But maybe she could find out what her father was up to. “I don’t know if I can. I have a murder investigation and other cases.”
“You work too much. Even the great detective needs a bit of down time. Come on. I will make you your favorite.”
Just at the mention of ‘your favorite’, and the instant visual image of the blackened chicken Alfredo with tiny, sweet peas caused her mouth to water. Damn. “Okay. I can’t make an absolute promise. I may be late or not show up at all.”
“Don’t give me that. Be at my place by seven.”
She never could disappoint her father. She sighed. She had so much to go over, especially with the grave robberies. But, he was right. She needed a breather even if it was only for a couple of hours. “All right. I will be there.”
“Good. See you then, darling.”
“Bye.” She closed her phone and walked over to the nearest trash bin. She rolled up the newspaper and tossed it in. Bianca Rutherford, her biological mother, apparently landed her long awaited fortune. Ciarra’s stepfather, an incredible, savvy businessman, didn’t have a lick of sense when it came to Bianca. According to the newspaper, Zachary Rutherford passed away two nights ago, leaving his multimillion-dollar estate to the money hungry witch. He had no children and neither did Bianca . . . that much was apparent. Ciarra wasn’t listed in the obituary. But, she hadn’t expected to be.
Ciarra wasn’t privy to much of the details of their existence. She could have gone looking for Bianca anytime she chose, but there had been no way in hell she would ever chase her down. Bad enough if she happened across an article on her and Zachary’s hopping around the world, she clipped it out and stuffed it into her childhood ballerina jewelry box. Ciarra felt like an idiot every time she did it, but she couldn’t help herself. She could just imagine what a psychologist would have to say about it.
Bianca had dropped her on the Saint Joseph’s rectory steps, not too long after giving birth and ran off, never to be heard from again. Being Bianca’s only child didn’t stop Bianca from wanting nothing to do with her daughter. The money had always meant more. The woman no doubt didn’t deserve the title of Mother.
‘Miss Uptight Old Money’ would faint, falling on her face from knowing what type of friends Ciarra had. Socialites such as Bianca didn’t associate with anyone beneath her social stature. Ciarra sighed as she entered her best friend’s, Tiesha Richards, store, the elephant chime above the door announcing her presence.
Ciarra attempted to rid the thoughts plaguing her too often. No one, not even Ciarra’s grandmother, had known she’d kept up with Bianca’s whereabouts. Or at least she’d thought so. Dad knew more than he let on. Why hadn’t he said anything in all these years?
“I know that face. Why so glum?” Tiesha approached her.
Ciarra rubbed her left temple. “Just a real bad morning.”
Tiesha placed her hands on her hips. “You’ve been thinking about her. Something’s new?” she questioned, her Jamaican accent deepening her voice.
Her best friend read her so well. “The tycoon has left the witch a widow. He passed away a couple nights ago. I’m sure he’s celebrating somewhere on the other side. Congrats to Zachary on his final escape.” She raised an imaginary toast toward the ceiling. “I truly do not want to talk about her though.”
“Come have some tea,” Tiesha offered.
Ciarra’s bleak mood changed whenever she came here. Just the vibrant purple carpet along with the bright pastel green walls made the atmosphere inside cheery. Tiesha’s shelves held everything from Wiccan supplies to various books along with candles, incenses, oils, jewelry, crystals, gemstones, tarot decks, and so forth.
“I saw the grave robbing on the news. Nothing significant taken?”
Ciarra often bounced ideas off Tiesha when things didn’t quite add up with her cases, as when something strange seemed to be happening. For instance when dead peoples’ bones disappeared. She took care not to disclose certain details to Tiesha. “Not really. Why take—”
The elephant wind chime rang again announcing a visitor. When Ciarra spun around, she met the calculating eyes of her ‘shadow’. “Now what? There aren’t any juicy stories here.”
“Yeah right. What’s up with Oak Hill’s cemetery? That’s the fourth one. What gives? I can smell it a mile away. A serial grave robber. That’s pretty juicy.”
“Sean, why are you with that rag of a newspaper? You could do so much better.”
He shrugged. “Why would I want to? I make some serious money there.”
At times, she despised this little frog. Sean Black, reporter for The Sky, the local trashy newspaper . . . and her brother whom her grandmother adopted. When he acted like every assignment would be his last meal, she couldn’t stand looking into his eyes. They held only greed for the next juicy story and the cash flow that followed.
Aw, hell. Maybe she just misunderstood him.
Ciarra got off the stool and stood nose to nose with him. “If you don’t stop following me, I’ll haul you in for stalking and harassment. Let’s not forget interfering with a police investigation. Capiche?”
“Aren’t we just in a foul mood? There’s definitely something going on. I’ll find out about it with or without your help, sis.” He turned on his heels and walked back out the door, the wind chime slamming against it.
“That man could use a voodoo doll. Want me to make one?” Tiesha asked, her tone a little too serious for Ciarra’s taste.
She sighed. “Don’t you dare. You know Karma will come back and kick you in the ass. Not to mention, he’s my brother remember. Gram would come back and chase me down with her rolling pin.”
“The real question is does his nose smell correct?” Patrick Hammond, Tiesha’s roommate, produced himself from the back room.
Sexy, blond, built, and those grayish blue eyes would have done Ciarra in every time had she not known Patrick’s attraction to other men. “It’s possible.”
Patrick came over and rubbed her shoulders. “I don’t know how you deal with all this stuff. Dead bodies and such. It gives me the heebie-jeebies. Another dug up corpse?”
“Yes.”
The wind chime slammed once again. She couldn’t figure how the hell the stupid ring didn’t annoy them all day long. She wanted to rip it down and chuck it in the nearest garbage container.
“Hmmm. Interesting.”
Ciarra figured Patrick referred to their discussion, but when he suddenly stopped and walked away, she saw where his attention had gathered. An absolute gorgeous specimen of a man had graced them with his presence. A beautiful, chiseled face matching one incredible, muscular body. Wow, God was definitely good. Ciarra thanked Him for the eye candy.
Patrick had a fifty-fifty shot. Either this man was taken or gay. It wasn’t possible for him to be single.
Tiesha slapped her hand down on the counter. “Focus. Back to the graves.”
“Can’t I drool for one second?” Then the all too familiar image of her dead husband, Jack, appeared in her mind, cooling her wicked thoughts toward Mr. Gorgeous. She sighed. “All right.” Ciarra lowered her voice. “I already thought it was strange with the lineup of people, but now add a doctor to the list.”
“There has to be a connection in there somewhere, honey, either with the dead or the living.” She lifted Ciarra’s chin. “Want me to check my crystal ball?” she teased with a huge smile on her face.
Ciarra laughed. “No. No magic or whatever you can conjure up either.”
Tiesha lowered her voice as Patrick and the gorgeous customer made their way closer to the front stand. “You know, a long time ago, back in the old country, Voodoo would use human bones for protection, spells, and even curses. Now, in Jamaica, I know a few who still use chicken bones. But, here in the city, they come to stores like my Moonstarz to order specific bones.”
“So, what are you telling me?”
“I’m saying you need to pay attention to any links these people may have. It could be tied
all together. Think about it. Someone may be angry at them for something. Revenge possibly? To use human bones for a curse makes the curse very hard to remove, and that is only if the curse is discovered. Most often it is not until it’s too late. Or could they be using the bones for protection against all of them? You need to start thinking along those lines.” She waved her hand in the air. “But, then again, I could be way off.”
Tiesha had pretty fine instincts. If she were right, Ciarra would have a hell of a time straightening this case out. A curse was quite possible. How strange was that? And in this day and age too.
“Thanks. I have to get back to the station.” She had to attend to the judge’s death and more interviews. It would take her the rest of the day.
But Ciarra would have a hard time concentrating while these upturned graves were nagging at her. The deceased judge’s wife was one of the graves desecrated. Maybe the judge’s death had been natural. Maybe from a broken heart after seeing his lifetime love’s grave. She would soon find out when the coroner completed the autopsy.
The following day, the chaos ensued at the farm in the early morning hours. Trent wanted to run.
Gregory, his brother, had slammed down a mug of coffee and yanked on his boots getting ready to run out and start the day by feeding the chickens. On normal days in his career field, he was one of Acadia’s finest Internists.
Today, however, wasn’t normal. One of the farmhands had come down with a strong type of flu, leaving Greg to do the man’s morning chores before heading into town.
Greg’s wife, Samantha, rose before dawn and cooked breakfast: eggs, bacon, hash browns, cheesy grits, toast, and fresh fruit. Next would be getting the kids, Lily and Ben, up and ready for school. Once they were on the school bus, she’d start her daily routine of chores both inside and outside until Lily and Ben got home. Then, it was homework, soccer, football, dance, cheerleading, basketball, or whatever extracurricular activity they’d signed up for. And then, finally, some supper and rest. She’d been doing this every day for the last two years, since his mother had succumbed from the strokes. In his book, Sammy was a saint.
Trent had been reluctant to spend the night after having only two drinks, and Sammy had practically barricaded the door. She threatened to blow out his tires with the shotgun if he dared to leave. He was pretty sure she would. He hadn’t been ready to risk it.
Sleep had been fitful at best. That damn dream again haunted him. He stood in a dense, dark forest with the moon creating crazy shadows from its illumination as the leaves on the surrounding trees danced in the wind. He turned to the flickering light he spotted between the swaying tree branches and moved forward to get a closer look. The wind carried the chanting toward him along with the smell of some sort of incense and burning wood. He couldn’t make out the words but they were haunting nonetheless. The tone seemed filled with sadness. As he pushed more near the fiery glow the further he seemed to be going away.
A woman’s scream sliced through the night followed by a little boy’s cry. Were they hurt? Were they caught in the fire?
Suddenly he was transported to the site. The fire pit was good sized and sat in the middle of an open field within the forest. Trent was disoriented as he looked around and saw several people draped in black robes with hoods covering their heads and black skull masks covering their faces. One of them held an enormous snake in the air over a large stone table.
Then a bright flash followed by the wide eyes of a little dark skinned boy, caught his breath.
Trent had sat up in bed, heart thumping against his rib cage and sweat sliding down his face. Greg set down his coffee mug, bringing Trent back to the present. “Since you’re here, come out and help me for a moment,” Greg spoke without looking over at Trent.
“I wish I could. I have to get going home to take a shower and shave before heading to the hospital.”
Greg’s head whipped in his direction. “Oh give me a break. If I can do this and make it on time, you can help. Let’s go.” He tossed an extra pair of boots across the kitchen floor, where they landed directly in front of Trent.
He could care less about the damn farm. Greg knew all too well. If he’d wanted anything to do with it, he wouldn’t have gone to medical school. He wanted as much distance from the responsibility of this place as possible. It did nothing good for Dad. He got nothing out of working hard labor here. Why did Greg want to subject himself to the place responsible for killing his own father?
He put on the boots anyway. By the glare he was currently getting from his brother, he knew better. Something was up. “Fine, but let’s make it fast.”
They stepped outside, the temperature around the freezing mark, which they only experienced for maybe three weeks out of the year. The normal winter temperature was the mid-forties, and it didn’t last long. But this winter though seemed a bit strange, really too cold for Magnolia Valley almost cold enough to actually snow.
They made their way to the barn in silence. Greg would talk to him when he was ready. Trent hoped it didn’t take all morning.
Greg handed him a bucket with chicken feed in it and then grabbed one as well. “Let’s go see what my little chicks are up to this morning.”
Greg didn’t speak again until they spread the chicken feed inside the coop. “Have the police said anything more about Dad’s grave?”
“No.” Trent left out the missing bone when he’d called Greg after the meeting with Detective Pacelli. It had been upsetting enough without adding a layer of creepiness to the story.
“So, it was just a random act? The weirdo just picks a cemetery and plays eeny, meeny, miny, moe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Geez, you would think the jerk would pick a rich person’s grave if he is looking for something worth money.”
“That’s what I thought too.”
“Enough about that. I want to talk to you about Jason.”
Jason was their kid brother, the youngest of the boys, and he was always raising all kinds of hell across Europe. He was an up and coming international racecar driving star and a confirmed bachelor, enjoying being an ‘international playboy’. Trent had buried his nose in the med books; their other brother, Simon, went and became a minister; while Jason went racing across Europe from one deadly track to the next. They each dealt with leaving the farm in their own ways. “What did he do this time?”
“Lindsay’s on a plane on her way over to France right now. He wrecked again, and this time it is really bad.”
Lindsay? Why would his baby sister go? She had some huge story ready to break over at Acadia News last he’d talked to her. “Why didn’t Simon go?”
“He’s off on some kind of retreat for the church. Or meeting. Whatever. Lindsay jumped on it.”
Trent rolled his eyes. Of course she did. It was France after all. “Not near Nice I hope?”
Greg’s downturned mouth and shoulder shrugging told Trent enough before Greg answered. “Yes, of course. But I doubt that life-sucking freak is there.”
That life-sucking freak was Lindsay’s ex-boyfriend Tristan Delacroix. The dirt bag had whisked Lindsay off to Paris on some whirlwind fairytale. It had only lasted two days before Lindsay found him in bed, their hotel bed, with another woman. And then he left her stranded a half a world away with no money and a broken heart. “Of course he is. Didn’t you hear Lindsay a couple of nights ago? She got an email from him. I told her not to answer him, or I’d have to hunt him down.” Trent sent the remaining handful of chicken feed flying across the pen. “Shit, why in the hell did you let her go?”
Greg turned away from Trent and headed for the coop door. “Like I could stop her, Trent. Jason’s hurt, and someone had to go.”
Jason was always getting hurt. Or arrested. Or damn near shot by a pissed off husband. Dumbass kid. “So, what did he hurt this time?”
Greg sighed. “A broken arm and fractured ribs. Those he can heal from. The head injury’s a different story.”
Trent’
s stomach flipped. “What do you mean? How bad is he?”
“He’s alert and responsive. But, the doctor told me if he didn’t recover completely, he will never be able to race again.”
Trent felt like a shit. This was his freaking brother after all. It did not matter what he’d done. “Is she bringing him home?”
“When the doctor clears it, yes.”
“Here to the farm.”
“Yes.”
“Poor Sammy.”
“Wrong. Poor everyone. You included. If he won’t be able to race again, it’ll kill him. He needs all of us.”
Trent held up his hands. “Oh no. Count me out. Don’t you remember the crap he put us through when he had pneumonia last year at Christmas? ‘Get me more soup,’ as he chimed that stupid bell Sammy gave him. He has all the money in the world. Mr. Playboy can buy himself a damn counselor.”
Greg roared with laughter. “Buy a counselor. I like that one.” When Trent didn’t laugh along with him, he set down the bucket and patted Trent on the back. “Come on. I know you hate family obligations and all, but he’s our brother. Lindsay said Jason definitely isn’t himself. He’s pretty crushed.”
“It’s not the whole family, just him. He pisses me off. Where was he while we were here for Mom? He wasn’t here. He was too busy trotting across the world.”
“I know. Who knows? Maybe this is a chance for him to turn around and change. Maybe realize what a putz he is and grow up.”
It was Trent’s turn to laugh. “Yeah right, if you say so big brother.”
Chapter 3
Deadly Curses Page 3