The ghostcatcher beamed in approval. “Ghosts are like bad dreams. My nets are modified, of course, and they’re empty because they’re working. Hasn’t been a haunt in here since I hungthem.”
There was a scam wide enough to swallow a town. “So the sister found ghosts and learned to make ghostcatchers?”she asked, trying to hide herdoubt.
“Nothing isthatsimple. She claimed to channel an old Indian, Native American, Ohlone, however you want to categorize him since this tale was written well over a century ago in practically a different language. The spirit told her the ranch house was built over sacred land and the ghosts of his people were rising inprotest.”
“I’m guessing we’verun roads over more graves than anyone can count, but I don’t think it’s spirits causing wrecks,” Sam said, deciding she liked her coffee with sugar but not fakecream.
“Hard to say, but Hillvale is different. I’m sure you’ve heard about the vortex energy in Sedona. We have that here, only it’s opposite. In Sedona, it spirals outward, purportedly providing healing energy, spiritual uplifting,whatever. Have you everbeen?”
Sam didn’t have a clue. She shook her head negatively anyway. “What would the opposite be? Suckingenergy?”
“You need Cass or one of the local psychics to explain. But it apparently gives power to those below, like ghosts. And to those who can channel it, like the various spiritualists who eventually migratedhere.”
“After the rancher’s wife’ssister spread the word?” Sam couldn’t hide heramusement.
“Why would Cassandra send us another Null?” Mariah cried in exasperation, raising her cup in mockery. “We’re in desperate need of fewer doubters and more believers. Don’t let anyone know you’re a Null! People have been stoned forless.”
Casting aside the commentary as non-serious, Sam insisted, “No, really, what happened aftershe talked to the Indian ghost?” She’d wantednormal. She’d hoped for family. And what she got was a missing witch who believed in ghosts and a town of psychos? It might be time to find a head doctor. She wondered if she hadinsurance.
“The ranch house burned down over the sacred land. The rancher wisely rebuilt where the town now sits. The sisters started a church of healers. More spiritualistsgravitated to the area. We became quite a tourist attraction back in the day when rich city people retreated to the mountains in summer. Then the highway went in, people left, the population dwindled, until the late 60s, when a bunch of hippies formed a commune in the hills you see to theeast.”
Sam turned to look out the window and could just make out a pink haze rising over thosehills.
“We’re gradually making it back on the map again,” Mariah continued, “but we’re still so far off the beaten path that we only make money in summer. So if you’re looking for work, I wish you well but minimum wage is about it. Some of the psychics do well, but it takes time to establishclientele.”
“No internet to spread theword?”
Mariah refilled her mug. “Oh yeah, we have cable.Stay here long enough and you’ll meet our mayor, Monty Kennedy. His family owns half the mountain north of here. He and his brother had cable run in for the lodge. So far, they haven’t actually bought a satellite or cell tower. Give themtime.”
“I detect a faint sour note,” Sam said with amusement as Mariah filled her own cup and opened a pie case with yesterday’sleftovers.
“Montyand Kurt are the Null to end all Nulls. Men are so... damned logical. To most women, TV waves and internet clouds are magic. To most men, they’re easily explainable technology. But give men a whiff of weird they can’t account for without cords and wires, and they go bug-eyed.”
“That’s sexist.” Sam’s taste buds watered as Mariah slapped a piece of apple pie in front of her. “I’m down tomy last few dollars,” she admitted. “I can’t contribute much to the economy. How much does pie cost uphere?”
“It’s leftover. It’s free. Coffee’s on me, a welcome-to-town gift. If Cassandra sent you here, then there has to be a good reason, and I’m eager to hear yourstory.”
Sam tasted the pie and let it melt in her mouth.Thiswas normal. She considered her answer as she chewed.“I don’t think I’m free to tell my story yet,” she said. Not until she knew what it wasanyway.
Mariah nodded just as a cheery voice rang out from the back. “Pour me some of that java, dear. I feel a good wind in the air. It’s time to fix mybeignets.”
“Dinah, we’ve got company. Come meetSam.”
“You finally got a man, Mariah girl?” A tiny African-American cook swaddled ina white cotton apron popped through the swinging doors. Short Afro hair, ruby lips, rings in her ears—and an Adam’s apple and no breasts under a flannel shirt much likeMariah’s.
Dinah took one look at Sam, cocked a hip, and pouted. “You ain’t no Sam. You’re as straight as our ghostcatcherhere.”
That’s when the wind blew open the front door and a uniformed officer strode in—limping.
