Moonrise Diner

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  Moonrise Diner

  International selling author, Russ Crossley writes science fiction and fantasy, and mystery/suspense as well as their various subgenres.

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  Moonrise Diner

  An Amanda Dark paranormal mystery

  Russ Crossley

  Published by 53rd Street Publishing

  Copyright 2015 Russ Crossley

  All rights reserved

  Cover art © Andrew Bayda | Fotolia.com

  Cover designed by R. Edgewood

  Cover design and layout copyright 2015 by 53rd Street Publishing

  53rd Street Publishing

  Head office: Gibsons B.C. Canada

  www.53rdstreetpublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

  Moonrise Diner

  The cushions of Phillip Swann's black leather executive chair sighed breaking the silence of the teak wood paneled office as he sank into the chair. Amanda Dark sat in a horseshoe shaped chair studying him from the other side of his massive glass-topped desk. His intense blue eyes were fixed on the letter he'd unfolded seconds ago after extracting it from the yellowing envelope Amanda handed him when she sat down.

  His jet-black curly hair, cut short as usual, appealed to her more every day they spent together. Her heart beat a little faster each time they met. If only he shared her deeper feelings.

  The law offices of Smythe, Wellington, Goldberg, and Thompson smelled of wood polish, which wasn't surprising since the Boston law firm had never removed the original teak paneling from the walls since it the firm first opened in 1902. Such expensive wood required constant care to maintain its gleaming, pristine appearance.

  Amanda imagined such attention to detail gave the firm's wealthy clients considerable confidence in the expertise of the firms seventy-five lawyers. Amanda eyed Phillip's square jaw, dimpled smile, and broad shoulders causing her heart to flutter.

  I certainly have confidence in the man I've loved since we met on Hook Island.

  Their first meeting had been eventful and dangerous so it wasn't a stretch to remember those events. Phillip invited her to Hook Island hoping she'd use her gift to help the ghost of the notorious pirate, Captain Henry Swann, his ancestor, to cross over to his final destination in order to free the pirate captain from his wanderings between this world and the next. And to ask Phillip's ancestor the location of a map so he could find Captain Swann's buried treasure reported to be worth a fortune.

  Since then Phillip, as an estate attorney, had teamed up with her, in her role as a paranormal investigator, to help a number of tortured souls to cross over. The jobs had been rewarding and lucrative for them both. Wealthy clients paid considerable sums for their services.

  Phillip finished reading the three-page letter then set it carefully on his desk. The document was quite old since it dated back to the nineteen fifties. She knew this because it originated in her late father's files.

  Amanda found the envelope in a file folder stuffed with power company bills dated in the early fifties she'd been about to throw away. She didn't open the envelope addressed to her father because the return address was for her Uncle Gib's place in Arizona.

  Uncle Gib, her father's older brother, had sexually abused her when she was twelve so anything he touched repulsed her. Her first thought was to burn the envelope to a pile of ash, to join her uncle who no doubt burned in hell, but something deep within her told her not to destroy this envelope. These feelings were something more than mere emotions it was important she listen to the spiritual voices calling to her.

  The postmark showed the letter was mailed from Moonrise Arizona. The date stamp in the postmark intrigued her the most because it was the day her uncle murdered his first wife, Lucy. Or at least the day he allegedly stabbed her to death.

  Her uncle had been acquitted of the murder, but had lived under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of his life. Family legend said Gib remarried, his second wife also named Luci (the only difference being her name ended in an i instead of a y), like his first wife, worked as a waitress with him at the Moonrise Diner. There could have been physical differences as well, but Amanda never met either of them so she had no idea what they looked like.

  As far as she knew no one in the family had ever met Luci the second even after Gib died. Frankly Amanda thought there never was a second wife.

  Amanda searched the on-line newspaper archives after she found the envelope and discovered coverage of Gib's trial. There was no mention in any of the news articles referring to a letter mailed to her father on the day of Gib's arrest. And there was no mention of her father testifying at her uncle's trial.

  Her father told her he turned his back on his brother after his arrest, until after she was born when they reconciled. Her father never explained how they buried the figurative hatchet to settle their differences.

  At the time Uncle Gib abused her she feared if she told her father it would create another split between the two brothers so she remained silent. Fortunately the abuse only happened once then Gib left Boston for the last time. When Amanda was thirteen Gibb ended his own life.

  She'd blocked his name from her mind for the past fourteen years until she found the envelope.

  Phillip, his eyes on the desk, his head forward, didn't say anything for several minutes. The suspense formed a knot of tension in Amanda's stomach and she grew increasingly restless as each second passed passing the time by shifting her bottom on the leather chair repeatedly as if she were unable to get comfortable. Finally, she couldn't contain herself any further. "Phillip, for goodness sake, what does it say?"

  Phillip looked up from the desk, his eyes free of emotion, to lock eyes with her. One eyebrow arched on his tanned forehead. "Your uncle wasn't who he said he was."

  Her heart skipped a beat. Breath, girl...."What do you mean?"

  Phillip sat back and sighed. "He claims he was an undercover operative for the Arizona State Police. He says someone killed his wife to send him a message."

  "Does he say who?" Now she was extremely interested. This had quickly become a mystery. She loved a mystery.

  Phillip gazed at her a pained expression on his face. "Something about inappropriate advances on a woman." He looked away avoiding her stare.

  Amanda's guts twisted pushing the acid taste of bile into the back of her throat. She thought she might vomit any second. She shuddered as the awful memory swept over her of her uncle's hands groping her. Memories of the stale liquor on his breath, mingling with the smell of salty sweat, and the spent cooking grease leaching from his pores paralyzed her.

  "Does he know who killed his wife?" she whispered in a trembling voice. Calling on inner reserves she pushed through the decades of pain and humiliation. Phillip shook his head.

  Her Uncle Gib was a creepy, lying, sack of...but he was her beloved father's brother whose wife had apparently been murdered by persons unknown. And who knew now if his death was a suicide? Everything about the letter cast uncertainty on her uncle's life requiring closer scrutiny. In respect for her dad's love for his brother she would solve this mystery, given her history with her uncle she just didn't want to.

  "I'll call the Arizona State Police then," she decided. "They'll look into the murder." Phillip shook his head again the difference this time being his eyes drooped at the corners.

  A sudden burst of anger welled up from deep within Amanda's belly. I don't need his pity.

  "Did I say something wrong?" asked Phillip, his eyes wide with concern.

  "Why do you ask?"

&n
bsp; Phillip's expression relaxed. "Ummm, I know this is a stressful situation, Amanda, and I'm sorry, I truly am." A gentle smile passed over his handsome features.

  When she brought him the envelope she told him how she didn't like her uncle and that he was estranged from the family, but didn't share the details of the sexual abuse. But her would-be boyfriend was a smart man; he knew something was very wrong even if he didn't know the details. "But the Arizona State cops are unlikely to take any interest in reopening the case. They seemed convinced your uncle committed the crime"

  Amanda picked up the glass of water Phillip poured for her when she first arrived and took a sip of the cool water as the tension in her body eased. "Why not? I'm sure they want to catch the real murderer."

  Phillip nodded. "Of course, but the case was likely closed after your uncle's trial because they probably still think he's guilty, or got off on some technically, or he had a clever lawyer." His mouth formed a sly smile. "They don't much care for the practioners of my profession. And if you tell them you're a paranormal investigator they'll laughed us both out of the police station."

  Amanda's cheeks grew warm. "What's wrong with my job?"

  Phillip arched one eyebrow. "Now, Amanda, I don't mean to offend you, I know from personal experience you have a special gift, but police officers are born skeptics. They'll never take you seriously." He sighed then lifted his coffee mug to his lips and took a sip. After swallowing he added, "I think the better approach is to search the scene of the crime for ourselves. Maybe we'll find something, or someone that'll help us uncover the truth. Something the cops overlooked all those years ago."

  The anger disappeared as Amanda considered his words. He was right. They both knew the something or someone Phillip referred to involved ghosts and the paranormal.

  "OK," she said, "the place to start is the town of Moonrise, Arizona. That's where Gib had his diner—his wife, Lucy, died in the diner..." Her brow wrinkled. "And I seem to recall dad telling me Gib committed suicide in the diner."

  Her well tuned sixth sense for the supernatural told her they would find a horrible truth at the Moonrise Diner, a frightening truth that made her blood run cold.

  ***

  The two lanes of cracked asphalt making up the main street of Moonrise Arizona were off the state highway on an old highway bypass carved from the dry, desolate landscape surrounding the abandoned mining town. According to the GPS navigator the by pass ended five miles north of the town.

  Amanda spent the several hours driving to Moonrise from the Phoenix airport on her iPad reviewing her uncle's trial transcript Phillip had managed to obtain for her. She was surprised the file even existed any more, but was please it was found in the Arizona State Government Library.

  The transcript did yield some interesting facts. In 1972 Uncle Gib testified he and Lucy had a fierce argument the night Lucy was killed after which he went to a nearby bar to cool off ending up going on a drinking binge. There were a plethora of names related to the case—small time gangsters mostly, with colorful names like; Pete "Split Nose" Rostovitch, Jimmy "Beer Belly" Lucia, Al "Stinky" Garbone, and "Maximum Guts" Max Schiller.

  Uncle Gib claimed one of these gangsters killed his wife, but his reasons for thinking this were absent from the record. The cops or the district attorney obviously didn't believe his allegations, or they didn't want to believe him.

  She put her iPad away in her handbag as Phillip stopped their rented Jeep in front of the Moonrise Hotel. Amanda expected to see a hitching post for horses and cowboys with ten-gallon hats and leather gun belts strapped to their hips standing on the porch.

  Instead a gray haired man sat in a rocking chair reading a newspaper on the porch to one side of the twin doors of the hotel entrance. The doors had glass windows built into the wood frame allowing her to see the lobby and the front desk. A gray haired woman stood behind the desk her eyes focused on soemthing in front of her.

  Phillip shut off the engine then swung the drivers door open as the rumble of the engine died away replaced by the soft whisper of the desert wind.

  The oppressive heat struck her in the face as soon as she swung the door open. Her skin immediately became damp with sweat as she stepped into the thick, hot, air.

  Phillip retrieved their suitcases from the back of the jeep then joined her walking up the three steps to the wide gray wood porch, the boards creaking underfoot.

  The man in the rocker dropped his newspaper and his coffee colored eyes narrowed. "Heya, you folks lookin' for a room?" His voice had a scratchy quality like an old phonograph record.

  "Yes," said Amanda with a nice-to-meet-you smile on her lips. "We're in town on holiday."

  The man chuckled gruffly letting the newspaper fall into his lap. "Holiday? In Moonrise? That's a good one, young lady." He arched one white eyebrow. "No one holidays in this town. It's nearly dead. Me and the wife are the last of the few who stayed after the silver mine closed."

  "When was that?" asked Phillip.

  The old man snorted. "Back in '99. The mining company ran out of money...they left town along with most of the folks 'round here." He peered into the distance ignoring them. "We had a pretty young school marm, a church, General Store and even one of them fancy haberdasheries.... those were the days..." He scowled then abruptly raised the newspaper creating a wall of newsprint between them. "Never been the same since," he muttered.

  Amanda shook her head then caught herself when she spotted the date at the top of the paper in the old man's hands. November twenty-first, nineteen ten.

  That can't be right. Has to be a misprint.

  Phillip opened one of the twin glass and wood doors and ushered her inside. Once in the hotel lobby the smell of dust and sand disappeared replaced by the scent of jasmine and though the air was warm it was cooler so than outside. The reception desk, made of weathered wood planks, sat to the left of a wide sweeping staircase, reminiscent of Gone With the Wind, which rose from the flowered carpeted lobby to disappear to the floors above.

  A woman behind the desk cast her dispassionate gaze over them. The collar of her old fashioned long sleeved dress covered her long, narrow neck to just under her angular chin. Her hollow, sunken eyes were the color of obsidian and her complexion reminded Amanda of white glue. Maybe she's ill...

  "Hello," she said in a rasping voice. "May I help you?"

  "Yes, ma'am," said Phillip his tone musical and friendly. Overly friendly, it sounded false to Amanda and probably everyone else. She cringed inside. Regardless he continued. "We need two rooms, please."

  The old woman smirked then flopped open a register sending a puff of dust into air.

  Amanda waved away the dust blinking her eyes to clear them. "Two rooms?" she whispered to Phillip. "Why don't we share one? It'd be cheaper."

  He turned his head slightly to look at her. "Best to have separate rooms." He grinned. "I might not be able to control myself."

  Amanda offered a weak grin. I only wish. She immediately scolded herself. I'm acting like a lovesick schoolgirl; I'm a grown woman.

  "How long have you been here?" Amanda asked the woman.

  "All my life, Miss."

  "Sorry, I meant how long has the hotel been here?"

  "Longer than I have."

  Amanda studied the woman looking for signs she was joking, but she appeared to be serious so Amanda shifted her gaze to look at Phillip. He offered her a humorless smile but didn't say anything.

  After Phillip signed the register for them both the old woman placed two old-fashioned brass keys with yellowing paper tags attached to the ends. Her eyes dropped to peer at the two names Phillip had recorded in the ledger.

  "Mr. Swann, I gave you room 212," her eyes shifted to Amanda, "room 312 for you, Miss Dark." The woman's tone was clipped and registered her disapproval of Amanda.

  I guess she doesn't like questions.

  "I'll carry your bag to your room," offered Phillip.

  "No, thank you, Mr. Swann, I carry my own weight." Am
anda snatched her room key off the desk then, after grabbing her bag by the handle, hurried up the curved carpeted staircase headed for the rooms on the upper floors.

  "I'll meet you here in the lobby in half an hour," Phillip called after her.

  "OK." Without looking back she hurried up the creaking stairs. She hoped they had Wi-Fi. The man and woman running the hotel seemed strangely out of place, though they claimed to have been living in Moonrise all their lives. She needed to conduct some research about the town and its remaining inhabitants.

  ***

  The first thing she noticed upon entering the room was the smell. It reeked of mothballs and cigarette smoke. There was old-fashioned gas lamp on an end table next to an antique burnished brass bed frame containing a too soft mattress that sagged badly under the weight of her suitcase, which wasn't much since she'd packed light.

  After tossing her suitcase on the bed she set up her laptop on the cheap pine table set under the window over looking the street in front of the hotel.

  Moving the matching chair away from the desk she sat down and flipped the laptop open. After booting it up she saw there was no Wi-Fi connection.

  Disappointed she next opened the folder with the pictures she'd downloaded of her uncle's diner, from the family electronic archive her sister set up years before, then clicked through them one by one. As she studied the photos her mouth became dry and a lump of emotion grew in her throat as memories, both good and bad, washed over her.

  She stopped clicking the cursor now hovering over an image of Uncle Gib's diner back in the days he and Lucy owned it wondering if she'd overcome her fears and dread to be able to go inside. But she knew she had to, it was the only way she'd discover the truth.

  Swiping the screen with her finger the image of the pristine diner was replaced by a picture of the diner that had become severely dilapidated in the intervening decades, since it had been abandoned after her uncle's death.

  Somehow Amanda knew they'd discover the ghost of Lucy Dark haunting the old diner. When Lucy died her killer was never brought to justice for her murder.