Coal Miner's Slaughter Read online

  “Then give him a muffin basket. I don't care. Just handle it,” Klee said, and just like that, the conversation was over.

  There was a honk from outside and a roar of a motor. I recognized the sound. It was Nora's food truck. Since her cousin started driving, Nora hadn't had any more incidents with fender benders or running over customers. She made a lunch run at the Gazette every day, which was one of the highlights of my day, since she was always upbeat and positive, even though she had thirteen children to take care of and hundreds of tamales to make every day.

  Nora came into the office, carrying a platter of food. She visited each desk, handing out the orders. I normally got a carne asada burrito or a beef tamale.

  “I'm giving you a shrimp burrito with white sauce today,” Nora told me, handing me the wrapped burrito. “I know it's not your regular order, but you'll thank me. Believe me. It's better than sex.”

  I took her word for it, since it had been forever since I had had sex. Boone Goodnight and I were officially courting, but life kept getting in the way. When he kissed me, I got dizzy and my insides melted into a hormone puddle, but we had yet to get naked and roll around in bed. I was the one who put the brakes on everything, slowing down Boone’s sprint toward nakedness. I had asked to be courted instead of going fast, but my horniness now was getting bigger than my desire to be respected, and I didn't know how much longer I could hold out before I got some hot sweaty snuggle bunnies.

  The door opened and slammed shut. A tall woman stomped in and tossed a copy of the paper in my face. “You!” she shouted. “You, you, you!”

  I pointed at myself. “Me?”

  The woman squinted at me and scowled so hard that her lips disappeared. “Not you. You! You’re in trouble, mister!”

  Chapter 2

  “Oh my God!” Jack yelled. He hopped up from his seat, knocking the chair back onto the floor. Whoever the woman was, Jack was terrified of her. He ran toward the mini kitchen at the back of the office, but the woman was faster than he was and more determined.

  She tackled him before he made it to the microwave. He went down hard, shielding his head with his hands.

  “I’m sorry!” he yelled.

  “Someone help him!” I called, but Klee shushed me, and Silas seemed totally unconcerned.

  The woman wrestled Jack until she was sitting on the floor, and he was face down in her lap. She pulled her hand back and let it fling forward, spanking him with a loud crack. He howled in pain.

  “Jack. Howard. Goodnight. You. Should. Be. Ashamed. Of. Yourself,” she said, punctuating each word with a slap on his rear end.

  “Ma!” Jack shrieked.

  “I’m so confused,” I said.

  “It’s Jack’s mother. She must have found out,” Silas told me, loosening his tie. “Damn it. Now what’re we going to do?”

  “Do about what?” I asked.

  The woman stood and pulled Jack up. “Did you know about this?” she demanded, looking at me.

  “About what?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a Navajo man and a priest peeking through the window with their hands cupped on the glass. “What the hell?” I muttered.

  “Jack Remington!” the woman yelled, getting my attention. “Like a moron, I keep reading articles by Jack Remington, not knowing it’s my son.”

  “It’s my pen name,” Jack whined, sounding his age.

  Silas got up and smiled at Jack’s mother, which startled me. Silas wasn’t a smiley sort of man. He put his hands out, palms forward. “Susan, Jack has a talent. He’s a prodigy.”

  “He has a D-average in school. They’re talking about holding him back a year,” she countered.

  “I don’t need school,” Jack whined. “I’m going to be Bob Woodward.”

  “I’m sure that Bob Woodward graduated from high school,” she said, sounding just like a mother.

  “But Mom!” Jack whined. She wagged her finger at him in a threatening way, and he clapped his mouth closed.

  “Shame on you, Silas Miller,” she spat, rounding on Silas, her finger wagging at him, now. “You knew my son wasn’t getting an education. You exploited him for cheap labor. He was supposed to be a paperboy.”

  “I am a paperboy, Mom,” Jack whined.

  “And their top reporter!”

  Her face was red. There was no way I was going to say anything because I wouldn’t put it past her to spank me, too. I noticed that Klee and Tilly were keeping quiet, as well.

  At that moment, Boone walked in, took one look at his cousin Susan, gasped, and ran back out again.

  “Susan, there is no greater education than that of a reporter,” Silas told her, bravely.

  Jack’s mother stared at Silas a second, grabbed a handful of pens off a nearby desk and threw them at him. Silas turned his back to the onslaught of pens and shielded his head with his hands.

  “The boy’s fifteen. Find another reporter.” She grabbed Jack’s hand and yanked him forward. As she marched him out of the office, she paused briefly to look me up and down. “They told me about you. Crazy woman. You’d have to be crazy to exploit my child and take me on. Watch your back, woman.”

  Oh, geez. Now, there was another person who hated me. I had to watch my back so much that I had a permanent crick in my neck.

  “The crazy thing is exaggerated,” I said, softly. “You see, my husband was gaslighting me. He’s in prison now.”

  But she wasn’t listening. She marched Jack out of the office. As he reached the doorway, Jack looked longingly backward, and a tear floated gently down his cheek.

  And then he was gone.

  “This better not mean that I’m the paperboy now,” Klee said. “I’m not a pleasant person at five in the morning.”

  Silas locked eyes with me, and even though no words passed between us, I knew what he was communicating. With Jack gone, we either had to work double time or find a reporter who didn’t work for minimum wage and free tamales.

  I took a deep breath and tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. Luckily, my finances weren’t as dire as they had been. Yes, I was still fighting my incarcerated, murderer husband for a divorce, and that was costing me a fortune, but business at the Gazette had picked up. So, I was no longer surviving on peanut butter sandwiches. As long as we kept on this trajectory and there were no financial disasters, we might be able to hire out a contract reporter to replace Jack.

  “Don’t worry, Matilda,” Tilly said. “This is nothing compared to hemorrhoids.”

  Klee stood and looked out the window behind me. “Was that? No, it couldn’t be. I thought I saw someone.”

  I turned around, remembering about the two men who had been peeking through the window. But they were gone now. The door opened, drawing my attention, and my pulse quickened, hoping that Jack’s mother had decided to let her son play hooky and report on local news.

  But it wasn’t Jack. It was the mayor, and he was accompanied by two blue-haired ladies, and they were all in a rotten mood.

  “You!” one of the women yelled, pointing at me.

  “Oh, geez,” Tilly said and ducked under her desk. “Now this is worse than hemorrhoids.”

  “May I help you?” I asked.

  “We’re with the Historical Preservation Association, and we’re here to inspect your house,” one of the women announced.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” I said, relieved. The house I inherited was hundreds of years old. It was adobe, built in a one-story square with a courtyard in the middle and a wide gate in front. My living quarters were the right and back sides of the house, the Gazette was up front, and Boone lived in the left section of the house. My friend Faye was a contractor and helped with repairs and some renovations for free.

  “You want the tour?” I asked them.

  The mayor crossed his arms in front of him. “Yes, we do.”

  I rolled my eyes at Silas. It was bad timing, but I was secretly pleased that I had a distraction from hard business decisions.

&nbs
p; “So, the house is real old,” I told the Historical Preservation Association people, as we walked out of the Gazette office.

  “It was constructed in 1640,” one of the blue-haired ladies said.

  “Wow, that’s really old,” I said. “You already saw the Gazette office. Boone Goodnight is renting out the left side of the house. You probably don’t want to see that. It’s full of dinosaur bones and dirt. You know how men are, am I right?”

  I smiled and winked at the women, but they didn’t smile back.

  “To the right is my place,” I said. “There’s one bathroom, a bedroom, and a living room. Tilly’s sleeping in the living room, though.”

  “They didn’t have bathrooms in 1640,” one of the women sneered.

  “Is that a fact? How awkward,” I said. We crossed the courtyard, and I opened the door to the living room. “Here it is. Tilly keeps it pretty clean. She wants a bigger television, but she can get that on her own.”

  “There were no televisions in 1640,” the mayor said.

  “1640 sounds like a bummer of a year,” I said.

  “Sheetrock on the walls,” one of the women noted to the other woman. “This is a total travesty.”

  I looked around. The house was pretty rustic. Faye had done enough renovations to make it livable, but it would never be confused with Beyoncé’s house.

  “Would you like to see the kitchen and the pantry? I have a lot of coffeemakers, for some reason,” I said, but they had already moved ahead and were inspecting the house without me. As they moved on, they kept shaking their heads and whispering among themselves.

  I was getting annoyed by their opinionated selves, and I was just about to ask them to hurry along, when the top of my head was hit with a sprinkle of water. I looked up, but there was nothing there.

  I was hit with more water again, but this time from behind. I turned around to see the priest and the Navajo man. “Begone!” the priest said in a booming baritone and shot more water at me from a small bottle in his hand.

  “What the hell?” I said.

  The Navajo man pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit a small branch. He blew it out and waved it at me, leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. “Spirits, leave this woman,” he said.

  I grabbed the branch out of his hand and threw it into the fireplace. My dogs, Abbott and Costello, ran into the room and sat next to the Navajo man, looking up at him with adoration.

  “Leave me alone. I like my spirits just fine,” I told him, more than a little freaked out. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re trying to get the stink of death off you,” the priest told me. “Death is following you, like a dog follows the scent of bacon.”

  “Death doesn’t follow me,” I lied. Actually, death followed me everywhere since I had arrived in Goodnight. For the first month, I was talking to dead girls, but as far as I knew, that bit of information hadn’t gone past Boone and his brother, Sheriff Amos Goodnight.

  “You solved a murder just today,” the Navajo man said.

  “Yes, that’s true.” I was glad that they were focused on my sleuthing skills and didn’t know that actual dead people were talking to me. If they did, I never would have heard the end of it.

  “That’s death,” the priest insisted. “Lots of death. Since you got here, people have been dropping like flies, and they all have one thing in common.”

  The Navajo man nodded. “You,” he said, staring me down.

  “Hello, George,” the mayor greeted the Navajo man, walking back into the living room. “Are you healing Miss Dare?”

  “No. I’ve teamed up with Father Nick to do an exorcism on her,” George said.

  “You what?” I asked.

  The mayor nodded, as if it was about time that someone got around to giving me an exorcism.

  “We’re pretty sure she brought demons to Goodnight,” Father Nick said.

  “The town has been a little weird lately,” the mayor said, thoughtfully. “People dropping like flies. A poor woman was found in a duffel bag.”

  “I solved that murder,” I said. “I didn’t commit the crime.”

  The priest threw some more water on me. “It’s nonstop with her. This one’s murdered. Then, that one’s murdered.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” George agreed.

  “It’s not my fault,” I whined, sounding like Jack when he pleaded with his mother. “I was helping. I’ve solved a lot of murders here. It’s a good thing. Not a bad thing.”

  “Denial,” George said. “I’ve seen that before.”

  “This is going to be a difficult case,” Father Nick agreed.

  “No, it’s not,” I insisted and stomped my foot on the floor for emphasis. “There’s no case. I’m not possessed. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about me in the least. I’m a regular, normal woman.”

  “I heard you licked a parking meter,” the priest said.

  “I’m not crazy,” I said. “That was a vicious rumor that my husband…”

  The two blue-haired ladies returned to the living room, interrupting me. One of them was carrying a clipboard. “I think we’re done,” she said. “We have a preliminary list for the homeowner to complete within the month. Hi, George. Hi, Father.”

  She handed me the list. There were a dozen projects on it. “I’m not going to do this,” I said, taking a stand.

  “So, you forfeit ownership of the house to the town of Goodnight?” the woman asked, hopefully.

  “No, of course not,” I said and broke out into a sweat. I rubbed my palms on my pants to dry them off.

  “If you don’t complete the preliminary task list by the deadline, the town will take the house,” the mayor warned me. “It’s an historical property.”

  It was a nightmare. “But I don’t have the money, and besides, Faye is my contractor, and she’s taking time off to take care of Norton,” I pleaded.

  Father Nick and George exchanged a look. “Poor Norton,” the priest said. “She almost got him, too.”

  “I didn’t almost get him,” I insisted. “I saved him!”

  “You don’t need Faye. You can get someone else to do the work,” the mayor told me. “Remember, the HPA is watching you, so watch your back.”

  Oh, geez. I had to watch my back, again.

  The historical people filed out, and I was left with my exorcists. The dogs were traitorously sticking to George’s side.

  “How about we get started and tie you to your bed?” Father Nick suggested.

  “No.”

  “We have to tie you down because the demons are ornery little buggers,” Father Nick explained.

  “Get out,” I said with as much demon voice that I could muster.

  “This is for your own good,” George said. “And the town’s own good. You don’t want more people dying, do you?”

  “That’s not my fault,” I said and ordered them out, again. Abbott and Costello started to follow them, but I guilted the dogs into staying with me by reminding them that I fed them regularly.

  As soon as they were gone, I ran out on my way back to the Gazette office. Two steps into the courtyard, I crashed into Boone. He steadied me and held me at an arm’s length. “Who was that?” he asked.

  “Two exorcists and the historical society or whatever it’s called.”

  “The HPA?” Boone asked and looked around nervously.

  “They want me to totally renovate the house in a matter of minutes, or they say they’re going to take the house from me.” I rolled my eyes at the thought of the ridiculous historical people.

  “The HPA is the scariest group in Goodnight,” Boone said and looked around, again, as if he was worried that they were going to jump out and attack him.

  “No, they’re not. They’re a bunch of old biddies who can’t mind their own business. They’re trying to bully me, but it won’t work.”

  “Matilda, those folks mean business. They’ve terrorized this town. When I was a kid, they tossed my best friend and his
family out onto the street because their deck wasn’t historically accurate.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” I said and bit my lower lip. My anxiety was mounting. Could they really take my house away from me?

  “I’m not exaggerating. They had to move in with us for six months. Six months, Matilda. Six months.”

  “But I like my house,” I squeaked.

  “I’ll help out, but you’re going to need a professional to do the work. The HPA doesn’t mess around with the historical stuff.”

  I had no idea how I was going to find someone to satisfy the demands of the HPA, and I had even less of an idea of how I was going to afford the renovations. I didn’t know the prices of a lot of things, but I did know that it would cost me more than three hundred dollars, and that was the sum total of my savings.

  While I was worrying about money, Boone’s expression changed from concern and fear to predatory. He smiled slightly, and his pupils dilated into large, dark saucers. He stepped forward, pushing me backward until my back was up against the wall. He rested his forearm on the wall above my head and leaned in until there was no space between our bodies. He looked deeply into my eyes, and our lips were nearly touching. When he spoke, I could feel his breath on my face.

  “I’ve got a meeting down at the museum in Albuquerque tonight, but I thought we could do some courting tomorrow evening. Dinner at the diner?” he asked.

  Courting in Goodnight wasn’t like a night out on the town in New York City, and the Goodnight Diner wasn’t exactly the height of romance, but it was enough to be with Boone.

  Although I wanted to be a lot more with Boone. With him in the biblical sense. Since I was the one who insisted to take it slow, I didn’t want to complain and ask for more. I knew that if I said boobs, Boone would have me naked in ten seconds flat, but since we were already going down the courting road, I didn’t want to be the one to get off track.

  But boy, I was horny.

  “I would love that,” I said.

  “Maybe after we could go look at the stars or something.”