Part 98 (1/2)

Angie turned from the map, spoke to Himbo. ”We're interested in purchasing parcel eight-sixty-five. Could you tell us who owns it?”

Himbo gave her a brilliant smile of the whitest teeth I'd seen on a man this side of David Ha.s.selhoff. Caps, I decided. Bet the b.a.s.t.a.r.d wears caps.

”Sure.” His fingers zipped over his computer keyboard. ”That was eight-sixty-five. Correct?”

”You got it,” Angie said.

I peered up at the parcel. Nothing around it. No eight-six-six or eight-six-four. Nothing for at least twenty acres, maybe more.

”Spooky Land,” Himbo said softly, his eyes on the computer screen.

”What's that?”

He looked up, startled to realize, I think, that he'd spoken aloud. ”Oh, well...” He gave us an embarra.s.sed smile. ”When we were kids, we used to call that area Spooky Land. We'd dare each other to walk through it.”

”Why?”

”It's a long story.” He looked down at his keyboard. ”See, no one's supposed to know...”

”But...?” Angie leaned into the counter.

Himbo shrugged. ”Hey, it's been over thirty years. Heck, I wasn't even born then.”

”Sure,” I said. ”Thirty years.”

He leaned into the counter, lowered his voice, and his eyes glinted like a born gossip about to dish some dirt. ”Back in the fifties, the army supposedly kept a kinda research facility there. Nothing big, my parents said, just a few stories tall, but real hush-hush.”

”What kind of research?”

”People.” He stifled a nervous laugh with his fist. ”Supposedly mental patients and the r.e.t.a.r.ded. See, that's what scared us as kids-you know, that the ghosts running around Spooky Land were the ghosts of lunatics.” He held up his hands, took one step back. ”It could all have been a ghost story used by our parents to keep us away from the bog.”

Angie gave him her most lascivious smile. ”But you know different, don't you?”

His ivory skin flushed. ”Well, I did do some checking once.”

”And?”

”And there was was a structure on that land until 1964, when it was either razed or burned, and the land a structure on that land until 1964, when it was either razed or burned, and the land was was owned by the government until '95, when it sold at auction.” owned by the government until '95, when it sold at auction.”

”To?” I asked.

He looked at the computer screen. ”Bourne is the owner of record of parcel eight-sixty-five. Diane Bourne.”

The Plymouth Library had an aerial map of the entire town. It was relatively current, too, the photo taken just a year ago on a cloudless day. We spread the map across a large table in the reference room, used a magnifying gla.s.s we'd b.u.mmed from the librarian, and after about ten minutes, we found the cranberry bog, then moved a tenth of an inch to the right across the map.

”There's nothing there,” Angie said.

I moved the gla.s.s in micro-increments over the blurry patch of green and brown. I couldn't see anything that looked like a roof.