“Maybe, but it certainly helped me,” I said. “Trust me, Jerome, there are moments I feel like maybe I’m a little off my rocker because I can see you ghosts. The pictures of you confirmed for me that I’m just weird, not weird and crazy.”
“I’d like to see the pictures.”
“He’d like to see the pictures someday, Jake.”
“I can do that,” Jake said. “But for now, I have some information.” He smiled coyly. “And a picture. Let’s start there.”
Jake’s enthusiasm for his research was contagious, and Jerome and I followed him eagerly around the table to the far corner, where a stack of files and papers sat. He lifted the top item from the pile.
“This is Astin Reagal,” he said.
The picture was beyond grainy; white blobs and spaces were scattered throughout. But there was no doubt that this was not the Pony Express rider that was presumably still hanging around with Gram and waiting to deliver a letter.
The young man in this picture had a full face and distinct features; a large nose that fit well between wide-set eyes, a crooked mouth, and thick stubble while still looking very young. I was disappointed, but I moved that to the back of my mind for the time being.
“I remember this picture,” Jerome said. “Jake must have found this in an article in the Noose. Back in my day, they did a story about the long-missing rider. Seeing this now brings back the exact moment I read the article. Another strong memory.”
“Did you find this in an old Noose?” I asked Jake.
“I did.”
“Jerome remembers this. It must have been published when he was alive.”
“Hang on. Let me look.” Jake rummaged through the stack again. “Yes, right here’s the article, which I haven’t been able to clean up enough to read, but the date is pretty clear. July 9, 1918.”
“I was killed a week later,” Jerome said.
“He died a week later, Jake,” I said.
“And another weird coincidence,” Jake said.
“Not really,” Jerome said.
“Why not? What’s up?” I asked.
Jerome focused on the picture a long moment.
“What’s going on, Betts?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know yet. Jerome’s remembering something.”
Finally, Jerome looked up and smiled.
“Betts, I don’t think I’m here for you this time,” he said.
“No?”
“No. I found him. I found Astin’s body—well, his skeleton at least. I think I must have been killed before I was able to tell anyone.”
“Plus you were plotting a bank robbery,” I said.
“Yes, that, too. But no wonder I don’t have any sense that you’re in big danger. That’s not it at all. I’m here this time to rediscover Astin.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
Jerome scratched at the side of his head, knocking his hat off-kilter. “I think somewhere close to my property, but I’m not exactly sure at the moment. I bet it comes back to me.”
“I hope so.”
“I wish I knew what you two were talking about,” Jake said.