The max porter box set, p.53
The Max Porter Box Set, page 53
A tear escaped his clamped emotions and rushed down his face. PB wiped it away like swatting aside a pestering fly. Finally, he nodded.
“Great.” Max stood and offered his hand. “In the meantime, I’ve got a job for you.”
PB jumped to his feet. He shook Max’s hand, sniffled, and said, “You got it, Bossman. You know I can do anything for the team.”
“I hope so. Because Sandra can’t know what you’re up to. You good with that?”
“I have to be, right? I have to trust you.”
“Yeah,” Max said, trying not to think of the argument with his wife.
Chapter 22
“I’M GLAD YOU GOT HIM BACK,” Sandra said, “but how exactly are we keeping him out of school?”
“One problem at a time, hon.”
The sun had gone down hours ago, and Max drove through the dark streets heading out of Winston-Salem towards the old Perklin clay deposit. Though the building no longer housed an active company, somebody still retained ownership and liability. When Max pulled up to the curb a block away from the entrance, he found exactly what he had expected — a derelict brick building surrounded by chainlink fencing and one, lone guard stuck on the graveyard shift. Darkness engulfed the grounds and only two bulbs stuck high on wooden posts lit the area.
“This is the place,” Drummond said from the backseat. “You ready, doll?”
Sandra patted her coat pocket. Inside that pocket, she carried a small, leather bound notebook where she kept detailed information and instructions on the various spells she had learned about. Max tried not to think about that book.
She unlocked her seatbelt and turned to him. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“No choice, really,” Max said. Before she could run with that comment, he added, “I’ll do my part, don’t worry. Just be quick.”
Sandra and Drummond exited the car. Max gave them thirty seconds before driving into the empty parking lot. The guard watched intently as Max pulled into a space several feet further over than necessary — probably thrilled to have something actually happening for a change. Max got out of the car and made a show of pulling out his camera and affixing the right lens and flash onto it.
The guard approached — a little caution in his voice. “Can I help you?”
“You certainly can,” Max said, putting as much energetic joy into his tone as he could muster. “My name’s Frank Venice. I’m a reporter for Historical Carolinas — we’re a small outfit that tries to preserve the great history of our great state. Anyway, have you ever heard of George Black?”
“You’re a reporter?”
“Yeah, come here, I’ll show all about it.” Max opened his notebook on the hood of his car and waved the guard closer. As he pointed to his notes and explained the long history of George Black and bricks, the guard leaned over to read Max’s handwriting. All the while, the guard had his back to his post. Drummond passed through the fence and quietly opened it to admit Sandra inside.
Rubbing the pain from his hand after he closed the fence, he saluted towards Max and the two scurried over to a clay hill that would never be utilized by Perklin Bricks again. The guard stepped back, but Max hurried to turn the page and show newspaper clippings depicting Black, his home, and his entire brick making operation.
The guard hiked up his pants. “That’s all real interesting, but it don’t explain what you’re doing here so late at night.”
Max opened a broad grin and chuckled. “Of course not. I apologize. I get excited about my work and forget all about the point. Journalism can do that. You ever do any reporting?”
Over the guard’s shoulder, Max could see little of what went on inside the fenced area. But Drummond held still in the air, his pale light unable to illuminate his surroundings but standing out like a lighthouse in the fog. Sandra appeared to be crouching at the base of the clay mound with her book out and a flashlight in hand.
“Look, mister, you gotta go. Nobody’s allowed here.”
“Oh, but I forgot to tell you the whole point of why I’m here. See, Perklin Bricks is connected to this great man. It’s really something. Let me show you.”
Blue light flashed up from the clay like a camera taking a candid shot of Sandra and Drummond. The light bounced off every leaf and branch of the trees lining the parking lot. Raising his head toward the sky, the guard scrunched his brow.
Max said, “Must be heat lightning.”
“Weatherman said nothing about storms.”
“Come on over. Let me show the rest. I mean, I hope this isn’t boring you. I can leave you alone if you really want, but I don’t usually get to show people all the cool stuff I find.”
“Don’t people read your articles?”
Thanks to plenty of practice, Max had no trouble playing the role he set up. “Sure. But those are edited heavily. They’ve got to fill a small space and leave plenty of room for advertising.”
“Ads — the scourge of the world.”
“Amen, my friend.”
The guard glanced at his watch. “I still have a few hours left to my shift. Sure, go ahead and tell me the rest.”
Max took his time laying out the story of brickwork in Winston-Salem. Whenever he sensed the guard losing interest, he pointed to another part of the notebook or raised his voice with enthusiasm, but eventually, the story petered out.
Stretching his back, the guard said, “That’s all kind of cool, I guess. But I gotta get back to my post.”
“Of course,” Max said. He glanced at the gate. Sandra and Drummond were walking toward it. “Um, before you go, can I at least get a picture of you?”
“Me?”
“For the article — I can use the perspective of a man who still guards the bones of the old Perklin shop. It’ll be in the article, so you can show it off to your friends and family.”
“Really? That’d be nice. Sure. Where should I stand?”
“Right there,” Max said, pointing to a spot a few feet away. He made a mockery of photography by pressing buttons on his camera and turning the lens back and forth when he had only ever used the autofocus setting. Through the camera, he watched as Sandra slipped out, Drummond endured the pain of closing up the fence, and the two dashed off into the woods. He snapped off several shots. “Great. Thank you for taking a little time with me.”
“No problem,” the guard said, gleeful and a bit proud. “We don’t get much in the way of visitors out here, so we appreciate the chance to show what we do. And that stuff about George Black, that’s cool stuff. I’ll have to look into him.”
After a few more pleasantries, Max packed up his work and drove off. Around the block, he found Sandra and Drummond waiting for him under the amber glow of a streetlight. They climbed in and off he drove.
“Well?” he asked.
“I’m fine, by the way,” Sandra said.
Drummond leaned forward. “If you two start bickering again, I’m going to freeze both your brains. Get along now, fight it out elsewhere, or bottle it all up and get therapy for a few years, but stop it. I’m sick of working for this coven, so I need you both to be thinking and working at top level. The faster that happens, the faster I can be done with this case and go back to my lady in the Other.”
Both Max and Sandra stared ahead as he drove the quiet streets. When they stopped at a light, its deep red bathing Sandra in angrier tones, she said, “I’ve got an address.”
“You have a spell that gives out addresses?” Max said.
“No. It made a mark on a map that I had in my notebook. When we get back to the office, we can look it up on my laptop. But for now, we know it’s in Thomasville.”
“That’s great. We’re one step closer.” As the light changed, he viewed her from the corner of his eye. Her mouth turned down and her eyes had narrowed. “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t get all worked up, but I felt something strange when I cast that spell.”
Drummond said, “She’s not talking about strange like witchcraft taking over her mind.”
“Oh, right. I’m fine. The spell went off without a problem and I barely felt the magic going through me.”
“Through you?” Max said.
“You didn’t think it just appeared because I said some words, did you?”
“I never gave it much thought. You can actually feel it happening? Feel yourself creating it?”
“Sometimes. But this spell is nothing big. Like I said, I didn’t really feel it.”
“But you felt something strange.”
“I thought it was whatever remained of Grandma Mobley’s spirit still shifting around in the clay. But that doesn’t seem right.”
Max glanced back at Drummond for a hint, but the ghost kept his head facing the window. “Are you saying it wasn’t her? That maybe it was this evil man she bargained with?”
“I thought about that, too. Except based on what Lena described to us, that man had a tremendous amount of power. This felt too faint and not dark enough, not evil enough to be him. I don’t know yet. Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe the intensity of what we just did got me overly sensitive at that moment.”
Max’s stomach twisted. “Or maybe you actually touched part of this evil magic.”
“Calm down, hon. Don’t jump to the worst possibility yet. Please. Let me think this through. Trust me, remember? I know what I felt — it seemed familiar — all I need is a little time to figure out where I remember this from.”
Despite wanting to pull the car over and scream at the night sky, Max nodded. “Okay. You think on it. I’ll go look up the Thomasville address.”
“It’s late, hon. Let’s go home. Sleep on it all. We’ll figure it out in the morning when we’re refreshed.”
Max turned onto Silas Creek Parkway to head to their development. He glanced in the rearview mirror to suggest Drummond call it a night, too, but the ghost had already left. Probably headed to the Other and Miss 1920s. The corner of Max’s mouth rose.
Chapter 23
MORNING ARRIVED FASTER THAN MAX HAD WANTED. After they returned the night before, Sandra went straight to bed, but Max stayed up in his study. He made short work of locating the Thomasville address — an empty warehouse from the furniture heyday. Two big problems faced them — the building was entirely made of brick and it was situated a few blocks from the center of town. Not exactly the most inconspicuous place to be searching for a brick with a witch’s spirit.
He spent another hour looking into the building’s history but found nothing that jumped out as important to their case. Then he thought he’d watch a few music videos before turning in, but one link led to another and before he realized it, two hours had gone by. Worse — no matter how much nonsense he watched, he could not clear his head of the worry ping-ponging around his skull.
Sandra. Trusting her was easy. If she said she could handle the magic, he believed her. At least, he would work on it. But then she told him that she’s sensing things — evil things. And he trusted that she did feel those things. That’s the part that frightened him now. Worst of all — he knew they had to keep pushing.
But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
“Morning,” Sandra said.
Max jolted awake with a slip of paper stuck to his cheek. He couldn’t recall falling asleep and felt even less rested. Smelling the musky odor rising from his body, he figured he should grab a shower before they headed off to Thomasville.
As he stood, Sandra said, “Your mother called.”
He sat back down. “What’s this morning’s crisis?”
“J’s back to school today. Apparently, he said he felt bad that he liked it so much.”
“I don’t think I want to know how she handled that one.”
A bagel popped up from the toaster. Sandra dug it out and buttered it. “I actually think she did a decent job. She and J seemed to have bonded well. She’s like a kind Granny to him. Anyway, she said they had a good chat and that he went back happy and raring to do well.”
“You believe that?”
“Better than the alternative.”
“Speaking of which — what about PB?”
Sandra lifted her head. “He said you had a job for him. That’s why your mother called. Was he lying? Did he run away again?”
“No, no. He’s not lying. I’m a little foggy this morning. I’ll take care of it.”
“We’ve got to find a school for him.”
“I’m working on it. But today, he’s got some errands to run for me.”
“What kind of errands?”
Drummond saved Max from further interrogation when he popped his head through the floor. “Good morning, you two. Are we all sorted out and ready to be the Porter Agency in top form today?”
“I’ve got to clean up. Then I’ll be ready.” Max walked off to the shelter of a shower.
Standing under the cascade of hot water, he had a brief reprieve from the current stresses. More than relaxation, however, he gained a little time to think. Because more than anything else in this case, time to think had been lacking. Even with the late nights available to him, too much pressure and too much fighting made deep thinking difficult. More often than not, he discovered that hours had gone by and his mind had piled up a muddled mess of facts and opinions that refused to connect. All of it centering on the one question — Why?
Drummond’s charming voice cut into his thoughts. “You going to prune yourself in there or are we going?”
Covering his body like a teenager caught in the gym showers, Max said, “We’ve talked about this. Don’t be going through the walls into the bathroom.”
“For Pete’s sake, I’m in your bedroom. Well, most of me is. Only my head is in the bathroom, and I’ve got my eyes closed. Now, get a move on.”
Max yanked a towel free from the rack and dried off. He tried not to think about why Sandra sent Drummond to get him instead of coming up herself. He knew the reason. They were on the road to mending after their fight, but nothing had been settled completely yet. Soon, though. He had a plan for that.
By the time he dressed and made it downstairs, Sandra opened the front door to usher him straight out. Once on the road, she opened her purse and dug out her book of spells.
“By the way, your mother called again. I am to inform you that using PB whenever it suits our business purposes is not going to enforce the idea that school is important. Also, you and I suck as parents. I’m paraphrasing.”
Max got off Route 40 and took 109 toward Thomasville. “I’m not going to worry about her, PB, or J right now. Today, my focus is on this case. Like Drummond said — we’re going to be the best version of the Porter Agency we can be. We do that, and we’ll finish this case.”
“That’s right,” Drummond said from the backseat. “I’m glad you’re finally listening to me. Better late than never, and next time a witch coven wants to hire us, you remember that I’m the better judge on these things. Reminds me of when I was alive. I had this friend —”
Sandra said, “I need to prepare, go over this spell some more in my head. So let’s keep the chitchat down, okay?”
“Anything you say, doll.” Drummond pulled his Fedora over his eyes and leaned back.
Twenty minutes later, they hit the center of town. Two railroad tracks ran straight through the middle with roads paralleling the tracks creating a center causeway. Several blocks to the right, the old train station remained, and directly in the middle, a giant upholstered chair stood — both a symbol of the town’s former glory as a prominent furniture supplier to the world and as a reminder that Thomasville was also connected to the title Chair City.
The design of the storefronts lining the roads could have been pulled out of any Norman Rockwell painting. And most of them were brick. But as Max drove over the railroad tracks and made a left, he saw their destination and nothing felt very Norman Rockwell. In fact, despite the bright morning or the traffic or the people walking their dogs, seeing that long, rectangular brick building filled Max with dark dread.
Without a word, Sandra looked up from her book and spied the building, too. Max could feel her tense up. Her breath caught in her throat. This was definitely the place.
Further on, across the street from the building, Max parked in a small lot. They walked over to the warehouse and toured the perimeter — mostly to get their bearings but also to build a little courage. Drummond followed them, unwilling to cut inside without them.
“It’s not just me, then,” Max said. “This place feels different.”
Sandra nodded as she gazed up the steep brick wall. “There’s something very unsettled here.”
“Ghosts?”
Sandra pointed to the empty doorway, a few empty windows, and as they turned the corner, several spots by the walls. “Plenty.”
“Don’t ask,” Drummond said. “I ain’t going to chat with any of them. They don’t look right in the head. And some of them are kids. Kid ghosts are creepy.”
“That feeling I had last night at the Perklin clay deposit — well, I’ve got it a lot worse here.”
Max frowned. “You said that it was a familiar feeling.”
“I was wrong. Not familiar. Just dark.”
Drummond said, “Dark, creepy, unsettling — I think we’re all clear on how much we don’t like this place.”
Max held back his tongue. He didn’t feel much like bantering anyway. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to hang out here any longer than we have to.”
“You got that right.”
Sandra stopped near a window under which a mass of weeds grew tall. “I can try the spell here. If it goes well, the brick will be somewhere on the outside. But I suspect the inside, at least the inside of the warehouse section, is going to be brick, too. We might have to break in to get it.”
“Doll, the way this place is shooting off bad mojo, I’m guessing the brick is right out in the open.”
“Me, too, but I want to be prepared.”
“In that case, before you go casting your spell, I got something to say.”
Max pulled his eyes away from the dark, tall warehouse windows and focused on Drummond. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious.”
