Between the Living and the Dead

 

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This one's for Seepy Benton, always an inspiration.

 

I look for ghosts; but none will force

Their way to me: 'tis falsely said

That there was ever intercourse

Between the living and the dead.

 

—WILLIAM WORDSWORTH,
“THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET”

 

Chapter 1

Sheriff Dan Rhodes had a feeling he was in trouble when Seepy Benton announced that he had a summer job.

“You've given up teaching math?” Rhodes asked.

“No,” Benton said. “I've just decided not to teach summer school.”

Seepy Benton, or Dr. C. P. Benton as he was known to his students, taught math at the community college branch in Clearview. He also considered himself an official member of the Blacklin County Sheriff's Department because he'd gone through a law enforcement academy for the local citizens.

“I thought you liked teaching,” Rhodes said.

“I do,” Benton said. “It's the best job in the world. I just thought I needed a change, some time to expand and grow.”

Rhodes glanced at Benton's waistline. “I'd say you're off to a good start.”

They were sitting at Rhodes's desk in the county jail early on a warm Tuesday evening in late May. Rhodes had been called to help Alton Boyd, the county animal control officer, deal with a dispute between a couple of neighbors about some dogs. Diane Kelley had accused one Theodore Hertel of stealing four of her dogs. Mr. Hertel claimed that the dogs came over to his house all the time and ate the food intended for his own dogs and that he didn't want four more mangy hounds hanging around, mooching food, and giving his dogs fleas. He'd called Boyd to pick up the dogs, and when Boyd arrived, Ms. Kelley had shown up and asserted her claim. Boyd had called Rhodes, and between the two of them, they'd straightened things out. Rhodes had stopped by the jail to fill out the paperwork, and Benton had found him there, though Rhodes suspected he'd dropped by hoping to find Deputy Ruth Grady, whom he'd recently started dating. She was on patrol, however, so Benton had settled for Rhodes.

Benton ignored the remark about his waist, which was just as well, Rhodes thought. To tell the truth, Benton was looking better than usual. His beard was neatly trimmed, and so was the half circle of hair that had formerly been rather shaggy. His old straw hat looked as disreputable as ever, though, as it rested on his knees. Benton had a hand on the brim to keep it from slipping to the floor.

“Don't you want to hear about the job?” Benton asked.

Here it comes,
Rhodes thought. “Does it involve investigating?”

Benton looked surprised. “How did you know?”

Rhodes hadn't known, but he'd been afraid something like this was going to happen. Benton thought of himself as a fine criminal investigator, and he was probably going to set himself up as a private eye. Just what Blacklin County needed.

“Well?” Benton said when Rhodes didn't say anything more.

Rhodes gave in. “You'll be sort of like Sam Spade?”

“Oh,” Benton said. “I thought you'd guessed it, but you're wrong. I'm not going to be a private eye. Try again.”

Rhodes was relieved. At least he didn't have to worry about Benton nosing into his investigations and trying to solve crimes. He hoped.

“I can't think of any other kind of investigator,” he said. “You'll have to tell me what kind you're going to be.”

“A paranormal investigator,” Benton said.

Rhodes started to say that while Benton wasn't normal, he didn't appear to be paranormal, but he knew that wasn't what Benton had meant. What he had meant sounded to Rhodes as if it might be even more trouble than if Benton had decided to become Sam Spade.

“You're going to be a what?” Rhodes asked.

“Paranormal investigator. I'm going to open my own office. Clearview Paranormal Investigations. Or CP Investigations. Get it?”

Rhodes got it, but he didn't want it.

“You gonna be a ghost hunter?” Hack Jensen asked from across the room.

Hack was the dispatcher. He was tall and thin, with a little mustache like the kind worn by characters in 1940s movies.

“Well, you could call it that,” Benton said. “I'll have to hire a couple of assistants, of course. I can't do everything alone.”

“Who did you have in mind as an assistant?” Rhodes asked, thinking that it had better not be Ruth Grady.

“Harry Harris, for one,” Benton said. “He's interested in the paranormal.”

Rhodes didn't say anything, but Benton must have noticed something in his look.

“All that other stuff is over and done with,” Benton said. “I think Harry and the dean got it all straightened out.”

That “other stuff” was something Rhodes and Benton had discovered in the course of an earlier investigation. Harris had somehow found a way to fake his evaluations in ProfessoRater, an online tool for students. There was also the little matter of his not having reported a dead body he'd seen.

“You think he'll be reliable?” Rhodes asked.

“Sure. He's made mistakes, but he's repented and been scolded by the dean. And by you, too, I believe. Now he just wants to hunt ghosts.”

“We had us a ghost right here in the jail once,” Hack said.

“No, we didn't,” Rhodes said. He looked at Benton.

“Did so,” Hack said.

Rhodes wasn't going to get into that kind of argument. “Some of the inmates thought we had a ghost,” he told Benton, “but there wasn't one. We don't need you to perform an exorcism or anything.”

“I won't be doing exorcisms,” Benton said, “but I could locate the ghost for you.”

“There wasn't any ghost,” Rhodes said. “It was purely imaginary. Like all ghosts.”

“That's what you'd like us to believe,” Hack said.

“Only because it's true.”

“If you say so. I remember we looked up jailhouse ghosts on the Internet. Couldn't find much information, though, just something about some jail in Australia or somewhere.”

“I remember that,” Lawton said, coming in from the cellblock. Lawton was the jailer, and he was Hack's opposite in appearance, rounder and smoother-faced, though almost as old. “I was hopin' we had us a real ghost, but I never saw it. You oughta take another look on the Internet, Hack. When we had us that ghost, or thought we did, it was before the Google. Might find more stuff now.”

Hack was already at the keyboard of his computer before Lawton finished talking.

“Lord a-mighty,” Hack said after a few key taps. “Look at this.”

Lawton looked over his shoulder. “Who'd've thought it? Look at this, Sheriff.”

Rhodes wasn't inclined to get up. “Just tell me.”

“I typed in ‘jailhouse ghost' just like I did the other time,” Hack said. “Guess how many hits it got.”

Rhodes wasn't inclined to guess any more than he was inclined to get up. He'd already used up his daily capacity for guesses when he'd guessed about Benton's job. “Just tell me.”

“It's a mighty big number,” Lawton said, and Rhodes knew he was in for it. Those two couldn't resist delaying any kind of real answer for as long as they thought they could get away with it.

“Sure is,” Hack said. “A great big one. I don't think you'd ever guess it, even if you was to try.”

“Just tell me,” Rhodes said.

“Bigger than the population of Clearview,” Lawton said. “Bigger than the whole county. You reckon it's bigger than the population of Houston?”

“Nope,” Hack said. “Not that big.”

“How many people live in Houston, anyway?” Lawton asked.

“I don't know,” Hack said, “but it's a whole lot. I could look it up on the computer.”

“It's over two million,” Benton said before Hack could click the keys. “So how many hits did you get?”

Rhodes grinned. Lawton and Hack might not tell him, but they wouldn't play their little game with Benton.

“It's less than two million,” Hack said.

Or maybe they would.

“It's over a million, though,” Lawton said.

“One million four hundred and ten thousand,” Hack said, giving in. “About. And you know how long it took to get that many hits?”

“Not long,” Benton said.

“Three-tenths of a second,” Lawton said.

Hack turned away from the computer and gave Lawton a look. “I'm the one who did the Googlin'.”

“I'm the one suggested it,” Lawton said.

“Never mind,” Rhodes said. Those two would argue for the rest of the day if he let them. “That's a lot of jailhouse ghosts.”

“Some of those hits are repeats,” Benton said. “Maybe most of them. Those don't count.”

“Still a lot of 'em, no matter how many repeats,” Hack said, turning back to the computer. “Wonder if our ghost is in there.”

“We didn't have a ghost,” Rhodes said.

“Maybe you did,” Benton said. “Maybe you still do. Why not let me check it out? I have some equipment out in my car.”

“You need equipment to hunt ghosts?” Hack asked. “What kind?”

“More than you might think,” Benton said. “That's why I'll need assistants. I can't carry all of it. You wouldn't be interested in a second job, would you?”

Hack laughed. “Not me. It's all I can do to hold down this one. Lawton, now, he could use some work. Get him on his feet, get him some exercise.”

“What?” Lawton said. “Exercise? I'm the one keeps this place clean while you sit in that chair and play solitaire on the computer. If anybody around here needs exercise, it's you.”

Rhodes cut in again before the argument could start.

“The county won't let them take second jobs,” he told Benton. “You'll have to look somewhere else for your pack mules. Now tell us about the equipment.”

“Bet it's just like
Ghostbusters,
” Hack said. “Ecto-goggles, ecto-containment unit. All that stuff.”