Disturbing the Dead

by Sandra Parshall

“Why not?”

  Her brow creased. “Why would he have to be told something he already knew? She talked to your father all the time about her husband’s family. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard enough to know she confided in him.”

  “What—what are—”

  For a long moment Mrs. Barker held his gaze. “I was certain you knew they were close,” she said at last, grimacing as if the mistake pained her.

  “Are you saying—” Good God. His respectable, dependable father, the upstanding citizen, the good husband, the churchgoer—

  “I’m only saying he came to see her. Had a cup of coffee and talked a while. He was being nice to an old friend who was widowed and didn’t have many people to depend on. They were both interested in their Melungeon heritage. Your father knew all the history, and she had many questions for him. What a shame that she never lived to see the creation of the Melungeon Heritage Association and witness the surge of interest in—”

  “An old friend?” Tom broke in.

  She eyed Tom warily. “I believe they had known each other for many years. I could be completely wrong.”

  “How long did it go on?” Tom asked, his voice a croak.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions. I never said—”

  “When did my father start coming here?”

  She twisted her hands together. “Two, three years before she—well, I suppose I ought to say before she died.”

  Two or three years. Tom dragged in a deep breath to combat sudden light-headedness. “When was the last time he came?”

  “As far as I know, a few days before she went missing.”

  The front door opened, letting in a cold draft, then slammed shut. A second later Brandon appeared in the living room.

  “Thanks for your help,” Tom said to Mrs. Barker, his voice more brusque than he intended. The sickening knot in his gut wasn’t her fault. She’d only been the messenger. But he had to get away from her and her knowledge of his father’s secret life.

  Tom brushed past Brandon and headed for the front door. Mrs. Barker and Brandon followed. On the porch, Mrs. Barker stood by silently, offering no help, while Tom searched through the keys to find the right three for the door’s locks.

  When the house was secured, Tom turned and found her watching him with a penetrating gaze.

  “I wish you’d never found her.” Mrs. Barker’s voice was low and fierce. “I wish she’d been left to rest where she was. You mark my words, young man, no good will come from disturbing the dead.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  During the drive back to Mountainview, Tom tried to keep up with Brandon’s string of theories about the murders while another part of his mind struggled to understand what he’d learned from Mrs. Barker about his father and Pauline McClure.

  “How about the lawyer? Durham?” Brandon asked. “Suppose he was stealing from Pauline, defrauding her somehow, and she found out and threatened to bring charges?”

  “I’ll talk to him.” No way around it. The notion of Reed Durham killing a woman with an ax was ludicrous, but his behavior after Pauline disappeared—assuming Mrs. Barker had described it accurately—was peculiar at best. Still, Tom didn’t know where he would find the words to phrase the questions. How the hell did he ask an old family friend whether he’d stolen from a client and committed murder?

  “Or maybe he was, like, involved with Pauline,” Brandon said, “and Pauline started making noises about telling his wife? Or maybe he found out she was sleeping with somebody else at the same time and he flipped out.”

  The two old friends, John Bridger and Reed Durham, competing for the same woman—or sharing her? The thought sickened Tom, and it went against everything he knew about both men. What he thought he knew.

  He’d have to ask Reed Durham outright if he’d had an affair with Pauline. That confrontation promised to be a lot less painful than tearing apart his lifelong image of his father and replacing it with that of a lying cheat.

  Static burst from the police radio. Janet, the young 911 dispatcher, spoke up in her singsong voice. “Unit two, come in. Over.”

  Tom grabbed the mike and answered.

  “Sergeant Murray wanted you to know there was an intruder causing a disturbance at Mountainview Animal Hospital a while ago and it might be connected to the case you’re working on?” Janet said with a questioning lilt. “I sent the city police. Over.”

  Rachel. “Is anybody hurt? Over.”

  “I don’t have any details, sir, but I heard Dr. Goddard used karate on the guy. The intruder, I mean. Over.”

  Rachel knew karate? Tom signed off and dropped the mike onto its hook. “Speed up,” he told Brandon.

  ***

  Rachel decided the best way to calm Holly down was to keep the girl busy and avoid further mention of her uncle. They ate bagged lunches in the tiny staff lounge and used the rest of the hour to continue Holly’s on-the-job training. She learned quickly and didn’t have to be told anything twice.

  They were behind the front desk, and Rachel was giving Holly a lesson in the use of a three-line telephone, when Tom charged in with Brandon Connelly. They halted on the big welcome mat and swept the place with wide eyes as if they’d expected to find a riot in progress. Rachel’s stomach flip-flopped at the sight of Tom’s left arm in a sling. But he was in uniform, working. He must be all right.

  “Everything okay here?” Tom asked.

  He must have heard about Jack Watford’s visit. “Just fine,” Rachel said, determined not to let him use the incident as proof that Holly was trouble.

  “Good,” Tom said, but while he wiped his boots on the mat he examined the reception area again as though he might detect lingering evidence.

  Brandon gave his own boots a couple of swipes, then headed for the desk. He leaned on the counter and grinned at Holly. “Hey. Remember me?”

  “Sure I do. Hi.” Holly smiled, her cheeks flushed.

  Rachel rounded the desk and walked over to Tom. Up close, she saw the bulge of a bandage under his jacket sleeve. “The newspaper story about the shooting made it sound like nothing but a scratch. I hope that was the truth.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s a minor flesh wound.”

  Pure dumb luck, Rachel thought. A few inches over, and the bullet could have hit his heart, an artery, his spine— She slammed her mind shut on the horrifying possibilities. Just as well that she’d kept Tom at arm’s length. Even a country cop could be shot—could be killed—in the line of duty. She didn’t want that uncertainty and dread in her life.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.

  “I heard you had some excitement a while ago.”

  Glancing at Holly, Rachel said, “Let’s talk in my office.”

  Holly and Brandon seemed too engrossed in conversation to notice when Rachel and Tom walked past them and down the short hallway. The young deputy’s obvious interest in Holly worried Rachel. Wasn’t he engaged? She was sure she’d seen an announcement in the newspaper.

  In her office she settled in the chair behind her desk. The conscious effort to underscore her authority here probably didn’t impress a cop, but it made Rachel feel more in control. “It was Holly’s uncle. He claimed her grandmother sent him to take Holly home. She didn’t want to go, so I told him to get lost.”

  Tom, still standing, shook his head. “I hate to keep harping on this, but you don’t know what kind of people you’re dealing with.”

  She didn’t like the emotions on Tom’s face—consternation, anger, and the frustration of someone whose good advice has been ignored. He looked tired and edgy and was probably in pain. Rachel hated to add to his stress with an argument, but she wouldn’t back away from her commitment to Holly.

  “Sit down, please.” She waited until Tom sat in the visitor’s chair facing the desk. “Holly loves being here. She doesn’t want to go back to living with her grandmother and working for nothing at that filthy diner.”

&nb
sp; “What did Jack Watford do that made you call the police?”

  Rachel started to fold her arms but realized that would look confrontational. She clasped her hands on the desktop. “He seemed to think he had the right to drag Holly out of here. We called the police, but I had everything under control by the time Lloyd Jarrett arrived.”

  A grin sneaked through Tom’s stern expression. “Did you really use karate on him?”

  Rachel laughed, mostly out of relief that Tom hadn’t launched into a lecture about her foolhardiness in hiring Holly. “I wouldn’t glorify it by calling it karate. But he ended up on the floor. I’m probably lucky he didn’t file an assault charge, but he seemed awfully eager to get out of here when a cop showed up.”

  Tom frowned and leaned forward, examining her face. “What the hell— Did Watford do that?”

  Rachel touched the bruise on her right cheekbone. “This? No. I had a stupid little accident last night.” She had no intention of telling Tom or anyone else that Holly had socked her in a nightmare frenzy.

  He looked doubtful about her explanation, but he let it pass. “Where’s Holly living?”

  “With me, for now.”

  “Jesus Christ, Rachel. What if Watford shows up at your house?”

  The same fear had hunkered down inside her and was making a fine meal of her nerves. “He won’t get inside,” she said, trying to reassure herself as much as Tom. “I have grilles on my windows and bolts on my doors.”

  “You’re not always locked inside your house. I don’t like it. You need to find somewhere else for her to live.”

  Rachel rolled her chair back, stood and moved to the window. Fat snowflakes coated the parking lot. “If Holly rented a room somewhere, her family could get to her at any time, and she wouldn’t have anybody to back her up.”

  Tom joined her at the window and laid a hand on her shoulder. Rachel tensed under his touch and avoided looking at him because she expected to see disapproval on his face.

  But when he spoke his voice was gentle. “What is it about this girl that gets to you? Why are you going to so much trouble for her?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that too.” Rachel faced him. “You know what I came up with? She reminds me of myself.”

  Tom burst out laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I’m serious. I spent most of my life letting my mother tell me what to do, what to think, how to feel. She even tried to choose my profession for me—she wanted me to be a medical doctor. To her dying day, she never forgave me for ‘wasting’ my ability on cats and dogs. When I see Holly’s family trying to control her, I feel like screaming. She wants a life of her own. I have to help her.”

  “You need to put yourself first, Rachel.”

  So much for persuading him with personal confidences. But Tom’s opinion was beside the point. “Holly’s here and she’s staying.”

  Tom raised his eyes heavenward as if pleading with a higher power for patience with this woman. Rachel hated it when men did things like that, but she stifled her irritation.

  “Well,” Tom said, “I have to talk to Holly. Can I do that in here?”

  “Please don’t. She’s not responsible for her uncle’s behavior.”

  “It’s not about that,” he said. “It has to do with the case.”

  Rachel sighed. “All right, but keep in mind that she’s had a rough morning. It wouldn’t take much to upset her again. And I’ve got an arthritic German shepherd coming in for an acupuncture treatment in—” She consulted her watch. “—twenty minutes. I’ll need Holly’s help.”

  Rachel went to the door and poked her head out. Shannon had returned from lunch, and she and Holly were laughing at some tale Brandon was unreeling.

  “Sorry to break this up, kids,” Rachel said. “Holly, please come here for a minute. Captain Bridger would like to ask you something.”

  Holly hesitated, her eyes darting left and right as if seeking an escape route, before she walked slowly to the office.

  Rachel placed an arm around Holly’s shoulders and said, “I’ll stay with you, okay?”

  “Me, too,” Brandon said. “And I promise the captain won’t bite.”

  Rachel stationed herself inside the office door and gave Tom a look to tell him she wasn’t going anywhere. Brandon stood beside her, his gaze following Holly.

  Tom settled on the edge of the desk and gestured for Holly to take the visitor’s chair. She sat with her shoulders rigid and her hands squeezed together in her lap. Absolutely terrified, Rachel thought.

  “How do you like your new job?” Tom asked.

  Holly’s gaze flicked to Rachel, back to Tom. “I like it a lot. I hope I can stay on.”

  “No reason why you wouldn’t,” Rachel said. She smiled, but Holly remained tense.

  “I was hoping you could tell me where your mother’s living now,” he said, “so I can give her a call.”

  Holly’s hands separated and formed fists, her fingernails digging into her palms. Rachel winced, sure Holly was about to draw blood, and she wished she could grab the girl’s hands and uncurl her fingers.

  “I don’t know where Mama is,” Holly said. “She always sent Grandma money when I was in school, for clothes and stuff, but she never has been good about callin’ or writin’. She always sends a Christmas card, though.” Her voice fell. “Just one for both of us.”

  The childlike bewilderment on Holly’s face was painful for Rachel to look at.

  “Do you have an envelope with her return address on it?”

  Holly stared at her hands in her lap. “Grandma burns the envelopes before I get a chance to see them. She’s always been afraid if I knew where my mama was, I’d run away and try to get to her.” She added in a whisper, “I guess I would.”

  That selfish old witch, Rachel thought. But was the runaway mother any better?

  “Do you think your father would know where your mother is?” Tom asked.

  Holly gave a bitter little laugh. “Not hardly. She wouldn’t want him to know. I think she left in the first place to—” She broke off and bit her bottom lip.

  “To get away from Shackleford?” Tom prompted. “Was she afraid of him?”

  “I don’t know. Grandma says I don’t recall things right because I wasn’t but eight.”

  Rachel added mind control to the list of Mrs. Turner’s sins. One more form of manipulation that Rachel knew entirely too much about. What was the old woman so determined to erase from Holly’s memory?

  “Regardless of what your grandmother told you,” Tom said, “I’d like to hear anything you remember from around that time. It could help us solve your aunt’s murder. Were your father and Rudy O’Dell—”

  Holly shot to her feet, making her chair rock behind her. Rachel moved toward the girl, but Tom stopped her with a look. Brandon shifted as if he could barely hold himself back.

  “I don’t remember anything,” Holly said. “I swear I don’t.”

  Tom stood. “It’s okay. Anytime you want to talk to me, give me a call. I really would appreciate your help.”

  Holly bolted for the door, and Rachel and Brandon stood aside to let her leave. But when her hand was on the knob, Holly turned back to Tom. “My daddy was at my grandma’s house the evenin’ after you came out to tell us about Aunt Pauline.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I don’t know. Him and Grandma went out in the yard to talk so I couldn’t hear.” Holly faltered for a second, then blurted, “She’s dead scared of him, Captain Bridger. I can’t stand to think about him hurtin’ her.”

  “Why is she afraid of him? What do you think he might do?”

  “I don’t— I can’t— My grandma would be real mad if she found out I was talkin’ to the law—to anybody—about our family.” Holly yanked the door open and fled.

  Brandon hurried after her, but Rachel blocked the doorway when Tom tried to follow. “Leave her alone! She’s been through eno
ugh for now.”

  “Rachel—”

  “Do I have throw you on the floor too to make you behave?”

  Tom flashed a grin. “Go ahead and try it. I’d like to see you in action.”

  “Don’t tempt me, pal.” Stop flirting with him. “Look. I get the same feeling you do—Holly’s been frightened into keeping her mouth shut about something. But I think you scare her too, with your uniform and your badge and your gun. She might open up to me, though, without you around.”

  Tom cocked his head and eyed Rachel. “You’re already closer to this investigation than I want you to be. Now you want to question Holly for me?”

  “I’m not saying I’ll grill her for information. But she’s more likely to talk to me than to you. I want this over with—for her sake and mine.” She had to tell him about that damned spider and then he’d probably launch into another speech. “I need to show you something.”

  She opened a cabinet and took out an alcohol-filled vial. The spider floated in it. “Somebody put this through the mail slot here at the hospital. It came in this package—” She retrieved the manila envelope and box from a shelf. “—and you can see how it was addressed. The spider was alive when I opened the box. It crawled out onto my hand.”

  Tom stared at the creature in the vial. He looked more than alarmed. He looked horrified.

  “Maybe it’s somebody’s notion of a sick joke,” Rachel said, not believing it for an instant.

  “This isn’t a joke,” Tom said. “Whoever sent it was trying to hurt you. Maybe kill you.”

  “Black widow bites aren’t fatal to healthy adults.”

  “But most people think they are. Somebody went to the trouble of finding this thing in the middle of winter because they thought it might bite you. And I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that Holly’s just moved in with you over her family’s objections.”

  “Nobody could have counted on it biting me. Maybe somebody just wants to scare me and make me kick her out, but I’m not going to.” Rachel released a shaky breath. “Do you think you’ll get any fingerprints off the packaging?”

  “Probably not, if the person who sent it was careful, but I’ll try. And I want you to be on your guard. There’s somebody out there who needs to keep Holly quiet about what she knows. If they think she’s talking to you, they’ll be determined to get rid of you too.”