The Lingering Dead Read Free Page B

thought to it this year. “I hadn’t really planned on doing much.”
    â€œYou don’t have to do anything,” he replied. “All I need are your preferences. Turkey and stuffing? Ham? Rack of lamb?”
    â€œSo, I’m coming over for Thanksgiving dinner?”
    â€œYou had other plans?”
    â€œWell, no, not really,” she said. “It’s just ...” It sounded great and potentially intimate, which cranked down the screws on her stomach. “I guess I’m coming over. Do I need to bring anything?”
    â€œNo. Just your appetite. Cyn and Shel are coming. We usually do Thanksgiving together. I only need to know what you’d like.”
    The paranormal freak-show Thanksgiving. What could be better? At least there would be other people. “Is it possible for you to cook something I won’t like?”
    â€œI could try,” he said. “Maybe bull’s testicles or something.”
    Jackie snorted. “You’ve actually had those?”
    â€œAmong other things. Not my preferred body part, I’ll admit.”
    And there it was again. Normal conversation turned disturbing because the guy drank blood to stay alive. She caught his gaze, wondering if he noticed the look on her face, and Jackie realized his reference may have had nothing to do with food. “Great. Surprise me then. You know I’ll eat anything you cook. Think I’m ready to dig into these files now. How about you?”
    Nick picked up a file from his stack, doing little to conceal the smirk on his face. “You’re the boss.”
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    After six hours, Jackie picked at a box of Chinese takeout, her eyes glazing over with weariness and frustration. The conference room table had been papered from one end to the other, stacks of notes and forms piled up by year. Some were far bigger than others, but they had potential cases going back to 1971. Many were ridiculous notes like Ms. Shumway’s, certain to be nothing, but others had a definite creep value that made Jackie wonder. Everyone had pulled aside those they thought might hold some kind of value. There were dozens, perhaps over a hundred. Jackie gave it her best unfocused stare and continued to eat her shrimp-fried rice.
    Shelby plopped the rest of pot sticker in her mouth. “So. Any ideas on how you want to sort through those, Jackie?”
    â€œNo. How about a random number?”
    â€œI saw a few interesting ones,” Cynthia added.
    Shelby reached up and pulled one out of the middle of the stack, floating it across the table toward her. Jackie watched it drift to the floor. “Well, that’s one down. Any other ideas, anyone?”
    Nick sipped on a beer, his booted feet crossed up on the end of the table. “It would make sense to either start with the most recent or ones that are closest to us.”
    â€œI think we should go through this stack of good ones and rank them from most to least likely to be legitimate paranormal incidents,” Cynthia said.
    Jackie nodded. Cynthia, ever the practical one, was probably right. Jackie leaned over and picked up the sheaf of paper from the floor. It was one she had come across during the blur of afternoon reading. Unlike all of the other ones she had read, this one had actually come from a former FBI agent. The note was handwritten, dated August 12, 1993. It stated, rather simply:

    Thatcher’s Mill. I was travelling to Chicago for a workshop when I drove through this little, rustic town just south of Dubuque. This place had more ghosts in it than I’ve ever felt before, by a factor of ten to one. Remarkable and completely unnerving. Will have to investigate this if opportunity arises or we ever decide to look into paranormal events.

    FBI Agent. If they were going to get any kind of reliable source material, what could be better than a fellow agent? “Laur?” Laurel, who now walked freely around the room, moved over from the