dreams. But then I interned here and fell in love with the history of Idaho. I do several historical reenactments every year for the society so with my salary and the extra I get for the other events, I make a good wage. Not Hollywood money, but enough to live comfortably here.” She had a wistfulness to her voice.
“Was that the only reason you didn’t try to hit the big screen?” Angie knew she was being personal but it kept her mind off of rampaging ghosts with a mission of revenge.
“My mom was sick the last two years of college. So I stayed around.” Bridget paused at the first cell and shined her light into the emptiness. “When she passed, I had a house, a job, and a life here. I wasn’t the new kid on the block so I just stayed. Man, I haven’t thought about how pathetic my life must look for a long time.”
“Your life is fine, if you’re doing what you want to do. I had a restaurant in San Francisco for a while and I learned that people are the same everywhere you go. So I came home. We have a crew of chefs who love food and cooking just as much as I do.” Angie wondered if it was the dark hallways that were driving her to talk about dreams and goals and life plans. Maybe it was the choices that the inmates made that imprisoned them here, and the fact that they were unable to live a life outside the stone walls that moved her.
“I could walk away from cooking anytime and live comfortably for the rest of my life.” Estebe admitted from his place behind the women. “But I like having a purpose. I like contributing to the team where I work. I like keeping Matt in line.”
Angie laughed at that. When Bridget shined her light into a cell, she saw something in the corner. “Wait, shine that over here.”
Angie moved into the cell and underneath the bed was an old-fashioned baby rattle. The silver was tarnished, but the ball inside still made noise when she picked it up. She held it out to Bridget. “Is this one of your antiques?”
Bridget stepped closer to Angie but didn’t take the rattle. “Not that I’ve ever seen. I mean, it might have been in the storeroom, but it shouldn’t be out here.”
“Maybe Glen put it out to beef up his ghost story. He was gone from the group for a long time.” Estebe noted. “He could have planted it.”
“But how would he have known that we’d go searching for someone screaming?” Bridget shook her head. “Glen’s a good guy. Too quiet and he doesn’t take the drama part of the job seriously, but he wouldn’t play with us. Especially not after what happened to Pat.”
“But he didn’t know Pat was dead when he was gone.” Angie studied the rattle. It had initials carved into the silver. BDP. She read them aloud. “Anyone you know?”
“Not a clue. So can we continue? Or do you want to look for more baby items?” Bridget stepped out of the cell and crossed the hallway to the next one. “This one is clear.”
Estebe nodded to Angie to move ahead of him. When she went to lay the rattle down on the bed, he spoke. “Keep it. It might be important.”
She tucked it in her jacket pocket and stepped out into the hallway. Bridget was waiting for them.
“Ten cells done on this side. Twenty more to go.” She sighed as she checked the next cell. “I was hoping for a quiet night. I even brought a book I’ve been dying to read. I’m behind on my Stephen King. Man, he’s releasing fast lately.”
“I guess you’re just going to have to deal with a real mystery tonight.” Angie thought about all the investigations she’d done since she’d moved back home. She’d thought she’d be working, cooking, and gardening when she returned. Instead she had been-in Sheriff Brown’s words-sticking her nose into things that didn’t concern her. She assumed the well-meaning sheriff wouldn’t fault her for this adventure. She hadn’t signed up the crew to be part of a murder investigation. Things just happened that way. At least to her.
The Johnson siblings and their uncle occupied the next set of cells. Or at least they should have been there. Tamera slept on top of one of the cots, snoring. In the next cell, Thaddeus, the uncle, sat smoking a cigarette.
“Is it morning