If Fried Chicken Could Fly (11 page)

“What exactly would you like me to do?” I said loudly.

I didn’t know if it was the volume or the tone of my voice, but suddenly everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me.

“I just want you to stay out of the way,” Jim said.

Cliff looked at me with his eyebrows tight together.

Gram said, “Just call Verna, dear. She’ll get this taken care of quickly.”

“I’m not talking to any of you,” I said. “This…this guy keeps telling me not to let you arrest Gram. I have no idea how to prevent that.”

“What guy?” Jim said.

“What are you talking about?” Cliff said.

“Uh-oh,” Gram added.

“This guy whose name I still don’t know.” I pointed at the cowboy who stood next to me and rubbed his chin as he looked at Gram.

“Threw me for a loop, too, Missouri. I thought you were the only one,” the cowboy said.

“The only one what?” I said.

“There’s nobody there, Betts,” Cliff said.

“Very funny, Betts,” Jim said as he took Gram gently by the arm and began to lead her out of the office. “You pick this moment to act foolish?”

“Stop talking, dear,” Gram said as she walked by. “And you”—she nodded at the cowboy—“better explain yourself to her. It looks like I’m not going to be able to.”

I watched Jim escort Gram out of the library. Cliff, still holding Ashley’s hand, followed behind them. Ashley, who had observed the entire scene from her short stance and seemed to be entertained by the adults, smiled and waved at me as they walked away.

I turned to the cowboy and said, “Who the hell are you and what was all that about?”

The cowboy took off his hat and said, “I’m Jerome Cowbender. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream.

“You’re playing the part of Jerome Cowbender this tourist season?” I said as we sat across from each other in Sarabeth’s office.

Before I could focus on the cowboy, I called Verna and my parents and asked them to get to the jail as soon as possible. I told them I’d join them eventually. I let Sarabeth know that I was pretty shaken up and needed some time to gather myself. I asked if I could sit in her office. She’d said that was fine, and because she didn’t seem to see the cowboy sitting in the chair across from me, I didn’t mention him to her.

I wasn’t lying; I was shaken up. I was literally shaking with fear and nervousness. My throat was tight and my stomach was turning painfully. I was trying to keep myself together because I needed answers. If Gram wasn’t going
to give me any, maybe the man sitting across from me would.

“No, ma’am, I’m Jerome, or I guess I’m his ghost. At least that’s what Missouri tells me.”

“She tells you?” Obviously, something strange was going on, but I wasn’t ready to believe it was something as weird as the ghost of Jerome Cowbender.

“Yes. I don’t feel dead, but I died some time ago. Tragically. Someone shot me in the back. I don’t remember it, though. Not yet at least. Every time I visit, it takes me a little time for some bits and pieces of my memory to tie back together. Sometimes I’m not around long enough to get much back.”

“I have no idea what to say to that except that you must be an actor playing Jerome Cowbender this summer. There’s no other reasonable explanation.”

“No, I’m the real one; what’s left of him at least. Here touch me.” He extended one of his heavily calloused hands over the desk. “It’s going to be strange, mind you, but it’ll probably convince you.”

I hesitated but only because I knew that if he didn’t feel like a normal human being I’d have to accept that his story might have some truth to it. I knew that since no one else, except maybe Gram, could see him it probably meant he wasn’t human, but I was more willing to think I was losing my marbles than believe he was a real ghost.

“Go on, I can’t hurt you. I can’t really hurt anyone. Not anymore.”

I took a deep breath and then reached to his hand, and hesitantly put my finger to one of his. And my finger went right through him. I did it again, and again.

“Holy sh—” I could feel my heart pound in my chest. “I don’t understand. How is this possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Could you start from the beginning?”

“The beginning of what?”

“How do you know Gram?”

“Oh, that. Missouri says that when she was a newborn I saved her from a fire. Well, my ghost did. It was the first time I came back. She says I’ve been ‘haunting’ her on and off since I died.”

“You saved her from the fire when you first came back? You mean you were a ghost?”

“Yep…well, understand that right now I don’t remember the fire; I just remember her telling me about it. The longer I’m here, the more I remember from when I was alive and from my visits as a ghost, but there’re no guarantees.”

No guarantees? Apparently not. Ghosts weren’t really supposed to exist, were they? Wasn’t there some sort of rule that ghosts only belonged in scary stories and big imaginations? The fact that I just might be talking to one tilted everything I thought was real. Something suddenly becoming real that wasn’t supposed to be irrevocably changed my perspective about everything. I just wasn’t sure what my new perspective was. Confusion only scratched the surface of what I was feeling and thinking.

“She says that she was only a day old when the fire broke out in her family’s home. They lived outside town in a two-room shack that got hit by lightning. I was…it’s hard to explain, but I was ‘pulled’ back, a part of me was anyway, and I somehow got her and her momma out of the fire. That
was the first time and the only time as a ghost, according to Missouri, that I’ve been able to physically move things.”

“You don’t remember that?” I asked.

“I remember Missouri telling me about it. At the moment I don’t remember doing it.”

I’d heard the story of the lightning and the fire, but no one had mentioned that the ghost of Jerome Cowbender, the infamous bank robber, had been the hero who saved two of my family members. “You’ve been a part of Gram’s life since then?”

“Yes. I come and go. It’s unpredictable but sometimes I come back when something bad has happened.”

I thought. “The fire? Did the fire—pardon the pun—spark you to come back this time?”

“I don’t rightly know, but Missouri and I will figure it out eventually. I know she was in the jail last night. When I realized why, I thought maybe I was supposed to help clear her name.”

“Last night was less serious than today. Now Gram’s been officially arrested for the murder of Everett Morningside,” I said. “If you have any information that would clear her, you should probably tell me.”

“I don’t have much right now, but maybe I’ll come upon something.”

“How?”

“Again, I don’t rightly know just yet, but give me a little time. Missouri couldn’t kill anyone, at least not if they weren’t threatening her or her family. I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

We?

“Who, besides me and Gram, can see you?” I asked

“I don’t know of anyone. I didn’t know you could until this morning at the school when you scared the spit out of me.”

“I saw you last night. Were you outside the theater?”

“Yes, I was looking for Missouri. I knew where she was, but I couldn’t get into the jail.”

“Couldn’t?”

“Yes, I tried pretty hard last night. I just can’t. I remember trying other times before but never made it in. Must have something to do with having been an outlaw.”

I laughed, but it was uncomfortable. I was having a conversation with a ghost, a ghost of an outlaw who seemed pretty harmless at the moment and pretty matter-of-fact about his days of criminal behavior.

It was the fact that I’d seen Gram look at him and talk to him that made me think I probably hadn’t lost my mind. If I’d been the only one to see him, I would have been more concerned about my mental stability.

Even though I didn’t feel that I was one hundred percent aboard the notion that a ghost existed, I was ready to almost-all-the-way believe that
this
one did. And, if I really thought about it, a ghost residing in Broken Rope, Missouri, a place with a strange and deadly history, might not be too much of a stretch anyway.

There was a good reason Jerome seemed so authentic; he was the real deal, sort of. He was as real as the ghost of someone could be at least. However, there was always a chance that I was rationalizing my confusion and the ghost was just a figment of my imagination. If that was the case, I would need some mental health help. The irony of recognizing
my potential craziness in an old insane asylum wasn’t lost on me, which made me think I wasn’t crazy. Crazy people probably didn’t recognize irony.

“In my explorin’, I came upon a little something, though. It might be important and it was about me.”

“I guess you should tell me what it was, Jerome. Unless you can make yourself appear to Jim, I’m going to have to be your voice.” I gulped. Believing that the ghost was real was one thing, but speaking for said ghost would be a whole different challenge.

Jerome looked at me a long time as he traced the lines of his mustache with his finger and thumb. His eyes were dark and intelligent, though I’d never associated intelligence with the people who’d made the history that Broken Rope built its tourist economy on. That was probably a mistake, I thought, and something I would need to reconsider.

He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “Apparently, somewhere, when I was alive, I buried a treasure, a whopper of a treasure, to tell the truth. Gold. I stole it, I think. I don’t know for certain that the treasure had something to do with Mr. Morningside’s murder, but considerin’ what I saw yesterday, I’m thinking that gold is somehow involved.”

“The gold piece on your tombstone—did you see it? I saw it today. Did you put it there?”

“I didn’t put it there, but I did see it. Everett also owned the Jasper Theater. Last night, well early this morning when I figured out what was going on, I spent some time roaming around in there. There was a piece of paper on Everett’s desk that mentioned something about me and the treasure. I couldn’t see the whole thing so I don’t know what it was all
about. We need to ask Missouri, but I’d be willing to bet that Everett might have been onto something.”

“You really did steal gold?”

“I don’t remember. I’m just going on what I happened to see on the paper.”

“Jake.”

“What?”

“Jake, my friend, can help us. He knows more than anyone about the history of Broken Rope. He’ll know more than anyone about your criminal behavior.”

“Good. You’ll talk to Jake. But we’ve got to remember one other thing, Isabelle.”

I nodded.

“If Everett was onto something, maybe Missouri was, too. We’ll need to ask her questions, but she might need protecting, too.”

I hadn’t made the connection, but as I thought about what Jake said about seeing Gram and Everett together by Jerome’s tombstone and all the time they seemed to have spent together, I thought he might have a point.

No one would hurt Gram. Everyone loved her. But if a treasure really was involved, fondness for Gram might not help much. Money drove people to do desperate things; a treasure full of gold could bring out the greed in almost anyone.

Of course, I hadn’t wanted Gram arrested for Everett’s murder, but maybe having her behind bars was one way to keep her safe. Who knew what might happen?

This was Broken Rope, Missouri, after all.

I tried not to dwell on Jerome’s appearance and his subsequent disappearance. The visit to the library had been full of more unexpected surprises: Cliff with his niece, Gram’s arrest, and making the acquaintance of a ghost.

Shortly after he scared me about Gram’s safety, Jerome left. He told me he was going to have to go and then he disappeared without a sound and all at once. He didn’t fade from view, and he didn’t go one part at a time. He was gone in a blink—quicker actually. As the smell of smoke went with him, I became acutely aware of the scent of spearmint from a pack of gum on Sarabeth’s desk.

Once Jerome was gone, doubts about his existence bloomed. With him out of sight, it was probably only normal to question if he’d really been there at all. I couldn’t be sure, but I knew I didn’t have time to dwell on anything.