Ghost Mortem (Bordertown Chronicle Book 1) Read online

  “Um…yeah,” I stammered.

  I produced one of my Marlboro lights from the packet and held it out to him.

  Ashley Pyle didn't move to take it.

  “Just put it in my mouth,” he said.

  I took a few moments to be sure I had his mouth right. It was difficult to tell under the mound of cigarette butts, and I didn’t want to poke him in the eye with one, stick one up his nose, or heavens forbid, inadvertently shove one up his—

  “Got a light?” he said, once it was, apparently, safely in.

  I flicked my Zippo and lit up his cigarette with it, hoping to god I didn't light anything else. Then I lit up a fresh one of my own.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “No problem.”

  “So anyways, like I was saying. The way you sorted them kids out just now, you’re what I might call a passionate speaker.”

  “Well, thanks, I guess. I'm glad someone thinks so.”

  “Those fuckin’ kids, I tells ya. They ain’t bad kids. Don’t get me wrong. But every now and again, I wish I had arms so I could just smack one of ‘em, you know? Maybe just smack some sense into 'em. But don’t get me wrong. They’s good kids. They’s just had a rough life, that’s all. Or a rough death, I guess you could say.”

  “Yeah. I get that.”

  “But you, uh…you looking for work?”

  “Well, yeah. Well, no. Well…”

  “I see. Passionate, but indecisive.”

  I scowled. “My dad says I need to get out and get a job. And he’s right. But it’s just...It’s just every time I try, people just tell me they don’t have the time. They don’t want me. They don’t need me. So it’s hard to find my place, you know? It seems the only place ever interested in hiring, they’re just retailers, or burger joints. Or Heaven-Elevens. And even then, they just want seasonal staff. So I work a couple weeks, or a few months if I'm lucky, and then I'm back out on my ass. I just feel like there’s nowhere for me to go.”

  “Kid, trust me. Maybe you feel like that now, but you're young. Just you wait. You’d be surprised. Somebody with some spunk like you. Could be a really good reporter. Bordertown could always use a few more good reporters.”

  “Seriously? I mean…does all that much really happen around here?”

  “Are you kidding me? Kid, you’re talking to a sentient being, made up almost entirely of cigarette butts. And you think nothing interesting ever happens around here?”

  I nodded. “I guess I see your point,” I said.

  I blew out a smoke ring.

  I thought about Ashley's suggestion. I’ve always wanted to write for a living. It always seemed like fun. Then again, there was a part of me that always thought it looked like a little too much fun. Too much fun to really count as actual work. Besides, everybody and his grandmother wants to be a writer these days. But then I got to thinking. My dad wants me to get a job before he considers taking me on a ride-along to help with the case. Journalists cover murder cases. I could cover Vikki’s case. I mean my father’s case. Which Vikki happens to also be working.

  I wonder if Vikki’s wearing her hair up or down at the moment. Either way, I could just watch that woman for hours.

  “Do you think I’d really have a shot?” I asked.

  “Abso-friggin’-lutely. And hell, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “If they won’t hire you, I say fuck ‘em!”

  I snorted a small laugh. “You’ve been so helpful,” I said.

  “You’re not getting smart with me again, are ya?”

  “No, no,” I said. “Seriously. I’m going to do this. What have I got to lose, right?”

  “Exactly.”

  With that, I folded my newspaper and up and left, though not before Ashley Pyle called after me with one last piece of paternal advice.

  “Hey kid.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You shouldn't smoke these. They'll kill ya.”

  “I know,” I said.

  It's not like I smoke because I'm oblivious to the fact of death. In fact, sometimes I get to thinking I smoke specifically to spit in the face of it. I guess that sounds pretty stupid, huh?

  I turned to go.

  “Hey, kid.”

  “What!” I snapped.

  “You think I could get another cig before you go? One for the road?”

  I sighed, and got out another cigarette and gave it to him. I pondered for a moment about the irony that a pile of cigarettes smoked cigarettes. Like, was that a form of auto-cannibalism? I didn't ask this of course; I didn't want to sound like a total asshole. Yet again. So I gave him another light, and then took a walk over to the Bordertown Chronicle.

  Chapter 15

  The Bordertown Chronicle, it turned out, operated out of the building just opposite the courthouse. Both buildings were just a few doors down from the Heaven-Eleven. Like I said before, Bordertown really is a small-ass town. It was a bit disconcerting really. I was at least hoping to have the time to psych myself up during the walk there, though I’m not sure whether to psych myself up or talk myself out of it. About all I had time for was to realize I didn’t have any resumes with me, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to just ask. I could always offer to drop one off later.

  I got to the building, which seemed to be made mostly of glass in the front, letting in a lot of light and generally seeming like one of those open-concept buildings. It would be the wet dream of your standard big-brother-type boss, who wants to keep an eye on all their workers at all times. The layout had every desk facing away from the central office, which looked out at every desk. Anyone in that office would be able to see every computer screen from there. I supposed browsing J-date, trolling internet forums or YouTubing cat videos at work was probably out of the question. Unless I could chalk it up to being “research.”

  As I walked through the office, I wondered if any of the computers there would even play a YouTube video anyway. The machines themselves looked as though they’d been bought on clearance when commodore 64s started going out of style. One of them was actually connected to one of those old printers that printed paper with the tear-away edges with sprocket holes in them. I don't know exactly how old those are, but they have to be older than my dad.

  In the central office sat a stout, and I mean very stout man sitting behind the desk. His body was almost egg-shaped. He wore a pair of large overalls over a brown fur coat. And the coat seemed to cover his face. Only once I'd been staring at him a few more seconds, did I realize it wasn't a coat; it was his fur. He was a beaver! A man-sized beaver, wearing nothing but blue denim overalls and sandals. That had to be what one refers to as “office casual.”

  For a moment, I thought better of the whole thing, not really sure I'd be able to brave an entire conversation with a giant beaver. But then I reminded myself that a mound of cigarettes had talked me into coming here in the first place.

  The name in big block letters on his glass office door read “Chuck Wood, Editor-in-Chief.”

  “Chuck Wood?” I asked.

  “Yeah, who are you?” came his gravelly, baritone voice.

  “Hi there. I’m Gavin Masters. I just moved here last night. My dad’s the new deputy in town?”

  I wasn’t sure why I was asking that last statement like a question. I probably sounded like some kind of nepotistic asshole.

  “Well congratulations to your dad, kid.”

  “Right. Um…thank you. Anyway, listen. I heard through some town gossip you guys might be hiring reporters, and I was wondering if—”

  “Can you start immediately?” he asked, not letting me finish, and not looking up.

  “Um…let me just check my busy schedule…Yup. It's clear.”

  He smiled.

  “Kind of a smart-ass, huh?”

  “So I'm told.”

  “I like it. You’re hired.”

  “I can bring in a resu…I’m sorry, what?”

  “You’re hired. Go write me a story.”

&
nbsp; “You don’t want to maybe see a resume or hear my credentials?”

  Chuck shrugged his furry shoulders. “Why bother? It’s probably all bullshit anyway, right? That’s what writers do after all. Make shit up for a living. Why would I trust something you gave me written down? And the better a writer you are, the less likely any of it is to be entirely true. Know what I mean?”

  “That’s kind of a strange attitude, isn’t it?” I asked. “This is a newspaper, right? The Bordertown Chronicle? I have come to the right place, haven't I?”

  “You sure have, kid. Now go write me a story. If it’s good, I’ll pay you for it.”

  “All right then,” I said.

  “All right then,” he said. “So…go write me a story.”

  “What, um… What do you want me to write about exactly?”

  Chuck put down his manuscript and shot me an incredulous look.

  “Oh for…seriously? Just follow the old maxim. The best writers write what they know.”

  “Well, I know my dad,” I said. “He’s the new deputy.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Right. I just said that. So…I could write a story about the new deputy.”

  “I like it. Do it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I felt like I’d come in here, expecting to have to climb a mountain, only to have some giant come along and just lift me off my feet and place me on top of it. It seemed so strange to be…well, taken seriously like this for a change.

  “Aren't you going to ask me some difficult questions? Like what my greatest weakness is?”

  “Your greatest weakness? Who the fuck do you think you are? Clark Kent? I don't care what your kryptonite is. Quite frankly, that's none of my business. All I care is if you can write worth a damn. If you can, you could be allergic to oxygen for all I care.”

  My greatest weakness, for the record, is pretty girls. I bet you didn't know that!

  I nodded wordlessly, and turned to go, but stopped.

  “Um…listen. Thank you,” I said.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “I haven’t done anything. You can thank me when you’ve got a story worth running in my paper. And I’ll thank you by paying you.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “And good god, don’t ever call me 'sir'.”

  “Yes, um…Chuck Wood.”

  I turned to leave. Then I turned back again.

  “Hey. So I'm curious. How much wood can you chuck, Chuck Wood?”

  He shot me an impatient look.

  “Cute. Never heard that one before. Did you need something else?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll just…” I just pointed my finger back at the door and then silently wandered out.

  Chapter 16

  That evening, the moving van finally came with our furniture and all our other stuff. For the next several days, my dad, my sister and I moved into our new home, bit by bit. It was perhaps a whole week before the last of the boxes was unpacked, and I thought the house was presentable enough to try to ask Vikki out.

  Well…okay…full disclosure: The plan wasn’t so much to ask her out per se, as to invite her over for dinner, more as my father’s partner than as a proper date. It was what one might call more of a long play. I’d considered just flat-out asking Vikki to coffee, just the two of us, but if I made my intentions too obvious, she might say no. And then any attempt to work the case with her and my dad would get awkward. Even if Vikki wasn’t interested in me in that way, I still wanted to follow this case. No, I needed to. And Vikki seemed so easy to talk to. So instead, once the house was properly furnished, and we had a properly stocked kitchen and a proper dining room table, I casually suggested it. Vikki came to pick up my dad one morning, and I suggested she should join us for dinner one night, and asked her what I could make.

  “Sure, I’d love to,” she said with a genuine smile on her face.

  You hear that, people? Not ‘all right,’ not ‘okay’ but ‘I’d love to.’

  I got all giddy inside, but tried not to smile too broadly, lest I look like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

  “Cool,” I said. “Well…what do you want me to serve?”

  “Whatever you feel like making,” she shrugged, and with a smile added, “surprise me.”

  Over her shoulder of course, in the passenger side of her police cruiser, I could see my father shaking his head and rolling his eyes. But he was smiling too. He knew me well enough to know exactly what I was doing. Well…maybe not exactly. I don’t think he realized he was still part of the plan.

  Chapter 17

  I spent the following day preparing food, and my interview questions for Vikki.

  I know, right? Shortest chapter ever. But seriously, how much detail do you really need? Like, this part isn't interesting or anything. You might well ask why I bothered giving it its own chapter at all. Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know. So fuck off.

  Chapter 18

  That night, my dad and Vikki both came home for dinner. Although first, Vikki said she wanted to go home and change. When she returned, she’d obviously put in some serious work in front of a mirror. She looked stunning. She'd let her hair down, put on a little more makeup and lipstick, and she was wearing a cute little black summer dress with skulls on it, of all things.

  When I answered the door and saw her like that, I didn't even know what to do. She'd somehow managed to out-hot herself. I didn’t know what to say. I must have stammered something coherent and inoffensive enough though, because she didn’t slap me or anything. Instead she smiled, blushing a little, and came in.

  I went to the kitchen and briefly considered shoving ice down my pants.

  I served dinner. I won’t bore you with too many specifics about what I made. Suffice it to say, I spent some time earlier that day asking around town about what Deputy Valliant liked to eat. And by 'asking around town', I mean I walked a few blocks down to the Grim Morton's and asked the mousy barista what she normally orders. She told me it was the chili. So, that’s what I made. There. Happy?

  Once my dad, Raven, and Vikki had been served, I sat down and began with my questions, trying not to sound like too much like a nosey reporter. No easy feat when that's basically what you are.

  “So, um…how’s the case going?” I asked.

  “Oh…um…okay…” Vikki stammered.

  She looked toward my dad for some strange reason, as if perhaps for approval.

  Dad gave me a suspicious look.

  “I…guess we can talk about that,” Vikki added.

  “It’s going all right, Gavin,” said my dad. “We’ve got a Jane Doe we can’t identify, who very obviously had a very bad couple of days before we found her. But this is maybe not polite dinner conversation.”

  “Right,” I said.

  An awkward silence passed.

  “So…” my father started, “how’s school, Raven?”

  “All right,” Raven replied. “Sort of weird, actually. The students are all…well…different. And Doctor Braunstein keeps trying to push this co-op internship on me.”

  “Oh?” said Vikki. “He’s taken an interest in you, has he?”

  “Apparently,” Raven replied.

  “Should I be worried about this?” asked my father. “Like, he isn’t…you know…”

  “Huh?” Vikki laughed a little. “Oh, heavens, no. No, I’ve known Doc since I was a kid. Like, he and my mom were best friends. Closest thing I ever had to a father, really. He’s um…well…Doc is pretty weird. But…who's not, right? But yeah. I’d trust him with my life. In fact, I’ve had to a few times. Trust him with my life that is. And anyway, he’s um…he’s spoken for…He's married.”

  “Okay,” said my father. “Well what does he want you to do exactly?”

  “He wants me to apprentice in his machine shop,” Raven said.

  “Oh, well that totally sounds like your bag. I mean, you love computers. You love building shit.”

  “Yeah,” said Rav
en. “I mean…like…it does sound totally cool…and everything.”

  “Totally,” my dad nodded. “A machine shop, huh?”

  “Yeah,” said Vikki. “Doc does a lot of things for the town. 'Wears a lot of hats', so to speak. He’s 'a man with many talents',” she said, imitating his accent a little with her own adorable little smile.

  I tried not to swoon. God, Vikki is so adorable! I really hope I don't pop a boner just sitting here staring at her. And if I do, please god, please don't let someone ask for seconds so I have to get up.

  “I can see that,” dad said. He spooned in another mouthful of food. “Awesome. Do it. And Gavin, you, you’ve um…you’ve got… What are you doing these days?” he asked, and not really pausing to let me answer. “Gavin has a job now. With the local paper.”

  It was weird. I don't think I have any real memories of my dad smiling while talking about me before. Not without being sarcastic, anyway. Prick.

  “Oh, you work for the Bordertown Chronicle?” said Vikki. “How is it, working with Chuck? He’s quite the character, huh?”

  “Yes. He is quite the character,” I said. “Speaking of which,” and then I laughed. And perhaps my laugh was a little too forced. “Funny story. So I’m, um…I'm working on a story…about your case.”

  I stopped talking, and left my comment hover there like a bad smell. After another moment, it felt more like I'd let a giant fart right into the room.

  Both Vikki and my father exchanged a knowing glance, and both simultaneously put down their spoons and smiled at me.

  “Why, Gavin Masters,” said Vikki, “I’m beginning to think this wasn’t just a social call.”

  “Uh…Sure it was!” I stammered. “I mean…How could you even think that I…um…Okay. So maybe it wasn’t,” I admitted. “It totally wasn’t. I mean, it was a little…maybe. But mostly it wasn’t. Don’t get me wrong; I really did just want to invite you over and just…Damn it! This is like my first real gig, and I already sound like some kind of sleazy news reporter, don’t I?”

  Vikki didn’t so much answer as smile sympathetically.

  “God damn it. You don’t understand, I mean I actually got this job, and the whole point of this job was, so that I could get paid to take on this case with you. Both of you. Not the other way around. Not…take on the case for the job. What I mean to say is…I really, really want to help you guys with this case. And I think I could be tremendously useful on a ride-along.”