Dig Deep My Grave

by Cheryl Honigford

  “Goddamn it, Viv. Stop kicking.”

  Vivian’s racing heart fluttered at the sound of that voice and the familiar tingle of breath on her ear. Charlie. Oh God, Charlie. She tried to twist in his arms, to see him with her own eyes, but he still held her fast.

  “Let me go, or I will kick you again,” she hissed. He released her, and she whirled around when the balls of her feet touched the ground. As soon as she caught sight of his face, she began laughing and crying at once. She reached up and touched his cheek tentatively with her fingertips. Two days’ worth of stubble stung her skin. It was really him. He was solid. He was here. She jumped into his arms, latching her fingers at the nape of his neck.

  “Thank God,” she said between hard, tooth-cracking kisses. “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

  He flexed his arms and pressed her against his chest so tightly she couldn’t catch her breath. But she didn’t dare struggle again. If she let him go now, she thought, she may never get him back. Finally, he lowered her gently to her feet again. He studied her face, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set.

  “Of course I’m okay,” he said, studying her face in the dim light. “Something’s wrong. What’s happened?”

  “Hap’s dead.”

  Charlie’s brow furrowed. His mouth opened and closed. Then he glanced around the empty lawn and pulled her farther into the shadow of the Siamese pagoda.

  “I mean he’s dead again,” Vivian said. “Someone shot him in the boathouse about two hours ago.”

  Charlie pressed his lips together. “I don’t understand.”

  “Hap didn’t die on Sunday, Charlie. You didn’t kill him.”

  “I know that,” he said. Vivian couldn’t miss the note of frustration in his voice.

  God, this is so hard to explain. But she had to try. She placed her palm on Charlie’s chest as if she could press the truth into him. “Hap didn’t die on Sunday, but someone did kill him about two hours ago.”

  “Who? How?”

  “In the boathouse. Someone shot him. He…” Suddenly, she was there again, watching Hap fall at her feet, watching the life drain from his eyes. Her voice cracked, and she rested her forehead against Charlie’s broad chest. Charlie was here, she reminded herself. He was alive. He was safe. Those thoughts went around and around in her head like a mantra. She slid her palms up his chest to latch around the base of his neck again and gazed up at him. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said.

  “I couldn’t let you do this alone, Viv. Not with a killer on the loose.”

  There was a killer on the loose, she thought. Not the killer Charlie had assumed when he made his way here, perhaps, but a killer nonetheless. How had he made his way here? She glanced over her shoulder at the cars lined up in the drive. There were her jalopy and the family’s sedan. There weren’t any other cars in the drive.

  “But you’re wanted, Charlie,” she said, turning back to him. “If someone sees you and calls the police…”

  He kissed her quickly again before she could continue with that train of thought. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from you.” Though his breath was warm against her ear, it made chills crawl up her spine. They stood looking at each other, the wind roaring in the trees around them.

  “Show me where it happened,” he said finally. “Let’s figure this out.”

  She took his hand and led him toward the boathouse.

  “We have to be careful,” she said, turning to glance at him and then at the house. “Stay out of sight. I don’t know where my family is, and I don’t know who may be watching.”

  Charlie nodded and they continued in silence, hugging the shadows and glancing anxiously back at the house. The lights were still on, though Vivian couldn’t see any shadows in the windows.

  They stopped as they reached the shore side of the boathouse and gazed up at it.

  “Where, exactly?” Charlie whispered.

  “Inside,” she said, pointing up. She headed toward the stair door and then stopped as she reached for the knob, her hand hovering in midair. She’d heard something.

  “Viv—”

  She turned to face Charlie and held one finger up to her lips.

  There it was again. A rustling. She locked eyes with Charlie and knew from his expression that he’d heard it too. He nodded his head toward the front of the boathouse and motioned for her to follow. They crept around the side to the front, where the old-fashioned double doors hung ajar. The lock that held them together was missing. The rustling noise came again, louder this time.

  Vivian tiptoed toward the doors. She glanced back at Charlie and shrugged. There shouldn’t be anything inside except the old steam yacht. The family took it out sometimes for excursions on the lake. She knew Uncle Bernard wanted to sell it, although Adaline wouldn’t let him because of a sentimental attachment. They had a devil of a time keeping it afloat with its expensive upkeep.

  They stood still for another long moment, and Charlie motioned toward the side door. Vivian shook her head, but he slipped inside before she could stop him. This didn’t feel right. The door opened onto only blackness inside. She listened at the door and heard nothing. Just as she was about to enter, she saw Charlie coming back toward her out of the darkness.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Probably a ra—”

  He didn’t finish. Instead, she heard a meaty thud and watched Charlie fall to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head.

  “Charlie!” Vivian said. She rushed toward him, but stopped as someone pointed a flashlight directly into her eyes.

  “Who is it? Who’s there?” Vivian asked.

  The flashlight lowered and Vivian stood blinking, spots jumping back and forth in front of her eyes. When her vision returned, she saw a woman standing just behind Charlie’s prostrate form. She was holding a gun.

  Vivian raised her hands reflexively, and slowly the woman’s face came into focus.

  “Lillian, what—?”

  “Shut up,” Lillian said. She squatted next to Charlie and searched him one-handed, keeping the gun, a Luger, trained on Vivian. She pulled Charlie’s revolver from the waistband at the back of his trousers, then fished in his trouser pockets. Vivian heard the jingle of his car keys as Lillian stood and dropped them into her pocket. Vivian saw Charlie’s eyes flutter open and then close again before the light of the flashlight left his face.

  “I don’t understand,” Vivian said quietly. The bulk of the steam yacht loomed directly in front of her, but she couldn’t see anything beyond that. She heard the water lapping gently at the metal hull of the yacht and a lone frog singing somewhere in the darkness.

  “There’s nothing for you to understand,” Lillian said curtly. She took a step toward Vivian, and as she did, Charlie groaned. Lillian stopped and trained the flashlight beam on Charlie’s face. Charlie squinted in the light. He pressed a hand to the back of his head and hissed in pain.

  “Ah, thick-headed. I knew I should’ve hit you harder. Get up and stand by your lady friend there.” She nudged Charlie with the toe of her shoe. He groaned again, but didn’t move. “You’ll get up if you know what’s good for you.”

  Charlie’s eyes opened slowly, the whites visible before the irises slid back down into place. He squinted at Vivian, and she motioned him toward her. Slowly, so very slowly, he staggered to his feet. He tottered for a moment, leaning drunkenly against the hull of the yacht before righting himself. Vivian watched as he patted his waistband, looking for his gun, and then saw a look of resignation pass over his features when he realized it was gone. He made his way to Vivian’s side and turned to face Lillian. Vivian looped her arm through his to steady him.

  “What am I going to do with you two?” Lillian said.

  “You’re supposed to be in Chicago,” Vivian said.

  She pointed the gun at Charlie. “And this one’s supposed to
be in jail.”

  “Change of plans,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “I can sympathize,” Lillian said. “Things haven’t gone the way I expected today either.”

  What was Lillian doing here in the first place? Hadn’t David taken her to catch the train to Chicago earlier today? Vivian’s mind whirred like a clock that had been wound too tight. Then a gear clicked and released, and things fell into place. There was only one conclusion to make.

  “You’re the German spy,” Vivian said.

  Lillian snorted, and her mouth curled up. But there was no amusement on her face, and she flexed her fingers on the handle of the gun. Her eyes were hard, cold, calculating.

  “Hap recognized someone from his time in Spain at the garden party,” Vivian said. “Someone that frightened him enough to put that silly fake-death plan into play. That someone was you, wasn’t it?” Vivian pressed. She had to press. She was so close to figuring everything out. She felt Charlie sway against her. Please don’t pass out again, she thought.

  “I never met Hap before that party.”

  “Don’t play coy, Lillian. The jig is up. If you aren’t a German spy, then why did you have David take you to the train station today and then secretly make your way back here? Why are you hiding from your own fiancé in the boathouse? Why are you holding us at gunpoint?”

  “Is this twenty questions?”

  Vivian swallowed. “You shot Hap.”

  Lillian stared at her. She shifted the gun so that it pointed at Vivian, then Charlie, and then back again at Vivian. “I didn’t have the chance.”

  “But you came back here because you knew Hap was still alive, and you wanted one last chance to convince him of his place—with the Germans, spying on his own country. You’d convince him or finish the job and kill him yourself. And I’d bet even money that you were standing near that copse of birches around nine o’clock tonight watching the boathouse. You’d followed Hap there.”

  One of Lillian’s blond eyebrows rose.

  “I saw the light of your cigarette.”

  Lillian studied Vivian. “I did follow Hap to the boathouse. I watched him enter from the trees. I was curious what he was up to. A few minutes later, I heard the shot. Then you came along.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone leave?”

  “I watched your aunt rush in and then lead you back out again,” she said. “No one else.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” she said. “But why would I lie? Believe me, I’m just as upset about Hap’s untimely demise as you are.”

  Vivian didn’t doubt that she was, but for a different reason entirely. “How did you know he was still alive?” she asked.

  “Oh, please,” Lillian said. Vivian watched the tip of the gun dip as she spoke. “You accuse me of being involved in international espionage and then believe that I couldn’t see through that silly ruse?”

  “So how?”

  “I actually didn’t until after I left this morning. I found out that someone of Hap’s description was trying to get brand-new identity papers. I made sure those papers were destroyed before Hap could get them. Then I knew that Hap had no choice but to come back here and devise a new plan, or perhaps simply accept his destiny.” Lillian paused and cocked her head to the side, a look of mock sympathy coming over her face. “Oh, darling, you didn’t think he came back here for you?”

  Vivian’s face burned, and she felt Charlie stiffen beside her. She squeezed his arm in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “No, of course not,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “But maybe he came back to clear an innocent man’s name.”

  Lillian turned her attention to Charlie, a smile curling the corner of her mouth. “Perhaps. Hap could be quite gallant when he wanted to be.” Her attention shifted back to Vivian. “But I suspect he just wanted help escaping the trap he’d found himself in, and you were a gullible person. A secret rendezvous in the secluded boathouse? He wanted to sweet-talk you into helping him out of his jam.”

  “It wasn’t a secret rendezvous,” Vivian said quietly. “And it wouldn’t have worked.”

  “Hap was a persuasive fellow, as you well know. But maybe you have matured since he’d seen you last. Maybe you could have turned him away. But no doubt, if you didn’t deliver, Hap would have just gone to one of the others he had on a string.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, and they all turned instinctively toward the open door.

  “Enough talking.” Lillian motioned with her gun out the door. “March.”

  Neither Vivian nor Charlie moved.

  “March, or I start shooting.”

  Vivian felt the hard nose of the gun in the small of her back as Lillian steered them toward the end of the dock. The rowboat bobbed in the water. Could it only have been hours since she and Gwen had tied it there? It seemed like days. Charlie said nothing as they made their way down the dock, and Vivian glanced up at him every few seconds. She couldn’t tell if he was still dazed from the blow to the head, or if he was quiet because he was formulating a plan. She hoped it was the latter.

  “Get in,” Lillian said.

  Vivian hesitated, and Charlie urged her forward as he turned to face Lillian, putting Vivian behind him.

  “What are you going to do?” he said.

  “I’m going to get away.” Lillian held her free hand up and jingled the keys she’d taken from Charlie’s pocket. Lillian wouldn’t dare leave with Bernard’s conspicuous Cadillac. Vivian felt Charlie’s reassuring hand on the small of her back. He urged her forward into the boat. She climbed in, and he followed.

  They both sat on the bench on the far end facing Lillian. Lightning flashed, illuminating Lillian’s face. She wasn’t smiling, and she still held the gun on them. Thunder rumbled. “Untie it,” she said.

  Charlie’s fingers fumbled with the rope, and Vivian leaned over to help him.

  What did she intend? As if in answer, Lillian stepped forward and, without warning, fired two shots into the hull of the boat near the stern. Vivian jumped, and Charlie reflexively lunged sideways to shield her with his body. But Lillian hadn’t intended to shoot either one of them. She put one foot against the boat and pushed. The rowboat slid backward into the water and drifted a few feet into the lake. She trained the gun on them again.

  “Now, row,” she said.

  The wind was picking up and pushing the rowboat toward the deepest part of the lake.

  “Row, big fella,” Lillian said. “Or I put a bullet in her pretty head.”

  Charlie pushed Vivian to the other side of the boat and wordlessly picked up the oars. He started rowing with a grimace. Vivian glanced over her shoulder at Lillian, still holding the gun on them as she backed down the dock toward shore. Vivian’s shoes were already wet as water seeped steadily in from the two holes in the stern of the boat. She looked around for something to plug them with but found nothing waterproof. She ripped a piece of her slip off and stuffed it in one hole, but it was no use. The water was pouring in now. The boat would swamp in minutes.

  Charlie stopped rowing. Vivian caught sight of Lillian running around the far side of the boathouse.

  The stern was dipping heavily now; it was almost entirely under the water. They were at least fifty yards from shore. Vivian moved to the bench on the other side, next to Charlie. They’d be swamped soon. Likely, the hull would flip, sending them both into the swirling, pitching lake. The wind was picking up and pushing them even farther from shore. Then it started to rain, big, fat raindrops plunking into the water. A flash of lightning lit the sky above them, and for a moment, it was like broad daylight out there on the lake. In that flash of lightning, Vivian caught Charlie’s expression, and she didn’t like what she saw. Fear.

  “I have good news and bad news,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the thundering of the ra
indrops on the water. He leaned toward her and continued talking without waiting for which she’d like to hear first. “The good news is that no one’s pointing a gun at us anymore.”

  “And the bad news?” Vivian asked, grasping his hand.

  He pulled back so she couldn’t mistake the seriousness of his expression.

  “I can’t swim.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Vivian tried to calm her racing mind. She had to think through what would happen next, and then what they could do to get out of this mess. She’d been in the middle of this lake in a swamped rowboat before. That time, the boat had swamped and flipped, but did not sink. She squeezed Charlie’s hand.

  It didn’t take her long to realize something was terribly wrong this time. The rowboat was taking on water fast—too fast. In seconds, they were both chest deep in the lake. Raindrops drove into the water on all sides, splashing her face and making it difficult to see anything beyond her hands in front of her. Lightning flashed above. The water was cold and black. It stung her fingers and her toes. Then, somehow, she was floating free of the boat entirely. Vivian kicked off her shoes so she could tread water better. She’d lost her grip on Charlie’s hand in the confusion and glanced around her in the water, panicked.

  Charlie had floated a few feet away, clinging to the hull of the boat. She reached for him and realized that the boat hadn’t just become swamped as she had assumed it would, and it wasn’t going to flip over and float either. No, the entire boat was sinking. Charlie’s eyes were wide as he clung to the last few inches of the boat’s hull that were still above water. He hadn’t been kidding, she realized. Charlie really couldn’t swim.

  Oh Jesus.

  They weren’t far from shore—perhaps fifty feet. But the water dropped off suddenly after the dock ended, and they couldn’t touch the bottom here. They’d have to swim, or at least tread water. But Charlie didn’t know how to tread water. The thought screamed in her head. She looked around wildly for something that would float. Anything. Water splashed in her eyes. There was almost no light to see by out here. Her mind could not latch on to the idea that the boat had sunk. That heavy box in the stern she’d noticed earlier while with Gwen. It had sunk them. Once the hull slipped beneath the surface, Charlie would panic, despite his best efforts not to. It was human nature. He’d flail out and instinctively grab her in an effort to keep himself afloat. He’d end up drowning them both.