Page 6 of Haunted Horror on Halloween

He gave Angela a nod. Trent led them to a door next to the hallway to the back. It was the one restroom with little visual signs that announced it was for men, women, and handicapped equipped.

“What?”

“Cops missed it, didn’t go through the garbage. But then . . . well, this was just the last place she was seen; and when you can’t find a witness . . . doubt if there would have been a just cause for them to get a search warrant. Especially since we’re still only talking about her having been missing for so many hours. And there were no reports of a heated argument, any form of fight or violence . . . anyway.”

Customers looked up as Jackson and Angela entered the bathroom together.

Jackson was ever more impressed with their very, very special spiritual agent, Trent Fielding. He winced as he slid into his pocket for gloves and then plowed his hand into the silver metal garbage bin attached to the wall. And in seconds, just under a layer of damp paper hand towels, he found it.

A syringe.

“We’ve got to get this to the lab right away,” he told Angela.

“We need to pull some other agents out here; grab a cop to get it in,” Angela said. “We need to find out what happened to Sadie McFarlane, see if we can find something like this from the area in front of her house—she was probably on her way here.”

“All right; I’ll give Bruce a call—he’ll get someone to help us. There are local guys here—they’ll be fastest.”

She was on the phone as he dug into his pockets for an evidence bag, secured the syringe, and then discarded his gloves.

And it worked just as he had hoped; a local cop was a block away. The syringe would be at their lab at headquarters within minutes.

And while they waited, he and Angela and Trent travelled the little hallway that led past the owner’s office to the back door where it was as the waitress had told them—just a push lock and a bolt. You’d need a key to get in, but anyone could leave at any time without any kind of an alarm going off.

They knocked on the owner’s door and quickly received a “Come in, please.”

The man was about fifty and he stood as they entered, a pleasant smile on his face as he told them, “Welcome. I’m Charles Martinez, owner of this little place, after my dad retired; we’re a rare family entity and proud to be hanging in. So, please, we do like to know about any problems here. We like to solve them and keep our customers happy.”

Jackson and Angela simultaneously flashed their badges.

“Oh! This is about the young woman who was last seen here.” he said. “We’ve already spoken with the police—”

“We know sir, we’re just following up and hoping that . . . well, we see that you keep your door closed, but . . . maybe, just maybe you heard something?” Angela suggested.

He sank back into his chair, frowning, shaking his head.

“Well, sometimes, there’s so much chatter that it comes through like a hum or . . . well, you know. And deliveries come through the back, though I would know, I think . . . but, hm, maybe? Just maybe? I mean, I’m concentrating on work. I don’t always pay that much attention. I’ve been the one in charge here for twenty years without a problem, so . . .”

“Someone might have slipped out the back door, is that what you’re saying?” Jackson asked.

He nodded bleakly. “I just don’t know.”

“All right. Thank you,” Jackson told him.

“Maybe . . . maybe I heard a bumping? I wouldn’t have paid any attention. For as I said, sometimes my cashier / waitresses need to run back here for something . . . I don’t pay any attention. That’s . . . doing business.”

“We appreciate any and all help you can give us. Your kitchen is to the right here—”

“No doors there. And we do our prep work for the next day each day after six at night, trying to preserve freshness and still be ready to serve our specialty pastries and donuts at the crack of dawn. There would be no way out through there, but you’re welcome to look. Our cooks don’t come in until just around six. Night jobs for them.”

“Thank you. We will take a look,” Jackson said.

“I already did,” Trent Fielding’s spirit whispered. “Just a kitchen. No people. Pots and pans, ovens, sinks, all spiffy.”

“Well, thank you again,” Jackson repeated.

They did look at the kitchen. It was small but competently arranged and smelled delicious in the little room. But there was no back door.

“Too bad we don’t have time to eat here.” Angela said.