Hard Times (A Sam Harlan Novel Book 2) (3 page)

Billy stopped laughing, but his smile remained. “It’s not a reservation, it’s a settlement, and no, I don’t live on the sett. They don’t have much use for a real medicine man. I live in Tama.”

Tama was the town south of Toledo, and the towns had practically grown together. “What’s your business, Billy?”

Billy sighed. “Look, kid, I know Jack’s gone. I sensed it. You’re related. I sense that, too. You’ve also killed a vampire.” I started to protest, but he stopped me with a raised hand. “Save it. I’m not a hunter, but I can tell
you
are. I have one talent, really. I protect things. Jack’s farm? Can’t you feel it?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Davenport?” Callie asked.

“I use magic to protect this farm,” Billy said. “A vampire can’t come within a mile of here without feeling an urge to leave. If a vampire set foot on this land, why, it would be like throwing gas on a fire.” He spread his hands apart. “Poof.”

I finally glanced to Callie and saw the uncertainty on her face. In truth, I
had
sensed something on Jack’s farm, but I couldn’t place my finger on it. I had thought it was all in my head. “You cast a spell to protect this farm?”

Billy took another drag from his cigarette. “Something like that. It needs upkeep. Jack’s gone, but Debbie at the courthouse told me you inherited his place. I figured you’d eventually need my services.”

* * *

Callie sat across from me at the old oak kitchen table. She turned her head to glance through the window. “He’s still out there,” she said.

“You think he’s legit?”

She hesitated. “The Church records were … lacking in detail about magic. I know shamans work primarily with spirits, and medicine men work primarily with people. There were lots of interactions between the Church and the indigenous people of North America. They didn’t always end well. There were accidents.”

“Accidents?” I asked.

“Mistakes,” she said. “Cultural failings. I’m not blind, Sam. I have no illusions. The Church didn’t always act in a Christian way.”

“What did the records say about shamans?” I asked.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Shamans are powerful. They specialize in spirit energy.
That
might be why Mr. Davenport can protect this farm.”

I nodded. “He knew about vampires. Either Jack clued him in, or he’s the real deal. What kind of lunatic believes in vampires if they don’t have some kind of knowledge or experience?”

“He knows,” Callie agreed. “Don’t you think the cost is a little high?”

“It works out to about sixty thousand a year,” I said. “It’s not like we don’t have the money.”

Callie was silent for a moment. “It’s your money,” she said. Changing the subject, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Getting there,” I said.

“I can fix lunch,” she said. “How hungry are you?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “What do you want me to say?” I asked.

Callie stood and began preparing lunch. She heated the cast-iron skillet and placed a large dollop of butter in the bottom of the pan, then began frying a ribeye from the refrigerator. She withdrew a carton of eggs and placed it next to the stove. “There is no shame in being hungry. The Church records are quite clear.”

“I’m different,” I said. “Every time I eat, I’m reminded of that. And, I’m reminded of what happened to Jack.”

Callie flipped the steak, then cracked six eggs into the pan. “Jack’s transition was gradual,” she said quietly. “It took over one hundred years of killing vampires before he changed into a vampire. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Yet.”

“I’m glad you’re so confident.”

There was a knock on the door and Billy entered, uninvited. His eyes wandered to the skillet, then back to me. “I’m done. I’m ready to leave.”

He stood, grinning wide and showing his tobacco-stained teeth, until I finally stood and handed him five one-ounce gold eagle coins from my pocket.

His eyes lit up as he pocketed the coins and bowed his head. “I’ll swing by next month and renew the protection.” He left without looking back. I heard his van start, then the swooshing of tires on gravel as he backed down the lane.

“Where are the forks?” Callie said.

I turned. “What?”

Callie opened the drawer with the flatware. “The forks. They’re gone.”

I joined her and looked inside the drawer. The flatware was where it was supposed to be, except for the forks. “Did you put them somewhere?” I asked.

“Where would I put them?” Callie asked, baffled. “I wash the dishes and put them away as soon as we’re finished eating. Why would I put the forks somewhere else?” She opened and closed drawers in the kitchen, slamming each drawer a little harder than the last.

“You think Davenport took them?” I asked. I knew as I spoke that it didn’t sound right. We had been in the house while Davenport worked whatever ritual he used to protect the farm. I shook my head. “Maybe he came without us noticing?”

“I was standing right here,” Callie said, continuing to rummage through the counters. “I would have seen him.” She finally opened the refrigerator and gasped.

I turned and found the forks, neatly arranged in a circle on a white plate in the middle shelf of the refrigerator. “
Okay
,” I said. “
That’s
weird. Maybe we’ve got a burglar.”

“I don’t know much about criminals,” Callie said, “but there’s nothing missing. Wouldn’t a criminal take something?” She removed the plate and put the forks back in the drawer, except for one, then plated my steak and eggs, placing them on the kitchen table along with the fork. “Eat before it gets cold.”

I took my seat and sighed. “Life gets weirder each day.”

* * *

I was almost finished with lunch when the phone rang. Callie was finishing the last of her yogurt and she paused, spoon halfway to her mouth, her eyes glancing from me to the hallway.

I shrugged, then stood and walked down the hallway to the desk in front of my bedroom and answered the phone. “Hello?”

I heard breathing on the other end, then a woman’s voice. “This is Mary Kate Glick. I’m sorry about earlier. I want to talk. Can you stop by?”

Callie was watching me, quizzically, and I nodded at her. “Yes, Ms. Glick. I will be there shortly.” I hung up the phone without saying goodbye and walked back to the kitchen.

“The woman wants to meet?” Callie asked.

“Yep.”

“That’s a sudden turnaround,” she pointed out, then shook her head. “You’re right. Things
do
keep getting weirder.”

I helped her clean the table and she washed the dishes in the kitchen sink while I checked the Colt in my shoulder holster.

“You think you’ll need that?” she asked, drying the dishes and putting them back in the cabinets.

“She knew Jack. Somehow. Davenport is a shaman. I think I’m sick of being the last one to know anything.” Before she could speak, I continued, “I’m also thinking it’s better to be prepared.”

I sat at the kitchen table and removed the Colt from my shoulder holster and checked the silver bullets. The .45 rounds were huge and gleamed like quicksilver in the overhead light. There were six rounds in the magazine, plus one in the chamber. Seven rounds in total that could punch a hole through a vampire like a hot knife through butter.

If I could manage to put a few silver rounds in a vampire, the vampire would combust, leaving a smoking pile of greasy ash. If I missed, I wouldn’t have time to worry. The vampire could literally tear my head from my shoulders. I shuddered at the memory of Silas ripping my great-uncle Warren’s head from his body, and how empty Warren’s eyes had appeared staring off into space.

“Sam?”

My hands were trembling and Callie was standing next to me, obviously concerned. I inserted the magazine and checked that the hammer was still cocked and the thumb safety on. The first few days I’d worn the holster, I’d been terrified at the thought of the Colt cocked and ready to fire, but I had finally grown used to it. I would have to thumb off the safety and squeeze hard enough to disengage the grip safety before it would fire.

“Sam?” Callie repeated, softer.

“We’re low on lead ammunition,” I said, “and we don’t have that many rounds of silver. The Glick woman might be a good contact until I can figure out how to bring Sam Harlan to life. Let’s get back to Marshalltown and find out what she has to say.”

* * *

Callie and I entered the pawnshop, the little bell tinkling, and Mary Kate was there to greet us. She took my hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she blurted out. “It was just a shock. Jack mentioned a young relative. I guess that’s you.”

“We only met a while ago,” I said. “I barely got to know him.”

Mary Kate smiled sadly. “He was a hard man to get to know.”

Callie coughed politely and asked, “What order did you have for Jack?”

“Right,” Mary Kate said. “I suppose you want it?”

I stepped forward. “Ms. Glick? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m afraid you’re going to have to fill me in.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I just can’t believe you don’t know.” She stepped past me and flipped the sign in the window from open to closed, then carefully locked the door. “Follow me.”

I turned to Callie, who nodded and gave me a gentle shove. We followed Mary Kate through the pawnshop and into a back room separated from the rest of the pawnshop by a curtain.

The room was small, twelve feet square, with stark white walls covered with rifles and shotguns lined up neatly in rows at waist height. Glass display cases were filled with handguns of all sizes.

Mary Kate turned to us. “I keep the guns separate from the rest of the shop.”

I raised an eyebrow at the impressive display. “Did Jack order a gun?”

She shook her head. “No.” She bent behind one of the counters, removed four brown cardboard boxes, each the size of a lunchbox, and placed them on the glass counter. “Jack ordered this ammunition.” She removed a box cutter from her apron and slit the packing tape on top, then opened the box and withdrew a smaller box of .45 ACP ammunition. She opened the box and I saw that the rounds were silver.

I glanced at Callie, who pursed her lips but didn’t speak. “Ma’am,” I asked, “how much is here?”

Mary Kate squinted, doing the mental calculations. “Between the different calibers? About ten thousand dollars’ worth.”

I let out a low whistle. “Seems pricy.”

She frowned. “It’s not the cost of the silver. I have it handmade by a man in Nebraska. Do you know how hard it is to cast silver bullets?”

I didn’t. “Uh, hard?”

“Very hard,” Mary Kate said. “You can’t just melt silver the way you do with lead. Silver has a much higher melting point and it shrinks more, so you have to be extremely careful when you cast the rounds. Plus, the dimensions have to be precise. It doesn’t expand and deform inside the barrel like lead, so there’s no room for error. If it’s too big, it’ll explode in your face. If it’s too small, you lose accuracy.”

I nodded as if I understood. “Sure.”

I removed one of the rounds and felt the familiar weight in my hand. I had never really examined the bullets before, and for the first time I noticed the crisp lines and how the bullet was perfectly formed. “When did Jack place this order?”

“He places an order every six months.” She stopped, frowning. “
Placed
an order. Can I ask you something? What did he do with all of it?”

I blinked. Jack might have had some type of relationship with Mary Kate, but apparently he kept her in the dark about his
true
business. “He hoarded it,” I said. “He liked silver and gold. He thought they were more valuable than paper money.”

She glanced from Callie to me. “I understand collecting coins, but why bullets? Why make them with gunpowder? It’s not like he shot them—”

“It’s like Sam said,” Callie interrupted. “Jack hoarded them.”

Mary Kate shook her head. “I’m not dumb. Jack was private. He never told me what he did. I’ve never been to his house. I have a lot of customers who are private, but none like Jack. Tell me the truth. What did Jack do with all those silver bullets?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe he thought they looked pretty.”

She grunted. “Jack wasn’t much for looks. He was a practical man.”

“He
was
that,” I said. “I’d like to buy this order, if you don’t mind. That way you’re not out any money.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid I can’t sell you this order. Not yet. I need you to do something for me.”

“What do you need?” Callie asked.

Mary Kate turned to her and blinked. “I need you to look into a matter for me.”

I heard Mary
Kate out, then said, “Why would you think I could help with something like that? Shouldn’t he go to the police?”

Mary Kate shook her head. “It’s—well, it’s complicated.”

“You think
I
can find this missing girl?” I asked. “What makes you think I could do that?”

“I wasn’t
going
to ask you,” Mary Kate said. “I was
going
to ask Jack, but he’s not here and you
are
.”

“How do you know her?” Callie asked.

“She’s my nephew’s girlfriend, and she’s not a girl. She’s twenty-two. They are engaged to be married next summer.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help,” I said, shaking my head. “The police would be his best bet.”

“The police will say she hasn’t been missing long enough,” Mary Kate said heatedly, her eyes as gray as thunderclouds. “They don’t care if some Latino girl ran away from home. They’ll just say she’s an adult and can come and go as she pleases.”

I turned to Callie, who watched with a carefully neutral expression. She very slowly shook her head. I turned back to Mary Kate. “I don’t know what you think I can do, but a missing girl—excuse me, young woman—is not something I know what to do with.”

Mary Kate’s face hardened. “If you want this silver ammunition, you’ll do it. I see some of Jack in you, and I may not know what he did, but I know that there was a hardness about him. He was … resolute. I think you have some of that, and I think you can help.”