Wuthering Frights

Part I: Matilda Suspects Boone, and Goodnight Experiences Ghostly Adventures

Woman Found Hiding in Samsonite Luggage

By Jack Goodnight

Sheriff deputies were surprised today when they found a woman hiding in a small suitcase.

It wasn't a big one, either. It was one of those kinds that you take on a plane with you. It would've fit in the overhead bin, Deputy Adam Beatman said.

Lucy Kravitz, the woman hiding in the suitcase, was under suspicion for writing bad checks. When the sheriff deputies went to her house to serve her an arrest warrant, they couldn't find her initially.

But I knew she was there. I could smell her. She was wearing the Liz Taylor perfume my mother wears, patrolwoman Wendy Ackerman explained.

The sheriff deputies searched the house high and low, but there was no sign of their suspect. Finally, they heard a small cry of help from the master bedroom closet.

We didn't know what it was. We didn't see anything except for the regular stuff you see in the closet, like clothes and shoes and a few suitcases. Then we saw it. Two little hands perfectly painted with red polish sticking out of that Samsonite suitcase. It was her. We found our criminal, Deputy Ackerman said.

No one was more surprised by the turn of events than Lucy Kravitz herself. I've never been very limber, she explained when she was put into handcuffs. But I guess fear will do a lot for you. I figured they would find me under the bed, so I unzipped that Samsonite weekender bag, and somehow, I pretzeled myself in. But boy howdy, I guess I don't like small spaces. I needed to get out of there. That's why I cried out. I felt like I was suffocating.

The Goodnight sheriff’s department urges people not to try hiding in their luggage at home. They could sprain something, pull a muscle, or die from asphyxiation, they say.

Chapter 1

Amy? I whispered into the night. Are you still there?

My black Labrador Costello whimpered and tilted his head up at me. I gave him a quick pat. It’s okay. We’re safe. I think.

Abbott, my beagle, howled in the distance, and Costello moved closer to me.

Amy? I whispered, again.

It wasn’t the first time that I had called after a dead woman in the forest behind my house. I had spoken to my share of dead people since I moved to Goodnight, New Mexico, only a couple months ago.

My name’s Matilda Dare, and I inherited a historical house, two dogs, and a local newspaper here in the small town of Goodnight right after my husband was sent to San Quentin for murder. He tried to kill me, too, and put me away in an asylum, all for money, and he’s been fighting a divorce ever since. Since moving, I keep seeing dead people, most of them young women who were abducted and murdered by a serial killer. I’ve also stumbled on a lot of murder mysteries, and for some reason, I had solved them all.

But I never solved the mystery of the serial killer. Now I suspected that my fiancé Boone Goodnight might be guilty. If only his dead sister-in-law would have been more specific when she appeared to me a minute ago. He’s closer than you think, she had told me. Since Boone was currently sleeping in my bed, that fit him to a T.

Boone was also the one who had found Amy’s body after she had gone missing, which put him suspiciously with her. Not to mention that the FBI profiler report was like a detailed description of the man I loved. So, Boone was definitely the number one suspect. Boy, talk about being unlucky in love. I had the worst taste in men. Was it so hard to fall in love with a man who wasn’t a murderer?

Amy? Who did this to you? Please don’t say it was Boone, I called into the night, scrunching up my courage enough to raise my voice. There was a sound in the brush near me, and Costello growled. Don’t scare her off, I whispered to him. Even though she’s dead already. So, what does she have to be scared of? I added.

Costello growled again, and the hair on my arms stood up. Maybe Amy hadn’t come back. Maybe it was someone more dangerous. Someone eviler.

I picked up a small branch off the forest floor. I’m not scared of serial killers, I announced into the dark with a wobbly voice. You don’t stand a chance against me!

What was I saying? I should have never watched Jessica Jones. It was making me stupid. Of course, whoever was in the forest had a chance against me. He was a psychopathic serial killer, and I was a woman who hadn’t worked out in months.

Abbott howled. His voice got louder as he tore through the brush toward me. Costello stopped growling and wagged his tail.

Did you scare him off? I asked Abbott, petting him when he returned. Did you see who it was? It wasn’t Boone, was it?

I shivered and pulled my cardigan around me. Amy was long gone, and it didn’t look like she was going to return and shed any more light on her death or the serial killer. She had left me with questions and the suspicion that the man I loved was a psycho killer.

What a bitch.

Now I was going to have to clear Boone’s name or send him to jail. It was up to me to find out the truth, catch the serial killer, save the girls, and hopefully get married to a gorgeous cowboy dinosaur hunter with five percent body fat.

How hard could that be?

We returned to the house. I took my shoes off when I got to the door and tiptoed inside, determined not to wake Boone and have the are you a serial killer? conversation. Not only would that be awkward, but he might kill me, too.

As quietly as I could, I fed the dogs. My purse was in my bedroom. I dropped to my knees and crawled there. Boone was snoring softly in my bed. I sighed in relief. Whoever was out in the forest, it wasn’t Boone because he was here. It didn’t prove his innocence by any stretch of the imagination, but it was still a good sign.

Taking my purse off a chair, I crawled out of the room. I tiptoed outside to my car and started the motor, sending a prayer out that the car wouldn’t wake Boone. I couldn’t avoid him forever, but I was going to try to avoid him until I got to the truth.

It was still dark outside, but it was officially morning. There was only one person I knew who was up this early, and I headed the car in her direction. Nora Montana was one of my best friends in Goodnight. She used to work at the bank, but now she owned and operated a food truck that fed the town breakfast and lunch with delicious burritos and tamales. Nora was married and had thirteen kids with three sets of twins, and they all lived in a three-bedroom house. Nora was cool under pressure, to say the least, except when she was driving the food truck.

I parked in her driveway and rang her doorbell. There were voices barking from inside. Where are my shoes? a boy yelled.

I don’t know where your stinky shoes are! a young girl yelled back.

There was a lot of yelling about clothes and Pop Tarts. I waited for it to die down before ringing again, but after a few minutes, it didn’t look like it was ever going to die down, so I rang the bell and followed it with knocking.

One of the kids answered. She was about seven years old, and she was holding a naked baby in her arms. What’re you doing here? she demanded.

Hello, Farrah. I’ve come to see your mother, if that’s okay.

She nodded. Mom! Miss Matilda’s here! she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Well, let her in! Were you raised in a barn or something? Nora yelled from another room.

I walked into the house and found my friend in the kitchen, boxing up tamales with her cousin. Is something wrong? Nora asked me, looking up. Did someone get murdered? Did you talk to a dead girl?

Well… I started.

Nora’s cousin gasped and crossed herself. Who was it? Who died?

Oh, geez. This wasn’t what I had planned. I just wanted to hide out with Nora for a little bit before I dove into investigating Amy’s death and Boone.

Nobody new, I said, truthfully.

Nora squinted at me. Look, Matilda. I have thirteen kids. I can spot a lie a mile away.

I broke out in a sweat, and I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand. I didn’t lie, I said and looked at my feet. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. It wasn’t a lie. But I was definitely hiding a big something from Nora.

My eyes flashed to Nora’s cousin, who crossed herself again and picked up a few boxes of food and scooted out of the kitchen.

Okay. Spill, Nora told me. You’ve never visited me for no reason and certainly not at the ass crack of dawn.

It’s before dawn, I pointed out.

Nora crossed her arms in front of her. Don’t change the subject. What’s going on?

I took a deep breath. You can’t tell anyone. Swear it to me, I said.

What about Faye? Can I tell her?

Of course. She doesn’t count.

What about Adele?

Sure. She doesn’t count, either.

What about Tilly? Nora asked.

Since when do you ever talk to Tilly?

Nora shrugged. Never, but you know she’s going to find out anyway.

She was right. Tilly found out everything. Fine. Tilly. But nobody else.

So, four people were going to know my secret, which meant it wasn’t going to be a secret for long.

Amy Goodnight, I whispered.

The sounds of a couple of kids fighting broke into our conversation, and Nora yelled at them to shut up. What did you say? she asked me.

Amy Goodnight. Amos’s wife.

What about her? Amy’s been dead for years. She… Holy crap. Did you talk to Amy Goodnight?

I nodded slowly.

Nora whistled softly. You’re amazing. I wonder if you could talk to my grandfather. Supposedly, he hid a fortune in diamonds somewhere, but he died without telling anyone.

I don’t think it works like that. I don’t think I can summon a dead person. They pop up out of nowhere.

Nora’s face turned down. That’s a pity. I could have used some diamonds.

I thought the food truck was doing bang-up business.

It is, but I could use a break now and then.

Do you have any more cousins? Maybe you could bring in some help, I suggested.

Nora’s face brightened again. That’s a great idea. I could bring in a couple more family members. It would be worth it.

I was glad she had changed the topic of conversation. In a little while, Goodnight Diner would open and I could go there to hide out and strategize.

The tamales smell good, I noted.

It’s a new recipe. It’s…wait a second. What were we talking about? Oh my gosh. Amy Goodnight talked to you? What did she say? Did she tell you how she died?

She was vague about that, I said and looked at my feet again.

Holy crap. Rocco killed her. I knew it! Nora announced, dropping a tamale when she brought her hands up above her head, as if she had discovered America or created a better way to slice bread. The tamale landed on the tile floor with a loud splat, sending chunks of corn and shredded beef everywhere. A small dog ran into the kitchen and started lapping up the mess. Nora ignored all of this, focused only on the idea that Rocco had killed Amos’s beloved wife.

Rocco? I repeated, stunned. Rocco was a local businessman who tirelessly tried to revive the town with ridiculous ideas that never worked. I couldn’t picture the short, older man killing Amy or anyone else.

He’s got those beady eyes. Isn’t that a serial killer sign? Nora asked me, like I was the head writer of Criminal Minds and knew everything about maniacs.

I’m not sure that beady eyes mean serial killer.

And he lives alone, Nora continued. That’s a sign, too, right?

Well…

A group of children ran into the kitchen, and Nora ignored them while they attacked the refrigerator. Although, I heard that something happened between him and Mabel. Something naughty. So, maybe he’s not alone anymore.

I shuddered. I’m not sure I want to think about Rocco and Mabel doing something naughty. Can we go back to talking about murder?

Sure. So, what did Amy say? Who did it?

She was vague, but I think that she was killed by the serial killer, even though she wasn’t exactly his type. Yes, she was blonde, but she was a lot older than the other girls. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I didn’t know what his type was. I had only spoken to two dead girls. Maybe they didn’t represent the serial killer’s type. Maybe his type was anyone he could lock up and murder.

I ran a hand over my head. I had long brown hair. Was I Boone’s type? Or did he secretly like blondes, and was he killing them? Oh, geez. My mind was going back to Boone and my suspicions. Blondes or brunettes, type or no type, the fact was that Boone fit the FBI profiler report, and Amy had all but named Boone as her killer.

I decided not to tell Nora anything about that.

Why are you biting your lip? Nora asked, pointing at my lip. You’re going at it like it’s a Gummy Bear. Oops. Now it’s bleeding.

She put her hand in her top and came out with a tissue, which she handed to me. I dabbed at my bloody lip. What’s going on? You’re pale. Did Amy suck out your ectoplasm? she asked me.

No, I think my ectoplasm’s fine.

Nora narrowed her eyes and squinted at me. "It’s not Rocco. It’s someone else. Someone you’re