Thistle and Twigg Read online

  It was when she reached the outer wall and the large bay window that overlooks the backyard that her equipment went, in her words, “doggone bozo.” We knew immediately she’d found something, for she yelped and jerked the device in her hand. When we all turned to see what was the matter, she said, “It’s … it’s warm. It’s warming up in my hand.”

  We gathered round and witnessed an astonishing sight, that of the meter knocking repeatedly into the red. Sarah reached into a pouch on her leather belt and withdrew a digital video camera, hardly bigger than her palm, to record the phenomenon.

  I was suddenly aware of the aroma of coffee and remembered Phoebe. She hadn’t responded to our outburst, so I called out, “Phoebe, come look!” She didn’t hurry. I kept looking for her over my shoulder as Riley and the girls used every gadget, including ones I’d not seen, from belts, lanyards, and inner pockets. All did not give a reading, but most did respond in some way.

  “What?” Phoebe said when she finally arrived at the doorway

  The blonde said, “Callie’s meter is getting hot.”

  Phoebe came across the room, stood beside her, and put an arm around her shoulder. “Let me see if I can fix that,” she said. She eyed the gadget, noting its jumping meter with raised eyebrows, but remained unimpressed as she turned her attention to the bay window. She bent to the floor, swung down her arm, and flicked the heater vent shut with one motion. Once standing straight, she dusted her palms together.

  “Y’all holler when you find Elvis,” she said as she turned to go, her slippers flapping away on the wood floor.

  Riley watching Phoebe’s performance from behind his visors, shook his head. “Skeptics. Can’t tell ’em nothing.”

  Much time was spent in gathering and recording information until, weary from the excitement, we retired to the kitchen, which was the last room left to scan. When I first walked in, Phoebe was looking closely at the photos scattered about the table. She quickly pushed them all together and neatened them into a stack before the others followed me in.

  Sarah’s scanner blipped as she walked through the center of the room. After several tests of the area, it appeared only a small spot prompted the blips, and it wasn’t on or around an object but in mid-air.

  Phoebe ignored them as they made a cursory sweep around her. Riley took pictures, as he had throughout the house, with a camera containing special film. “Good for auras,” he said with an arcing gesture of his long, skinny arm. “Spectrum. Everthang.”

  They stayed for coffee, chatting about the house, all so very excited about their readings. The photos from my graveyard had apparently been their greatest success to date. Now, they had ever so much more to talk about, a thought that worried me a bit.

  “I wonder if I might ask you a favor,” I said. “It’s rather a big favor, I’m afraid.” They took my request to keep our evening’s adventure to ourselves quite well. There was a little disappointment at first, but all agreed it would be best to evaluate things first.

  “Plus,” Sarah said, “people might start bothering you. You wouldn’t want strange folks coming around.” Phoebe said nothing as she gave each of our guests pointed looks. A small silence ensued, during which the unspoken idea of keeping my house and its supernatural possibilities our own little secret hung between us.

  twenty-five

  Phoebe Walks on

  the Refuge

  The next morning, I left Jane’s and went to my house to see how the Blaze boys were doing. They only had a little bit more framing to replace around where the oven was. Bless their hearts, they moved my old oven and refrigerator to the backyard, out of the way, so their cousin Judy’s husband Darren could lay the vinyl flooring down that I picked out. They said I could have the appliance store bring my new oven and refrigerator the next day.

  The painters, some young boys that were friends of the Blazes, were making progress and doing a fine job. They were done with the upstairs and had all the downstairs finished except the kitchen. Ricky said they’d have it ready before Darren got there later in the afternoon. I tell you what, it was a relief to have those boys taking care of everything. All that was left was to pick up my drapes and living room rugs from the dry cleaners. I’d do that last.

  Until noon, I spent my time wiping down and polishing my tables, picture frames, and everything else in sight. I went to the kitchen and said, “Is that door going to be done today?”

  “Sure will,” he said.

  “And it’ll lock good?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She’s ready to go.”

  I’d promised Jane I’d come back for lunch and then we would take a walk. I suggested we go out to the shooting range on Cal’s place. She didn’t like the idea.

  “Cal said you could come anytime you wanted, didn’t he?” I said.

  “Yes. Still, I wouldn’t want to without talking to him first.”

  “He doesn’t care. It’s practically yours, or will be in a day or two.”

  “Only in name. Nothing will change. I’m a little surprised you’d want to go there, after the bad experience we had.”

  “Oh, pooh. I’m over it. Besides, we need to find some clues. We’ve got to find the perps so the fuzz can throw ’em in the slam-mer.

  Jane laughed like little tinkling bells. “We’ve not done very well so far, have we?” she said.

  “We’ve been distracted.”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, dear. They’ll find who killed that young man and those responsible for burning your house.”

  “Jane, quit thinking like a girl scout. They would’ve arrested somebody by now if they had a clue. We’re gonna have to crack this case if it’s gonna get cracked. And who better to do it?”

  “The police who have years of experience in these matters?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “I understand it’s frustrating and it’s hard when you want to feel useful. But Detective Waters seems quite capable of handling the job himself.”

  “But what if he missed something?”

  “After combing the area, as they’ve surely done several times over by now? No, dear, we wouldn’t find anything after such thorough searches.”

  I let it drop. There’s no convincing some people. If they’re hardheads, you might as well be hollering at a slab of concrete.

  We headed out to take our walk on one of the refuge trails. A police car was still stationed between the entrance to the refuge and the road onto Cal’s land. We waved at the young boy behind the wheel.

  “Is he spying on us?”

  “I rather doubt it. More likely, he’s here to deter the curious.” It’s true that Jane and I had noticed lots of cars on the road lately, going slow and gawking at Cal’s gate.

  “Yeah, but they’re watching for Cal, too. To make sure he doesn’t run off before we find who really killed that boy.” After we got well out of earshot, I said to Jane, “Beverly Hills Cop.”

  Jane cocked her head, thought a second, and said, “No, Phoebe.”

  “No what?” I said all innocent but half giggling.

  She gave me one of those looks. “You know perfectly well. I am not going to distract that poor young officer with food while you stick a banana up his tailpipe.”

  “See there. We’re thinking on the same wavelength.”

  “A fact that disturbs me greatly,” she said all serious, but then she grinned and we both laughed. She looped her arm around my elbow. “I remember Cal showing me a place where this trail curved very near his land. Let’s see if we can find it.”

  “We won’t get lost, will we?”

  “No, no. From where we stood that day, I could see the trail clearly. It was no more than thirty feet away. The clearing had very distinctive rock formations. I’m sure I’ll know it. I have my compass, just in case.”

  The refuge is okay but it’s nothing special. Just trees like every where else around here. The walking trail is nice new asphalt though, so you don’t feel like you’re
too far from civilization. I wasn’t sure I wanted to traipse through the woods without even a dirt path to go on and no road or trail in sight.

  Jane found the spot she was talking about. We didn’t have to walk far away to be square on Cal’s land. We stomped our way through bushes with some sticky bristles and then went over a little hill. I turned around to look back, but the hill hid the refuge trail.

  “I saw the roof of a cabin last time, just past these rocks. Let’s take a look.” We hadn’t gone far when Jane bent down to pick up something in a stream running across our path.

  “Whatcha got?” I said.

  “It’s a shell.” Jane didn’t sound too pleased.

  “What, a mussel shell? There’s millions of them around here.”

  “Not that kind.” She held out her hand. There was something gold in it. “A bullet casing,” she said.

  “Huh. Cal must’ve been hunting something over this way.”

  Jane shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Not so close to the refuge. I can’t be sure what guns Cal might have that I’ve not seen, but I know one thing—this is not the type of ammunition common to hunting guns.” She slipped it into her pocket and kept walking, searching the ground as we went.

  I stood there and stared at her. Something was different about Jane all of a sudden. It was almost like her face got flipped around and another one, her real one, came out. The sweet one I’d seen up until then was really her, too, I guess, but this new one had a whole lot of serious in it and it changed her features just enough to make me think Mob Boss or SWAT team commander or some such. I kept a couple of steps behind her.

  We went on a little ways until we came to a clearing with a log cabin set back near the trees. Out in the middle of the clearing, a stuffed dummy had its waist and neck tied to a pole. Straw stuck out of bullet holes all over its chest. Farther to the left was another homemade archery target. It looked like a child had drawn the red rings. The bull’s eye was torn so bad it was just about gone.

  “Look at this stuff!” I said. “Cal must really like to practice to go to all this trouble. What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t like the feel of this place,” Jane said. She bent down a moment and inspected the ground around the stuffed targets. “This doesn’t look like Cal’s work. He wouldn’t use bullets of such large caliber.”

  “It’s got to be. Nobody else would have the guts to come here.”

  Jane shook her head. “He wouldn’t litter the ground with trash either. Look. Nor with cigarette butts. He’s certainly too thrifty to leave casings about. He reuses them.” She picked up a few more of the spent shells nearby. “Look at the size of them.”

  I whistled. “Goodness. I believe those are bigger than my Israeli bullets.”

  “Yes. I’ve seen the type before. I know of several military-issue rifles that use them.”

  “Oh, really?” I said. Maybe the Colonel had those particular military rifles. Or maybe she learned about them herself somewhere else. “So, this place is a military camp?”

  “No, dear. It’s much too crude.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Those guys from the gun show! They talked about their base camp. This is it! I know it!” I ran over and went in the cabin.

  It was one room furnished with only a pine table and three chairs. The old fireplace was a small one. It looked like somebody had been using it to burn trash. Cigarette tips were all over the floor. A couple of Styrofoam cups had an icky mixture of black ash and coffee.

  “Trashy. Needs a good cleaning.”

  Jane looked around real nervous. “Come, Phoebe. I don’t like this place. Let’s not hang about.” I didn’t argue. It felt creepy to me, too.

  “Are you sure this is Cal’s land right here?” I asked once we were outside.

  “It must be. I saw the top of the cabin, but from the other direction, on the other side of that ridge. We saw nothing like this,” she said, as we passed the straw dummy, “and Cal certainly didn’t say anything about such things.”

  We went back the way we came, over the hill again, slid down through the leaves and bushes, and got back on the refuge trail. Jane didn’t say much at first. She looked off into the sky, distracted like. Once she started noticing all the birds and trees around her again, she was more like her normal nature-freak self. I figured I better start a real conversation before she started taking deep breaths and got to talking about “Save the Bark” or some such foolishness.

  “I don’t know, Jane. It’s weird. Bullet casings. Calibers. Military-issue rifles…,”

  “Yes, it’s all quite confusing.”

  She looked away from me, like she was hiding something.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. What I meant was, I’m amazed at how much you know about guns and military stuff. Are you sure you never worked for the Feebs or for the CIA or somebody?”

  twenty-six

  Jane Confesses

  It had always been such an easy lie. Over the years, I never had a problem when asked what I did nor in replying I was quite content in being a housewife. Everyone thought it natural for me, a childless military wife with nothing but time on my hands, to find a hobby, and they accepted my desire to be a volunteer digger at whatever archaeology site I could find.

  No one queried much further when I explained it was just dirty, tedious work and nothing like the excavations of Egyptian tombs that most people were familiar with. Real riches were found rarely, even bones or plain pots were only found occasionally No one ever questioned my long absences from home. And on the rare occasion that my shooting skills came into conversation, I shrugged it off and said I shot to please the Colonel. And that was that.

  I made friends wherever we moved, of course, but it was best not to have any too close. My freelance work meant staying away from others, which suited me, really. I’ve always been one more for reading and studying than socializing. My work also meant a fair degree of danger, not always a high risk, but still all of a sensitive nature. For you see, my part-time work was for the government, and the archaeological digs I worked all over the world were my cover. In reality, I was a spy.

  One of the Colonel’s colleagues approached me after attending a dinner party at which the Colonel and I were goaded into doing a self-defense demonstration. The colleague, a higher-ranking officer than my husband, already knew I was working on a nearby dig. The next day, he came home with the Colonel for dinner.

  They’d already talked it over between themselves. Both seemed to think I’d be a good candidate to surreptitiously listen to and watch someone at this particular dig, a professor from China, who was under suspicion of buying state secrets.

  I was in a perfect position to see who he talked to, when he left camp, and also to take photos of any meetings with noncamp staff without drawing attention. It wasn’t until I accepted the assignment and was watching him do exactly what he was suspected of, that I realized the CIA would also have been watching me. My recruiting officer had not been at the dinner party by chance, nor was our demonstration there a sudden lark on the spur of the moment. They would have checked my credentials long before I was approached, would have watched my own movements for some time. And the Colonel would have known this. It was a good lesson. He never told me the truth. I never pressed, and I never took anything at face value again, even from him.

  One assignment led to another, and before long, I found myself taking more undercover jobs while working various digs whenever my husband was transferred. The CIA proved to be a good job finder for digs. I was hired on excellent jobs I’d never have gotten otherwise. They paid very well and the assignments were low-risk at first. Gradually, they grew a bit more dangerous and gave me more than a few good frights.

  I did this during tumultuous times, politically, when it was difficult to always rationalize that what I did was right. I only spoke once of my misgivings. The Colonel could be a bit strong in his opinions. He certainly had no doubts as to service to country, as was appropriate for a man in
his position. To him, assisting the government in this way strengthened the country. Finding information as I did prepared the authorities against any sort of outside threat and, in turn, meant a safer, more secure America.

  Most of the time, I agreed, though there were days in which the gray areas between right and wrong made me think otherwise. For this reason, I never spent a cent of my earnings. They sat safely in a credit union account, provided by my employer, as an emergency fund. That was what my husband called it. I thought of it as a charity fund, for the day when I would be free to give it to a deserving cause.

  When the Colonel was near retirement and assigned a more permanent job in the States, I also, in effect, retired. We settled into a slower pace of living. I still volunteered occasionally for digger jobs that weren’t too far away from the Colonel’s work. We moved several more times around the country, and I did take on a few more freelance assignments, but I generally considered myself out of the game.

  My coming to Tullulah had been a purposeful step toward true retirement. Oh, yes, I still subscribe to archaeology magazines and others on anthropology and wildlife, but haven’t felt compelled to dig since the Colonel’s health took a turn. When he died, I wanted a new, clean start, free to think as I liked, to speak the truth as I saw it without worrying if the Colonel or my former freelance bosses agreed. No more snooping, no more lying or telling half-truths as I had done for so many years.

  This time, my evasion of Phoebe’s question did not sit well with me. Not at all. As Phoebe might say, it “bugged the fire out of me,” a phrase that sprang into my mind immediately after I answered her, for I understood the words’ suitability at last.