Free Witch's Canyon by Jeff Mariotte Page A

details we can provide, the more they like it.”
    “Well, here in Cedar Wells and Coconino County, we certainly have our share of ‘interesting detail,’” she said. “Lots of kooks, I guess you’d say, have settled here or at least passed through. I can’t think of any off the top of my head who might have a grudge like you’re describing, though.”
    “Maybe the grudge would never have revealed itself,” Dean suggested. “Maybe he was just someone who felt like he’d been badly mistreated.”
    “That sort of thing happens all the time, of course,” Mrs. Frankel said. She twisted a thin gold necklace around her left index fi nger. Dean noted that there was no wedding ring on her ring fi nger, although she had definitely introduced herself as Mrs.
    Frankel. “People feel like local government singles them out for maltreatment, or like it has let them down in some way because their particular case or cause isn’t its top priority. And some, of course, have legitimate grievances. I can think of half a dozen of those, but those are all just in the last few years.
    Going back to the old days . . . well, that would be a matter of going through the newspapers, I guess. As far back as they go.”
    “How far is that?” Sam asked. “The soldier we’re looking for might have been here late in the nineteenth century.”
    Mrs. Frankel released her knot of necklace and tapped her fingertips against her chin. “Oh, I don’t think the papers go that far back. The Canyon 78 SUPERNATURAL
    County Gazette didn’t start publishing until 1920 or thereabouts. Well after the national park was established. Before that, there just weren’t enough people in the area to make a newspaper worthwhile.”
    “How can we get information on
    people who
    might have been here before that?” Dean asked.
    She glanced toward a series of wooden fi ling cabinets shoved up against one wall. “There are some records from Camp Hualpai, a local military post from the late 1860s to early 1870s. It didn’t exist for long, but you’re certainly welcome to see what’s there.” Dean caught Sam’s eye. That sounded like a lot of hard, boring work. He didn’t necessarily have a problem with hard, boring work that had a reasonable chance of success. The problem here was that they were hunting for the proverbial needle in the haystack—complicated further by the fact that they didn’t even know in which farmer’s fi eld the right haystack could be found. Sam gave a minute shrug.
    “Maybe a little later,” Dean said. “We’ll defi nitely keep that in mind.”
    Outside, Sam grabbed his arm before they even made it to the car. “I could tell you didn’t want to sit in there and read those old files, but do you have any better ideas? We’re kind of running out of time here.”
    “Of course I have an idea,” Dean said. Sam released him and stood on the sidewalk, waiting to hear it. The snow, which started out falling lightly, had intensified, as if the clouds themselves had shredded and spun to the ground as confetti. Since Dean Witch’s
    Can
    79
    yon
    didn’t actually have an idea, he watched the sky for a moment, hoping one would come to him. “Only not so much, at the moment.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Fortunately, I have one.”
    “Why didn’t you say so? What is it?”
    “We’re looking for a soldier, right? Someone who died in the area, which is why his spirit is still here.
    So let’s check the local cemeteries. We can scan them for electromagnetic frequency activity. If nothing else, sometimes military graves are marked, and if we can find one that’s out of the ordinary in some way, maybe we can kill two birds with one stone and dig it up right away.”
    Dean smiled. Little brother comes through again.
    “That’s good, Sammy. That’s good. Can’t be too many cemeteries around here, can there?” As it turned out, there were three.
    The first one didn’t have any graves older than 1954, which it took twenty