Ghosted

Chapter Three

He woke to the sound of a phone ringing loudly next to his head.

Archie’s eyes jerked open. He did not know where he was beyond an unfamiliar hotel room shrouded, thanks to blackout curtains, in gloom. He was further confused by the fact that the hotel phone was ringing rather than his cellphone.

He reached for the phone, knocked it off its hook, and had to lean over the side of the bed to retrieve it.

“Crane,” he grated into the receiver.

“ Oh .” The voice was female and vaguely familiar. “I’m sorry. Wrong number.”

A loud click at the other end of the line ended the call.

Archie swore, fumbled the phone back into its cradle, fell back in the stack of pillows. It had taken him over an hour to find lodging the night before. When he’d finally managed to wrangle a room at the exorbitantly priced Fraser House Inn, he’d stumbled upstairs, stripped, taken four pain killers, and fallen into bed. He had not been trying to kill himself, but at that point, he wouldn’t have cared if he had.

Twelve hours of deep, dreamless sleep later, his headache had receded to a survivable background thrum, and he was glad he had not accidentally overdosed. He was still shocked, though no longer stricken, by the events of the previous night. That John was dead—murdered—still seemed impossible, but this was what everyone felt after losing someone to violent crime.

The phone rang again.

“Jesus Christ .” He snatched the phone up, growled, “Crane.”

“Archie, is that you?” The voice from earlier held a note of protest.

He blinked, matched the name with the voice, and modified his tone. “Judith?”

“Archie, where have you been? Why did you leave last night without telling anyone where you were going? I’ve spent over an hour trying to track you down. We thought you must have left town!”

Archie raised his head, peered at the clock on the nightstand, blinked and peered again. It was after one o’clock in the afternoon. He sat up cautiously, swung his legs over the side of the side of the four-poster bed. So far, so good.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

That was the truth. It wasn’t like witnesses were released back into the suspect pool after questioning. But even if it hadn’t been the truth, what did Judith imagine there would have been to say? It wasn’t like she’d ever been anything but skeptical of his role in John’s life. In fact, the first time he’d met her, he’d got the impression Judith felt John had been tricked into assuming his guardianship. Not a great feeling for a fifteen-year-old kid grieving the loss of his parents.

Still. Water under the bridge.

Judith was continuing on in that charming way of hers. “There’s always a choice, Archie. Granted, you made yours clear when you left Twinkleton and never looked back. However, I know that John would expect that we at least invite your opinion in planning his funeral. He remained fond of you, despite your lack of reciprocal feeling.”

This was a lot for a guy who had been dead to the world, almost literally, three minutes earlier.

Archie, wiped his hand over his face, said carefully, courteously, “I’m happy to do whatever I can, Judith. If you want my opinion—”

“Not particularly. But I know John would have wanted that.”

Unexpectedly, Archie’s throat closed. He would never again have the opportunity to ask John what he wanted regarding anything. Never see that little twinkle in his eyes, never hear his warm, easy chuckle, never get one of those calls out of the blue asking how he was, if he needed anything; those surprising reminders that someone in the world did actually care if he was happy and well.

It took him a moment before he could say, “What do you need from me?”

“How long are you planning to stay?”

Good question. There was no longer any personal reason for him to stay in Twinkleton. He would have to return to his apartment in Stafford to recuperate, unless he could somehow wrangle his way back to active duty. That was wishful thinking. He was not ready physically, mentally, or emotionally to go back to work. It never hurt to try, though.

But he couldn’t leave at this juncture of the investigation even if he wanted to—and he didn’t want to. He wanted to be part of the investigation.

At the very least, he’d like to be able to offer access to resources Twinkleton PD would not otherwise have.

“Not long, it seems,” Judith said tartly. “We’re thinking of having the funeral as soon as the police release the body. Before you leave, perhaps you could find out for us when that will be.”

“I’m not leaving before the funeral, Judith. First of all, there’s an ongoing homicide investigation. Secondly, of course I’m staying for John’s funeral.”

It seemed to take Judith a moment to absorb this news. She said in a chilly little tone, “What a shame you couldn’t have made time for John when he was still alive.”

That brutal truth hit Archie right in the heart. He had no answer, and Judith didn’t give him time to come up with one. She hung up.

What the hell did I ever do to you?

Not a conversation they were ever going to have, but he really did wonder. Whether Judith believed it or not, believed he even had a right to grieve, he was grieving, too.

Archie replaced the receiver and stood up. So long as he moved carefully, thoughtfully, his equilibrium was okay and that red hot poker stabbing through his temples stayed at a manageable level. Coffee would help. Breakfast would help. Another day or two in bed would certainly have helped, but that last was not an option.

He felt his way to the bathroom, switched on the light, and blinked. The room was wallpapered in something that looked like green velvet and the large whirlpool tub was positioned beneath a giant open window that looked out over the interior suite. The purpose being? Framed sepia prints of horses and buggies decorated the wall. Unlike McCabe House, which John had renovated with an eye to retaining all its original charm while adding such conveniences as modern appliances and working plumbing, Fraser House seemed to still have all its original parts and pieces.

Not that Archie, who’d been sleeping in tents and log cabins until recently, was going to hit Tripadvisor with a three-star. He would be happy with running hot water and a toilet that flushed—and there he was in luck.

He was able to take a long shower, letting the hot water beat down on his stiff shoulders and neck. If he got the opportunity, maybe he’d make use of that bathtub whirlpool. He wiped the steam from the oval mirror, and shaved. The cuts and bruises on his face had faded away, but he still looked hollow-eyed, hollow-cheeked. All the blue seemed to have drained from his eyes. They looked pale and colorless. Haunted. Yes. He looked haunted.

But nothing helped you deal with ghosts better than having something to do, and he had a lot to do.

He dressed in fresh Levi’s and a Virginia was Made for Lovers T-shirt, which was about the extent of his wardrobe. He had traveled from the hospital in Wyoming to John’s home in Oregon, so there had been no time to pack for an extended stay. He’d planned on picking up a few necessities while he was in Twinkleton. While he could still squeeze into the odds and ends that remained of his college wardrobe, his shoulders were broader now, arms and thighs lean but muscular. Plus, he’d sort of lost his taste for sports logos and smartass sayings.

His bloodstained clothes from the night before had been left for Twinkleton PD to collect. No one had asked for them, though they should have; he was afraid what that oversight meant for the investigation. But he also knew, from experience, how easy it was to put local law enforcement’s back up. He would have to tread cautiously.

There was a very pretty dark-haired girl behind the front desk in the lobby. He was reasonably sure he didn’t know her, but she was staring as though she knew him. Archie nodded politely, heading for the front door. She was reaching for the phone as he stepped outside.

The air was cool and sweet. He could smell the salty sea air, hear birds—most likely robins, but he recognized the occasional melodious line of a meadowlark. John’s many interests had included birdwatching, and inevitably, Archie had absorbed some of that knowledge. He had never really considered how much influence John had on him.

Fraser House was in the heart of the historic district, just a short walk from downtown. That was convenient, although the decision to stay here had been based on desperation, not planning. He tried to remember where there was a good coffee-house. The town did not seem to have changed much in seven years. To the citizens of Twinkleton, that was probably a good thing.

The truth was, it was quite the charming spot. Archie had forgotten just how pretty it was, how quaint. In a funny way, protecting places like Twinkleton, making sure the Twinkletons remained Twinkletons, was what the last sixteen months had been about.

He started walking, taking his time, taking it easy.

June weather was usually mild, with temperatures typically ranging from the low 50s to the high 60s, but the skies overhead were looking a little sullen, and this was Oregon, so he was going to have to pick up a light rain jacket with the other things. He was also going to have to rent a car, as he no longer had access to John’s. Granted, he wouldn’t be able to drive until the dizzy spells stopped.

He paused for coffee and a blueberry muffin, then walked on to the police station—which, being housed in a Victorian building, was also as cute and quaint and pretty as a postcard.

Here, he hit a wall.

The burly front desk officer, who looked disconcertingly like the caricature of an evil prison matron, was not impressed by his credentials—surprisingly hardcore, right there—and made it clear she had no intention of disturbing busy-busy Chief Langham for someone who had not even bothered to schedule an appointment.

The FBI did not usually need to call in advance, but okay, things probably worked differently on the Hallmark Channel.

Archie asked for Detective Swenson, and was informed Detective Swenson was with Chief Langham. In the Cone of Silence, apparently.

“Any point in waiting around until they’re free?” Archie inquired.

Matron—er, Officer Hill—chuckled heartily. “I’ll tell ’em you called,” she said, and pointedly returned to her computer monitor.

Well, life was all about new experiences, and his were coming fast and furious.

He left the station and walked back to the little shops and stores of Main Street where he picked up another pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, a couple of packs of underwear and socks, two plain white shirts, and a navy-blue windbreaker.

It was not much of a morning’s work, but his headache had started up again and he was very tired. He walked back to Fraser House.

The dark-haired girl was still at the front desk. She watched in silence as he crossed the lobby.

Something was definitely up. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, so too young to have been at school with him.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She looked...well, it was hard to say. She looked slightly affronted. As if one of the garden statues had poked its head in to say hi.

She said huffily, “It’s okay with me.”

Her expression, her tone, struck him as funny. He said gravely, “Then it’s okay with me.”

Which seemed to further fluster her.

He continued up to his room, dropped his parcels on a chair by the window, then sat down to make some phone calls, starting with an overdue touching base with the MFO in Portland. Special Agent in Charge Calvin Cobb conveyed his condolences, reaffirmed that the Eugene satellite office would be ready and willing to offer Twinkleton PD any assistance required, and told Archie that he had done great work in Wyoming.

Not that Wyoming was a secret, not within the Bureau, but it was a jolt to hear it casually referred to so far from the epicenter.

Archie thanked SAC Cobb and then phoned his boss at the Operational Support Branch of the Counter Terrorism Division in D.C. Deputy Assistant Director Veronica Wagner expressed her condolences, promised he would have whatever support he needed, and informed him, kindly but firmly, there was no chance in hell he was going to be cleared for active duty until he was actually fit for duty.

“Take care of yourself and keep me posted—oh, and Archie?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.”

“I’m sorry?”

“As you noted, we have no jurisdiction. We can offer assistance, but if Twinkleton PD doesn’t want our help, that’s it. End of story.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to get an irate phone call from Andy Taylor complaining about Uncle Sam throwing his weight around.”

Archie made a sound of exasperation.

“I know this is personal, but you’re supposed to be convalescing. That’s your mission.”

“Understood.”

Wagner sighed. “You did good work in Wyoming, Archie. I know what it cost you. You earned a rest. You need a rest.”

“Yes.”

“Stay in touch.” Wagner hung up.

Archie’s phone rang again. He said wearily, “Crane.”

He didn’t recognize the number, but he’d have had to be dead not to recognize the voice.

“I understand you came by the station today.” Beau was crisp and to the point.

Archie’s weariness vanished in a blaze of adrenaline.

“Yes. Thanks for—”

“What did you need?”

Archie absorbed the curtness of that, matched it with, “I promised Judith I would ask when John’s body might be released for burial.”

“You know the answer to that: I don’t know yet.”

“I’ll convey that message.”

“That it?”

Okay, he wasn’t imagining it, wasn’t being oversensitive. There was brusque and there was rude. This was pretty fucking rude.

“No. I wanted to offer my assistance. If you—”

“Your assistance ?” No missing the offended note in Beau’s tone.

Archie scrambled to repair the damage. “Beau, I only meant that I have access to resources and contacts that—”

“Special Agent Crane, you don’t have access to any contacts or resources not available to the police department. This feels a lot like you’re attempting to insert yourself into my investigation. Any reason that might be the case?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Silence.

Archie said hotly, “I didn’t say I have access that you don’t have. My point is that when Twinkleton PD requests forensic analysis, digital evidence recovery, access to databases and intelligence resources, you take your place at the end of the line. It’s a long line! I have contacts and connections that can get you answers faster.”

“Thanks, but we don’t need to cut to the front of the line to solve a simple homicide. I think we can handle this one without involving the federal government.”

Archie’s heart was pounding as hard as if he found himself in the midst of a firefight. In all honesty, he felt like he’d been ambushed. It was more baffling because—not that their long ago past was a factor, with Beau being married and all, but—Beau had dumped him .

“Message received.” Archie matched Beau’s cold tone.

“Good. Anything else I can help you with.”

Rarely, rarely, was Archie rattled, but he was rattled now. He was pretty sure there had been something else, but he couldn’t think what it was.

“No. Thanks.”

Oh yeah, the obvious question: any progress in the investigation ? He was not about to ask.

“Enjoy your day,” Beau said, and disconnected.

And if that wasn’t sarcasm—well, that was definitely sarcasm. If Archie didn’t know better, he’d have said Beau was spoiling for a fight.