The Case of the Phantom Diver Ch 23

Jake stopped his old sedan in a small parking lot across the street from the stone and wrought iron front fence of Druid Hill Cemetery. The oldest maintained cemetery in Edgewater dates back to the late 18th century. Sitting in his car, Jake blew out a deep breath. The superstitious teen wasn't thrilled about having to visit the cemetery yet again for a case, but admitted it beat having to journey into one of the area's even older burial grounds. The creepy cemetery behind the old, abandoned church's walls might not be large, but it screamed possessed demon horror film. Jake preferred never to revisit that early Edgewater cemetery. Nor did he want to ever step foot in the one out in the county that reminded him of Pet Sematary.

"Stop worrying. Nothing will come out to grab you with the sun shining," Phinn reassured, rolling his window up.

"It's tonight that worries me," Jake admitted, shutting his door.

"Don't zombies take off for summer break too?" Phinn cracked.

"Don't push our luck," Jake warned.

The bright glare of the early afternoon sun caused Phinn to duck back inside the vehicle to grab a bottle of water. It wasn't for him, but to shut Jake up in case this trip took longer than expected. Walking across the empty street, Jake glanced down the road to admire the view. Located on a hill overlooking the harbor, Druid Hill felt as if it existed far from the bustling city. Mature oak and maple trees lined the outside perimeter of the wall. Comprised of a stone lower half, topped with a wrought iron fence, the wall lent to the old-age feel of the cemetery. Interspaced every twenty feet was a stone pillar. From past experiences, the teens knew that multiple groves of similar trees separated different sections of the inner grounds. The layout often aided their investigations, but Phinn worried about how it could impede tonight's potential showdown.

A leisurely pace brought them to a pair of large wrought iron gates. Open at this time of the day, the gates were large enough to allow a small truck through. However, a sharp difference between Druid Hill and Golden Grove was that the older cemetery didn't allow visiting vehicles to drive inside. Visitors need to traverse a network of cobblestone or cement pathways. Frankly, this was a positive factor today. The Rattigans or anyone else wouldn't be able to follow them in their car.

Entering through the open gates, the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers filled their nostrils. Off in the distance, the sound of a lawnmower roared. Phinn nodded, hoping the caretaker would tire himself out before dark. Although the cemetery once held a caretaker's home, the building had long been converted into an expanded office, with the cemetery's caretaker/watchman living in a house next door.

Busybody, Incorporated had taken advantage of the older gentleman's poor hearing over the years while investigating several cases late at night on the grounds. Fortunately, the tree groves also blocked most of a flashlight's shine from his worsening eyesight. With a leery gaze, Jake glanced over toward their right after reaching the first branching of the main pathway.

"The older family plots and crypts are to the left," Phinn reminded.

Nodding, Jake fought off the horrible memory that happened down the opposite side of the cemetery. Falling into an open grave would be bad enough for a thirteen-year-old. But falling into the same grave around Halloween on a cold, rainy night had been nightmare-inducing. For months afterward, Jake thought he'd lived through his very own pool scene from the original Poltergeist. Despite Dusty saving him, Jake passionately hated The Case of the Walking Stiff.

As they strolled down the cobblestone path, the sun cast a warm, golden hue over the cemetery, bringing the intricate details of the headstones to life. A mosaic of shapes and sizes lined the grounds. Some of the headstones were simple and plain, a stark reminder of the humility of death, while others were grand and elaborate, speaking of the wealth or status of those buried beneath. As they progressed deeper inside, the grave markers grew older and more monumental, adorned with angels, crosses, and cherubic figures.

Many of the inscriptions had suffered from the weathering of time. However, most were still legible, with their names and dates telling partial life tales. Occasionally, Jake performed a double-take as a familiar surname met his gaze. Ahead of him, Phinn was all business, only stopping once for a few seconds to admire the large winged angel monument that played a significant role in another past case.

The first crypt appeared all at once, surrounding a huge maple tree, as the teens walked around a bend on the slightly cracked pathway. Phinn shook his head after Jake asked if he knew where the Tarr family plots were located. Although experienced in this cemetery section, the teens didn't know more than a handful of the names tied to the precise structures. However, they knew the exact number of crypts: thirteen. A number that often freaked Jake out when he was younger and still managed to unsettle him. A quick glance gave away this first one, which belonged to the Claibornes.

Several nautical-themed markers appeared, leading Jake to wander closer to the headstones. Further ahead, Phinn read the names before informing Jake over his shoulder that they'd reached the Blakely section, not the Tarrs.

The crypts stood firm like ancient fortresses, nestled among the rows of headstones and monuments. Their doors were built to be thick and heavy, often sealed with the family's name and/or crest carved into the stone. Some of the crypts had smatterings of ivy crawling up their sides as if nature tried to claim these man-made sanctuaries. This impression was often helped by the trees that seemed to grow near each crypt. A few of the larger ones had steps leading up to them, hinting at the importance of the family whose legacy they held. One such structure was the Dillingday mausoleum, the second most impressive tomb among many. A handful of smaller ones stood tucked away, almost hidden by the foliage, as if the inhabitants preferred to rest in peace, away from the prying eyes of the living.

Jake grew concerned that the Tarr tomb would be among those creepier, neglected buildings. It certainly would fit with their aging mansion. His fear partially proved true as Phinn started to spot several Tarr headstones that led up to a mid-sized crypt tucked between several trees and bushes.

"Of course," Phinn muttered, approaching the large, heavy stone door.

"Locked?" Jake asked, bringing up the rear while intently studying their surroundings.

"Yeah," the bespectacled teen confirmed, pulling out his lockpicking kit. In response to Jake's follow-up question, he replied, "It's been a while, but I should be able to."

"Can we try not to get locked inside this time?" Jake nearly pleaded.

"That wasn't our fault. We didn't know she had a partner," Phinn pointed out.

"Well, Dusty isn't here to crawl through the grated door," Jake noted, realizing the Tarr family crypt's door didn't feature an additional fenced outer door.

"We also didn't have cell phones back then," Phinn added while studying the lock.

It would be two years come this October since the teen had last picked a mausoleum's old lock. Multiple attempts left Phineas sweaty and frustrated as the Rattigans appeared and disappeared on the horizon twice. Eventually, Phinn managed to turn the ancient lock.

"Whew!" the brainy detective sounded, wiping his sweaty brow. "Your turn, Muscles."

"I hope this isn't rusted and breaks," Jake said, firmly gripping one of the two metal door rings.

An initial pull barely budged the tall, heavy stone door. Bracing a hand and foot on the opposite door, Jake yanked harder repeatedly. Ever so slowly, the door incrementally opened. Under orders from his partner, the stocky detective opened the door only enough to allow them to slip inside.

"I doubt Cozart came in here. That door hasn't been opened in ages, " Jake remarked as Phinn turned on a flashlight while handing another off.

"I know he didn't bury anything in here, but we needed to get inside," Phinn responded, entering the chamber. "His shovels and muddy shoes point to an actual grave outside, not in a crypt."

Jake gave a final check over his shoulder as the darkness seemed to gobble up his partner. With a deep sigh and a muttered, "Shit," Jake followed. Immediately, the stale air caused him to cough.

Besides the air, the reluctant intruder found a front room that split into three chambers in the rear. The fact that there didn't appear to be a lower level, like with the Dillingday or Van Pelt mausoleums, gave Jake some hope that this wouldn't turn out too creepy. In the closest section, several prominent stone caskets lay along the floor. A swift count revealed nine of these majestic sarcophagi. Darting between each, Phinn read aloud the names and dates etched in the stone. Finished with the first two generations of Tarrs, the bespectacled detective ventured into the left rear chamber while directing Jake to check the right.

Here, the caskets and, eventually, coffins were split into rows of two on each side of the walls, including the rear one. A much narrower passage to walk down, Jake began to feel shivers running up and down his spine as he ventured so close to so much death. Strangely, the older caskets didn't bother Jake as much as the coffins. They appeared to be much harder to open in case any of their occupants wanted to get out.

"Found him!"

Phinn's shout caused Jake to jump and stumble into one of the caskets. Freaked out, he spun around and lunged to reach the main room. A question asking if he was okay, along with the shining light, led the athletic teen to Phinn's location.

"Who did you find? Jason?" Jake shuddered as soon as the name left his lips. Under these circumstances, his mind immediately leaped from Jason Tarr to Jason Voorhees.

"No, Jason's outside somewhere. I found Barnabas," Phinn clarified, pointing his flashlight at the nameplate.

Suddenly, Jake watched in horror as his best friend pounded on the side of the raised casket. Accompanying the move, Phinn commented on how they don't make them like this these days.

"What are you doing?!" Jake hissed, lowering his voice. "Don't disturb them!"

"Disturb whom? These people are deader than a doornail. See?" Phinn responded, kicking one of the ground-level caskets on the side.

"Holy--What's wrong with you?" Jake screeched. "You're going to make their spirits angry!"

Phinn scoffed at the notion as he moved out of the chamber and into the central one.

"I'm serious, Phinn. Barnabas was a pirate hunter!" Jake hissed.

"Don't you remember what your girl told us? Barnabas Tarr was a failure... a joke as a pirate hunter. Rather than attack an actual pirate, he shot up a fellow hunter's ship," Phinn reminded, chuckling.

Horrified and terrified, Jake leaned closer to the dead man's entombment.

"My friend doesn't mean it, Barnabas... I mean, Mr. Tarr. Please don't be offended or get angry. We're here to help your descendants... or I think we are," Jake whispered an apology.

Suddenly, Jake wondered what Regina's ancestors might think of his having sex with her. Sex outside of wedlock had long been frowned on, but was it enough to cause their spirits to rise up for revenge? Had Jake defiled their family name with his decadent actions to their delicious descendant? It's not like Regina had been a virgin before encountering Jake, far from it. The buxom brunette had plenty of experience.

Kneeling close to the casket that his partner kicked, Jake added another apology to the Amias Tarr. Figuring he'd rather be safe than sorry, the superstitious teenager went down the line, offering apologies to every Tarr in the left-side chamber. He occasionally added a line or two about respecting Regina despite the dirty talk he used while spanking her ass.

"Are you talking to the dead over there?" Phinn asked, moving to the last chamber where Jake started.

"No, why would I do something like that?" Jake denied, rejoining his friend.

"Because you're worried about what might happen when we come back tonight," Phinn guessed correctly as he moved rapidly down the line.

Opting to ignore the correct point, Jake asked why they were searching the crypt if Jason Tarr wasn't buried inside.

"It never hurts to make sure. Plus, I wanted to see what was inside here while we could search with some outside light. We'll have to be careful with our flashlight use tonight," Phinn explained, finishing his exploration.

"Wait, we're coming back inside here tonight?" Jake queried, suddenly thankful he'd apologized to some of the dead. Of course, he fretted about not doing the same to the rest.

"Yes. Now, leave the crypt door open enough for us to slide inside. Not only don't I want any noise tonight, but I also assume that Floyd and Garth will need to see what we were doing in here," Phinn added before exiting the mausoleum.

Once back under the sun, the pair of teens split up to search the area. They recognized many names from their time searching through the Tarr family papers. Eventually, Jake found Christoper's grave about twenty-five feet past the crypt. Joining him, Phinn found Jason's several spots over.

"Hold on. How is there a grave for Jason if he vanished elsewhere?" Jake questioned.

"The family wanted a way to remember him. It happened more than you'd think back in the day," Phinn noted. "That's likely why Cozart desired using Jason Tarr besides for his reputation. A mostly empty casket or box would seem perfect in the eyes of treasure hunters. It's likely his family buried some of his personal effects in lieu of his corpse. "

"Phinn!"

"What?"

"Don't just throw that word around. Not here," Jake warned, causing his partner to roll his eyes.

Afterward, Phinn turned to study the family crypt from their location.

"Hmm, you can't see this grave from inside those doors. We'll need to use the backup plan," Phinn said to himself.

"Backup plan? What backup plan?" Jake challenged, unaware of any secondary plan. Hell, he wasn't even sure of the first plan. Despite those questions, he felt a sight sense of relief that they might not need to reenter the dark crypt.

Rather than answer, Phinn just tossed his hand partly into the air. Instead, the brainy sleuth began to wander the nearby grounds. Keeping his gaze raised and steady, it appeared as if he surveyed the nearby trees. With the lawnmower silent, birds chirping from the branches above filled the void. Following his partner's eyeline at times, Jake realized the rear of the Tarr crypt wasn't very far from one of the cemetery's walls.

"Are you looking for a spot to observe from?"

"Something like that," Phinn replied vaguely.

After several more steps, the brown-haired teen suddenly stopped and looked down at his shoe. Moving to kneel, Phinn retied his shoelace before standing up. Glancing over his shoulder at Jake, he announced it was time to leave.

"You sure?" the blond-haired athlete double-checked.

"I think we've been here long enough to have been seen," Phinn decided. When Jake mentioned the Rattigans had been following them since they picked up his car near The Commodore, Phinn frustrated him with a cryptic response. "Oh, I didn't mean by our usual followers. I meant by the killer or other interested parties."

With a purpose in his steps, Phinn forced the lankier Jake to keep up with his rapid pace. Leaning over, Jake harshly complained about always being left in the dark.

"What are we doing?" he demanded to know as they approached the cemetery's gates.

"We're now going shopping," Phinn revealed good-naturedly. "I have a few stops in mind. The hardware store, craft store, and--"

"Phinn, we're practically broke!" Jake pointed out in exasperation as they crossed the road.

"Ah, right," the focused teen sounded. For once, Phinn appeared slightly embarrassed over forgetting a critical fact. However, he quickly recovered.

"Very well. Our last stop will now be an after-hours visit to the historical society."

"The histor--"

"Lower your voice, Jake," Phinn interrupted. "We may be watched."

"The historical society. Are you nuts?" Jake whispered as they approached his sedan. "Surely, Gladden increased security or changed his code."

"He hasn't had time to increase or change his security setup. Maybe he changed his code, but I doubt it. If he did, I can figure it out again," Phinn declared confidently.

"You're going to be the end of me someday. I just know it," Jake complained, sitting in the driver's seat. He waited until Phinn did the same on the passenger side. "Why are we breaking into the historical society again?"

"Wait and see, my friend. Now, it's time to lose Floyd and Garth for good if they attempt to follow us," Phinn announced. "However, I doubt they'll try. I think they might be more concerned with figuring out what we were doing."

"That makes three of us," Jake grumbled.

"Hush, buddy," Phinn shushed, as if he were talking to Bandit. "I need to check on a detail with Katie."

Jake didn't bother to ask why his partner needed to message the professor. Instead, he checked the rearview mirror before gunning the car down the street.

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"I'll figure it out," Jake grumbled as they reapproached Druid Hill ninety minutes after sunset.

"What's the issue? I did manage to guess the correct passcode," Phinn pointed out.

"On the very last try and with seconds remaining before the cops were alerted!" Jake nearly screamed in exasperation.

"Still, what's the problem? It all worked out in the end," Phinn repeated.

"It's how close you always cut things and act like it's not a big deal," Jake complained. "I don't see how that was worth the risk."

"Would you rather have me panicking? And trust me, it might be well worth the risk if we need to use it," Phinn promised.

"We better not. The other stuff was a waste of our remaining money," Jake carped.

"Buying the huge bag of salt and wooden stakes you wanted would've been the real waste of money," Phnn countered.

"I wanted to be prepared. We're going into a graveyard. We should've bought garlic, too. I knew it!"

"Turn right here. We're going to park on the south side of the cemetery," Phinn instructed. "And we want to park several blocks away."

A phone buzzing caused Jake to cringe again. A brief glance told him it was another call from his mother. Phinn suggested turning it off, as he did for now with his phone. Both teens had sent preemptive messages to their parents, stating that they were out with friends and would be back late. Angry responses fly back as neither mother bought the lie.

"We're in so much trouble," Jake whined.

"We'll deal with it in the morning. Hopefully, dispatching Katie to distract my mom will help," Phinn said, mentally crossing his fingers.

"What about my mom?"

"She's got her trial to distract her."

"If she loses the trial, watch me get blamed for distracting her," Jake fretted.

"If we solve this case tonight, as I expect, your mom will be proud of you," Phinn reassured.

Once they parked on a side street in a quiet neighborhood, Jake popped open the trunk while Phinn grabbed several bags from the back seat. Walking around to the rear of his vehicle, the stocky athlete stared into the trunk while shaking his head.

"I can't believe we stole this."

"We borrowed, not stole it. It can go right back inside the historical society before Gladden even knows it's missing," Phinn reassured.

"I doubt it. Something always goes wrong," Jake pointed out. Then, he attempted to lift the heavy, bulky item out of the trunk. "And I'm the one who has to lug this thing several blocks."

"It can't be helped. We have to ensure that no one spots your car. It stands out too much," Phinn added as they started down the sidewalk. "If any cars approach, hide that thing."

"Hide it? How?" Jake challenged.

Fortunately, they didn't encounter any passing vehicles. However, one homeowner on his porch, smoking a cigarette, watched them pass by with a dumbfounded expression. Phinn ended up scolding Jake for making eye contact with the quizzical man.

"What if he started asking questions? Don't make eye contact when we look suspicious," Phinn directed, reaching the spot where he wanted to cross the street.

Approaching the corner of Druid Hill, Phinn suggested they climb over the fence only a few feet off the street. It wasn't worth the risk of waiting until they were closer to the Tarr family plot.

"I doubt any action will occur before midnight, but we can't risk being seen or heard."

"I hate the witching hour in a graveyard."

"Let's not play that semantics game again. Call it a cemetery, and stop freaking out," Phinn commented, watching as Jake struggled to toss the heavy, bulky item over the fence.

"It's not a game. Grandpa says you call it a cemetery during daylight and a graveyard at night. That's what everyone does," Jake argued, helping to lift Phinn up on the stone section of the fence so he could climb over the short iron posts.

"This is coming from Grandpa Moe, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Forget it," Phinn replied, rolling his eyes about Jake's shady grandfather. He probably told the story about the difference once as a con. "Hand me that bag. Careful, it's delicate."

The cemetery at night transformed into a realm of whispers and shadows. The moon, a silver coin in the velvet sky, cast its pale light upon the tombstones, turning them into an array of chiseled silhouettes--or, to Jake, an army of potential danger. The shadows stretched out from the ancient trees, playing a dance of light and dark across the landscape. The statues that once seemed to watch with kind, sorrowful eyes now loomed with silent vigilance, their features almost menacing in the lunar glow. Now cloaked in darkness, the crypts exuded an air of mystery and secrets long buried. The wrought iron gates no longer appeared as mere decorations, but stood as a sinister sentinel against the night. The whispers of the leaves rustling in the wind mingled with the distant hoot of an owl, creating a symphony of the unseen and unknown.

Jake halted every ten or fifteen steps as he swore he saw something.

"Stop seeing things and watch where you walk," Phinn hissed. He knew they didn't need to trip over a low-lying headstone or a raised tree root to create a ruckus.

"We shouldn't be here," Jake repeated for the umpteenth time in his life. "They close the iron gates at night to keep the ghosts inside."

"Then, we're trapped inside with them," Phinn replied, gesturing for his friend to keep quiet as they neared the Tarr section.

"That's not funny."

Once they saw the crypt, Phinn motioned for Jake to lower himself to the ground. They'd entered the tricky portion of the approach. From this point on, they'd need to crawl through the grass until they could slide inside. Phinn had pointed out on the drive over how critical it was that they not be seen. At the time, Jake hadn't argued much, but now he grumbled as he had to drag the bulky item with him.

After an effort that seemed to take forever, Jake followed Phinn inside. With the crypt pitch black, Jake bumped into his partner before Phinn whispered to watch it. Reluctant to turn on a flashlight near the door, the bespectacled teen felt his way past a colonial sarcophagus until he reached a point where he could safely turn the light on. Still, he covered most of the beam with his hand.

Then, Jake watched in dismay as Phinn broke one of the glowsticks they'd picked up at the craft store. Similar to the kind that kids use on Halloween, Phinn tossed it deep into the first chamber. The glowstick provided light without being noticeable outside the crypt. Still, Jake thought the dead Tarrs might find it disrespectful.

"You shouldn't mess with their slumber."

"For fuck's sake, Jake, they're dead, not sleeping. Gawd, these are the times I miss Dusty the most."

"We expect people with ill intent to dig up one of their relatives' graves tonight," Jake pointed out.

"Which we know doesn't contain his remains," Phinn countered. "Okay, say ghosts are real, and we wake some up. If you're lucky, it might be a few horny female ancestors of Regina who want a poke with you."

"Don't piss off their husbands and fathers! I knew I should've apologized to the rest of them earlier."

"You did what now?"

"Apologized for your rudeness as always," Jake revealed.

"Alright, whatever. Let's get set up before our first guests arrive," Phinn instructed, setting up a bag on top of a stone lid.

The plan included setting up the necessary equipment before hiding their items in the back of a chamber. Although Phinn didn't think anyone would enter the crypt, he wasn't taking any chances. That's one reason they borrowed the item from the historical society.

Once satisfied with their progress, Phinn handed Jake a can before reminding him to cover his nose and mouth. With that directive, the scrawny sleuth slipped outside again. This time, he crawled between the gravestones, slowly placing four webcams in different vantage spots.

Finished, Phinn paused as he thought he heard a sound. After listening for three minutes, he decided it must have been the increasing wind rustling the trees. Fortunately, Jake hadn't checked the weather forecast. Thunderstorms were expected to roll in around three in the morning. Without a doubt, his superstitious friend would grow more paranoid if they hadn't finished by then.

Back inside, Phinn turned on his tablet. Unfortunately, the brainy teen encountered a problem when he attempted to connect with the webcams he'd borrowed from Johanna. The thick stone walls of the crypt weakened the signal considerably. Moving closer and closer to the door opening, Phinn managed to get a faint signal but noticed it frequently dropped the connection.

"Shit," he groaned.

Moving further into the interior, Phinn could speak normally as he explained the issue to Jake. The less tech-savvy teen inquired if they could still use the outside cameras to watch for the others they expected. Phinn said they probably could, but they need to be careful.

"We can't allow anyone outside to see the tablet's glow. So we'll need to figure out a solution."

"Could we open the door more?"

"Too risky. If it sticks and makes a ruckus, we're screwed," Phinn explained. "For now, we're better off sticking our heads near the door and listening for any noise. Once people arrive, we can switch to the cameras."

They spent another fifteen minutes finishing their preparations. Once done, Phinn moved their remaining items and bags into the rear of one of the chambers. When that step was finished, he covered the glowstick, returning the crypt to total darkness.

Time crept by as each grain of sand seemed to take forever to drop inside the imaginary hourglass in their minds. Occasionally, Jake checked the tablet, mostly to see the time. Phinn hissed a warning to be careful when he turned the screen on near the doorway.

Eventually, they heard voices.

Pulling back from the door, the two teen detectives prepared to hide if anyone entered the crypt. Time slowed even further as they waited with tense muscles. Two minutes passed, then five, and finally, almost a full ten minutes went by before they moved forward toward the door again.

A new sound met their ears. It was mixed in with occasional swearing, complaints, and warnings to be quiet. With a sliver of moonlight lighting them, Jake gestured to Phinn that he would slip outside to check. Phinn agreed with the faintest reminder to stay quiet and out of sight.

Alone, Phinn reached down to clutch an item from outside his pocket. If push came to shove, he'd use it if anything happened to Jake. However, after almost five minutes, his partner slipped back inside.

"It's Floyd and Garth," Jake revealed, whispering.

Phinn nodded. He'd expected the Rattigans to appear first.

"They're digging."

"Where? Jason Tarr's grave?" Phinn asked.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed, leaving out the unspoken, "Where else?"

"How far are they?"

"Not very. Maybe a foot and a half deep," Jake guestimated. "What should we do?"

"Wait."

"For what? For them to find the treasure?"

"No, for our next arrivals," Phinn replied.

"But what if they reach the bottom before then? Shouldn't we stop them?" Jake inquired. "Aren't you worried?"

"Why? They won't find anything."

"What?" Jake questioned, slightly too loud for Phinn's preference.

After a reminder to keep it down, Phinn dropped his next information nugget.

"No, I'm not concerned. The Rattigans are digging up the wrong grave."