“At the very least, I see that as a total dereliction of his duties. He should have called in the FBI or at least, involved the Stockton police and their resources.”
“I agree and I suggested it. My suggestion was shot down and since I need this job, I didn’t push harder. I still have nightmares about not having done more. In fact, not long after the boy first went missing, and the sheriff gave up, I organized a few of the local shifters to see if we could pick up a scent trail.”
“And? No luck?” I asked.
Sally’s lips thinned but she kept her gaze on the road ahead as she drove. “I think the werewolves contaminated the scene. If there had been a crime or abduction, the shifters would have picked up a scent. We went in as soon as the hobos moved on, but we could only pick up the scent of the wolves. It was very strong. We soon realized that the only reason we’d even picked up their scent at the camp was because it had been left there to intentionally confuse shifters if and when we went in to try to track the boy.”
“What the hell?” I exclaimed. “Do you think the sheriff ordered this? Was he somehow in on the abduction, and then used Floyd’s wolves to cover up the wrongdoing?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure about being in on the abduction but as far as the contamination went, I think so, yeah. I mean, I could never look at or think of Sheriff Willis in the same light after that. I blamed him for the loss of that little soul.”
“Well, if that little ghost Vincent saw was that boy, it means he’s dead.”
“Yeah, it does but it means more than that, Sheriff Rome.”
“What?”
“It means his body is somewhere it won’t be found. Specters that appear dark like the one you’re describing mean that they’re traumatized and are forever trapped in a shadowy place of utter despair. I’m so sorry for that little one. It breaks my heart.”
My own heart squeezed. “I have another question. You’re welcome to think I’m crazy, but I have to ask.”
“Okay. Shoot,” she said. I liked my deputy a whole lot.
“Go back to the way we found Sheriff Willis’ body with no footprints.”
“Yeah.”
“Remember when we were still in the mine before the doc brought his corpse out…remember how I said, it was like someone must have floated him in?”
“Yeah…oh…yeah!” she said, dragging her eyes off the road for a second. They were as round as saucers when she returned her gaze to the windshield. “Are you thinking a ghost could have put the sheriff’s body in there?”
I shrugged. “It crossed my mind but then again, I’m most likely crazy to entertain such thoughts.”
She shook her head, and I saw her smile in profile. “I don’t think you’re crazy at all. I think that sounds more than plausible.”
I sat back and turned to look at the sequoias as we passed through town. Maybe I was on to something. I had no idea. I only wished I knew more about ghosts. I turned to Sally. “Do you know we have a medium in town?”
“A medium what?”
I chuckled. “A person who can pick up on psychic things…a medium.”
She laughed and grinned over at me. “You know more about the stuff that goes on in this town after two weeks than I do having lived here for years. It’s amazing. Tell me about this medium.” She returned her eyes to the road.
“His name is Scott, and he works for Vincent at the antique’s store.”
“Oh, yeah, Scott Templeton. I know him. He’s a medium?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he’d know something about spirits and ghosts then,” Sally said.
I smiled, relaxing back in my seat. “Yeah, Sally, that’s just what I was thinking. If we have time today, I’d like to stop in and talk to him after we’re through in Frederick.”
“Okay. Good idea.”
We pulled onto the road leading deep into the woods, and I mentally braced myself for the confrontation I was about to have with Floyd. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to go well. Not at all.
Chapter Eleven
Prosper Woods Chronicle. Letters to the editor:
“Prosper Woods really needs a traffic light or two. Last night I was driving down main street when I was cut off by a horse and buggy. Why didn’t anyone tell me them things are translucent in the moonlight? Kinda scary when all you got is a Buick and no stoplight.” Signed, “Scornful of speeding specters.”
Vincent
Scott was unpacking a blue carnival glass candy dish when I walked in. He and Bryce had slowly but surely been making their way through the boxes we’d yet to unpack. My store in South Carolina had slightly more square footage of floor space than this one in Prosper Woods but I felt this layout worked to my advantage. Any antique store I’d ever shopped in had been crammed with goods, those owned outright or those which were taken in on consignment.
It was what had attracted me to the business to start with. I liked the feeling of walking into a store and putting my eyes to work to take in everything on offer. In my experience, it made people stay around longer and when customers did that, they usually ended up buying something.
“Good morning,” Scott said, looking up from his unwrapping and smiling broadly.
“Hello.” I glanced around, noticing that he’d finished several boxes which now
