The Haunted

past the dining room window where Lynch had been spying on him, and out to the front sidewalk. Cole’s car was in the driveway, which meant he was home, and Julian strode past the Ribieros’ house and up to Cole’s front porch, where he rang the doorbell. He heard the chimes sound within the house and thought he heard movement, but though he waited for well over a minute, no one came to the door.

He rang again, waited. Knocked, waited. But there was still no answer.

That was strange.

He knew Cole was in there, and he rang again, knocked again and called out, “Hey, Cole! Open up! It’s Julian!”

“Go away!”

His neighbor’s voice sounded high and frightened, almost unrecognizable, and Julian was shocked as much by the tone as by the words themselves. “Cole? Are you all right?”

“I said go away!” There was an edge of anger now, mixed in with the fear.

He backed up a step, confused. He’d thought the two of them had a rapport; he’d thought they were starting to be friends. What the hell had happened?

This seemed totally out of character. Was it because of what had happened at the party? No. Cole couldn’t have been so freaked-out by the ghost that he’d cut off all contact. After all, he’d stayed behind when the other neighbors had fled and had even offered them some sober, nonpanicky advice.

It could be something that had happened in Cole’s personal life, although Julian didn’t think so. If that were the case, Cole would have been polite but distant, perhaps begging off after a brief, generic discussion and saying he was busy. He wouldn’t have been this hostile.

Or scared.

Julian was starting to get scared, too, and against his better judgment, he knocked on the door again. “What’s wrong? I’m not leaving until you tell me!”

There was a short pause, and the door opened a crack. He saw unkempt hair and two days’ stubble. “Go. Now.”

“Why? I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” The door opened a fraction of an inch wider. Cole was angry, Julian saw. But then that anger faded. It was as if he’d been mad at Julian and blamed him for something but had realized after setting eyes on him that Julian was not really at fault. “Go home,” he said tiredly.

“Cole—”

“Your house is calling to me. And I don’t know how much longer I can resist it.”

Your house is calling to me? What did that even mean? Before he could ask, Cole had closed the door again, and this time it stayed closed. Julian shouted out to his neighbor, knocked on the door and rang the bell, hoping to goad him into a response, but this time Cole remained silent.

Frustrated and confused, Julian headed home, walking slowly, looking around at the other houses on both sides of the street, wondering what his other neighbors were thinking, wondering what they were doing.

The next day, Cole was gone.

The day after that, a For Sale sign went up on his lawn.

Twenty-one

At least, Claire thought, she could lose herself in her work.

And her work on the Cortinez case was turning out to be far more compelling than she’d expected. It was not just the legal issues themselves, which were stimulating enough, but the supporting facts in the background, the alternate history that Mr. Cortinez had taught his students. These were accounts she had not heard before, a story with which she was not familiar, and she agreed with the teacher that it was something the students of Jardine, of all of New Mexico, should be taught.

At home, things might be confusing and complicated and weird and frightening, but seeking refuge in her job and in the labyrinthine logic of the law brought her calmness and a kind of peace, helped her cope with the craziness of the rest of her life. A small voice in the back of her head said that she shouldn’t run away from reality like this, that her real duty was to her family, not her clients, but that voice was overridden by what appeared to be a reasonable practicality, an echo of Julian’s position. She was not quite sure what had caused her to adopt such an attitude, but even at home, her fear seemed to be tempered somewhat, although she knew that if she dwelled on that anomaly, she would probably become even more frightened than she was already.

Which was why she didn’t dwell on it.

Although that in itself was atypical behavior.

Claire still thought they should sell the house and move—it was the impetus behind her fierce dedication to this case—but it was not quite the urgent priority it had been. She was braver now than she had been even a few days ago.

Human beings could adapt to anything.

She was also starting to wonder whether Oscar Cortinez’s version of history had some bearing on her own situation. Which was another reason she was so keen to research the particulars of this case. It might end up being nothing, but it seemed to her that the history of New Mexico and Tomasito County, Jardine in particular, provided clues as to the reasons behind the problems that were afflicting her family.

She might be able to win this case and figure out why their house was haunted.

And she had no doubt that she would win the case, no matter how good the lawyers turned out to be on the opposing side. The legal issues were clear. Oscar Cortinez had been singled out, and the layoff process had not been administered fairly. Beyond that, the teacher’s contention that his curriculum incorporated district standards even as it exceeded those standards seemed unimpeachable.

The more Claire read, the more she talked to Oscar, the more convinced she was that his curriculum should supersede that of the district. She still had a lot of studying to do, but what she’d learned so far was fascinating.

She’d read all of his lecture notes and had gone to the Web sites he’d listed for her—although, in the usual way of Web sites, the information she found there was sketchy and generic, basically what a person would find in an encyclopedia entry—but the crux of his argument for a revised look at local history rested on three books that he’d provided her.

The first book, meticulously researched and heavily corroborated, was published by a small press based in Albuquerque. That did not inspire her with confidence, but when she looked up information about the publisher, she learned that it was well respected within academic circles and even had a Pulitzer prize winner on its roster (which would definitely help their case).

The second book was older and much more informal, a casual narrative written in the early 1900s by a former farmer who was also an amateur historian. He’d put together anecdotal stories from longtime residents as well as written accounts from the diaries of relatives and local law enforcement officers. Surprisingly believable and engagingly written, the self-published book not only provided an unofficial look at the history of Tomasito County and the town of Jardine, but shed light on interesting details of everyday life at the turn of the last century.

The third volume was from a different perspective altogether. A chronicle of Spain’s and Mexico’s adventures in the Southwest, the land’s early exploration and colonization, it was based on eyewitness accounts recorded in official reports. Written by a respected Mexican historian and told from the point of view of those colonizing nations, the book had been published in Mexico in the early 1990s and recently translated by a noted professor from ASU.

All three books approached the same subject from different angles, giving, in toto, a complete picture of the area’s previously unrevealed past. Oscar Cortinez had not only done a lot of research and investigation, all of which informed his teaching, but he was providing the students and future citizens of Jardine a valuable look at their own history. He deserved to be commended for his efforts, not fired, and Claire was going to make sure that this