The Chupacabra Catastrophe Read online

  Jack clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t push the issue too far, instead resting his palm on my forehead. “You’re not hot.”

  “Thanks so much for that.”

  Jack chuckled, easing the pall that had settled over us. “I didn’t mean that. I keep forgetting you don’t often have hangovers so you don’t know how to deal with them.”

  At least he believed me. That was something. “Maybe we should stop at a pharmacy so I can buy more aspirin.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” Jack perked up. “Then we’ll get some lunch, go over the documents Alanna got for us, and go from there.”

  “Sure.” I forced a smile. “You know you probably broke that poor girl’s heart the way you ran out without flirting a bit more. She’s going to be self-conscious, perhaps wonder if it’s because her hair was so big.”

  Jack snorted, genuinely amused. “You’re funny when you want to be.”

  “Thanks. I’m here all week.”

  “Let’s get some food into you,” Jack said. “Hopefully that will help you shake off the dregs of that hangover. Remind me to smack Millie upside the head next time she tries to get you drunk.”

  “You’ll have to beat me to it.”

  Unfortunately for Jack, he couldn’t understand that the hangover was the least of my worries. No, I’d apparently seen the future … and in it I was in grave danger.

  That couldn’t be good, right?

  11

  Eleven

  “Where have you been all my life, handsome?”

  The waitress at the restaurant Jack picked for lunch had a smile so wide I thought she could swallow every burrito in the place in one attempt. She barely paid me any attention as she positioned herself next to Jack, her low-cut flower top allowing a nice view of her rather ample goods as she bent over.

  “I guess I’ve been hanging around in the wrong places,” Jack answered smoothly. “It’s good to know I’ve found my way into the light.”

  I was dumbfounded by his flirting. I wouldn’t have guessed it was possible to make a grown woman melt into a big pile of goo in the middle of a restaurant with only a smile, but somehow he managed it.

  “Good answer,” the waitress said. “I’m Mercedes, by the way. I’ll be your server … and hopefully more.” She offered an exaggerated wink that made my stomach twist. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a wet burrito with all the fixings,” Jack replied. “Charlie, what do you want?”

  I was simply impressed he remembered I was at the table. The way Mercedes was hawking her wares there was a very real chance he’d be blinded and forget all about me. “I’ll have the mini-burrito dinner,” I replied. “That’s not too spicy, right?” Even though I didn’t want to admit it, my stomach remained a bit iffy.

  “No, that’s gringo food,” Mercedes said, her smile slipping. “Your friend can handle the spicy stuff, I’m sure.” Mercedes collected our menus before promising to return promptly with our drinks. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone, sugar. I swear I’ll be back before you get too lonely.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible, but I’ll do my best.” Jack kept his smile in place until she turned on her heel. Then he was all business. “Let’s see what documents Alanna got us, shall we?”

  I accepted the sheets of paper he slid in my direction, never moving my eyes from his handsome face.

  “What?” Jack asked after a beat, shifting uncomfortably on the booth seat. “I haven’t eaten yet, so I know I don’t have food on my face.”

  “What is it with you and women?” I probably should’ve thought better about asking the question – or at least phrased it differently – but my mouth often seems to have a mind of its own and that mind is regularly belligerent, cocky and rude.

  “Do you want to be more specific?”

  “Sure. Women take one look at you and throw themselves at your feet. Why is that?”

  “I think it’s the hair,” Jack said dryly, sipping from his glass of water.

  “I think it’s something else – and it’s weird.”

  “It’s weird?” Jack cocked an eyebrow, amused. “How is it weird?”

  “Well, for starters, you’re not a very charming guy. I know from firsthand experience.”

  “Ah, well, if you say it then it must be so,” Jack drawled.

  “It’s not meant as an insult,” I argued. “You’re simply … withdrawn.”

  “I’m not withdrawn,” Jack countered. “There are times in life I like quiet. You’re never quiet. That’s why we butt heads.”

  “I’m quiet.”

  “When?”

  “I … was quiet when we interviewed Naomi. I was quiet when we interviewed David Stevens.”

  “You weren’t quiet when we interviewed either of them,” Jack countered. “Although, I will say you were almost quiet when we interviewed Stevens. Of course, that was only because you were considering running away with the horse.”

  “Ha. That shows what you know. As beautiful as I found Clyde, I’d never run off with him. I can barely take care of myself. A horse is far too much work.”

  Jack snickered. “I think you do a fairly decent job of taking care of yourself. But you’re not quiet.”

  The insult was mixed with a compliment, so I wasn’t sure how to react. “You’re kind of a pain in the ass. You know that, right?”

  Mercedes just happened to pick that moment to return with our iced teas, and the look she graced Jack with was nothing short of smoldering. “Honey, if he’s a pain then set me up for one of them sadomasochistic relationships,” she said. “Bring on the pain.”

  The statement set my teeth on edge, but I opted not to respond. Even Jack looked a little uncomfortable with the woman’s enthusiastic reaction.

  “Um … thank you for the drinks, Mercedes.”

  “Don’t mention it, honey.” She patted Jack’s shoulder, smiling as she gripped the muscles there before turning her attention to a nearby table when a patron called for her attention. “I’ll be back to check on you guys.”

  “Thanks.” Jack rubbed his cheek as Mercedes added a little swing to her step – most likely for his benefit – as she crossed the room. “Maybe you’re right about flirting with people.”

  “You should give it some thought,” I agreed, turning my attention to the documents. “So what are we looking for here?”

  “It’s the history of Hooper’s Mill, but from a government standpoint, not a historical one.” Jack was eager to have something to focus on besides Mercedes’ overt interest. “I have no idea what we’re looking for, but occasionally you can pick up interesting tidbits from these things.”

  “I found one.” I raised my hand.

  “You found one already?” Jack’s expression reflected doubt. “You’ve barely looked at the sheets I handed you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I haven’t found something.” It was hard to hold back my ego given how annoying I found it to watch women fall all over themselves to get Jack’s attention, but I managed it – barely. “I’ve definitely found something.”

  “And what would that be?”

  I turned the sheet of paper in my hand so Jack could see it and touched the bottom. “This says that Hooper’s Mill was started by three people. Richard Hooper, Michael Forest and Donald Morrison. I’ll bet that if we do a search on Donald Morrison we find he’s the great-great-great grandfather of Wendell Morrison, or at least some shirttail relation.”

  Jack’s eyebrows flew up his forehead as he snagged the document. “Crap! You did find something.”

  “And you doubted me,” I tsked, shaking my head.

  “I didn’t doubt you,” Jack clarified. “I simply … huh. So, you have three men who founded a silver rush town. Why’d they name it after only one of them?”

  I hated to admit it, but that was a good question. “I don’t know. You’d think there’d be a fight to call it something like Hoopison Forest or something, right?”

  Jack
snorted. “Your mind is always working, isn’t it?”

  “I think that’s what happens when you try to figure out a potential murder.”

  “And I don’t think that most people have a mind quite as quick as yours,” Jack countered.

  I stilled, surprised. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Jack.”

  Jack lifted his eyes until they linked with mine. “I’ve said nice things to you before. The problem is you don’t listen. Heck, sometimes I say nice things and you assume they’re insults.”

  “Name one time I’ve done that,” I challenged.

  “Okay, two weeks ago I said your knowledge of computer equipment and how things worked was impressive,” Jack started. “You said I added ‘for a woman’ at the end when I didn’t. You then spent the next five hours adding ‘for a woman’ to everything I said until I wanted to snap your head off your shoulders.”

  That was quite the visual. “But you said ‘for a woman.’”

  “No, that’s what you heard,” Jack argued. “That’s your biggest problem. You only hear what you want to hear.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a big, fat lie.”

  “And I’m pretty sure it’s not. I didn’t say it. I would never say that. I was raised by a mother who would smack me around for saying anything like that. Just because you heard it doesn’t mean I said it.”

  Hmm. Could that be true? “But … .”

  “No.” Jack wagged a finger to silence me. “I didn’t say it. You heard it because it was what you expected to hear. If you plan to continue in this job – and I think you should, because you’ll be good at it – you need to learn to open your ears and shut your mouth.”

  Huh. He had a point. Darn it! “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re a flirting fool with strangers and mean to those you know.”

  “I’ve never been mean to you.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “You have.”

  “Just … keep reading the documents.” Jack made a face as he returned his attention to the sheet I handed over moments before. He muttered something under his breath, something that almost sounded like “I know you’re going to make my head explode one day” before he cracked his knuckles and fell silent.

  I turned my attention to the next document in my stack and quickly found myself engrossed in it. “I found something else.”

  The look on Jack’s face when I glanced up was nothing short of murderous.

  “What?”

  “How can you have found two big things in less than sixty seconds?”

  “That sounds like the premise for some very intriguing erotica,” I replied dryly.

  Jack took a moment to consider what I said and then barked out a laugh. “You’re definitely quick on your feet. What have you got?”

  “Well, it seems that three individuals were involved in purchasing the property but less than a year later it was transferred to one person. That’s what it says here, right?” I held up the document for Jack’s perusal. “I don’t deal with county land deeds all that often, so I’m not one- hundred percent sure.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes as he read the line in question. “That’s exactly what it says. Hooper took over the property a year later. It doesn’t look like it mentions a sale, does it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so. If he didn’t buy it, how did he get it?”

  “No idea,” Jack replied. “You have to keep in mind that it was a long time ago. Things might’ve been run differently back then. Or, perhaps the other two recognized it would be a boom-and-bust town and wanted out.”

  “If our dead Morrison is related to the Morrison in these documents – which we should be able to find out with a computer search, right? – that might explain why he was so hot-to-trot to get his hands on the property,” I supplied. “Maybe he thought of it as a birthright or something.”

  “That’s possible. And a good explanation,” Jack said. “We can run the family tree easily enough. We could call and ask Naomi.”

  “Yeah, I would rather not bother her if it’s not necessary.”

  “I can conduct some research tonight,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how the sordid purchase history of the town will come into play.”

  “It might if we knew how Hooper lost the property,” I pointed out, scanning the document. “It says here that property rights shifted to an Adelaide Hooper in 1920 and then completely lapsed ten years after. The state has owned the property ever since – except that two years ago it reverted to the county. I’m not sure if that means the county bought it or simply absorbed it.”

  “It’s probably a mixture of both,” Jack said. “Whoever owns the deed is responsible for liability and keeping it up. The county probably didn’t buy it. If I had to guess, the state probably signed it over as long as the county agreed to take over maintenance and upkeep.”

  “I don’t think there’s a lot of upkeep going on there.”

  “No, but if the county could sell it – especially to a guy who wants to bring jobs to the area – that would be a boon.”

  “Why wouldn’t the state sell it?”

  “I don’t know.” Jack’s expression was thoughtful. “Maybe Mercedes knows.” He sat back, his smile in place, and focused his attention on Mercedes as she delivered our meals. “I will just bet you’re up on all the area history, aren’t you, Mercedes?”

  Mercedes brightened at the obvious flattery. “I know a lot about a great number of things. I can prove that to you whenever you’re up for it.”

  Jack’s smile didn’t slip, but I sensed the unease rolling off him.

  “That’s a tempting offer, but I need to focus on work first,” Jack said. “What can you tell me about Hooper’s Mill?”

  “Oh, are you the folks searching for the Chupacabra up there?” Mercedes brightened. “I heard we had a group of people searching for that fiend. It’s about time.”

  Even though Mercedes’ interest in Jack rubbed me the wrong way – and not because I’m jealous or anything, because that would be ridiculous – I couldn’t help being intrigued. “Are there a lot of stories about the Chupacabra?”

  Mercedes appeared annoyed by the question, probably because it came from me, but she answered all the same. “This area is thick with Chupacabra stories. It’s like the county mascot.”

  “That’s … fun.”

  “My daddy saw the beast when I was nothing but a kid, and he told the story for years even though people laughed at him,” Mercedes volunteered. “He was out hunting one day and he swore he felt something watching him. He knew it wasn’t a man by the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

  “He told the story much better, mind you, but it always took him a whole hour to get through it,” she continued. “Anyway, he decided to head back to his truck, but he heard something in the bushes behind him. Every time he turned, there was nothing there. Now, my daddy was a brave one, but he said that he was filled with such fear that he couldn’t bring himself to look in the bushes, so he hurried on up and almost ran to the truck.

  “He swore he could almost feel something breathing down his neck when he finally got there. He refused to turn around and look over his shoulder because he thought it might end up with him dead at the end of some teeth,” she said. “He opened the door, hopped in, and the second he closed the door something hit it really hard – so hard that it shook the whole truck.”

  “Did he see it?” Jack asked, cutting into his burrito. “Did he see what it was?”

  “He did see it.” Mercedes was solemn as she nodded. “He looked down and saw red eyes staring back at him and a tail that was straight off an alligator.”

  That didn’t sound right. “I’ve never heard of the Chupacabra having an alligator tail,” I argued.

  “Have you ever seen the Chupacabra?” Mercedes challenged, her eyes flashing.

  “Well … no.”

  “Then you can’t comment on it, can
you?”

  Jack shot me an amused look as he dumped a small bowl of salsa over his burrito. He seemed as eager to hear the rest of the story as he did to eat. “What happened after that?”

  “What do you mean?” Mercedes’ face was blank. “He high-tailed it out of there.”

  “Did he ever go back?” I asked. “I mean – once he calmed down – didn’t he want to go back and get a photo of it?”

  “Honey, when you escape the Devil you don’t go back a second time so you can shake his hand.” Mercedes was dismissive. “Everyone knows that beast is running around these parts. It doesn’t just hang around Hooper’s Mill.”

  “Have other people seen it at Hooper’s Mill?” Jack probed.

  Mercedes nodded. “That’s where it seems to spend most of its time. It sets out for other places when it’s got a mind to. There’s nothing stopping that beast when it decides to attack.”

  “Yes, well … thank you.” Jack flicked his eyes to me. “I guess that should be our next stop, huh? We need to check up on the others.”

  Finally, something I wanted to do.

  12

  Twelve

  “I think we should spend the night.”

  Jack was lost in thought for the duration of the ride to Hooper’s Mill. I tried to follow his example – mostly because he thought I was a chatty beast – but it didn’t work out well. Ten minutes into the ride I felt the need to make my opinion known.

  “Spend the night where?” Jack asked absently.

  “At Disney World. Where do you think? Hooper’s Mill.”

  “Absolutely not.” Jack was firm. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we have no idea what’s out there.”

  “That’s why we should stay the night,” I argued. “The Chupacabra is more likely to visit if we’re there after dark.”

  “And how do you figure that?”

  “Because … it makes sense.”

  “To you.”