Curiosities littered the shelves beside the laptops in the locked cabinet behind the librarian’s desk: aviator goggles with coils soldered around the rims, a clunky windup watch on a thick leather band, and what looked like an old tape recorder refitted with coils, wires, and crystals.
“In all the dictionaries.” Daelin picked up the device resembling a watch and examined it more carefully. She held it out to Cordelia’s portrait. “What is it?”
“Those things are mine. Will you hand them over?”
Daelin whirled. Not a ghost. The clipped words belonged to Sabina Staley. Daelin consciously twitched her mouth into a smile. “Nice to see you, Ms. Staley. Did you get my paperwork?”
She pushed her black bubble frames up her angular nose and pursed her lips. “I see you’re settling in.”
“I promised to get information for a townsperson, which is why I was getting out a laptop.” Daelin found it hard to swallow. Why did she explain as if an alien-possessed five-year-old caught with her hand in the candy jar?
“What a citizen requests should always come first. It’s part of your job.”
Cleaning the library and getting it organized would take the rest of Daelin’s life, finding a way to please Sabina Staley would take longer. Daelin picked up the goggles, the tape recorder, and the watch, cradling them in her arms. “Do you have any suggestions on how best to manage the library?” Right. Find out what the woman expected. Bosses liked that sort of thing.
“Being here when people need you is enough.” She reached for the dressed up items in Daelin’s arms. “We’ll be needing these for the Swit Days festival. It’s this weekend. The library will be open and festooned. Understood?”
To get this place ready by the weekend meant no sleep this week and no time to track down Charming and the Paleo Institute’s dig. Earl will save her, popped into her thoughts. Why? The answer tickled out of reach. Her stomach rumbled, wanting a sandwich. No time for it. Not with a library to spruce up for a party.
For her new boss and her new life, Daelin broadened her smile. “The library will be ready.” She dumped the bizarre objects into Sabina’s hands. Maybe some of the townspeople wore costumes. Daelin could think of no other use for the wildly modified goggles, tape recorder, and watch.
Sabina dangled the watch-like thing from the end of her finger. “Would you mind trying it on? You appear the same size as my niece. I need to get her a gift.”
What young woman wouldn’t love a weirdo watch? It wasn’t Daelin’s place to point it out, though. She took the trinket and strapped it on. Covered in bronze filigree, the watch face shone with a soft white glow. Between the bits of bronze decoration, bubbles of color burst inside, mesmerizing. Daelin felt so drowsy, blinking rapidly to ward it off.
Sing a song. It drifted like a pleasant memory, tickling the back of Daelin’s throat. She sat on a busted up tour bus with her younger sister and brother. Their mother had passed out in the arms of the lead guitarist in front. The rest of the band sat with Daelin and her siblings. “It goes like this,” the bassist said, clearing his throat, “I had a farm on the moon.”
“I had a farm on the moon,” Daelin whispered. Her mind cleared, and she stared into the smirking face of Sabina Staley who had removed the watch from Daelin’s wrist. Daelin rubbed the empty spot, which felt icy to the touch.
“Very good, my dear,” Sabina said. She hummed with a hint of happiness in her tone. “I’ll be in touch. Tell your sister to call me when she returns to town.” Like a brisk wind, she reeled about and left.
Daelin shuffled to the window, watching until her new boss trotted around the corner. Daelin had never seen anyone walk so fast without actually running, except in New York where most people rushed around like mini tornados. Absently, she massaged her wrist, missing the warmth of the watch. “I had a farm on the moon.” Why had that song popped into her head? Why had any? She never sang, not since leaving her mother far behind.
She stayed at the window, opening the blinds to let in more light and to observe her new town. Her view differed so greatly from the one she had a mere week ago. Mountains instead of skyscrapers. Birds louder than car horns. Cedar-sweetened air instead of car exhaust.
Other people had come out, abandoning the morbid crime scene on the other end of town, adding life to the streets. Finally. Their presence made Daelin feel better. The postman stood in front of the Sparrow Roadhouse across the street holding a rectangular object. Green and purple flashes erupted as if he held strings of Christmas lights. “In all the dictionaries, what is he doing?”
She focused so hard, he must have felt it, because he wheeled around. He waved, wearing coil-wrapped goggles and holding a tape recorder device like the one Daelin had given Sabina. Where a cassette would go, purple and green light pulsed. Settler sure had strange words and strange forms of entertainment. She waved then veered away from the window.
One thing for certain, she needed a new phone, and she tired of waiting to hear from Charming. She could fix both easily enough with one call. The receiver of the push button phone on her desk had heft to it. Good to know in case of a robbery. “A book robber,” she snorted, dialing her brother’s number. He interned for a communications company this summer. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she whispered.
Cobra Moondae Buckley. His name rivaled his sisters’ in bizarreness. He went by Cobb. “Hey, sorry I missed your call. Leave me a message. Awesome!” His voicemail beeped.
“Cobb, it’s Dae. I need your help. First, I need a new phone. You can send it to Charming’s. I’m at her place now. Second, I need the current location of her phone. She’s out on a dig somewhere. I want to know where. Miss you. Stay sane, little brother.”
The phone clicked in a satisfactory way in the cradle, signaling it was in the off position. So she hoped. She picked up the handset and set it down again to be sure. “You probably had an older phone than this, huh Cordelia?” Why did she keep talking to the old woman? Settler had an unsettling effect. “I’m not sure about your town, Ms. Swit.”
From the cabinet behind her, Daelin grabbed a laptop. She fired it up and tapped onto the internet, typing, ‘George Hawley,’ into the search bar. The only article she found was a short paragraph on a site about outlaws.
George “Haw Shot” Hawley (1848 - 1882) - Held up a stagecoach outside of Angel’s Camp, California. He jumped from the brush and fired his guns. One of those bullets hit a Miss Ruth Lewis of Valley Springs, who later died. Two riders accompanied the coach, which had been held up the day before by the notorious Black Bart. The riders had better aim than Hawley, hitting him in the shoulder and stomach. Miss Lewis’s family was so angered by her death, they didn’t wait for the fatal wounds to kill Hawley. They gathered their neighbors and lynched him. In a bizarre twist of fate, the rope beheaded George Hawley. Prior to his outlaw days, he’d been a cabinet maker in Illinois and served in the infantry in the Civil War.
Not a word more. She switched on the PC, hoping the machine would have access to the library’s catalog and records. Maybe one of the ancient dust-encrusted books littering the room had more information. She could spend years combing through records in Illinois and with the Union Army to find another half sentence or two. Perhaps the little snippet she had found would be enough. What would Scott do with the information? Would it help get rid of the phantom?
It took forever for the machine to boot up. Daelin poised her fingers on the keys, waiting. The library door swung open, dumping in a flood of sun and cold. The juicy aroma of roasted meat preceded Wald. He carried a white paper sack with grease splotches on it and a cardboard tray of soft drinks, picking his way through the piles of books.
“Lunch as promised. Can we clear some of this stuff to make room?”
“Sure.” Daelin transferred heaps of papers and books onto the floor. Her stomach rumbled. “Those smell divine.”
“Across the road from the county offices, a few blocks over, is the FastR Burger.” He took out paper-wrapped sandwiches, the paper transparent from the juices, and paper-wrapped baskets. One had fries, the other onion rings. “Which do you prefer?”
“How about we share?” She took the sandwich he offered, unpackaging it with care, happily surprised to find sliced pork with sautéed mushrooms, caramelized onions, and heirloom tomato slices. “You just missed Sabina. She took those crazy Swit Day props with her. What are they for? I saw Culver outside using one resembling a repurposed cassette recorder.” She popped a bit of the pork in her mouth. It tasted as sublime as a perfect ending. “Sabina made me try on the watch-like thing.”
Wald put his sandwich down without taking a bite and wiped off his hands. “This town likes a good party. It’s Swit Days and the rodeo. It’s a big deal.” He took a long sip of his soda.
“I’m looking forward to it. Although, I’m not sure this place will be ready by the weekend like Sabina requested.” She took a bite of the sandwich. She’d be visiting FastR burger often once she had money.
“Don’t fret over making this place pretty. I’ll see to it you get help.” Wald gestured at the computers with his soda cup. “What are you working on?”
“Thank you for the offer. I’ll not say no.” Daelin dabbed a French fry into the little container of ketchup. “Scott Zayas came in earlier, asking me to find out information on George Hawley, an outlaw from the 1800s.”
Setting down his drink, Wald reached for an onion ring. “You know Scott is employed by Earl Blacke?”
What? That fact ruined her appetite, and Wald said it so matter-of-factly. “No, I didn’t know.”
He dipped the flaky onion ring into some orange sauce. “What did he want to know?”
“About George Hawley. He thinks he might be the phantom. I’m sure you heard about the ghost?” She arched a brow.
He maintained a stoic expression. “The phantom appeared last night to ferry Susan Leeds to heaven. That’s what the town is saying.”
News traveled faster in Settler than on the internet. “Well, George Hawley was hung and the rope snapped off his head. Interesting, because I heard Susan’s head is missing. Strange coincidence, huh?”
He wrapped up his sandwich, leaving the fries and onion rings. “I need to get back to the office. There’s a lot to be done before this weekend’s events. I’ll send over a crew in the morning to give you a hand. Thanks, Daelin.” He hurried out the door.
Thanks for what?
hapter 