If Catfish Had Nine Lives (Country Cooking School Mystery) (10 page)

“I wondered if I’d scared you away,” I said.

Jerome smiled. “No, Isabelle, you can’t scare me.”

We were in the Nova. Originally, I’d parked on Main Street, just a few doors down from Jake’s archive building, but when I spotted Jerome standing outside the Jasper Theater, I signaled for him to join me in my car. I drove us around to the back of the buildings and parked directly behind Jake’s. Jake might see the car, but at least he’d know there was probably a valid explanation as to why I was sitting in it and having a discussion by myself.

“Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” Jerome said as he turned his attention out the windshield and to the back of the building.

I thought he just didn’t want to tell me exactly what he’d been up to. I’d already tried to touch him, feel him, but my hand went right through his well-lit ghostly figure again and again. I was beginning to doubt that I’d felt his hands on mine when we were fishing. Had I imagined the sensation, wished it were real?

“Where’s here and there?” I wasn’t ready to give up.

He shrugged. “Around.”

I sighed. “Am I still in danger?”

“I honestly don’t know, Isabelle.”

“You’d be gone if I was safe, right?”

“I’m not sure. However, I don’t think you’re in imminent danger. Maybe I’m still here because there’s a killer on the loose. Maybe I’m just here to make sure you’re careful.”

“Okay. I can be careful. I’m pretty careful by nature.”

Jerome looked at me and gave me an honest-to-goodness smirk. I could see it clearly even though he was mostly transparent in the passenger seat next to me.

I smiled. “Come on, tell me where you’ve been.”

He thought a moment and then said, “I’ve been on my property. Well, what used to be my property.”

“Oh. Where is it?”

“Just outside the other end of town. You can’t get there by any modern, newfangled road, but there used to be a dirt road coming in and out of it. It’s all covered over with brush and weeds now.”

“What made you want to see it?”

“I’m not sure,” Jerome said as he looked back out through the windshield again.

I tried to inspect his profile, but between the side view, all the sunlight, the cowboy hat, and the facial hair, it became difficult to read his expression.

“Jerome?”

He seemed to try to shake himself out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. He looked at me again and smiled. “I’m sorry, Isabelle, but for some reason this time back I’ve been overwhelmed with a whole barn full of memories from my life. They’ve come at me so fast that I’m having a hard time putting them all in a respectful order in my head.”

“Are they painful memories?”

“No, not like that. There are some good ones, some bad ones, too, but the good ones break my heart a little and I’ve never experienced that before. It’s unsettling and . . .”

“And?”

“And.” He paused a long moment. “It’s like this, Isabelle—I can’t figure out why I’m remembering. I can’t understand the point of it all. I’m gone. Everyone from then is gone, too. There’s nothing I can do about any of it.”

“Tell me a memory,” I said.

He exhaled through his nose. There was no air, but the sound was distinct. “Well, all right, I will, I suppose.”

I waited silently while he either sifted through the memories or worked up the guts to talk about one of them.

“Elsa.”

“Your wife?”

“Well, we were never married,” he said quietly, as if it was something to be ashamed of.

“That’s right. I forgot. That’s not as unusual nowadays as it was back then, Jerome. Lots of couples simply live together; even have kids together.”

“I wish we’d married, but . . . well, the circumstances were beyond our control. Anyway, she saved me from a snake once.” He laughed. “I’d been working the small herd of cattle I had and was exhausted, almost passed-out asleep in the small cabin we lived in. I was awakened by a scream and the vision of Elsa coming at me with a shovel. She brought the shovel down on a rattler that was about to bite into my foot that was hanging over the edge of the bed. I was shocked into silence as my brain figured out that she was saving my life, not killing me. I remember as clear as day—she held the shovel with one hand, wiped her forehead with the other, and said, ‘Saved your hide, old man.’” He smiled into the past.

“That’s not a bad memory, Jerome. That’s a great memory,” I said. I was touched by his story, and hearing it only made me care for him more.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that seeing her so clear brings back so much.”

“I understand. Some people would say that’s a blessing.”

Jerome looked at me. “I don’t know, Isabelle. For years I’d come back to visit Miz and I’d pick up on a memory or two as time went on, but it’s all so different now.”

My heart sank. “I’m sorry.”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I don’t know if I can say this right, so bear with me a minute.”

“All right.” I swallowed hard.

“Those memories, those feelings, I suppose, are all wonderful, but I’m afraid . . . well, I’m afraid I’m building an even bigger bank of memories with you. I cherish our strange time together, Isabelle, but someday, you’ll only be a memory, too.”

“Someday, when I die?” I said.

“Yes.”

This conversation was not something anyone could prepare for. No matter what experiences one had already had in life, this one wasn’t in manuals or books, or “Dear Abby” articles, but two things occurred to me.

“I suppose that’s a risk we all take, Jerome. People we care for die. It stinks, but that’s the way it is. I’d like to propose an idea, though—you come back as a ghost. Who’s to say that I won’t come back, too? Maybe there’s a ghostly future for us after all.”

Jerome blinked and half smiled.

“There’s something else,” I said. “Gram has a saying whenever I or Teddy get melancholy about her being so old. She says, ‘Dadnabit, I’m not dead yet, so save your down-in-the-dumps attitude for later.’ So, Jerome, I’m not dead yet, which frankly, might end up to be a positive or a negative. I guess we’ll see—hopefully not any time soon.”

“You’re as right as you can be. I’m sorry for my down-in-the-dumps attitude.”

I laughed. “Oh, you haven’t seen down-in-the-dumps until you’ve seen Teddy pull it off. He’s an expert.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good, now, speaking of Teddy, I need to tell you what happened to him.”

Jerome listened intently as I told him about Teddy’s beating and the fact that we thought Norman Bytheway could have been involved, but we couldn’t be sure. I told him about Orly and the three women I was curious about. I described the new ghost, Joe, and how I didn’t think he was who he said he was. I asked if Jerome would nose around and see what he could overhear or find out. He was more than willing to jump aboard and be the invisible cowboy detective.

“How’s Teddy today?” he asked.

“Fine. Well, he still looks pretty bad, but he’ll be okay.”

“Something’s not right, Isabelle. If a man wants to fight, he doesn’t lead another man out into the woods for the battle. He fights him straight up.”

I didn’t know the etiquette of “man fights,” but Jerome had been alive when they were all too common—and all too often solved with guns.

“I’m not sure that’s the code anymore, Jerome, but do you think someone else hit him, or more than one someone elses?”

“I think it’s possible, and from what you said about the state he’s in, I also think they most likely wanted to kill him.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. I don’t think they wanted or expected him to live.” I shivered.

“Can you think of anyone who might have had it out for your brother?”

This list of people who had said the words “I’m going to kill you” to Teddy was long, and mostly populated by female names. But the threat had never been much more than vocalized frustration at Teddy’s typical inability to care for a woman the way she wanted to be cared for.

“I’m not sure I’d know where to begin, except with women he’s . . . dated.”

“Cliff might already be on that trail,” Jerome said.

Cliff. I still hadn’t spoken to him. I really needed to track him down.

“I’ll ask,” I said. He was probably more interested in who killed Norman Bytheway, which was how it should be. But maybe the killer and the person or persons who beat Teddy were somehow tied together.

“Good. Now, this ghost, this Pony Express rider. You said he doesn’t know what happened to him?”

“That’s right.”

“Believe it or not, I remember hearing a story about a missing rider who was from Broken Rope. They never found him. I can’t remember his name offhand, but I remember something about his story. His wife abandoned their small family and spent the rest of her short life looking for him.”

“Astin Reagal?” I said.

“Yes, I believe so,” Jerome said. “You’ve heard of him? Is that your ghost?”

“Only recently. And he’s claiming not to be the same one.”

I gave Jerome more details regarding the
two
Pony Express riders who had simultaneously entered my life.

A cloud rolled over the sun as I finished sharing the information, and Jerome was momentarily shadowed in a little darkness. Even that small amount caused him to become more real and I caught an expression that surprised me: an intense focus. On me, on my words, perhaps.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m not exactly sure, but there’s something more I know about Astin Reagal. I can’t quite seem to remember it at the moment.”

“You said memories are coming back right now. Maybe it’ll become clearer.”

“I hope so,” Jerome said as the cloud moved on and the sun came back.

“You don’t by chance know what he looked like?” I asked.

“Not at the moment.”

“Let me know.” My phone buzzed. “It’s Jake. He has some more information for me. He obviously doesn’t know we’re right outside his back door.”

“I like Jake. Let’s go talk to him.”

• • •

“Hi, Jerome!” Jake said to the space beside me. He cleared his throat and looked at me. “Is it okay to be happy he’s back?”

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“I saw you,” Jake said to the space. “I recorded your image.”

“How’s that?” Jerome asked.

“Jake has a camera that’s meant to pick up ethereal signals. I thought it was a gimmick, something fake, but he got a picture of you,” I said.

“That seems impossible,” Jerome said.

“Maybe, but it certainly helped me,” I said. “Trust me, Jerome, there are moments I feel like maybe I’m a little off my rocker because I can see you ghosts. The pictures of you confirmed for me that I’m just weird, not weird and crazy.”

“I’d like to see the pictures.”

“He’d like to see the pictures someday, Jake.”

“I can do that,” Jake said. “But for now, I have some information.” He smiled coyly. “And a picture. Let’s start there.”

Jake’s enthusiasm for his research was contagious, and Jerome and I followed him eagerly around the table to the far corner, where a stack of files and papers sat. He lifted the top item from the pile.

“This is Astin Reagal,” he said.

The picture was beyond grainy; white blobs and spaces were scattered throughout. But there was no doubt that this was not the Pony Express rider that was presumably still hanging around with Gram and waiting to deliver a letter.

The young man in this picture had a full face and distinct features; a large nose that fit well between wide-set eyes, a crooked mouth, and thick stubble while still looking very young. I was disappointed, but I moved that to the back of my mind for the time being.

“I remember this picture,” Jerome said. “Jake must have found this in an article in the
Noose
. Back in my day, they did a story about the long-missing rider. Seeing this now brings back the exact moment I read the article. Another strong memory.”

“Did you find this in an old
Noose
?” I asked Jake.

“I did.”

“Jerome remembers this. It must have been published when he was alive.”

“Hang on. Let me look.” Jake rummaged through the stack again. “Yes, right here’s the article, which I haven’t been able to clean up enough to read, but the date is pretty clear. July 9, 1918.”

“I was killed a week later,” Jerome said.

“He died a week later, Jake,” I said.

“And another weird coincidence,” Jake said.

“Not really,” Jerome said.

“Why not? What’s up?” I asked.

Jerome focused on the picture a long moment.

“What’s going on, Betts?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know yet. Jerome’s remembering something.”

Finally, Jerome looked up and smiled.

“Betts, I don’t think I’m here for you this time,” he said.

“No?”

“No. I found him. I found Astin’s body—well, his skeleton at least. I think I must have been killed before I was able to tell anyone.”

“Plus you were plotting a bank robbery,” I said.

“Yes, that, too. But no wonder I don’t have any sense that you’re in big danger. That’s not it at all. I’m here this time to rediscover Astin.”

“Where is he?” I asked.

Jerome scratched at the side of his head, knocking his hat off-kilter. “I think somewhere close to my property, but I’m not exactly sure at the moment. I bet it comes back to me.”