"You'll be arrested for trespassing if you take one step in this building," Nancy Parker warned as she came from the kitchen area.

Uncertain, Marty froze where he was, then took a step back. He scowled. "You can't keep us from the truth, Mrs. Parker. We're the news."

"Oh really, Mr. Lackley?" Nancy Parker challenged. "Is that what you want to do? Advertise that the Crashdown Cafe is haunted?" She stepped on out into the dining room. "Because I think that's libel. I'll have to speak with my husband's attorney to confirm that."

"I didn't say that," Marty said. "You did." He lowered his voice and spoke over his shoulder. "You getting this, Bob?"

"Sure," the cameraman replied. "You talking about ghosts is something I want to see the station run. We'll get you up and running on one of the syndicated stations in no time. Before you know it, you'll be heading up Survivor: Haunted House."

Jim Valenti stepped into Marty Lackley's view. Despite the unkempt three-day growth of beard, Valenti still broadcast waves of authority. Maybe he no longer wore the sheriff's star or carried a weapon, but he carried a presence with him.

"If I were you," Valenti said in a low voice, "I'd step back like the lady asked."

"You don't have any official presence here, Valenti," the reporter said. "You were terminated in your capacity as sheriff."

"No sir," Valenti agreed. "I don't have any official presence, and that's a fact. But what I'm doing is offering you a piece of advice I hope a bright guy like you is smart enough to take." His voice got harder. "Because if you don't and you continue to harass this place and these workers, I'm going to perform a citizen's arrest for trespassing and throw your butt in jail." He paused, smiling a little, but the mirth didn't touch his eyes. "And that's a promise."

Veins stood out in Marty's temples and neck.

For a moment Michael thought the reporter was going to make the mistake of calling Valenti's bluff. After dealing with the sheriff for the last two years and knowing him from a distance before that, Michael knew Valenti wasn't bluffing.

"Hey, Marty," Bob the cameraman called out in a voice marked with a little amusement, "I'm rolling feed on this, too. Want me to keep it up? I mean, if you get yourself plotzed on the news and thrown in jail, the producer should be able to guarantee some faces in front of the tube tonight if they show teasers."

The anchorman acted like he was going to push the wireless microphone in Valenti's direction. Then Marty wisely turned and walked away without another word.

"Thank you, Jim," Nancy Parker called from inside the cafe.

Valenti turned and put his fingers to his hat brim. "My pleasure, ma'am. May I come inside for a minute?"

"Of course."

"And could I take a minute of your time?"

Nancy Parker nodded. Valenti stepped through the door and quietly conferred with her.

"Hey," Maria called from the pass-through window behind Michael.

Michael turned to face her.

"You need to get busy," Maria admonished him.

"Why?" Michael asked. "I get to do the big meeting scene with Isabel and Max later. I don't mind putting that off."

Maria glared at him. "Because we might be able to have some time to ourselves before the others arrive."

"Are you through being mad?" If she was, Michael knew that the incident would be some kind of world record.

"Not entirely."

Not entirely, Michael translated to himself, meaning we're still gonna have to talk the whole thing to death.

"Hey, Michael," Valenti called.

Turning around, surprised, Michael glanced at Valenti and waited.

"Mrs. Parker says she can spare you," Valenti said. "Since you have the time, I'd like you to come with me."

"Why?" Michael asked.

"Because you've got a good memory for faces," Valenti answered, "and you were in here during the incident. Maybe we can find the accessory."

Michael considered. Go with Valenti on some wild goose chase for an accessory who doesn't exist? Or stay here and let Maria keep busting my chops?

"Sure," Michael responded. He took his apron off and tossed it onto the stainless steel surface of the pass-through window.

"Michael," Maria called in exasperation.

Michael turned to face her.

"What about tonight?" Maria asked.

Michael shrugged. "I guess it'll still be there." He paused. "Oh, and if you or the others get there before me, go ahead and let yourselves in." He went to join Valenti, feeling Maria staring daggers into his back. Bugging out now wasn't going to make things any more difficult between them, and he needed out of the cafe and away from the tension. Besides that, he didn't figure Valenti had dropped in for a social call.

Valenti didn't say anything enlightening as he led the way out of the Crashdown and by the news reporters gathered like a murder of crows around fresh roadkill. Michael kept up with Valenti, then got in on the passenger side of the truck.

Valenti fired up the engine and pulled out into the street.

Michael looked at him, noticing the thick file folder lying on the seat between them. "Accessory?"

Valenti returned his gaze full measure. "Yeah. You saw somebody besides Wilkins at the Crashdown today, right?"

Michael stayed quiet, paying attention as Valenti wound through the streets of downtown Roswell and headed east. Valenti also checked the mirrors frequently.

"Are you expecting company?" Michael asked.

Valenti smiled sourly. "Anything that ties into the three of you carries the possibility of government involvement. I don't expect it, but I don't want to be surprised, either."

Michael accepted that without comment.

"I saw Liz at the hospital," Valenti explained. "She told me this is the second ghost you've seen."

"If they're ghosts," Michael said.

"You don't think they are?"

"I don't believe in ghosts."

"Did you get a good look at the thing that was chasing Leroy Wilkins?" Valenti asked.

"I saw him," Michael agreed.

With his free hand Valenti reached for the file folder on the seat between them. He opened the folder and took out an eight-by-ten black-and-white photograph. He slid the photograph across to Michael, then tapped the image with a forefinger. "Is that the guy?"

Michael stared at the image. The man looked like he was in his forties. His face was seamed and tight, the features of a man who had been out often in the elements. The most memorable aspect of the man's face was the eye patch.

"That the guy you saw?" Valenti asked.

"Yeah," Michael replied, "this is him. Who is he?"

"His name is Terrell Swanson," Valenti said. "He turned up missing thirty years ago. My dad investigated Swan-son's disappearance. His feeling was that Swanson was dead. What about the other ghost you saw?"

"Tiller Osborn's dad."

Valenti nodded. "I heard something about that. Bulmer had to bring Tiller back and admit him to the hospital. The doctor had to sedate him to get him to calm down. Was it Tiller's dad?"

"I don't know. I never really paid attention to Tiller's dad. He was never around much. Tiller seemed to think it was."

"He'd probably know," Valenti agreed. "What happened?"

Michael recounted the events of that night, drawing the comparisons between the two ghostly apparitions.

"A static electricity buildup?" Valenti asked when he'd finished.

"Yeah."

"Any reason why?"

"No."

"And no one but you and the victims saw the ghost today or that night?"

"No."

"Any ideas why not?"

Michael shot Valenti a look.

"Right," Valenti said with a sigh. "At least a static electricity buildup is something I can sense even if I can't see the ghosts." He flipped the file open again for an instant, then put Swanson's picture back in the folder.