Here is a Writeup from the PoV of our Pinkerton agent
I was called in, for a job, to the Neutral Grounds Coffee house, along with several others. Helena was there, as was the catman, the Fancy Talker and the purse wielding librarian. Miss Basset, owner of the shop and one with an interest in occult goings on, hired us to investigate a purported haunted house and to (if possible) alleviate the problem. Sending the rest of the crew home to research the place with their fancy computers, Helena and I unobtrusively scouted the place at a distance.
I verified that the place was indeed haunted. In the time I took to do that, Helena not only counted the ghosts, but she also named them and psychologically profiled them finding out that they were all angry with each other. I'd call her a show off but that would be unkind.
The following day, the Fancy Talker duded us all up and got us all into a Ritzy club which reminded me of the sort of place that Robber Barons hung out in back in my time. He did this so as to talk to the owner of the house. Unfortunately, that gent was far to good to speak to the lot of us but did deign to speak to our fancy talker. He verified the names of our spooks and informed us items (tools, blanky, teddy bear & Pentacle necklace) that were tied o the spooks. He then deigned to let us solve his haunting problem, which will no doubt raise the value of the property considerably. Of some concern was the company he kept. He was with Duchess Natasha (who, sadly, recognized me- so much for the safety of anonymity), now called Tasha Rafe-Boylen, whom I once (biblically) knew as a very high end lady of the evening in New Orleans (circa 1882). In my own defense, I have to say that the reason I had to (unexpectedly) join her under her covers was to maintain my cover; then she didn't know I was a Pinkerton. Now? Who knows. Somebody had an ambush waiting for me here. But I digress. In any event, our Fancy Talker found our mutual past unsettling.
We proceeded to the house with Catman finding a secret tunnel in. I found workboot tracks in and we located a blood splattered (much used for killing past and present) which seems to periodically wants the bearer to brain our librarian. It is quite forceful in these wants and seems to think that she is the wife.
We proceeded into the basement, located the furnace and the ashes of the baby ghost in the furnace. Ghostly tracks (size 7 women) indicate that the mother burned it. Dead or alive? It doesn't bare thinking about. From there, we tracked the mother and father's tracks upstairs and then to the second floor (which is when the hammer got antsy) and located a space between the walls in a closet. On a hunch, Fancy Talker, Catman and I went downstairs and knocked a hole in the wall under that space. We found a woman's wedding ring with a finger bone in it. Heading back upstairs (hammer once again getting after our librarian who seemed to be losing patience with this) and the ladies found the blanky hidden in the nursery. It is old and with protective runes worked into it.
On another hunch, I directed our team back downstairs to the kitchen. There we found the father's suicide location and his plumbing tools plus tool box. We place the hammer in it and a ghostly urge had me trying to beat our librarian to death with the tool box. Must ungentlemanly of me and I apologized in my embarrassment. She didn't design to accept it with grace. Perhaps I should send her some flowers in apology.
It turns out the Fancy Talker is a wizard. He has a protective spell around the took box and we left it downstairs under Helena's protective care. Sadly, she got distracted and how something has grabbed it and run outside. I ran to the upstairs window to look out and saw nothing and that is where things now stand. Fortunately I think I now know what is going on.
And the writeup for the continuation.
I looked out the window and watched the White Suburban hare off; presumably with the the husband ghost's tools. I noted the license plate as I whipped out the handy new digital camera that Helena got me to buy ("Mathew Brady eat your heart out!" I thought randomly).
Dang it! It had powered down! I powered it up, whipped it up. The car was still in sight and with a grin I snapped the button. Ha Ha! Then I looked at the pic and mentally swore. I had a really nice picture of my eyeball. Yea. "I've gotta practice with this new tech stuff," I sighed to myself.
We continued searching the house with our librarian begging off, 'cause she had a hammer inspired headache, finding Mag's notebook in a crafts room. Further searching resulted in findin' some more magical raw materials and naught else so we retired elsewhere.
While we searched, our librarian discovered that our cars had been disabled by the tool thief (arrogantly he left two notes of apology) but she had been able to repair the damage as we searched. So we left the house and dropped our librarian off at the hospital to have her head examined (with something they called an MRI).
Well, things got quiet for a bit. Catman and I took a look 'round the ghost husband's grave, finding nothing, while Fancy talker read up on the notebooks which were magically coded and Helena ID'ed the car from it's plate. It belonged to a spa belonging' to the Broylens. Dang it! I don't want to go visit with Duchess Natasha.
So we trooped to the spa and a real pretty (and horribly uppity) gal at the front desk stonewalled (as in Jackson) us until I flirted with her a mite. Too bad her info was a blind alley. Sadly, Helena wasn't any more successful getting into the Spa's security camera system so we weren't able to get pics of WHO used that car. That is when the Fancy Talker came into his own.
Justin 'bout took that notebook apart doin' 1 part decodin' and 10 parts analyzin. Turns out Mags mind was comin' apart as she went from doin' benign stuff to mind control stuff to hang on to her man. When he told me this, I had him show me where that started in the book, wanting to look at how the writing deteriorated and, Jehoshaphat, what
did I see? The rubbin of a Denver minted $20 gold piece that our Fancy Talker said was darkest evil black. Boy howdy did that give me something to chew on. More on that shortly.
Anyways, Justin then takes Helena on a working date to that Hoity Toity 21 Club to talk to Dr. Griffith. From him we Id'ed the hand writing on the snarky apology notes as Duchess' Natasha's son. Rather risky of him to be out by day....
Well that tore it. Now I had to answer Natasha's invitation and meet with her. My baser instincts sang with delight. My good sense ran gibbering to hide under a rock. I split the difference, sent her some flowers and set up a meeting at the Common Grounds. As I waited for her the rest of the team lurked nearby, fully as inconspicuous as Sherman's March to the Sea. Not that I'm complaining. That woman excites the devil out of man but I find her scary as hell.
Natasha's bodyguards came first, about twice as obvious as my thundering herd of protectors, then she made her entrance. That creature is a dream. A wet dream of lust. A day dream of beauty and elegance. And a nightmare of deceit and ruthlessness. But that dream gal is a center of information so I manfully tied Mr. Johnson in a knot (figuratively I assure the gentle reader) and soldiered on.
From what I (and Helena who is very perceptive) gathered she is not involved in my coming here though she likely knows who did it. She is not involved in the haunted house enterprise and was surprised and irked that her son IS and was CAUGHT at it. She also claims to have have no knowledge of anyone named Salisbury; something I doubt but can't argue at this point.
With cordiality, we parted. I was pleased to not be following her out as a starstruck 17 year old to become her late evening snack. And even more pleased to find out what little we did. She is not the sort to give away any information freely and anything you do get is suspect. I chalked the encounter up as a win. I think I'll send her some more flowers.
So, what does this all mean? Over all I do not know but this much is clear:
Somebody besides Natasha knew I was coming and tried to knock me off on arrival. Ergo: Somebody doesn't want me here. I've been here for six months and nobody has told me why so I don't think I was sent here because somebody DID want me here. So why am I here? Probably because somebody DIDN'T want me to go to Estes Park Colorado and join the posse after the Brit Salisbury.
Now why was I sent to Estes Park? Long trip from the Nations to there and there were lots of other trackers closer in. Now I'm awful good (so that is part of it) but so were a lot of guys in Colorado. Mind Control in a gold coin from Denver....were we penetrated in Colorado by somebody capable of mind control? You'd not know who you could trust if that happened but you could bring in guys from elsewhere and trust them.... and the controller wouldn't much like it. Especially if such magic takes a while.
So the coin is a possible link between 1887 Salisbury and 1937 & 2013 Huntington. Time to talk to a Pinkerton archivist (thank God old Alan was a data keeper who set things up so that records were kept on everything) and get the entire file on Salisbury, the mission I was assigned to and just what the devil was up on my last assignment. Then it's time to talk to the Marshal's across town and see what they think and barter for information.
Not to mention having our librarian get cracking, Helena to play with her computer, and Justin to check his foundations on Salisbury and Estes Park. Afraid Catman will feel left out. Maybe I'll get him a catnip mouse.
