Free The Lingering Dead by J. N. Duncan

Cynthia replied, “but the little bit of digging I’ve been able to do hasn’t pulled up anything like that.”
    â€œHow far back did you go?” Shelby asked.
    â€œBack to the turn of the century,” Cyn said. “Doesn’t mean something didn’t happen of course, but I didn’t see anything that got noted anywhere.”
    â€œSomeone or something could be keeping them around,” Nick added. “Sometimes one tormented soul will draw others to it, like a magnet.”
    â€œMisery loves company,” Jackie said.
    â€œSomething like that,” he replied.
    There was an awkward few seconds of silence, until Shelby broke it. “Laur, baby. Come out of Jackie’s head and sit with me.”
    Jackie sighed. This was exactly what she signed up for. Laurel hesitated. Go, for Christ’s sake. I’m fine. She slipped out, sending a cool shiver down Jackie’s spine. “What about a killer?” she offered. “Could we have a serial killer on our hands?”
    Cynthia shook her head. “No reports of linked murders of any kind in the area. At least nothing that has popped up on anyone’s radar.”
    They were getting nowhere with this. “So, lots of possibilities but no corroborating information of any kind at this point. Which means, we need to cruise the town and canvas the locals.”
    â€œAnd see if we can talk to any of the ghosts,” Nick added.
    â€œI’ll check that out,” Laurel said. “That’s kind of my thing now.”
    Shelby snickered at her. “Laurel Carpenter, Ghost Detective.”
    â€œOh,” Cynthia said. “I’d watch that.”
    â€œIf you could see them,” Shelby replied.
    The three of them laughed. Jackie frowned in an effort to hide the smile creeping onto her face. Damn them. There was nothing amusing about any of this. In the rearview mirror, Jackie could see the corner of Nick’s mouth curl up as he shook his head. It was better than nerve-wracking silence at least.
    The two-lane, shoulderless road wound its way through rolling hills and scattered fields, little more than wet dirt and groves of dark, spider-webbed branches collecting water from the low-slung sky. They were in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, with nary a coffee or pastry shop to be seen. Somewhere off to the east, the Mississippi wound its way south through Iowa farmland. It was not difficult to imagine ghosts wandering aimlessly over this landscape.
    They finally passed a sign that said THATCHER’s MILL, 2 MILES. Jackie had the feeling that a couple of hours in the podunk and they would be on the road back, having wasted a perfectly good Friday that she could have spent curled up on her couch doing a whole lot of nothing.
    â€œYou realize this could be a complete waste of time,” she said to no one in particular. “This is a ten-year-old lead we’re following up on.”
    â€œSo what?” Shelby said. “It’s a good way to get our feet wet. We’ll figure out what’s worth going out on and what’s not.”
    â€œI suppose,” Jackie replied.
    The Ford crossed a bridge over a shallow creek, where a sign welcomed them to Thatcher’s Mill. Up ahead, Jackie could see the main street, lined with old brick, two- and three-story buildings, and not much beyond that, the highway exiting the town and disappearing around a tree-covered hill. The brightly colored sign of the local diner could be seen on a corner up ahead, and Jackie had half a mind to stop there first, just so she could get some coffee in her system.
    Then someone stepped out in the path of the SUV, forcing Jackie to swerve and slam on the brakes. She caught some gravel on the side of the road and slid sideways off onto the shoulder.
    â€œHoly shit!” She leaped out of the SUV, scanning the road for a body. There was nothing to be seen.
    â€œShe’s over there,” Nick said, pointing behind