The Buried (The Apostles)

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The Buried (The Apostles) Page 18

by Shelley Coriell

She grabbed her phone and called the Cypress Bend Medical Center. The good news: Janis was still breathing. The bad news: Janis was still not breathing on her own. Still hooked up to a respirator and surrounded by family and friends, Janis would be undergoing further tests and observation that morning.

  Next, Grace called Lieutenant Lang and confirmed that a guard had been posted at Janis’s door. The killer had struck out, and Grace had no idea if she’d make another move. No one knew the rules of this game.

  Last night the momentum had swung in Grace’s favor, but she had no plans to rest. Janis said her attacker was a woman. This morning she was heading into the office. She wanted to dig through past cases to see if she could spot a particularly despicable female who had a grudge against her and who knew her way around the waters of Franklin County. Plus she still needed to track down the person impersonating Ronnie Alderman from the cleaning crew at the phone store.

  When the coffee finished brewing, she poured two cups—one black, the other with three sugars and two dollops of cream, Hatch’s morning dessert, which always brought a smile to his face. When he walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, she held out the cup.

  “No thanks,” he said.

  Blue rolled to his back, offering Hatch his belly. Hatch stepped over the dog and reached for the keys on the kitchen table. Grace almost laughed at the affronted look on Blue’s face, but bit back her amusement when she noticed the tight lines around Hatch’s mouth.

  As he tried to leave the kitchen, she snatched the keys from his hand. “Let’s play a game,” Grace said.

  “This isn’t time for games.” He reached for the keys.

  She whipped them out of his reach. “If you win the game, I give you your keys.”

  “Grace…” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, holding back words he clearly didn’t want to say. This was Hatch at war. In his head he was already doing battle with Alex, and he didn’t want to start on another front with her. She’d seen plenty of these battles toward the end of their marriage.

  “The game is called, What’s the Worst Thing That Can Happen? I used to play it with my mother on the days when her paranoia was so bad she couldn’t get out of bed.” She placed her fingertips on Hatch’s shoulders.

  His muscles tightened, as if ready for mutiny, but he slumped into the kitchen chair.

  “For example, when Momma was worried about the bad man in the closet, I’d say, ‘Momma, what’s the worst thing that could happen?’ She’d answer with something like, ‘The bad man could come out of the closet and hurt you.’ Then we’d go another round and another round until the entire world ceased to exist because of nuclear annihilation. Sometimes I’d get her to smile, but most of the time the game just got her mind off her immediate concerns.”

  Hatch ran a hand down his face, worry leaching the gold from his skin. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I know I don’t, but you’re going to let me.” She made a silly dinging sound, sending a reluctant smile onto Hatch’s face. God, she loved that smile. “You take Alex to meet the hair salon owner. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  Hatch placed both hands behind his neck and rubbed. “The owner presses charges.”

  “Then what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “Alex would be locked up in juvie until he was eighteen.”

  “And then…”

  “And then he’d fall under the influence of kids destined to be career criminals and druggies.”

  “And then…”

  “He’d get out, rob a bank to pay for his new drug habit, and kill someone.”

  “And then…”

  “He’d get life in prison or worse”—Hatch blanched—“the death penalty.”

  “And then…”

  Hatch shook his head as a slow grin slid onto his mouth. “He wouldn’t be able to get his degree in nuclear physics and save the world from nuclear annihilation.”

  “All because he broke a window at the Clip & Curl.” She sat on the edge of the table and dangled the SUV keys in his face. “You win.”

  Hatch ignored the keys and gazed at her, an overly long lock of sunshine spilling across his forehead. “I’m being an ass.”

  “No, Hatch, you’re being a parent.”

  He shook his head. “I’m no parent. I have no idea what the hell to do.”

  “Your heart will tell you.” Growing up with a mother who in later years acted more like a frightened, confused child, Grace had received an early lesson in parenting. When she found her mother cowering in the corner because she thought someone was after her, Grace instinctively knew to join her in the corner and wrap her own body around her mother’s, providing warmth and protection. Within minutes the bad guys were chased from her mother’s mind.

  She opened up Hatch’s clenched fist, dropped the keys on his palm, and closed his fingers.

  Hatch pulled himself from the table. “Sure you don’t want to come? You and Alex seemed to have bonded.”

  “I think this is one you need to handle on your own.” She walked him to the door.

  “You will stay put. You will not leave this house.”

  Hatch knew her well. She wanted to go into work and visit the site where Janis was buried, but that wasn’t going to happen this morning. “That’s the plan,” she said with an irritated sigh. She aimed her chin at Blue, who was still sprawled in the middle of the kitchen floor. Not only had he missed his morning dig, he hadn’t eaten a bite of bacon, and he hadn’t taken a drink of water. “I need to keep an eye on him. Something’s wrong.” She opened the door. “Now stop stalling and get the Clip & Curl issue straightened out with your son.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Alex scooped the tangled pile of hair with the dustpan and dumped it in the trashcan, banging until every hair was gone. With a determined face, he headed for the next pile.

  “He’s not a bad kid,” DeeDee told Hatch as she motioned to the hydraulic chair. DeeDee, the owner of the Clip & Curl, had agreed to let Alex clean the shop every Sunday until he earned enough money to pay for the broken window, and to his credit, Alex was taking the cleaning job seriously. Maybe because DeeDee had gray hair and a few wrinkles, much like the boy’s granny. Or maybe the kid was finally beginning to realize these guys he called friends were anything but, because they’d bailed on him again. Or maybe the boy had played one of Grace’s what if games and was picturing nuclear annihilation.

  Hatch sunk into the chair. “If he’s a good kid, why’s he habitually doing bad things?”

  DeeDee chuckled as she snapped a pink plastic cape and settled it around his neck. “Growing pains. I know. I raised four boys.”

  “Four boys?” Hatch squinted into the mirror in front of him. “Where are your battle wounds?”

  DeeDee ran a comb through his damp hair. “I got a few, the boys, too, but they all turned out all right. Two are doctors, one’s a college professor, and the baby runs a bunch of vacation rentals over on St. George Island.”

  “What’s your secret?”

  DeeDee picked up her scissors and snipped at the back of Hatch’s head. “Horses.”

  Hatch laughed.

  “If I’m lying, I’m dying.” DeeDee continued to snip his hair. “My boys raised and showed horses. They were too busy mucking stalls and combing horse tails to get in trouble.” She pointed the scissors at Alex, who was now cleaning the front glass window with a wad of paper towels. “I’m guessing your boy has too much time on his hands. A bored kid is a kid who spends too much time in his head, and sometimes that place leads to trouble.”

  Between working at the cemetery and cleaning the Clip & Curl, Alex was going to be one busy boy over the next few months. Not much time to hang out and cause trouble with rowdy friends. But what about after this summer, long after Hatch left? Alex would go to school and do what? Hang out with other bored kids?

  Hatch couldn’t let that happen, not as long as he breathed the good air on this earth. He would
talk to Alex’s granny about sports and clubs, maybe even suggest a part-time job. He could put some feelers out and talk to Grace. She knew this town, loved this town, and she seemed to have a soft spot for Alex. He’d been surprised at how good she was with the kid until he remembered much of her childhood had been spent taking care of her mother. DeeDee continued to cut, and the heaviness weighing on Hatch’s shoulders fell away. He could rely on Grace to help with Alex.

  By the time Alex emptied the final garbage can and put away his cleaning bucket, DeeDee had finished Hatch’s long overdue haircut. He ran a hand through his hair and squinted at himself in the mirror. “You didn’t take off much.”

  “Cuttin’ off liquid sunshine like that would make this world a much darker place,” she said as she took off the cape and gave it a shake. “The woman you share a pillow with would kill me.”

  That would be Grace. Waking up and finding her looking into his eyes was like waking up in heaven. Most folks saw Grace as cool, maybe even a little steely, but that was just the by-product of her drive and determination, which both came back to heart. And boy had he seen Grace’s heart, with Alex the past few days and during the hunt for a sadistic killer. He jammed both hands through his damp hair. And he’d seen it last night on his boat.

  Grace’s bold admission of love had tangled his tongue, along with her motive for divorcing him. She’d severed their marriage with a swiftness and sharpness that had left him bloody and flat on his ass, all because she’d wanted to save him from himself. As usual, she’d been right. He loved Grace—hell, still did— but couldn’t live in her world. After they married, he’d taken a few charter fishing jobs to keep him at sea, but still, he was restless. However, he’d been unable to leave Grace. Leaving her would’ve meant leaving his heart, and that would’ve been suicide.

  As he’d grown more bored and restless, he’d gone deeper into his head. And like father like son, that’s where the trouble had started. Deep in his head, he saw his father, tied to a life he never asked for and dying before age forty behind a counter in a tiny auto parts store with a heart full of regrets. Hatch swore he’d never be that man. He swore he’d never be a parent. And he swore he’d never give his heart to another woman. Grace had hurt him too much the first time.

  But the truth was he didn’t have any choice about giving his heart to another woman. Grace still held his heart, and he had no idea how to get it back. And after sharing a pillow with her and waking up in heaven, he wasn’t sure he wanted it back.

  * * *

  “One, two, heave!”

  The veterinarian, Grace, and twins Ricky and Raymond lifted Allegheny Blue onto the exam table. Blue licked her elbow.

  “Yaaay!” cried Ricky. “Mission accomplished!”

  Raymond tugged at the hem of Grace’s linen tank and looked at her through a fan of dark brown lashes. “Is Blue gonna die?”

  She settled her hand on the boy’s head. She hadn’t planned on bringing the twins to the vet, but their grandmother, who’d given Grace and Blue a ride when Grace’s car had once again refused to start, needed to stop by the sheriff’s station and talk with a deputy about Alex, and the twins didn’t need to be there for that. “Blue’s a tough old guy,” she said. But this morning he hadn’t eaten, gone outside to dig, or moved from the kitchen floor. She settled her other hand on the dog’s head and scrubbed his floppy ear. “Let’s see what the vet has to say. Now you two have a seat.”

  The boys scrambled onto the bench seat across from the exam table while the vet scratched the dog’s belly. “How’s the old guy’s pads?”

  “A few days ago he broke open the front right again, and I administered the bear grease ointment.”

  The vet studied Blue’s paws. “You’re looking good, old man, and I’m glad to see you stopped those long treks along Highway 319.” The vet lifted the saggy skin around the dog’s mouth, checked his teeth, throat, and ears. Then he poked around the dog’s belly. At last he sat on the swivel stool next to the exam table.

  Grace sat between the boys on the bench, where hundreds of worried pet owners had sat before her. Not that she was his owner. “Well?” Grace asked.

  The vet put away his clipboard. “He’s old.”

  “That’s it? He’s old?” She hated not knowing what was going on, of being in the dark.

  “Pretty much sums up his problems. His teeth and gums are in relatively good shape given his age. Coat, ears, and nose indicate general good health. Of course I could do imaging to check for internal issues, take some blood, and put him through additional tests.” The vet dug his hand into the saggy skin around Allegheny Blue’s neck and scrubbed. The dog purred. “But at this point I don’t recommend an invasive course of treatment. He’s content and not in pain.” The vet took a small pad of paper from his coat pocket. “If you feel a need to do something, get this prescription filled and give him vitamins. In the meantime, rub his belly and scratch behind his ears. If he seems to be in distress, bring him in.”

  “But he’s not eating.”

  “Make his meals more appealing. Soften his dog food with warm milk. Add a special treat, like a scrambled egg.”

  “Bacon,” she said with a sigh. “He likes bacon.”

  “So give him bacon.”

  “I already give him a slice with every meal.”

  “Give him two.”

  “That can’t be good for him.”

  “Grace, your dog is old.”

  “He’s not my dog.”

  Blue thumped his tail.

  The vet chuckled. “Blue’s time is limited. In my professional opinion, I suggest you let him enjoy what time he has left. Let him have another slice of bacon.”

  A warm, tiny hand slipped into hers. Raymond’s head dipped in a serious nod. “Or two.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hatch hopped onto the gunwale and tied off Lamar Giroux’s boat to the temporary dock set up in a tiny inlet along the northern end of Bremen’s Bayou. A portside seam in the boat had buckled, letting in a tiny puddle of dark, brackish water. The water sloshed over Grace’s shoes, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “You’re quiet,” he said.

  She stood. “I’ve been thinking.”

  He grabbed the dock post with one hand and offered her the other. “About?”

  She took his hand and steadied herself as she stepped onto the dock. “Bacon.”

  The boat rocked, but Hatch didn’t move. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more, Grace accepting his assistance or her answer to his question. “Did you say bacon?”

  As if sensing his profound confusion, she shrugged. “It’s complicated.” Straightening the pearls at her neck, she headed down the dock toward the crime scene tape.

  Welcome to his world.

  In the bright light of day, the swampland looked no less menacing. He and Grace picked their way along sickly brown marsh grass and through noxious-smelling mud. Tangles of vines and branches clawed at his legs as they climbed the rise to where more than a dozen men and women in uniform worked the crime scene. The team included Jonny Mac, who along with three other men was helping wrangle Janis Jaffee’s wooden coffin from the earth.

  “Nice of you to finally drag your ass out of bed,” his teammate said as he yanked on a rope. The coffin lurched from the mud.

  Hatch shoved aside a rock wedged against the wood. “You know us pretty boys. We need our beauty sleep. Even took some PTO to get a haircut this morning.” He gave his head a waggy shake. “What do you think?”

  Jon shifted his eyes from the coffin. “Everything go okay?”

  Jon, like the rest of his team, knew about Alex and his latest transgression. “No blood.”

  “Glad to hear.” Jon and the others yanked again. Hatch lifted, mud slurped, and the earth finally relinquished the coffin. Once they got the box settled on a tarp, Jon stepped away and smiled at Grace. “Good afternoon, Grace.”

  “Is it good?” Grace held her arms close to her chest, her hands rubbing
her skin as if to ward off the cold. Heat rose from the earth in steamy waves, but the gaping hole in the earth was chilling.

  “Still working on that,” Jon said.

  “What’d you all find?” Hatch asked.

  “No surprises,” Jon said. “Same MO as the first victim. Crudely built coffin, phone restricted to call only Grace, size eight wader prints.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “Two alligators and a bobcat, and none of them are talking.”

  “What about on Carrabelle beach?” Grace asked.

  “No signs of struggle in the sand or shoreline. It looks like Janis was running along the water’s edge, rendered unconscious, and dragged to a boat. Tide washed away all prints.”

  “Level Two.” Hatch rubbed at the back of his neck. “Higher level of difficulty.”

  “But how can someone abduct a grown woman from a public beach and boat through the bay and river with no one noticing anything?” Grace asked.

  “Someone using a boat with no lights and an electric motor,” Hatch said. “Given the clouds last night, she’d be all but invisible.”

  Grace toed a chunk of caked mud. “Exactly. We’re running through the dark, not quite sure of what we’re chasing.”

  Hatch worked best with people. He could touch people with his hands and words. Other than Lou Poole, they had no witnesses. Grace had compiled a list of people who may want to start a grudge match against her, but so far, they had no suspects. He paced from one end of the tarp to the other. Their unsub wasn’t invisible, just good at maneuvering through the dark. “We need light,” Hatch said.

  “And since it’s not coming from the outside…” Jon started.

  “We turn inward.” With a smile, Hatch reached for his phone.

  Grace looked from one to the other, her forehead creased. “What are you two talking about?”

  Hatch and his SCIU teammates at times spoke a language only they understood. At other times, they didn’t need words. “I’m bringing in The Professor.”

  “Hayden Reed,” Jon added. “He’s our team’s criminal profiler. He’ll walk the places where our unsub’s walked, get in her head and—”

 

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