High Court (Cid Garrett P.I. Book 2) Read online

  High Court

  A Cid Garrett P.I. novel

  by Alexie Aaron

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ~

  Copyright 2017 – Diane L. Fitch writing as Alexie Aaron

  ALSO BY ALEXIE AARON

  HAUNTED SERIES

  in order

  The Hauntings of Cold Creek Hollow

  Ghostly Attachments

  Sand Trap

  PEEPs Lite Eternal Maze 3.1

  PEEPs Lite Homecoming 3.2

  Darker than Dark

  The Garden

  Puzzle

  Old Bones

  Things that Go Bump in the Night

  Something Old

  PEEPs Lite Checking Out 9.1

  PEEPs Lite Ice and Steel 9.2

  The Middle House: Return to Cold Creek Hollow

  Renovation

  Mind Fray

  The Siege

  NOLA

  Never Forget

  The Old House

  Restitution

  A Rose by Any Other Name

  The Long Game

  Given Enough Rope

  Coming soon: The Return

  CID GARRETT P.I. SERIES

  Cid

  High Court

  CIN FIN-LATHEN MYSTERIES

  Decomposing

  Death by Saxophone

  Discord

  The Wages of Cin

  Unforgivable Cin: An Opera in Three Acts

  In my journeys, I have seen you waiting for travelers to stop. Independent charming motor court motels, catering to the tired traveler, the resting long-distance truckers, and families on vacation. You made my childhood vacations memorable. To those independent operators, I dedicate this book.

  Table of Contents

  High Court

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Alexie Aaron

  High Court

  Kiki moved through the crowded gallery, stopping to gaze at one picture after another. The canvases were large for the most part. Colors and textures reached out of the paintings as if they wanted to touch her. She maneuvered around sculptures that depicted everything from the frailest of porcelain flowers to mammoth works of iron and steel. The light changed appropriately as she moved through the maze of artwork. At each corner stood a uniformed waiter holding a tray containing glasses of champagne or a mug of apple cider. Kiki smiled at the contrast. She grabbed a cider as she turned the corner and walked smack into who she could have sworn was Billy Connolly.

  “Excuse me, miss,” the Nebraskan-accented man said, placing his large gentle hands on each of Kiki’s arms to steady her and her cider. He looked at the Japanese-American beauty and worried she was too young and too frail for the job he needed.

  Kiki looked at the shiny, long, gray beard that complimented the long hair and sparkling dark brown eyes of the man and excused herself, “No, it was my fault. I was so adrift in this wonderful world that I had completely forgotten that there might also be people here.”

  The man nodded thoughtfully. “I’m trying to think of something equally as witty to say, but I can’t think of a thing.”

  “Don’t worry. It happens to all of us. I’m Kiki Pickles. I’m looking for a Calvin Franks.”

  “That’s me!” he said, drawing her aside, out of the main traffic area. “I have to admit when Hal from the MoMA mentioned your name, I imagined a gherkin; instead, I get a dill slice. It’s very nice to meet you. Tell me, what do you think of my gallery?”

  “The lighting is great. The building is a little tight, but depending on how many you let in at a time, I think it’s perfect for the work you’ve chosen to display here.”

  “I thought so too.”

  “I’m a bit puzzled. Hal mentioned you needed someone with my renovation experience,” Kiki led.

  “Yes, but it’s not for the gallery. Come, and I’ll show you.”

  Kiki allowed Mr. Franks to lead her through a small dark corridor and out into the bright autumn day. She squinted and put her hand to her eyes, the other hand blindly feeling around in her purse for her sunglasses. She put her shades on and was awestruck. The view of the valley was only matched in beauty by the rolling hills on the other side of the road. Up, perched amongst the pines and aspens, was what looked to be an old motor court motel.

  “That’s High Court. First motel to be built on this highway. It was erected in 1950 by the Craig family, and it was run for years by the able hands of Luminosa Bautista and her family. According to rumors, there was a tragedy in 1964, and the place never recovered. It went through a few owners, who rented it out on the cheap, and it developed a reputation for being a trysting place. I bought High Court when I bought this gallery. You see, Miss Pickles, I have a dream of turning those motel rooms and cabins into artist studios. I want to pull the art movement out of the ski resorts, closer to the people who aren’t interested in snow and slopes. This way, the day travelers can experience all we have to offer. I have artists interested; I just need the studios.”

  “Let me take a look around and come up with some drawings,” Kiki said. “Educate me, what kind of light are you looking for? East, west…”

  “Both if possible. Maybe a way to louver the ceiling…”

  Kiki jotted down the information as fast as she could write. When she finished, she asked, “Mind if I go over and scout the place out?”

  “Could you wait until I close up here? It’s not safe to be alone at High Court.”

  “Why?” Kiki asked, looking up the hill and down into the valley at what appeared to be a quiet town.

  “It’s haunted. This is why Hal suggested you for the job. He heard about how you handled yourself with the difficulties at Hidden Meadow.”

  “Ghosts don’t scare me.”

  “They should. This ghost is violent. I was hoping you could figure out what she wants and rest her.”

  “There are some good paranormal groups out there. PEEPs comes to mind,” Kiki suggested.

  “No, I’m not comfortable with dealing with this out of house. Do you think you can handle the job or not?”

  “I may have to reunite the team I had at Hidden Meadow. It could get expensive.”

  “As long as I’m left with a quiet sanctuary for my artists in which to work, it will be worth the bonus you’ll get for your discretion and your skills.”

  Kiki looked up at Mr. Franks and nodded. “I can’t promise you what the outcome will be, but you’ll have our dis
cretion and a fabulous place for your artists to work.”

  Chapter One

  The easier the Martins made it for Cid to leave, the harder it was to do it. He knew he always had a home at the Martin farm and a place with the Paranormal Entity Exposure Partners, but he also had a dream: a dream of paying back all the money he sponged off his best friend Ted and to build his own house. He had used his last wages from the Hidden Meadow job to buy the property adjacent to the Martin farm. Step by step, he would be a man of means. Cid was going to become someone he could be proud of.

  Cid’s living over the PEEPs office for free and having the run of the Martin property, including the kitchen, had been generous of the young couple. But now he wanted to take the next step and support himself. Through his friend, Jesse Holden, he had been hired by Kiki Pickles, a contractor who specialized in renovating old buildings. His carpentry skills and his experience with the paranormal - entities sometimes woke up during a renovation - made Cid a very valuable person to have around. Kiki was paying him more than he could make locally, and she paid for his accommodations. He hated leaving his friends, but he had to move forward.

  “Are you all set?” Mia asked as she waddled her pregnant body to his truck with a two-gallon Ziploc bag full of her homemade cookies.

  He bent down and hugged her. “Thank you, you didn’t have to bake for me.”

  “Yes, I did. I don’t want you coming back skin and bones like last time,” Mia said.

  “Road food will do that to a person. Kiki has promised us trailers on-site with actual kitchens this time.”

  “Promises, promises. Did you hear from Jesse?” she asked.

  “He’s signed on, as has Walrus. The others have projects closer to their homes. With the holidays coming, they want to be around to help their spouses. Kiki has hired on local laborers to fill in the gaps, which pleased the residents of Stepner to no end. She’s becoming quite popular down at the local Elk lodge. She’s rented a house for the duration of the renovation. It’s just down the hill from the gallery, and I believe our project is just across the road and up the hill, so she can keep an eye on us at all times.”

  “Sounds more like a den mother than a contractor,” Mia teased. “Remember, if you need us, just call. I have you down as a no for Thanksgiving, but I’m still going to set a place for you.”

  “That’s sweet of you. I’ll do my best. Unfortunately, my last experience working with Kiki leads me to believe we’ll be working nonstop, no holidays, unless we’re ahead of schedule. The big push will be to finish the rooves before the first snowfall.”

  “Which could happen at any time,” Mia mused. “The weather has been pretty wacky these last few years.” Mia hugged Cid, sniffing away any tears. “You take care of yourself. If you leave me by myself to take care of Ted, I’m so going to make sure Saint Peter has you polishing the gates before you get in,” she threatened.

  Cid laughed.

  The object of their conversation jogged out of the barn’s open door. Ted reached into his back pocket and produced his wallet.

  “No!” Cid said, waving his hands. “I’m not taking any more money from you.”

  “No, you idiot, I want you to hang on to the Comic-Con tickets, just in case Mia pops out the kid and I can’t make it. Take a friend with you.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’m sure I’ll be back by then,” Cid said, taking the tickets.

  “Wait,” Ted said, grinning. He pulled something out that he’d tucked behind him in his waistband. It resembled a large tablet computer. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Remember that mini, wall X-ray we were working on before the robot fiasco?”

  “Yes. You don’t mean you got rid of the bugs?”

  “Not entirely. It won’t completely scan the contents of the wall, but it will show you if there is any organic material behind plaster, wood, and through metals with no lead content.”

  “Like Superman,” Mia said awestruck. “First the ears, and now the eyes.”

  “I was thinking about bees,” Ted said. “Those old places out west were havens for insect colonies. Now, if you find bees, don’t kill them,” he instructed.

  Cid and Mia locked eyes as Ted lectured Cid on the importance of saving bees.

  “I’d really like to stay and hear this all again, but I have to hit the road, professor,” Cid teased.

  CRACK!

  Cid spun around to see Murphy standing there.

  “I wondered where you were,” Cid said. “Do you have any pearls of wisdom for me?”

  Murphy’s eyes flashed and a smile tugged at the corners. “Try not to cut down too many trees.”

  “Not my job, and I’ll chain myself to any healthy elms I see,” Cid promised.

  Murphy laughed.

  Cid got in the truck. He took a moment to settle himself down before turning the key and backing out of the parking space. As he drove down the drive and out of the hollow, he vowed to return soon. In the meanwhile, adventure and a demanding boss awaited.

  ~

  “No!” Jesse refused. “No Espinas!”

  “Come on, they barely bothered you the last time.”

  “You haven’t been sexually harassed by Dita. You have no idea…”

  Kiki looked at Jesse. He was a handsome man. His thick, blonde, cowlick-filled hair was jammed into a ball cap. His boy-next-door looks were accented by hazel eyes and a freckled face. But his jaw was set. Kiki knew he was serious.

  Kiki couldn’t blame Dita Espina for admiring the Viking god before her. If Kiki hadn’t spent hours listening to the way this man whined, she too would be captivated by the muscular, handsome man. She gave him the nickname “Scrub” in order to starve any attraction that could develop between the two. Kiki had a company to run, and she didn’t need any distractions at this time in her life.

  “Cid’s on his way. Are we going to be ready for him?” Jesse asked.

  “More or less. Walrus is waiting on him to consult on our other little problem so we can pull down the east wall.”

  Jesse remembered all too well what happened when Wayne “Walrus” Shipley took a crowbar and started to pry off the rotted wooden siding.

  A rush of wind moved through the trees. As it moved, the sound altered. No more leaf movement and branch bending. Instead, they heard screams. If it were but one scream, it could be explained away, but the screams were many and atop of each other, followed by the most painful sound of all, a mother sobbing. This preceded the emergence of thick rust-colored mud that oozed up through the potholes and cracks in the old cement parking spaces. Walrus backed away, the blood drained from his robust face. Kiki managed to catch the heavy man before he fainted. She gently guided Walrus to her truck and transported him to the local hospital, where he remained in a state of horror until the drugs, given to him by a resident on a psychiatric rotation, took hold.

  Wayne, who had had no problem doing electrical work beside a house demon, would not resume his demolition until the crisis was resolved. Jesse ran his hand over where the siding was and noticed bullet holes, not just one or two, but a St. Valentine’s Massacre worth. Kiki had already begun the arduous work of researching what had happened at High Court. What was this tragedy? It looked more like murder to her or a gunfight. But, try as she may, she couldn’t get the local historian to open up to her. It could have been Kiki’s demanding nature or it could have been the historian’s good honest fear. Cid would find a way; Kiki had every confidence in the carpenter.

  Cid pulled off the main road and followed the old asphalt drive up to the motor court. He saw the promised trailers sitting at the west end of the property. Cid got out and looked around as he filled his lungs with cool fresh air. High Court sat on a large hillside, but for a Kansas-flatlander like Cid, it seemed like the side of a mountain. Down across the road was the gallery and, beyond that, a picturesque valley. He could see why this was an ideal spot for artists of every medium. The combination of deciduous and evergreen t
rees would make breathtaking landscapes. The river in the distance, which moved steadily through broken patches of farm and grazing lands, gave the vista life. He took the time to turn slowly, as if he was holding a PEEPs camera, and take in every angle of this magnificent place.

  “It’s like Mother Nature has set the stage for generations of artists,” a deep voice said behind him. The slow, elegant, precise way of speaking, which seemed lost to all but a few character actors, belonged to a bearded, long-haired man dressed in a very expensive suit.

  “You’re a long way from home,” Cid said.

  “So, you’ve caught the smell of winter wheat on me?” Calvin said.

  “Not exactly, more of a distilled essence of what the heart of America was like once. You remind me of a friend of mine. Hello, I’m Cid Garrett. I’m here to…”

  “Save my dream,” Calvin finished. “I’m Calvin Franks, and leave the mister off, if you please.”

  “Calvin,” Cid said, grasping the man’s hand firmly. “It seems pretty quiet here.”

  “The others are having a powwow at Miss Pickles’s house. There was an incident.”

  Cid raised an eyebrow.

  “A paranormal incident. I’ll leave it to them to explain. I have a gallery to open,” he said and started down the drive towards the road.

  “Ghosts don’t seem to bother him,” Cid observed.

  “Why should we? To him, we are just puffs of cold air, feelings of dread, and reminders of memories best forgotten,” Faye said, appearing beside Cid.

  He looked down at the pretty ghost. Her blonde hair was parted on the side and short, and she wore tight dark pants and a loose white tunic where a thin leather belt fell gracefully along her hip line.

  “You look so French,” he remarked. “Who are you today?”

  “Marie-Thérèse Walter. Maybe you would recognize me better like this.”

  Faye morphed into a distorted image. Her head angled back, her face but a wavy line, one bare breast flat, a circle within a circle. She looked as if she had fallen asleep. The image rested in a red chair, and the book she was reading was open…