Dae's Christmas Past
Page 22
“Can’t it just be reburied?” she asked as the door to the shop chimed and a customer walked in.
“Good morning,” I greeted my customer and ended the conversation about the demon horses. “It’s freezing out there, isn’t it? Would you like some hot tea?”
“No, thank you.” The tall, straight man was white-haired, probably sixty. He wore an old fashioned black suit. He walked quickly through the shop as though he knew exactly what he was looking for.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I’m looking for something in particular, something I heard that you possessed.” He turned sharply to face me. “You are the owner, Dae O’Donnell, is that correct?”
“Yes.” I was getting a bad feeling about this conversation.
“I’m looking for the St. Augustine bells. I heard that you had them here.”
His tone, and the way he regarded me, made me feel that he was daring me to tell him that I didn’t have them.
“I have the bells, two of them anyway. They aren’t for sale.”
“I have the third bell. I want to purchase the other two.”
It had only been a few years since I’d run across the first exquisite silver bell made by the St. Augustine monks hundreds of years ago. The legend of the monks, and their desperate attempt to save the bells from the marauding Spanish army, was something anyone knew who’d read about lost treasures.
I’d been able to get the second bell last year from Dillon Guthrie. Our pact was that I would let him know when I came across the third bell. He believed it would come to me, and wanted to buy them all when it did. He wouldn’t let them to go to this man, no matter what the price.
I was still on the fence about selling them to Dillon. They were very valuable, but my finder’s soul wanted me to keep them.
“I’d have to verify that the bell is authentic,” I said. “You’re welcome to bring it here, if you like.”
He smiled. “I don’t think so. Perhaps we could meet in some neutral place. You bring the bells you have, and a figure on what you’re willing to sell them for. We’ll see if we can work it out.”
I nodded. “I won’t sell the other two bells, but I might have a buyer for yours.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not selling either. I want the other two. I’ve searched for them for years.”
“Leave me your information. We can talk again after the first of the year.”
We exchanged cards, and the man left Missing Pieces.
Mary Catherine let out a long breath. “That was intense! I take it these bells are worth a lot of money?”
“Yes. More money than most people see in a lifetime.” I thought about contacting Dillon to let him know that I might have found the third bell. It seemed the wrong thing to do after just writing him off. That decision would also have to wait until after Christmas.
The weather got worse. Thick ice and fog settled in around Duck. Mary Catherine and I huddled in the shop until I thought there was no point in staying. No one was coming out in that weather. We bundled up, and headed home. The streets were almost deserted, and what light traffic there was skidded and screeched across Duck Road.
“It’s a bad day to be out.” Mary Catherine skidded and screeched herself as she almost fell on the ice.
“I guess we should have left sooner.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s just make it home in one piece. I’m stocked for the bad weather.”
“What about dinner at Kevin’s place?”
“I’m sure he’ll understand. The weather changes quickly. The ice should be gone tomorrow.”
But I wasn’t sure if the thick gray pall that had settled with the ice would leave us. I felt it in my bones, and in my soul. If there was a curse on Duck, this was it. I wasn’t convinced that any amount of sage could change it. I wished I could grab Grandma Eleanore’s watch again and disappear into the past until it was over.
The ice crunched under our feet as we talked and slipped going into the driveway.
“I have a wonderful recipe for tomato soup that might be just what we need tonight.” Mary Catherine’s spirit wasn’t diminished by the pall as I opened the door to the house.
“Sounds great. I hope I have all the ingredients. I’m sure the local grocery store closed hours ago, and I don’t think we want to drive anywhere else.” I closed the door behind us, and called for Gramps. There was no reply. “I’m surprised he hasn’t called if he can’t get home from Howard’s place.”
Mary Catherine was taking off her jacket when she glanced into the living room. “I think I may know why, Dae.”
I followed her line of vision. Gramps was tied and gagged in his recliner. Duran was standing over him.
“Welcome home.” Duran bowed mockingly to us. “I’m glad the bad weather didn’t stop you ladies from getting here.”
I put my bag and jacket on the kitchen table. There was no weapon close at hand, unless I counted a steak knife or two. Gramps’s service revolver was in the drawer beside him. I wouldn’t be able to reach it in time.
“What are you doing here?” Duran might have the upper hand, but I didn’t have to sound like he did. “You picked the wrong house to come at us. Sheriff Riley and Chief Michaels are here every evening for dinner. We were just talking about what we planned to cook. Please—stay for supper. They should be here any minute.”
I noticed Baylor taking up a protective stance in front of Mary Catherine, but he wouldn’t be much help. Duran could strike him down with his staff.
There was a hideous, preserved horse hoof on the top of the solid stick. I hadn’t noticed it at the ritual with everything else going on.
At that moment, it finally came to me. “You didn’t use the demon horses to kill Dr. Sheffield or Tom Watts, did you? You did it yourself.”
He frowned. “Let’s see you prove that. The police haven’t been able to keep any of my followers. We are outside your paltry justice.”
“True. But they don’t have a staff that will show blood and skin tissue from striking your victims. You killed Tom at Jake’s house to try to shut Jake up. Then you killed Dr. Sheffield because he wanted to box up the big horse and send it away. What happened? Why couldn’t you get the demons to do your dirty work?”
If he was upset at all at my revelation, he didn’t show it. “It takes time to get control of them. It was all I could do to keep them from running away without my direction. But you know that, right? You pushed them back into the fire, didn’t you?”
“I did,” I acknowledged with pride. “And I’m going to make sure they don’t come out again.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t need their help to kill you and your friends. Once I’m done, I’ll call my followers back, and we’ll do everything I promised, and more.”
Mary Catherine stepped forward. She’d lifted Baylor and put him around her shoulders. “That’s not going to happen, Duran. Your time is over. There are creatures you have to reckon with. I don’t know how that will end for you, but we each make our fate.”
As she spoke, I heard the sound of hundreds of horses’ hooves again, in the yard and on the street. I glanced out the kitchen window. These weren’t invisible demon horses. They were the living, breathing kind. They clustered around the house, neighing and prancing. Some were jumping up in the air, their front hooves pawing wildly.
“Stupid old woman!” Duran moved from standing beside Gramps toward Mary Catherine. Baylor let out a noisy howl to warn him away, showing his teeth and claws.
But he didn’t have to worry about it. Before Duran could reach Mary Catherine, a hundred bats flew down from the chimney and straight out at him. They clung to his clothes, and grabbed his hair. He panicked as he tried to push them away with his hands and staff. The bats wouldn’t move. They covered his head and chest as he stumbled blindly toward the back door to get away from them.
I ran to get Gramps’s emergency weapon, and held it toward Duran in case he decided to come back toward me. I grabbed one end of the duct
tape that had sealed Gramps’s mouth and yanked—probably too hard as he yelped and covered his lips with his hand.
“Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yes. Give me the gun before you hurt yourself.”
Duran had managed to open the back door and tripped down the stairs, falling into the back yard at the feet of the horses he’d wronged. The bats flew away, and he was left with the herd. A large brown stallion with a black tail faced him down, making him back up into another horse.
“Mary Catherine—”
“It’s out of my hands, Dae,” she said. “I don’t know what they plan to do with him, but he’s theirs now.”
As I watched, the mighty herd of wild horses—more horses than I even knew lived here— nudged and bumped him, threatening with teeth and hooves, until they’d tossed him on the stallion’s back. They ran out of the yard and into the street, crossing through the woods toward the ocean until I couldn’t see them anymore.
“Call Ronnie,” Gramps blustered and raged. “Call Tuck. Get me out of this rope. What’s going on, Dae?”
I walked outside and found Duran’s staff on the ground. I used a kitchen towel to pick it up and bring it inside. Mary Catherine was untying Gramps. I could hear a siren coming in our direction.
Was it over? What would the horses do with Duran? I wasn’t quite sure I believed Mary Catherine when she said she didn’t know what would happen to him.
But at least I could give the staff to Sheriff Riley. They might actually have something tangible to use against Duran and his followers. That would be a great Christmas gift for all of us.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Three days later the shore patrol found Duran on the beach. He was barely understandable, talking to himself, and muttering about the horses. There would be a trial for him and his followers, but Duran was sent to a psychiatric hospital on the mainland.
Mary Catherine never said that she’d understood what the horses had planned. I was pretty sure she was lying, but I didn’t call her on it. We all have our secrets.
Jake had come home from Raleigh with bad news—the state planned to send another team of excavators and archeologists to work on the horse cult project. I didn’t have to ask what he planned to do. I offered to help with whatever he needed.
The next night, Gramps heard a call on his scanner that the Corolla police and volunteer fire department had been called. There had been a powerful explosion that had demolished Jake’s house and barn. The explosion also pulverized the stone horse. There wasn’t enough left of it to piece together.
Kevin and I went out to help Jake salvage what he could. Heidi Palo was there too. None of us talked about what had happened. The official word was that chemicals, left behind by the excavation team, had accidentally blown up. The state was upset, but that was mitigated by several smaller horse statues that Jake had donated to them.
With the destruction of the big horse, the mood lightened in Duck and Corolla. Christmas was coming, and all the activities that had been planned for OBX Christmas were drawing crowds from the mainland and bringing joy to local residents.
Kevin hosted an open house at the Blue Whale Inn. Everything was lit by candles, and smelled of fresh oranges, apples, and blue spruce. He’d decided to go with a theme—one hundred Christmas trees. They were all sizes and types from spruce and fir to pine, and even cedar. Some were decorated by the Duck Historical Society with memories of people and places that were gone. Some had been decorated by the Ladies Sewing Circle and others by various groups from the area.
He put up his award for winning the Christmas decoration contest with great pride. Cody and Reece hated to admit defeat, but they shook hands with Kevin and munched down his snacks at the open house.
I saw a picture of Grandma Eleanore on one of the history trees. Rafe Masterson was there too, as a photo someone had taken of his painting that was housed at the museum. I enjoyed seeing both of them. I’d managed to stay away from going back into the past to see my mother again.
It was difficult, knowing I could do it. I thought about it a lot. What harm could it do?
Shayla called the day before Christmas to let me know that she was staying in New Orleans. “My Gram isn’t doing well, Dae. And I met someone who is seriously interesting. I hate to leave you there by yourself, but I need to find a life for me too. I hope you understand.”
“I do. I’ll miss you.”
“You know you can come down here and we can do your yearly séance for your mother’s spirit, right? Maybe the next time will be it.”
“I’m not going to do that anymore,” I told her. “I found a better way to talk to her, I think.”
“Good for you. It’s best to leave the dead alone anyway. We’ll talk again later. Merry Christmas, Dae.”
“Merry Christmas, Shayla.”
I hung up the phone. Mary Catherine had been trying to appear as though she wasn’t listening, but I knew she’d heard.
“Well?” I asked.
“I’m relieved. And I’m going to stay in Duck and re-open my shop. I may change the name. That’s just not me anymore. Maybe I’ll sell pet supplies, and give advice to pet owners. What do you think?”
“Gramps will be thrilled,” I told her as we bundled up to go to the town singing at Duck Park.
“What about you, Dae?” she asked. “How do you feel about me staying? You’ve just met your grandmother. I don’t want you to feel as though I’m trying to take her place.”
I laughed and hugged her. “You don’t have to worry about that. I hope you and Gramps will find something wonderful together. I’m glad you’re staying.”
Gramps’s broken leg was well enough that he could drive the golf cart again. He came back for us when the park was set up, and people were coming to sing. Everyone held candles in their hands that Cailey Fargo and Luke Helms lit from one larger candle. We stood close together in the park and sang old Christmas songs as loud as we could.
There weren’t many tourists there. It was mainly people from Duck. I looked up at Kevin as we stood with our arms around each other. I was looking forward to Christmas, and the New Year.
But when we got home that night and Mary Catherine had gone to her room, I sat on the sofa beside Gramps and asked him a question that had bothered me since I’d talked to Grandma Eleanore in the past.
“How did grandma die?”
Gramps sighed, and sat back in his chair. “That’s not something we should talk about, Dae, especially here at the holidays and all.”
“I want to know. I have a feeling she didn’t get sick and die.” I stared at his worn face as he looked away from me.
“You’re right. It was something to do with her gift, honey. She’d learned she could visit the past, you see, by using her gift to touch things and see where they’d come from.”
“What happened?”
His hands shook when he answered. “One morning she left—and never came back again.”
About the Authors
Joyce and Jim Lavene write bestselling mystery together. They have written and published more than 60 novels for Harlequin, Berkley and Gallery Books along with hundreds of non-fiction articles for national and regional publications.
Pseudonyms include J.J. Cook, Ellie Grant, Joye Ames and Elyssa Henry
They live in rural North Carolina with their family, their cat, Quincy, and their rescue dog, Rudi. They enjoy photography, watercolor, gardening, long drives, and going to our local Renaissance Fair.
Visit them at:
www.joyceandjimlavene.com
www.Facebook.com/JoyceandJimLavene
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorJLavene
Amazon Author Central Page: http://amazon.com/author/jlavene
Table of Contents
Dae’s Christmas Past
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapt
er Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-eight
About the Authors
Table of Contents
Dae’s Christmas Past
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-eight
About the Authors