mr. Rickman said, and the fact that he, too, believed in her, unclenched something within her. She could do this. She
would
do this.

“I assure you, Mr. Welliam is quite concerned about the problems this is already causing.” Mr. Rickman drew another sheet of paper from under the first to the top. “He's providing funds to replace the quartz crystal rocks on the grave site, to shape those new stones so they fit into the empty concrete holes that they were torn from by the dust devil poltergeist,” Rickman read. He glanced at her in question. “Concrete? The quartz rocks are cemented in?”

“Oh. Well, there was a disagreement about where William Cody was supposed to be buried. His family said it was up on Lookout Mountain, but the town of Cody, Wyoming, believed he should be interred there. Threats were made.”

Zach straightened, a gleam in his eyes. “Threats?”

“To move the remains, as early as the nineteen twenties. So the Codys now rest under ten feet of concrete. There was a later offer of a ten-thousand-dollar reward for the recovery of Cody's body from Lookout Mountain by an American Legion post in Wyoming.”

Mr. Rickman eyed her with fascination, too.

With a small laugh, Zach rubbed her shoulder. “I love your cases, Clare. There's always something interesting.”

“Like law enforcement, I imagine. And while my accounting clients did present me with financial problems, they weren't as, ah, nitty-gritty as those I've recently handled with regard to my new vocation.” For instance, she didn't flinch at seeing, picking up, holding, and carrying bones anymore.

“But the poltergeist has cost Welliam and the Buffalo Bill Museum some money that could be used in other ways,” Mr. Rickman pointed out.

“We just heard there's a financial aspect to this,” Zach said. “The museum is taking a financial hit.”

Clare steeled her spine. “I understand.”

“I have full confidence that you will conclude this matter in your usual excellent and expeditious manner.” Rickman stated his support once more, and, yes, she had the same satisfied reaction. Obviously, she liked positive reinforcement.

She stood. “Thank you for your confidence.”

“Just stating the truth,” Mr. Rickman said. “Clare?” His voice stopped her with her hand on the door latch, though she wouldn't have been able to leave without him unlocking it electronically.

“Yes?” She glanced back at him.

“Returning to a previous topic, if you are unhappy with our agreement or the cases I ask you to consult with us on, please make sure you tell me.”

She dipped her head. “All right.”

Mr. Rickman smiled. “I can't address your concerns if I don't know about them.”

She already knew he was a slick negotiator. “I hear you.”

The door unlocked and she opened it.

“Zach, nice shoes.”

“Thanks!” Zach flashed a grin at Clare.

*   *   *

“Well, that was fun, as usual.” Zach took Clare's hand and leaned against the elevator wall heading all the way down from the office to the basement parking garage. “And we're getting paid for another one of your cases.”

“Yes.”

“You seem up to speed on the history of your project.”

She shrugged. “Well enough, from what I could find online, but I don't have the definitive biography of Jack yet. I ordered it Saturday night and paid for overnight delivery, but the book won't arrive until tomorrow.” Pulling out her phone, she accessed a message. “The central library has one circulating copy. Since we're downtown can we drop by there and pick it up?”

They'd reached his handicapped parking space, but Zach put a hand around her upper arm and swung her around to face the glass doors again. “Sure, but it's a nice day and it will be easier just to walk to the mall and take the free shuttle up to the Capitol and library.”

“You could drop me off. The library has parking.”

“This is free.” A telling argument for Clare. “And I don't want to drop you off at the library where ghosts will throng around you while I park.”

Her posture stiffened. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself among a bunch of ghosts.”

“We're a team, and Enzo isn't here to fend them off of you.”

“I'll be fine.”

He took her hand, linked fingers, and swung it. “C'mon, Clare, take a little walk with me on this pretty day.” Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. “I'll keep the ghosts away. Or you can tell me about them as we go along.”

She gave him an irritated look. “No. I will not tell you about them as we go along.” But she walked with him back into the building.

Zach let Clare brood a bit on the way to the library. Mostly she seemed preoccupied and not paying attention to the ghosts that had previously made her flinch. No crows-as-omens inflicted themselves on him either. Here in Denver only the occasional tree had autumn color edging its leaves, and he enjoyed the sun and the not-too-smoggy air, and especially Clare. He couldn't recall the last time he'd simply walked with her, not hiked to or from a site to meet, greet, or defeat a phantom.

Of course, they still moved with purpose to a goal, but this seemed almost like normal. When they reached the corner restaurant on the Sixteenth Street Mall where they'd originally met—her fresh from the library then, and him from his first appointment with Rickman—he offered to buy her an early lunch and made her smile but shake her head.

It took no more than a few minutes to pick up a very unassuming hardback book with a drawing of a man in buckskins and a woman in a ballet dress etched into the cover. Didn't look that authoritative to Zach, but he kept his mouth shut.

They ate lunch at the restaurant where they originally met and Zach let Clare read snippets of the book to him, particularly the articles Texas Jack had written for a New York magazine—the man's own words. By the time she finished she sounded more enthused about her case again.

After the meal Zach gave in to impulse and took her hand, ignoring his need to keep his gun hand free. Besides, a horse-mounted cop rode down the mall. The skyscraper housing Rickman Security and Investigations was only two blocks away, and Zach kept an eye on both sides of the busy street. Clare smiled at him and he sensed contentment from her as well
as renewed interest in her case.

If having a book in her tote and some solid facts in her head helped her that much, he was all for it.

Once in his truck, Zach said, “So you want to head up to Lookout Mountain?”

She glared, flicked a hand down herself. “Dressed like this? No.” A slight pause. “But I do want to talk to Texas Jack, as soon as possible, about the poltergeist and helping Jack himself move on.” She slanted Zach a look, one side of her mouth lifted. “I may as well formally introduce Mr. Welliam to him.” Her smile dimmed. “No doubt he'll gossip about this case to anyone who will listen, including any paranormal groups he belongs to.”

Thankfully they'd stopped at a red light so he could look at her and return her smile with an approving one of his own. “That's one step in going public, all right.”

“He had one of the cards Mrs. Flinton disseminated, and he's a chatty sort tied into the Denver paranormal community. He's going to talk about me.”

“Yep.”

“But he's also our client and interested in Texas Jack.” She paused. “So I guess it will be going public, some.”

“You think Welliam will be able to sense Jack?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I'll change, too.”

Pulling out her cell phone, Clare called Mr. Welliam and informed him that Zach and she would meet him in forty-five minutes—barely enough time to get home, change, and reach the grave site.

Welliam sounded thrilled that he could observe her with Texas Jack. From what the older man said, Zach thought he'd done a little research on Jack himself.

*   *   *

Mr. Welliam ran toward them as they pulled into the parking lot, a grin on his face. He bobbed up and down, lifting himself to his toes, then dropping back. “I'm
so
pleased you're including me in your investigation.” He opened the truck door and helped Clare out, then she let him pump her hand.

Denver had turned hot again and she'd been tired of hiking clothes, so she'd donned a new sundress and sandals. Neither she nor Zach would be hiking, just walking up the wide path to the grave site.

Keeping her gaze on Mr. Welliam, she warned, “We are here primarily to discover more information about the poltergeist and protect the Codys' graves. You do know you may not experience anything.”

“I understand,” Mr. Welliam said.

She coughed to clear her throat, yet felt a little helpless in the face of his enthusiasm. “All right, then.” Glancing at the parking lot, she didn't see a lot of cars since it was a workday and school had started. “How many people are at the site itself? I hope you understand that I prefer not to appear like I talk to invisible friends.”

“Yes, yes. There are people here, in the museum, the gift shop; they don't usually spend any longer than fifteen minutes
at the site itself. Enough time to take pictures and look at the view. We'll be fine.” He took off at a fast clip. She waited until Zach joined her, then followed.

Warmth tingled the back of her neck and her cheeks. No, she didn't look forward to
exposing
her gift to someone who truly believed in it and would be avidly watching, and in a public place. Another first for her.

“Maybe Texas Jack won't show,” Zach said. But she thought from the quirk of his mouth that he didn't believe what he said.

“I told Enzo that we'd meet him and Texas Jack here with Mr. Welliam.”

And at the top of the easy climb, with the rock quartz glistening in the sun and Mr. Welliam circling the enclosure as if counting his steps, waited Texas Jack and Enzo.

No humans stood at the site itself, though she and Zach had passed a couple of people using the viewing machines overlooking the plains.

Enzo ran up to her, barking, then around and through them all, including Mr. Welliam. Zach nodded at the dog, but didn't say anything Clare could hear—not even in her mind, thankfully. She spoke to her dog telepathically.
Hi, Enzo!

Hi, Clare! Hi, Zach! Texas Jack is here; we came down from Leadville!
Two hours away. In under forty minutes. She hadn't figured out the math of ghost travel yet. Sometimes it could be instantaneous, sometimes . . .

It all depends on the energy needed and expended, Clare
, Enzo said.

She supposed so.

Enzo zoomed through Welliam again.
He still can't sense me. Though he doesn't smell BAD.

“That's nice,” Clare murmured. She wasn't going to reveal to Welliam that a Labrador dog was her spirit guide. She still didn't trust him not to burble details to Maurice Poche, and she wanted to keep some specifics regarding the Cermak gift from that charlatan.

Clare nodded to Texas Jack, who now leaned against the main plinth, smoking a cigar. “Hello, Jack,” she said, feeling awkward, knowing she flushed.

Zach put a hand on her shoulder and they walked to within a couple of paces of him, Mr. Welliam trailing.

“Heya, Jack,” Zach said. “We have some questions for you.”

The plainsman tipped his hat to them.
Pleased to help you any way I can.

Clare figured so. Thought he'd be more helpful to them than ready to accept help from her in his transition.

He nodded at Mr. Welliam, then his expression saddened.
The elder can't hear or see me.

“No, Mr. Welliam can't hear or see you, Texas Jack.” She gestured to the graves. No holes showed where rocks had been, though she thought the new rocks looked shinier than the old ones. “He's the one funding the replacement of the quartz for the Codys' graves.”