(Move this to summary space, then delete.) (If you're reading this it means I forgot to delete it. Oops)
Summary of Part 1: Goren and Eames have become stranded in a lousy diner with a murder victim, suspects aplenty and... a ghost?? The case plays on Goren's worst fear; that he's losing his sanity. Part 2 is romance.
Part 1 is rated PG for murder (duh), and language. I'm not going to pretend to know anything about cop stuff, so we're doing the spooky old house thing. Deal.
BTW: I don't own either Blair Witch (except on video), and for some idiotic reason, I would like to go on record as saying that I actually like the second one: not that it's good, it's just kind of fun.
I would like to thank sources like the Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, etc for giving me all kinds of useless information that helps write Goren as if he were actually being written about by people who know what they're doing. I couldn't have done it without these sources.
So blame them.
You can solve it: the clues are all through the story. You can do it! Go you! Go you! It's your birthday! (thought you should have some encouragement.)
Haunted
by LMR
Dedicated to the mentally ill
Part 1- Possession
Chapter 1: State of Mind
by LMR
Disclaimer: Doink, doink! In New York City's war on crime, the worst criminal offenders are pursued by the detectives of the major case squad. But when they're not pursuing the worst criminal offenders, some idiot fanfic writer is putting them into a lousy Supernatural?/Mystery/Romance/Humor story. The detectives of the major case squad hate this. They want you to read this stupid thing as quickly as possible so they can get back to more bearable and pleasant things, like murder. Doink, doink!
Goren looked out the passenger side window. They were way out of the city now, and Eames showed no sign of pulling off the main road.
"You didn't tell me this place was so far out of the way," he commented. "There are lots of diners between home and...where are we, anyway?"
"Burkhamstead," Eames replied. "Only about three hundred people, really good diner."
"There are lots of really good diners."
"It's the mushrooms," she said simply.
Goren had a pretty good idea what the answer would be, but decided to point out the obvious. "Lots of places have fried mushrooms."
"Not these fried mushrooms," she pointed out.
Yup. "Oh, brother."
"Not brother," she corrected. "Nephew." She patted her bulging middle. "Blame him."
"It's not his fault Aunt Alex has no control over her cravings."
She glowered. "Hey, I've been good so far. And you said you would treat me to dinner to celebrate - hell, be honest about it, you're celebrating that I'm getting rid of this kid next week and coming back to work." He laughed: That was definitely true. "You didn't specify where, and you can't complain about the distance, because it's my car."
"Not complaining," he said. "Just observing."
She thought for a moment. "So, is it technically still maternity leave if I'm not the mom?"
"Why are you asking me?"
"Why not? You know everything," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
He sighed. "Well, technically, yes. But if you wanted to you could call it teanity leave..."
She tuned out the rest of his response. Someday, she was going to teach her partner the meaning of "rhetorical question."
Finally, after what seemed like forever, she pulled onto a side road, then a dirt road, and finally, up to the drive of a small building that must have been a house at some point. The sign hanging from one hook declared that it was "Eleanor's." Poor, remiss Eleanor, Goren thought as they got out of the car. The yard was not so much a yard as a mud garden, and his shoes were making squishy noises as he walked. So many dying, splintered trees surrounded the lot, dropping wet leaves onto the roof of the house. Goren wiped his shoes on the mat for at least a minute, until he was satasfied that he wouldn't track any mud in. He figured it would hardly have mattered anyway. Through the first set of doors was a small room that looked like it had once been a porch, but was now closed in to make a small sitting area. An old green sofa took up one side of the room, sitting under a large window. Goren supposed it was for waiting guests and wondered briefly if it was ever needed. Through the second set of doors was the dining room. It was larger than he would have thought from looking at the outside, but still confined. The only other patron was a big man in a lumberjack sort of outfit sitting in the corner munching on a cheeseburger and fries. A small, portly man with an apron and an absolutely bald head greeted them at the door.
"Hello, there, sit anywhere. Name's Tomath Malpuente. Everybody calls me Thompson. Don't remember why, but that's the way it goes. What can I getcha to drink?"
Goren attempted to help Eames into a window booth, got impatiently swatted away. "Decaf, extra sugar," she ordered.
Thompson laughed a little at that. "Yeah, I guess your husband would get mad if I let you get anything stronger than that."
Goren supressed a grin. This is going to be good.
"Really can't say what my husband might think, but the father sure wouldn't like it," she said casually, as Thompson took notice of her bare left hand.
Goren turned his face to hide a fit of laughter while Thompson nearly dropped the coffe pot in shock at her cavalier attitude. He straightened his face enough to casually add, "I shudder to think how much fun you would be having if this were your brother's instead of your brother-in-law's." Eames looked like she was almost going to laugh. Thompson was turning an interesting shade of green.
"Uh, you?" he asked Goren.
"A beer."
He hesitated as he handed him a bottle. "Only one of these, or she'll have to drive. House rules. You okay with that?"
"I don't know," Goren asked seriously. "Are you sure I can survive your driving for one night?"
"With an attitude like that you won't," she remarked, never looking up from her menu. She was the only person he had ever met who could act like that without seeming even the slightest bit angry.
"I'll risk it," he told Thompson, taking the beer.
"Any idea what you want?"
"Two servings fried mushrooms, extra sauce," Eames said without hesitating, handing him the menu.
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You?"
"Perogi, please." He frowned, thinking. "Malpuente. I've never heard that name. I think that means bad br..." But Thompson was already across the room, leaving Goren looking disappointed.
"Give it a rest, brainiac," Eames advised.
A few minutes later, Thompson returned. "How is everything?"
"Great, thanks," Goren said. It was mediocre, really, but he'd always found he got more information by being generous with the compliments, and even when he wasn't on a case, it had become a habit. "Compliment the chef for me."
"Just did, thank you," Thompson said. He puffed up with pride, reminding Eames of a blowfish.
"You're the cook, too?" she wondered.
"Cook, server, mater-dee, owner, everything. My house, too."
"So who's Eleanor?" Goren asked.
"Well, okay, it really is Eleanor's place, but I can't really count on her to mail out the electric bills, so we share ownership." He laughed at his own little joke, which made no sense at all to the detectives. Thompson seemed oblivious to their confusion. "Hundred-seven years ago, she took possession, and she's never left since. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows how. But she's good for business, that's for sure. Lotsa tourists on ghost tours of the state. Some of the idiots who've just come from Amityville. Sheesh, when will they learn? They'd believe Star Trek if somebody told them it was a true story! But I can't complain, I guess. It's why halfa them come here, all disappointed, and then Bam!" He smashed his fist against his hand for emphasis. "The real thing!"
"How did she die?" Goren wanted to know.
"Well, her mother was crazy as a loon, outta her head nutcase without all her marb-"
"We get the picture," Eames said fiercely.
Thomson looked surprised at her firm rebuke, but continued. "Well, anyway, the girl was more afraid of going insane than anything in the world. She was convinced that it was the worst fate possible." It was obvious he'd told this story about a hundred times as he paused for dramatic affect. Eames checked, and found Goren's face was unreadable. "We'll as you'll see, the bathroom window is always foggy, and one night she looked out, and saw a white wispy image like a hanged specter. It terrified her so much, the thought that she had finally cracked, too. And that scared her so bad, she hanged herself right outside the same window." Another pause. "The real tragedy is, her family realized a short time later that there was a big white water bird always hanging around the area. Flappin' his wings like a lady in white swingin' from side to side." He made a little gesture with his hand, just in case they didn't get the idea. "She wasn't crazy at all. 'Course, lotsa people see things now. She makes sure of that. So for more'n a hundred years now people have seen some interesting things, lights always going on and off by themselves, things moving, some people say they've seen her. I never have, but I sure don't doubt it. I've felt her in the room with me, hair on the back of your neck standing up, blood running cold. Like somethin' outta a poem by Poe," he finished dramatically. "Happened right here."
"Very interesting," Goren said. "Thanks."
After he left, Eames raised an eyebrow. "Hold me down: I can't contain my excitement." She was frustrated to see a face filled with confusion instead of the grin she'd been aiming for.
"You didn't think that was interesting?"
"Oh, you can't tell me you're actually interested in the local ha'ant?"
"Stories usually tell more about the teller than the subject," he pointed out. "I'm always trying to figure everything out, you know that." He shrugged. "Useless here, but just a habit."
"All I learned about Thompson from that story is that he's a wacko who needs to get out more." That one got the grin.
It wasn't long after that that the rain started tapping on the window, and soon is was truly pouring. A bedraggled and drenched couple walked in shaking their jackets. The woman set down what looked like a small bag of luggage, then hung her coat up on the rack, straightened it out as best she could before turning to, or perhaps on, her companion. "Right, Steve," the woman said loudly. "This is exactly where you wanted us to end up."
It's a detour," Steve insisted defensively. Alex almost smiled again, absently slapping Goren's hand away from the mushrooms.
"Well, Jo, it's not so bad. We can just ask if any of these nice people have a GPS in their car. You can't get lost in America today."
"Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah, Blair Witch. Worked out well for them!"
"Sheesh, now that's over dramatizing. We're not exactly in a life or death situation here. We're in an off-road diner, little outta the way, no big deal."
"What happened in Blair Witch?" Goren asked quietly.
"Another wacko who needs to get out more." Grin. "Completely lost in haunted woods with no map or anything. Good movie, you should see it. But not the sequel. Best part of that was the end credits." She glanced at him appraisingly. "You don't like scary movies, do you?"
He shrugged. "I like any good movie."
"So, in other words, no horror movies."
"Some are good. Well, okay, I should say I like some bad movies. There's this terrible old one called The Demon, 1976, in South Africa. It's lousy, but there's something about the main character..." He thought about this for a moment and decided to bring up something else. "And my favorite book is horror: House of L-" He abruptly quit whatever it was he'd been about to say, and the two put their attention back on Steve and Joey's loud bickering. Joey made a face, peeling a wet leaf off her coat and dropping it neatly into the trash. "Assuming someone has a GPS," she reminded him.
"Everybody has a GPS," Steve insisted. "Everybody except us, I mean," he amended. He looked around the small group, dubious. Ronald looked like he'd lived in the woods his whole life and might never have heard of a GPS. His eyes settled on Goren.
"Do you have a GPS in your car?"
"Not with me."
"My car. And no, I don't," Eames said. Goren looked surprised. "What? I never get lost."
"Do you have a phone?" he asked Thompson.
"Nah. Used to, but Eleanor was always playin' around with it so it never worked. Gave up."
"Cell phone?" Steve asked the room, although at this point, he didn't look too hopeful. Eames started to reach down before she realized that she'd left it at home after getting about five calls from her sister 'just to check.' She wanted to honestly be able to tell her that she didn't know she'd called.
Goren got his out, then frowned. "Dead battery."
Eames looked at him incredulously. "Highest IQ in the state of New York and you can't remember to charge your cell phone." Goren pouted at this observation.
"Well, we might as well settle for a while," Steve conceded. "It's too stormy to drive in unfamiliar territory." They sat in the next booth over.
Mr. Malpuente, at least, was pleased. "Good idea, good food."
By the time the gaudily dressed woman entered Eleanor's, the rain was nearly deafening. She swore loudly as she shook the water off her coat. "Gin and tonic," she more demanded than ordered.
At the sound of her voice, Steve sank in the chair, possibly because Jo turned sharply toward her and scowled. "Annie Daniels," she growled, as if that were enough of an explanation to make everyone in the room, or possibly the world, cringe.
"Great," Annie snapped. "Not only am I stuck in this lousy place, I'm stuck with the two-" her eyes fell on the other man in the corner. "Make that three- people I hate most." She threw her coat onto the rack. It landed on top, but she wasn't paying attention and obviously wouldn't have seen or cared if it had fallen to the floor. Goren could see lots of lift tickets on the zipper, a status symbol in the Rockies. Snobs left them on their coats forever and a day to show off where they had been. He glanced at the same jacket Eames always wore. She was still wearing it. She had been skiing a few times. No tickets. She didn't have anything to prove, and probably threw them in the recycling bin like any sensible person would.
The man in the corner gave Annie another scowl and tuned back to his fries. Her hatred of the man seemed to pique Joey's interest. Apparently anyone Annie hated was up a notch in her opinion. Goren was watching all this intently.
Annie finally noticed the detectives. "Don't recognize you." It came across as a profound insult.
"Outta town," Goren replied simply.
She turned back to Joey, apparently deciding that she couldn't find enough to complain about with the detectives as targets. "So, Joey, you're still married to this creep? Hasn't he cheated on you, yet?"
Joey stared her down coolly. "He doesn't cheat on a woman he loves. Or maybe it's just because I don't look like a horse."
"Ladies, please try to be civil," the man in the corner said politely.
Annie laughed derisively. "You can talk to me after you've paid me, Donnie."
"You know I hate to be called Donnie, you obnoxious little-" he glanced at Eames. "Jerk," he finished. "I don't owe you Jack!"
Eames leaned in. "Welcome to Trailer Park Theatre."
"The hell you d-"
"Hey," Thompson cut in. "I'm telling you all to be civil, or you can just wait outside for the storm to let up."
"Still got cockroaches in this dive, Malpunta?" Annie remarked.
"Don't call me that, ramera. And you know that was seven years ago," he added loudly, "I had just taken possession, and they were gone in a week! Damn good time: they are the hardest to kill little mothers on the planet."
Goren piped up for the first time during all this. "Actually, they're not: the waterbear is so adaptable it can survive in outer..." Thompson was washing the bar as if none of them existed. "...space," he finished lamely.
"Don't think he cares."
Eames was aware that Goren didn't butt it with ridiculous facts like that to show off: he just assumed everybody else wanted to learn trivial, geeky little things like he did. And now he looked somewhat hurt that the others obviously didn't. "But it's interesting."
Eames rolled her eyes. "If it'll keep you from pouting all night, tell me about the waterbear." She tried her best to sound patronizing, but to be honest, she was geekier than she liked to admit. It was kind of fun having a human encylopedia and umpteen language translater for a partner.
He had only gotten a few minutes into his lecture on resilient, microscopic, lichen-dwelling insects when Annie decided they deserved some more attention. "So, is he still putting tourists to sleep with that breathtaking spook-story about the loony-toons ghost? Maybe he's a distant relative. It would explain some mental deficiencies."
Thompson let the insult bounce off him, but apparently couldn't resist sharing his opinion on an important matter. "Don't run in la thangre." He lined up two bottles on the counter for Steve and Joey. 'S far's I'm concerned, insanity is just a state of mind. You're as sane as you let yourself be."
Eames shot him a look that could have killed a waterbear. Goren didn't seem to care, probably so used to it it didn't phase him. It made her blood boil. She'd hated that attitude, that arrogance even before her. . . ?partner?friend?best friend?, well, whatever the hell he was, was somebody with looming mental illness, now it downright infuriated her. How could anyone pretend to know what they faced everyday? Say that they weren't strong enough?
"Now, I think," Thompson said predictably. "That if a person is strong enough-"
"I think you should shut up, considering your 'state of mind' is that you don't have two brain cells to rub together!" Eames snapped.
This was the first part of the conversation Goren even seemed to hear. He smiled a little. "Thanks, but I don't really care."
"I do," Eames scowled.
"He's got some good qualities," Goren defended him. Eames looked at him as if he'd just taken a bite of pomegranate and insect sandwich. "Well," he said, obviously searching for something. "he got rid of a nest of cockroaches in a week. He has to be pretty clever." Eames could see the daze of digression taking over his face. "Of course, those were Germanic cockroaches. Everybody always seems to picture Madagascar hissing cockroaches because they seem more sinister, which is kind of funny, because they're actually quite docile. People keep them as pets. One time, one made itself really comfortable on my hand, just crawling around, very calm."
Eames yanked her plate as far way from his hand as possible, getting a laugh.
"Well, I can see how you never get insulted by anything." He raised an eyebrow. "You can't keep your mind on the same thing for two minutes at a time."
"Sorry, what were we talking about?"
Steve looked out the window, pensive. "How long do you suppose we'll be here?"
Joey looked out as well, and reasoned, "The radio in the car said this would keep up all night. And it that it would keep getting worse until morning."
"We're stuck here, aren't we?" Steve asked, annoyed.
"Um-huh."
"It's a good place to be stuck. Good food," Thompson insisted, either always the optimist or always the salesman.
Ronald was looking out the window at the rain, kicked off his shoes, apparently not finding this at all inconvenient. Ronald didn't seem to notice that Steve was giving him a funny look, and went back to his food as if there was nothing at all troubling about any of it. It seemed to Goren he might spend most of his time here anyway. Annie didn't seem impressed by the promise of food. "Yech: everything's loaded with carbs."
"Well, carbohydrates are actually-" he started, drawing a raised eyebrow and a you're kidding, right? glance from Eames.
"Right, they don't care," he reminded himself.
Annie looked at Eames with a measure of disgust. "You're not going to pop, are you?" It was obvious she cared more about the cleanliness of her ugly clothes than Eames's and her nephew's wellbeing.
"That depends," Eames said flatly. "Would a screaming baby drown out your complaining?"
"Is she always this charming?" she asked Goren who was trying not to look too amused..
"Yes," he answered straightforwardly as if he hadn't noticed the slightest bit of sarcasm in the question.
She walked away, making a noise that sounded like "Urch."
Goren, grinning, shook his head. "You know, one of these days one of your little comments is going to make the wrong person mad."
"Finally getting annoyed with my sense of humor?"
"No, I love it. But not everybody will: you should be more careful." Her look was something like a five year old told to stop pulling a sibling's hair.
Annie abruptly announced, "This day could not go any farther into hell."
Goren was just attempting to bite back the automatic urge to tell her that it was 'further,' when the day did, indeed, go further into hell. The power went out with a whine. Everyone let out a groan of severe aggravation, mixed with a few explicatives.
"Well, I've got a radio, anyway," Thompson said lamely. "Maybe we'll hear something about the weather." He switched on a puny little radio on the bar. In Eames's opinion, this only made matters worse, as it was playing country. Goren seemed relatively happy with this, and Eames figured he probably listened to anything. Something about expanding musical horizons. Whatever. "I'll get some candles from the pantry. Make yourselves at home," Thompson offered, with a look toward Annie that clearly said That doesn't mean you, and left the room.
"Well, I can't just sit here," Joey decided. "I'm getting the map. Maybe I can actually figure something out."
"The map out in the car?"
"No, Steve, I'm going to Australia to get one. Of course, the one in the car."
"Restroom, " Goren said simply and started for the corner. Eames nodded and stared out the window at the rain and did her best to think about nothing at all, eventually zoning completely out of the diner.
Steve fidgeted. "I'm going to look for a flashlight upstairs." The others in the room figured this was a rather lousy thing for him to do, seeing as it was Thompson's home, but no one bothered to stop him. Annie stared bored at the ceiling, and after a moment of thought, went into the kitchen. Again, no one bothered to stop her.
As Goren washed his hands at the sink, he immediately saw Thompson had been right. It was difficult to see through the smoky window. He could also see what he swore were traces of phosphorescent paint in vague shapes around the edges. He grinned. What a showman.
And a movement caught his eye. A flash of white. And in a horrifying moment that seemed to last an hour, he swore he saw a woman's face, slightly translucent and somewhat fuzzy around the edges, looking back at him. He was chilled to the bone: not because he feared he was looking at a ghost, but because he knew he wasn't.
He took a seat on the closed toilet to collect himself for a few minutes before returning to the dining room.
Eames's brow furrowed as Goren returned to the dining room. "What is it?"
He leaned in so no one might overhear. "I saw a face outside the window. A woman's face."
"Joey was outside." He shook his head. "What, you don't mean Eleanor?" Eames asked skeptically.
"No, no, that's-" he sighed, not knowing what to say. "It wasn't, of course. But it did look...strange. Not the way a person should look. I don't know who it was." He bit his lip. "Or if I really saw it."
Her expression changed completely: sadness, compassion, impatience, frustration, and disbelief.
"I know you better than anyone, and I don't believe that you ha-"
And Thompson yelled from the kitchen. "Annie! She's dead!" There was panic in his voice. "There are bruises on her neck: I think she was strangled! Murdered! Call the police!" Everyone stood at hearing this news. Feeling incredibly guilty, Goren reached around Eames's waist, looking like he was being protective or comforting. He was, in fact, making sure she was carrying her sidearm under her jacket. She was, of course. She looked at him. You?
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. They went back to looking at Thompson in disbelief like everyone else, Goren's arm safely at his side.
As the slam of a shockwave settled over the room, Joey was the first to recover and sensibly point out, "Even if we had a phone, the police couldn't get here any more than we can get out. We're stuck."
"Stuck with a dead person. Great," Ronald added.
"And a murderer," Steve mentioned. "Really great. When was she... um?"
"She was right here just ten minutes ago," Eames reasoned.
"Who wasn't in the room, then?" Steve wondered.
"Only Ronald and I were here," Eames answered. "And I wasn't paying attention to anything. Actually, I think I might have drifted off." Eames silently cursed herself.
"Same here. I was sittin' against the wall, facin' the corner. I don't think I fell asleep ..." He didn't sound so certain.
"So we don't know who Annie was with," Eames pointed out. "None of us has an alibi, except that Ronald and I were both here, but with the amount of attention we were paying the room, it's not much of one. Everyone else was in different places. Goren was in the bathroom, Thompson was in the pantry, Joey was in her car, Steve was upstairs and obviously, Annie was in the kitchen."
"Well, we're sitting tight till the police can come. Nobody touch the body, try not to go into the kitchen. Stick with somebody all the time, preferably someone you trust completely."
Steve glared at him. "What is it you do, again?"
"Insurance company," Eames answered without pausing. "We're cubicle whack-a-moles, why?"
"Well, are you guys, like, geniuses or something, 'cause you sure are bossy?" Ronald asked, sounding perturbed.
"No smarter than anybody else," Goren said simply. Eames didn't let herself look in his direction. No tipping hands: They needed the killer, or killers to relax and make a mistake, not to turn extra cautious near them. "I watch crime shows," he offered lamely.
"Yeah, that counts, Goren," Eames piped up. "Those shows are so stupid. And the actors are always so lousy."
"Well, I watch those, too, so what? It's not like you have any authority," Steve said sourly.
"Anybody have any problems with the suggestions we've given? Or better ones? Please, by all means..." There wasn't a trace of hostility in Goren's voice, he
sounded truly interested in feedback.
Steve quieted, mostly because he would have to admit that they were pretty good ideas.
"Coffee: make friends with it," Joey remarked.
Thompson was livid. "There was a murder in my restaurant, my kitchen, and one of you is the killer. You're gonna fry. I'll fry you myself right with the papath and
the mushrooms." Eames pushed her plate of mushrooms away, gave a what the hell shrug and bit into another. "I wanna know who you all are, where you're from and what you're doing here! All of you!"
"You know who I am: I'm here nearly every day," grumbled Ronald.
"I know your name and how you like your burger, Raitt," Thompson corrected. "That doesn't tell me anything!"
"Well, calm down," Ronald said. "We'll all talk. But we start with the strangers."
They all looked at Goren and Eames as though expecting a fight. Goren shrugged. "My name's Robert Goren. This is my friend Alex Eames. We live in the city. Work in an office downtown. I've never been here." He looked at Eames, "When were you here?"
"Just once, three years ago. Got off the main road. There was nobody else here. I never met Annie."
"So why'd you come all the way out here for dinner?" Joey wondered. "Food didn't bring you." Thompson glared. "Ghost hunters?"
"No, the kid's to blame for that one. I had a craving for these mushrooms, specifically." Now Thompson was beaming.
"Right," Joey intoned, clearly not believing anyone would have cravings for the food at Eleanor's.
"And you, sir, ma'am?" He invited Steve and Joey. Eames marveled that he could be so polite to people who were so-
"Steve McLaggen. Live in Amityville-"
"So you know! It's bunk, right?" Thompson shouted excitedly.
Steve continued as if there had been no ghostly digression. "We were on our way to Maine for a week. I was born here in town, so I knew this place from before- nine years ago," he clarified to a suspicious looking Thompson, who'd been about to blurt out that he didn't know him. He shuffled his feet nervously. Obviously, he had something more that he didn't really want to share. He sighed. "Annie was my fiance, and nine years ago, I left her for Joey." Eames nodded, she'd gathered that from the shouting match. "After I left her, she was pretty upset about it. Moved out of the country for a year, even."
Goren interrupted. "Where to?"
"Madrid. I didn't even know she was back in town, just knew she came back to the country somewhere. Said somebody was giving her trouble over there or
something. Well, it's no secret she hates me. She thinks she should have gotten money out of me, but I swear I didn't cheat her. I did cheat on her," he admitted reluctantly, "But that's not a crime. And it's not like it was some sleazy affair: I fell for Joey," he rationalized. "And anyway, who can blame me? You met her."
The group turned their eyes to said mistress. "Joey McLaggen, born Joey Bright, here in town till nine years ago, married Steve, got the hell out of here. Now I'm a social worker for the state."
Ronald sighed. "Ronald Raitt. I might as well get it over with, since she was yelling about it anyway. She figured I owed her money."
"Did you?" Eames asked bluntly.
His eyes wandered around the room; thinking. "I don't know the technicalities. I rented some land from her, the crop failed. Her land wasn't any good, but she
says- she said it was my fault. We hadn't settled it yet."
"Be pretty convenient for you if she died, wouldn't it?" Joey prodded.
"Oh, come on!" Ronald growled. "We all had reason to kill her, 'cept maybe the guys from the city, but that doesn't mean that we know who did it!"
"He's right," Eames pointed out. "Motive's not enough. Annie obviously made enemies. Feel like sharing with the class, Thompson? What's your story?"
"I don't have to talk! It's my place."
"And you could be the murderer as well as anyone," Goren pointed out. "I'm not saying that you are," Goren reassured Thompson, who was about to protest.
"Just that it would make us all feel a little better if we knew something about you."
"I'm Thompson Malpuente. Immigrated here, legally, mind you," he glanced around at the others nervously before continuing, "From Puerto Rico. I bought the
place from Thurston Tracks when I got here, and took possession seven years ago. I didn't like Annie, first to admit it. She was foul. But I certainly didn't kill her. Even if I could do it, she never did anything bad enough for that."
"Didn't she try to shut you down?" Ronald asked. "Trying to prove that Eleanor didn't exist?"
He shrugged. "All that did was bring more attention. Hell, they had it on the local news," he said proudly. "All skeptics do is make believers more persistent."
"Is there anyone else, someone not here, who might want to kill Annie?" Eames asked. Goren knew she was thinking about the face he'd seen.
"You mean besides anyone who's ever met her?" Joey asked.
But Steve looked like he was thinking. "There was someone. When Annie came back from Spain, she complained about someone, a stalker, she said. I always thought all that talk about a stalker was bull." He shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't."
"Did she tell you anything about the guy? Anything specific?" Goren wondered.
"Just that it was some guy that lived around there. She didn't know him. She said she never even got a good look at him."
"None of this gets us anywhere," Thompson reasoned.
"You're right," Eames affirmed. "I think we should just all stay in one place, keep an eye on each other, and try to relax. As much as we can, anyway. By morning, the roads will be cleared up, and we can get the police. Thompson, I think you should lock up any knives or other weapons you might have, and we should hang the key from that fan, out in the open so no one can sneak it. If nothing else, someone will panic and an innocent person will get hurt. 9FM Chicago: Attention deficet radi- oh look a little kitty! (and I don't even work for them!)