In the Dead of Night (48 page)

“For real?”

“Boys!”
Fiona hissed, just as the curtain began its ascent. The crowd roared, and Fiona silently mouthed ‘shut the hell up!’ before turning her attention and loving countenance toward the audience.

Fortunately, neither Thomas twin seemed to notice Justin’s reaction or our conversation. They seemed enamored with the stage set up and the huge crowd greeting us. I must say that Nick and Lisa’s infatuation with the brothers was partially well founded, since their radiant smiles seemed to engender a few admiring catcalls from the females in attendance. And the pair ate that shit up!

Everyone in our group noticed this, but only Ricky seemed annoyed. The rest of us—including Justin and Tony—knew better than to resent another aspect that could mean bigger bucks for us all, and played up the excitement.

“Good evening everyone!”

Fiona’s greeting was met with a few admiring remarks as well, which have never bothered me. That happens to us both from time to time, and our golden standard has always been “lookin’ and admirin’ ain’t the same as touchin’.” Our love and devotion to each other is on solid ground, and I imagine it always will be. So whistle away, boys... My only irritation was when they kept whistling after she finished her introduction to the night’s agenda, and Tom began his review of our Stones River findings. That’s rude as hell, man, and it reminded me of how some folks will talk all the way through a movie when inside a theater.

Probably the very same assholes sat in our studio audience that night. We have another contest going on where the winners will get to go on a future ghost hunt—possibly the B&B tour in the spring. It better not be the frigging talkers tonight, since they’d likely scare the spooks away.

Anyway, I could tell that Ricky was hoping for a bigger reaction to his ‘face photo’ after the crowd gave the same awed response as we had last night for the immense dark shadow that pursued us out of The Slaughter Pen. But, apparently ghostly mists that could represent one thing or another must be fairly common these days among those who pursue the mysteries of the paranormal. I actually felt sorry for him when the tepid claps and near silence was the only response his cherished photo received.

“Well, I don’t know about y’all, but I think that picture sort of reminds me of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse,” said Jerry. “I believe it deserves better audience participation. Don’t y’all agree? I mean, this ain’t a golf tournament, so don’t be shy!”

Wow. I don’t think any of us expected anything beyond a couple of dumb country boys sharing the stage with us that night. Even Justin was grinning in surprise next to me, although a few folks in the audience looked as if they were trying to decide if they should be offended or not.

“Ahhh, come on, everybody! Let’s have some fun tonight!” added Jason. “If it ain’t fun, it sure as hell won’t be scary…and I understand there’s some pretty scary stuff comin’ up!”

Okay, I was sold. Especially when the audience responded with a wave of applause and more catcalls and whistles amid more laughter than I believe we had ever heard before in that small auditorium.

It did set things up well for the next segment, which was the introduction of Fiona and Jackie’s close friend in their paranormal research circle, Pauline Jones. The majority of our audience apparently was quite familiar with Ms. Jones’ accomplishments in life. The founder of Wraithland Press in southern Indiana, she had written twelve books on ghosts and other aspects of the paranormal in her illustrious career that was on its third decade. She had been featured on a variety of television programs, including one of Loretta Lynn’s Halloween specials and three shared investigations with the members of TAPS. In other words, she was who we aspired to be someday.

A slender pretty brunette with bright green eyes, she received a standing ovation as she stepped onto the stage. She treated the event seriously, I’m sure, since she was dressed in a business pantsuit that would make Lisa proud. Our studio bosses had arranged for her to sit between our Pulaski cohorts, who were dressed in torn blue jeans and oversized sweatshirts, ala Nirvana from two decades ago. This was where I expected some resentment to surface among our problem children, but the recent lighthearted moment kept the Thomas brothers in high enough esteem among Justin, Tony, and Ricky.

“Thank you for joining us, Pauline,” said Jackie. “We’ve got some video footage that we will run by you and our audience in just a moment. I think you’ll be surprised.”

“And, pleased,” added Fiona.

“Tom told me earlier that he will forward me the video clip of Todd Carter…I take it that what we’re about to see isn’t the same evidence?” said Pauline.

She looked perplexed just enough to let me know that no one had briefed her on the agenda. I thought she might’ve been listening in from backstage, but apparently not. I don’t necessarily look at that as a snobbish thing, since sometimes when my band has followed other groups on stage that are friends of ours, I haven’t heard a damned thing from behind the stage—especially when makeup artists and other folks are trying to get everyone ready to go. It’s even worse in this type of situation, where the live performance has to be as perfect as possible the first time through, without any additional takes available.

“No…this one comes from the Carnton, from our visit inside the plantation house after dark,” advised Jackie, proudly.

“Oh, yes…you did mention this investigation last week,” said Pauline, nodding as she recalled this previous conversation with Jackie. Ms. Jones looks like she’s barely forty, but Fiona told me this attractive lady would be sixty-four in November. She reminds me a little of my mom back in Denver, whose begun to have a few senior moments now and then, as well. “That’s one place I have never been inside after dark. How did you ladies and gentlemen get them to cooperate?”

“They jumped at the chance to be featured on our show, since proof of ghosts is big money these days,” I said.

Well, it’s true. Most of the Franklin haunted locales have been ‘hush-hush’ for years. But the boon that ‘ghost interest’ has brought to the local tourist industry has been significant; to where haunted tours that include every battleground site—including the Carnton and Carter House—are a highly profitable business.

Our guest nodded thoughtfully, while Jackie shot me her own evil eye. I guess this wasn’t one of the spots where the rest of NVP could participate. Oops.

“We’re grateful for the Carnton’s board of trustees for allowing us that access,” said Fiona, purposely ignoring me, although I damned well knew I’d be hearing about this gaffe of mine before the night ended. “From what I understand, they were excited about the video we captured when Tom showed the clips to them last week. So, if you’re ready, Jackie and Tom, let’s show everyone gathered here tonight what we found.”

Nice job, darlin’. While the lights dimmed for the night’s video finale, Fiona shot me a look that told me that I was now in her debt for some favor yet to be determined.

“I’d say you’ve got a pretty serious moment of reckoning to look forward too, Jimmy,” Justin whispered, as I joined everyone else in looking at the incredible images of Mary McGavock and her nanny looking out into the audience. The ghosts looked enormous on the theater-sized monitor above the stage behind us. “I don’t know if you can charm yourself out of this one or not, man…. Good luck to your ass.” He snickered.

“Yeah…thanks. I think.”

Justin shot me a grin and then looked back up at the view of the Carnton’s staircase. The crowd mimicked our gasps and verbal responses to the letter, and I’m sure it will be beep-city for nearly a minute of the show, until the censors catch the very last ‘oh shit!’ from our audience. I chuckled at that thought.

“What?”

“Nothing, man…just wondering how much of this will get nixed tomorrow by the editors.”

“Because a hundred people just said ‘Oh Shit?’”

“Pretty much.”

“As long as they keep the videos and pictures intact, it’s all good.”

“I hope you’re right.”

That marked the end of that conversation, as by then my wife and Jackie were starring at us again. Sonic ears. I swear, she hears everything…and if not the words, she surely sees most of the images swirling around in my head.

The crowd stayed enthusiastic right through the Confederate officer clip, and then they shouted for more. But unlike last week, Nick joined Lisa on stage. Two proud peacocks telling everyone ‘thank you for your patronage, glad you had a great time…now get the hell out!’

Well, it wasn’t quite that bad. But there was no mistaking the party that night was over. Period. See you next week.

It was our best show up until then…and as it turned out, a performance that couldn’t be topped. This was our climax, and we had officially peaked.

If only we had known.

***

“So, what was that all about back in there?”

Fiona posed the question after we were back on I-65 heading south, a few miles south of Nashville.

“Do you mean my stupid answer, the pre-game chat with Nick, or Justin giving me a hard time?”

“Actually all three…but I’m most concerned with why you upstaged Jackie?”

Good thing I was driving, since I had a compelling reason not to face the heat of her stare. Fiona wasn’t pissed…just annoyed.

“I don’t know exactly…I guess I just figured it would be a good spot for someone other than the usual stars of NVP to offer something. You know, so the audience would understand that we’re not just a bunch of pretty bobble-head dolls that respond to the three of you.”

I hoped she saw the humor in this…she didn’t.

“That was really stupid.”

“It was what popped out of my head at the time.”

“I’m not talking about your question during the program—that was actually right on accurate…and smart,” she said, chuckling…but not a happy sounding chuckle. “What is stupid is for you to be such a frigging maverick instead of following our predetermined flow. Promise me that you’ll never pull a shitty stunt like that again.”

I had already learned my lesson from Sunday afternoon. I would not willfully step in the doggy-doo pile two days in a row.

“I promise.” I made sure it sounded sincere, and I kept a straight face despite the impish smirk she wore. “So, I saw you talking to Pauline while me and the guys gathered our gear. How is she?”

“She says she’s fine…she’s got a new man in her life, and she is still going strong on the lecture circuit,” said Fiona, but her tone sounded worried. “I saw the death aura around her tonight.”

“What? Do you mean like the one you told me about when your grandmother took sick, about a month before she passed?”

“Yes, exactly. Only Pauline’s aura is worse,” she said. I could tell she shook her head in the dimness. “It doesn’t make any sense, since she seems so vibrant. I didn’t sense a disease or anything like that. And, she seems healthy.
Really
healthy.”

“So, did you tell her about it?”

Maybe that’s what took so long. Everyone else had left by the time she rejoined me in the station’s lobby. I could tell that the Metro cop who escorted her and the one waiting with me were anxious to see us off safely so they could go home.

“No, I didn’t,” she said, releasing a long sigh. “I didn’t, but I’m wondering if I should have. All the time she was telling me about her upcoming lectures and investigations along the west coast, I almost didn’t hear a damned thing she said to me. My guides kept interrupting my thoughts…and so I finally told her the thing they repeated most.”

“Really…and what was that?”

All she could do was shake her head, and then I heard the first of her sobs.

“Hey, darlin’…you don’t have to tell me. We can talk about it later.”

“No… I have to tell someone, and you’re the only one I can think of who might know what to do to help me get her to listen….”

“Listen to what?”

“They said…tell her not to go anywhere alone…tell her to watch her back!”

Chapter Ten

Gut instinct can be a wonderful thing…or a curse.

It’s great when the impression comes in clear and then is heeded fully. But, it’s beyond horrible when the internal message comes in murky and hard to define…only to remain a latent ominous warning that ultimately is ignored.

I imagine this is what Fiona would tell anyone asking her latest impression of gut instinct.

No, it has nothing to do with me. I might’ve remained in hot water for not toeing the obedient line Monday night in Studio 4F, but something unforeseen obliterated everything that was good and less than perfect about the show.

Pauline Jones was murdered shortly after we parted ways with her that evening.

Fiona and Jackie are beside themselves, and I’ve been crying along with them since we got the news around midnight Monday. By noon, Tuesday, everyone in our group had stopped by our place to offer comfort to my wife and Jackie—Fiona’s best friend that’s still among the living. Even the Thomas twins came by our home in Arrington to offer their support and tears, which pushed a little dagger into my heart for assuming these guys were not much further along in the evolutionary chain than Neanderthals. Even Justin seems to be reconsidering his earlier opinion of them.