The Buried (The Apostles)

by Shelley Coriell

  Because the twisted woman had been too deep into the game. “Did you get anything? A cell phone we can trace or credit card statement showing a purchasing trail.”

  “Completely off-grid.” A hint of a smile curved Hayden’s mouth. “But her truck isn’t.”

  Hatch snatched the piece of paper with the truck’s license plate number. He’d done more with less, like donuts. If they found the truck, they’d most likely find JoBeth Poole, and if they found JoBeth Poole, he was going to get her to talk, and he wouldn’t let her stop until she told him where she’d buried Linc.

  * * *

  Linc pinched the squishy, squirming body between his fingers and pulled the tick from his neck. Warm blood squirted across his hand, and he swished his fingers in the water.

  The water, stinkin’ and filled with ticks and slugs, had reached his neck. He’d torn apart his shirt, his pants, even rubber off the bottom of his tennis shoes, and tried to plug the holes. Wasn’t working. Water came in faster now. He stretched his neck, his face scraping the top of the plastic box. He had four, maybe five inches of space left. Not sure what that meant in terms of hours. Or was he looking at minutes?

  His chin shook. Tears, big sissy ones, rolled down his cheeks. “Don’t be a wuss. Don’t cry.” He didn’t need any more water in the stinkin’ laundry tote.

  * * *

  Grace yanked open the kitchen drawer, her fingers flying across spoons, forks, a spatula, and an ice cream scoop. She slammed the drawer and threw open the next, where she found a pair of butter knives and one steak knife. She palmed the steak knife. When JoBeth returned, Grace would be armed. The issue was Alex. During their twisted version of sisterly bonding, JoBeth had the gun aimed exclusively at the boy.

  “When she comes back, Alex, I want you to stay in the bedroom under the bed.”

  The boy poked through the drawer alongside her and pulled out one of the butter knives.

  Her heart lurched as she watched a boy trying to be a man. “You’ll do me more good if you hide,” she added. “When she doesn’t see you, she’ll be surprised.” And hopefully off her game.

  He rummaged through the next two drawers until he found a paperclip and ball point pen. With the knife in his hand, Hatch’s son ran up the stairs. He squatted in front of the door.

  “Sweetie, I know you want to help, but she’s going to see you. You’re not going to do either of us any good up there.”

  “Shut up, Grace,” Alex said with an exasperated puff. “I need it quiet so I can concentrate.”

  Hatch’s wayward son, the boy who knew how to break into shrimp shacks and hair salons, stuck the paper clip between his lips and jammed the butter knife at the door handle.

  Grace grabbed the lamp from the table next to the sofa and hurried to the foot of the stairs, giving the boy more light.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  JoBeth squinted down the hall, trying to see through the small windows on either side of the front door. The visitor on the front porch was still banging on the doorbell. She needed to shut him up before anyone else came to this hell house.

  She didn’t want to do this. She shouldn’t have to do this. It was Grace’s fault, making her talk and waste time. The stories and horrors of her childhood should stay buried. She mussed her hair and poked the gun into the back of her jeans. She cracked open the door and yawned.

  “Detective Tucker Holt of the Kentucky State Police. I’m here about Oliver and Emmaline Lassen.”

  She pressed a fist into her stomach. How did this man find her? She’d planned carefully. No one had seen her dispose of the Lassens, and she had left nothing behind, not even footprints and tire tracks because of the dogs she’d lured to the area with a few meaty bones. The worms burrowed deeper into her gut, tiny toothy needles. “Uh, they’re not here.”

  “And you are…”

  “A friend. The Lassens invited me to stop by their new place. I’m in Florida on vacation this month.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Denver area.”

  “Where are the Lassens?”

  “Haven’t showed up yet. They’re driving down from Minnesota. I’m expecting them any day.”

  He squinted at her. “What did you say your name was?”

  She didn’t. Damn. This wasn’t part of The Game. She wasn’t prepared for this. “JoBeth Poole. Is there something wrong with Oliver and Emmaline?”

  “I’m afraid so, Ms. Poole, and I’d like to ask you a few more questions.”

  She needed to get this cop out of the way. But he was a cop who was bigger and stronger. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t turn himself invisible. “Uh…sure.” Once he was inside the house, she could take him out of The Game and then disappear. She’d done it once already. But she wasn’t good with people, not like Sister Grace. She fiddled with the chain at her neck. What would Grace do? “Uh, would you like some sweet tea?”

  “The tea won’t be necessary,” the detective said. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d turn on some lights.”

  Most cops were stupid, but a few, like the Kentucky detective standing in the entryway and backlit by the vicious morning sun, had a few brain cells. Not as many as her. No, never as many as her. “Of course.” She flicked the switch in the entryway, but the wall sconce didn’t flare to life. “Breakers have been screwy for the past few days. Let me get the light in the living room near my computer. I know that one works.”

  “Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No.” Not inside the house. But you’d be shocked, Mr. Smarty-Pants Detective, to learn who is under the house. If JoBeth took off now, Grace would die eventually, but… She fidgeted with the chain at her neck. But Grace wouldn’t play out The Game alone. Sunshine Boy would be with her. Grace needed to be alone.

  “There’s a sheriff’s department vehicle in the drive. Do you know where the driver of that vehicle is?”

  “No. If he rang the bell, I didn’t hear. I’ve been sleeping all morning.” Quiet as a cat. Into the black. She slipped through the living room, her foot purposefully catching the card table leg. She went down. Her two computers went down.

  Detective Holt took a single step into the entry way. “Ms. Poole?”

  “Gah! I’m still half asleep. Can you get the light switch near the fireplace?”

  He took another step, gun drawn. Smart cop. But not as smart as her. Hidden by the wonderful dark, she lifted her gun.

  Boom.

  Kentucky cop down. Too bad she didn’t have a holler to roll him into.

  * * *

  “Was that a gunshot?” Alex asked as they tumbled through the cabinet and into the garage.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Grace grabbed the boy and dragged him through the garage away from her half-sister and the gun she carried. Someone could be shot and bleeding to death. Hell, someone could be dead, but she needed to get Alex away from this place. She needed to get to Hatch. JoBeth knew where Linc was, and Hatch might be able to talk to her, to build a bridge and reach the boy before he drowned.

  They reached the side door and Grace threw the deadbolt. She and Alex plunged into the brilliant light, their feet kicking up crushed shells on the circular driveway. The SUV sat twenty yards ahead. No purse. No keys. But they didn’t need a vehicle. They needed a phone.

  With Alex at her side, she raced down the drive. The Crismons lived a half block down the road. They rounded the SUV. Alex’s foot slipped into a pothole, and he pitched forward. She lunged for him but he slammed into the ground, his ankle bending at an unnatural angle.

  “Get up, Alex!” She reached for him and pulled him to his feet.

  “Aaargh!” He pitched forward, and she caught him. Tucking her shoulder under his arm, she hurried him along the drive. They rounded the SUV and into the sight of JoBeth’s gun.

  Her wild eyes blinked rapidly, as if pained by the daylight. “You know, you’re turning out to be a real pain in the ass, Sunshine Boy.” She turned the gun on Alex, squinting.
“Time for you to leave the Game.”

  Grace pushed Alex toward the road and lunged at JoBeth.

  A giant mass of black and white knocked her to the ground, a rumbling bellow ripping the air. JoBeth spun toward Grace, her gun hand arcing.

  “Nooooooo!” Grace screamed.

  The gun fired and jerked. Allegheny Blue froze in mid-air, a line of drool streaked across the side of his face, his ears fanned out. His body lifted and thudded to the ground at JoBeth’s feet.

  JoBeth screamed and jumped back, her eyes wide with terror. “Get it away!”

  Alex hauled himself upright but fell back to the ground, clutching his ankle.

  “Get up!” Grace said with a hiss.

  JoBeth didn’t seem to notice. She scrambled back, her hands, including the one holding the gun, clawing the air. “Get the dog away!”

  Grace crawled to the mound of black and white speckled fur. Blood poured from Allegheny Blue’s chest, and his body heaved as he panted heavily. She dug her hands into the silken folds of his neck. His sandpapery tongue slipped across her arm as big, droopy eyes that had seen way too many doggie years settled on her. “My dog…”

  His tail thumped. She dug her hands under his shoulders and was about to drag when the panting stopped. His eyelids fluttered and closed.

  “Blue!” Her frantic fingers slid along his neck and to the barrel of his chest.

  Still.

  For a half-second, she stared at the blood on her hands. “My dog,” she said in a choked whisper.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alex drag himself to his hands and knees. He was heading east, straight into the rising sun. She wiped her hands on the great knobby head and jumped to her feet. With JoBeth frozen in terror and blinded by the sun, now was the time to grab Alex and run. She took two steps when a body slammed into her back. Hands landed on her pearl necklace and twisted. Pearls dug into her throat. Grace clawed at the strand, loosening the pressure and gasping for air.

  Alex looked over his shoulder. “Grace?”

  She opened her mouth, but couldn’t scream. She punched the air. Go! Go!

  Alex inched forward. “Aaargh!”

  The pearls tightened. Grace swung an elbow, but JoBeth shifted. Dizziness grabbed her head, her chest, her feet. A gray haze slid over her vision, but not enough to block out Alex who was crawling away. The boy was a fighter. He would get away. She swayed on her feet. The gray haze thickened.

  Next to her JoBeth raised an arm, something bright and shiny glinting in the sun. Boom! Alex jerked and fell face-first into the gravel drive.

  “Goody. Bonus points for me. Now we can finish The Game, Sister Gracie. High score always wins.”

  * * *

  The broadcast reporter brought the microphone to her mouth. “In the latest news on the search for the Gravedigger, authorities are looking for a white, late model Ford pickup with Colorado plates and the license number…”

  Hatch turned away from the live broadcast airing from the Tate’s Hell parking lot. So far that made three television stations and five radio stations that were running the appeal for the public’s help in tracking down JoBeth Poole’s truck.

  Hatch wasn’t a numbers guy. He didn’t rely on them too much in his work, but two numbers were flying through his head: nine and six. Lia grant had lived nine hours in her box while Janis had lasted only six. Linc had just clocked in his fifth hour.

  But Linc was a fighter. It came with being thirteen and thinking you ruled the world.

  Hatch took out his phone. No new texts from Grace. Last he’d heard was that she and Alex were looking for gators and having tea with the folks who’d bought her dad’s old place. He was grateful Grace was keeping Alex busy. That boy didn’t need to be getting deep into his head over this. Something like this—the terror and madness of burying someone alive—could screw with a person’s mind. After they found Linc, he and Alex were going to have a long talk—about his friends, his free time, and the role Hatch would play in his life, because Hatch wasn’t about to walk away from the boy now.

  Nine hours. Six hours. So little time. He wanted forever.

  And Grace. He wanted Grace. All these years he’d shied away from family because he didn’t want to die burdened with regrets. But Grace had called his team what they were, his family. And she’d helped smooth the waters between him and Alex. He couldn’t imagine forever without her.

  His phone rang, and he cleared the thickness in his throat before speaking to Lieutenant Lang. “Hatcher here.”

  “Just got a possible hit on the white truck,” she said. “A Cypress Bend resident, a man named Paul Crismon, said he saw a muddy white truck twice in his neighborhood over the past week. Said he remembered it because the truck was so dirty. He couldn’t verify the Colorado plates, though.”

  “Where’s he live?”

  “Off River Run Road.”

  “I know the area.” Grace’s family home had been on River Run, and it was possible she and Alex were there. He had no time to talk, but when this was over, he hoped Grace would listen to what he had to say. “I’ll take this one. See if I can talk any more details out of the guy who saw the white truck.”

  * * *

  “With Sunshine Boy ruining the basement lock, The Game has once again changed,” JoBeth announced as she dragged Grace into the entryway of Gator Slide and slammed the front door, finally letting up on the pearl choker.

  Grace gulped breath after breath, her raw throat convulsing. Oxygen flooded her lungs, her veins, her brain. She steadied her hand on a packing box in the entryway. The gray haze lifted.

  Something cold and sharp settled between Grace’s shoulder blades. JoBeth’s gun. The one that had just shot Alex. A tremor rocked Grace’s jaw. She shifted her head to look out the narrow windows framing both sides of the door. She couldn’t see past the SUV. She pressed her palms, still wet with her dog’s blood, into her thighs. Was the boy alive? JoBeth knew how to shoot, but she’d been struggling to see in the bright sunlight.

  “Move to the middle of the living room.” JoBeth jammed the gun into her flesh. “And don’t mind the dead guy. He wanted to play, but I told him he couldn’t.”

  Grace dropped her gaze to the floor, and a soft gasp tore up her throat. A dark-haired man in a sport coat and jeans was sprawled on the entryway floor. A gun holster peeked out from his jacket. Blood pooled beneath his upper body. His chest wasn’t moving. Her heart dropped to her stomach. Dead. Like Lia and Janis and Allegheny Blue. And Alex?

  “You see, the plan all along was to lock you in that tiny set of rooms under the garage and leave you to die. Alone, all alone. The water and air vent systems to the rooms are running, so I’m guessing you would have died of starvation. What do you think?”

  Time was her ally. Maybe her neighbor Mr. Crismon had heard the shot. Maybe Hatch had called, and when she hadn’t answered her phone, had decided to track her down. Maybe Alex was not severely injured and made it to a phone or passing car.

  Her job was to keep JoBeth talking.

  “Or maybe the air duct system would break down, and I’d die of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Grace said.

  “Ooh, that would be a good one, too.”

  “You’re insane.” Grace couldn’t keep the words from stumbling out.

  She grinned. “Like mother, like daughter.”

  Grace pictured her own mother—a strong woman at one time, a woman who’d seen what no one else had seen. Her father… Her insides twisted and knotted. She didn’t even want to think about that man.

  “Okay, so you’re going to kill me. Are you going to shoot me?” Grace’s fingers slid to her neck. “How about hanging me with my own pearls?”

  “Ooh, I like that one. Your daddy told me he got you your first set of pearls on your thirteenth birthday. Do you know what he got me? Nothing. Yep, Daddy forgot about the dirty daughter buried in the cellar. At the time I didn’t realize the total thoughtlessness, the cruelty of his action, but after I got out, I did.�
�� She slid her fingers along her neck. “So you know what I did after I got away and built a life for myself under the sun? I bought me my own necklace.” She untucked the chain from the front of her shirt. On it hung the key she’d used on the basement door. “Great little reminder of where I came from and where I ended up. While I love the symbolism of you dying by pearls, I’m afraid I’ll have to use my gun. Much more expedient. I’m thinking about shooting you in the stomach and maybe catching a little bit of bowel. I hear that’s a nasty way to go.”

  Panic skirted down her spine. Grace raised her hands. This was it. Her last move. “Okay, JoBeth, you win.”

  “And?”

  “I lose.”

  JoBeth clasped her hands to her chest and giggled. “I love the sound of those two words on your lips.”

  “I’d like you to promise me one thing. When you’re done with me, please don’t hurt Hatch and Alex.”

  “The Sunshine Boys? I have no bone to pick with them. Yes, Sister Gracie, after I pump a bullet into your gut so you can fester and decay, I’ll leave. Won’t be easy, as your mighty team has been hard at work, but I’ve overcome some considerable obstacles in life.”

  Not really. The horrors of JoBeth’s childhood still held her prisoner. Her half-sister had escaped the dark, tiny rooms under the big house, but not the horrors of her mind. Could anyone go through what she went through and live a normal life? If that had been Grace hidden in the basement, deprived of sunlight and friends and an education, how would she have turned out? Would she have let the hate fester and eat away at her sanity?

  JoBeth aimed the gun at Grace’s stomach. “Game over.”

  Her gut tightened. “You’ve overcome so many obstacles,” Grace said. “It’s amazing, JoBeth, what you came from and where you’re at now. How did you do it? How did you manage to beat me? No one has. Not at work, not on the courts. Only you.”