Crossroads (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 7)

by Catie Rhodes

  I pressed my lips together and tried to ignore the defensiveness sparking in my brain.

  “This chick doesn’t exist on paper. Cop who questioned her about the murder wrote her name down as Jadine Gregson. Wasn’t Gregson the name your memaw used as her maiden name?” Griff paused, waiting for an answer. I managed to nod. “Jadine had an ID with that name on it, but there’s no record of her birth, her going to school, anything. God only knows where she came from or how she ended up with them. Cop who talked to her said she read his fortune. Told him he’d be a father this year. Said his wife announced she was pregnant that day.”

  I turned my face away from the picture, not wanting to tell give Griff any more information than he had. Instead I thought about how Jadine could see into the future. That’s how they knew the engagement ring con artist would have a flat and where she’d have it. They worked together as a team, a pretty nasty one. Had I underestimated my family? But my daddy had wanted me to grow up among them at the time of his murder. Maybe Daddy had been wrong. Maybe I didn’t belong with them. If so, where did I belong?

  “Let’s talk about some older stuff.” Griff closed the file he held and picked up another. “Your great-uncle Cecil. He did federal time in the 1970s for tax evasion.”

  I swallowed hard and pictured my skinny old uncle ordering pecan syrup on his pancakes. Heard him asking me to call him Papaw. Could I picture him not paying his taxes? Yes. Did it matter to me? The question made something squirm inside me. It was the same feeling I got around the Six Gun Revolutionaries. They made their own laws, exacted their own justice. I hadn’t cared as much as I thought I would.

  “Your cousin Finlay Gregg, who goes by Finn, was under indictment for theft.” Griff turned to me, a half smile on his face. “This was about ten years ago. The story I got was he became friendly with a middle-aged widow and systematically cleaned out most of the money her husband left her.”

  “What happened?” I liked Finn, knew he stole stuff. We first met because he tried to steal my watch. But he’d left someone completely broke?

  “He avoided prison. The woman ended up dropping charges after her house burned.” Something passed behind Griff’s eyes as he stared at me. Sadness made his features droop. “I’ll stop when you’re ready.”

  “No. Go ahead and tell me all of it.” I wanted this to be the last conversation Griff and I had about this but guessed it wouldn’t. A stray thought hit me. What if this subject marked the beginning of the end of my friendship with Griff? I didn’t want that at all.

  “I mentioned Dillon Worley Gregg earlier.”

  “I know exactly who you’re talking about.” My mind helpfully supplied a picture of Dillon telling the waitress we’d already paid the huge bill for our lavish breakfast.

  “This lifestyle is nothing new to her. Dillon was born into a mid-level crime family out of Alabama. She’s a chip off the old block, got a rap sheet a mile long. Extortion. Hot checks. Selling stolen items.” Griff closed the file and chewed his lip.

  “What?” My body tensed. Whatever else Griff had must be pretty bad.

  “Dillon was a suspect in a murder when she was seventeen.” Griff swallowed hard. “Her brother, Trigger Worley, got jammed up in a murder beef. Girl who was the only witness turned up drowned in her car. She’d run off in a river.”

  “How’d she get out of it?” I knew exactly how Dillon had done the murder. We done paid our bill. I give you a hundred and a twenty. Told you to keep the change. The knowledge should have made my blood run cold. But I, too, had killed to save someone I loved.

  “No evidence. All they had was Dillon had mouthed off that the girl was going to get shut up.”

  Griff turned a few more pages. “Shelly Montesano. Know her?” He held up a picture of a sixtyish blonde who looked damn good for her age.

  I remembered Cecil mentioning a Shelly. “Cecil’s wife. She’s out of state right now, visiting family.”

  “She’s not his wife. They’re not married. But they've been together thirty years. She’s your garden variety grifter, but her first husband was a bank robber.” Griff showed me a picture of a man lying in a pool of blood, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. “Shelly started having an affair with Cecil. Her husband went to rob a bank one day, and the cops were waiting on him. Said they got an anonymous tip.”

  Griff stared at me a long time, his gaze hot as a sunny day at the tail end of summer. “I bet I know what you’re thinking.” He winked at me, the good old boy sharing a joke with a pretty girl. “None of this is so bad. There’s probably a good explanation for all of it.”

  “The guy being beaten to death in Florida sounds pretty bad.” I imagined the number of blows it would take, when the victim would stop feeling the blows, and shivered. Then I wondered what he’d done to instigate it. Where did that come from? I’m not like this. Yet, whispered a chilly voice in my head. A rash of chill bumps appeared on my bare arms.

  “So you recognize it’s serious, then. Maybe you’re thinking none of it can touch you.” Griff’s voice was overly bright. It was starting to piss me off. “Or maybe you don’t much care? Your connections with the Six Gun Revolutionaries and Tubby Tubman make me think you’re no stranger to breaking the law. Maybe you think this is where you belong. Is one of those close?”

  The heat rushed up my back again, prickling, making my skin itch. My memory played back times I’d done things outside the law, things I could go to prison, maybe to Texas’s death row, for doing.

  “Hmm?” Griff raised his thick brows.

  “I don’t know.” Problem was, I did know, and I knew Griff would never understand. I wanted the chance to be part of something, of some place where I, Peri Jean Mace, belonged. Mattered.

  “If you’re around them when they commit one of these crimes, and you know about it, Texas law says you can face the same charges and sentencing they do.” Griff sounded the way my cop ex-boyfriend had all the times he lectured me. The budding anger in my gut went ahead and blossomed into a big pile of nasty.

  “I know that.” I spun to face Griff, ignoring Mysti’s groan from the other side of me. “You don’t always follow the law to the letter, Mr. Do-Right. And you sure as hell don’t protest when I help you break the law.”

  “The difference is I help people.” Griff’s voice raised.

  “Maybe my family thinks they’re helping too.” I didn’t believe this, not for a second. My family did what they did to help themselves. But I knew just from living that every family is its own society all by itself with different rules and norms. I wanted to find out how this one worked, find out if it was, indeed, where I belonged.

  Griff snorted. “Go sell it to somebody who can’t tell when you’re lying.”

  “Did you just call me a fucking liar?” I jumped off the couch, ready to fight with Griff, even though I knew I’d lose, even though I loved him like family.

  “If the name fits—” Griff shouted. My cellphone ringing cut off his angry words.

  “It’s Cecil,” I said and answered. “Uncle Cecil?”

  Cecil laughed. “Honey, go on and call me Papaw like everyone else. There any chance you’d come see me tonight?” My great-uncle sounded like he was smiling. “Jadine spoke with me about what happened earlier. I think we need to talk.”

  That ain’t all we need to talk about. “Sure. I can come see you.” What had happened to strangers coming into their camp being a big deal? I’d bet a crisp hundred-dollar bill they hadn’t gotten it straightened out.

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Now Cecil sounded like he was holding back laughter.

  “No, sir. Just talking with my roommates.” I had an eye fight with Griff as I spoke to Cecil. “I’ll put on some warm clothes and leave in the next ten minutes.”

  “That isn’t Griffin Reed you’re talking about, is it?” Cecil sounded even more cheerful.

  “Yes, sir.” The blood drained out of my head and rushed through my body, driven by a tide of adrenaline. How
had Cecil known who I lived with? We’d never talked about that.

  “You give Mr. Reed my regards. Tell him I am so appreciative he took my sweet niece in, despite all the history between us.” He chuckled. My mind raced. What history? How did they know each other? “Ask him if he shares his daddy’s fondness for rolling the bones.”

  My cheeks tingled. I didn’t answer Cecil. I was too busy trying not to pass out. I sat back down on the couch next to Griff.

  “Go on, Peri Jean.” Cecil’s voice firmed. “Tell him what I said.”

  I did. I repeated Cecil’s exact words to Griff. His face stilled. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. He leaned close to speak into the phone. “Let’s understand each other, Mr. Gregson. Or Gregg. Or Gregory. Or whoever you are this week. If you cause Peri Jean harm, I’ll be on you like a dump truck full of shit.”

  Cecil’s laugh rang over the cellphone. “Tell him I said, ‘Fair enough.’”

  I did it, never feeling more like a bystander caught in the crossfire between rival gangs than I did right then.

  “Peri Jean, Finn and Dillon want to have a campfire and roast marshmallows. Would you be a dear and bring some?” Cecil’s voice changed as though he’d flipped a switch. Gone was the menacing old buzzard. The sweet old uncle was back for more fun and games.

  I couldn’t answer at first. I didn’t know how to shift gears that fast.

  “Peri Jean, honey?” Cecil prompted.

  “Yes, sir. Just the marshmallows? Or graham crackers and chocolate too?” My voice cracked on the last word. A rivulet of sweat tickled down my side.

  “Oh, s’mores are a wonderful idea. Get it all.” Cecil’s voice lowered. “Now I’ve got some information about what happened to you this afternoon, about what got into you. Come quickly.” He hung up.

  What was he going to say when I told him about the scar tissue and the spell? Didn’t matter. It had to come up. I shoved the cellphone into my pocket and hung my head. I didn’t want to face Griff after the way I’d talked to him. I shouldn’t have let myself get angry. I was the one who insisted he tell me. I turned to him, trying to formulate a proper apology. Griff stood from the couch and hugged me before I could speak. His cologne made me want to sneeze, but I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed, the whole time wondering what went on between Griff and Cecil.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “You’re just trying to help.”

  “I am.” He let go of me. “But you’re seeking a meaning to ascribe to your life. Who am I to assume these people aren’t it?”

  I turned to Mysti, searching for anger or signs of rejection. Mouth turned down, eyes wet, she just looked sad.

  “We don’t want to lose you.” She pressed her lips together. “They’re going to spirit you away.”

  “I don’t think it’ll come to that.” I tried to laugh and choked. I stared into Griff’s handsome face. “Not now that I know who I’m dancing with. Thank you for the warning.”

  He nodded and patted my shoulder.

  “What’s the deal between you and Cecil? He do you wrong on something?” The words tasted sour in my mouth, but I couldn’t stand not asking.

  Griff shook his head. “Too painful to talk about. Okay?”

  “No problem.” I got up to walk out, more curious than ever but knowing I could ask no more. Mysti grabbed me in a fierce hug. The smell of sage incense clung to her hair. I hugged her back. I walked out to my car with the feeling I was forgetting something important, but I couldn’t figure out what.

  MY TOYOTA SEDAN’S built-in GPS offered two possible routes to the address Cecil gave me. I traced both routes with my finger and let out a surprised grunt. This went right back to the area where Travis lived. Griff, his constant hurry the driving force in his life, had chosen the fastest route up the freeway. I chose the route he didn’t take, and the GPS started telling me how to get out of Griff’s neighborhood. I rolled my eyes and lit a cigarette, conveniently forgetting I had needed GPS to find the freeway as few as three weeks ago.

  I picked up the snacks at a convenience store at the mouth of Griff’s subdivision and took the freeway several miles north, terrified the car behind me was going to mount my little Toyota and mate with it. The potholed back roads of Montgomery County came as a welcome relief. The streetlights flashed by less and less often until the lights glowing behind the dashboard were my only company.

  The tension in my neck loosened. Thoughts of how I wanted to handle telling Cecil about the spell that Mysti saw inside me climbed over each other, begging for attention. It would probably be best to listen first to what Jadine had to say. She’d saved my skinny behind earlier, and she might have some insight on how to get rid of the Coachman for good. His going away needed to happen, and soon.

  But eventually I’d have to tell Cecil what Mysti saw inside me. I didn’t look forward to that conversation. Cecil might get defensive, refuse to talk. He and Memaw’d had some sort of rift between them that never healed. He could also lie. That thought lit a little flicker of anger. Cecil better not try to fool with me.

  What would I do if he did? I didn’t have a way to leverage the information out of him unless I used my gifts to scare it out of him. That might kill him. Sometimes me getting fancy with my magic bore a close resemblance to a monkey running around with a grenade launcher.

  Then there was the beef between Griff and Cecil. Why didn’t he tell me before? A chilly voice spoke over chatter running through my head. Because Cecil might have never followed up with you. Griff didn’t want to strain your friendship. But he did spill the beans. Spill? What Griff had done was more like projectile vomiting. He wanted to keep me away from my family. He might have wanted to protect me. Or he might have wanted to deprive Cecil of having a relationship with me. The animosity between those two could have lit a bonfire.

  Whatever Griff’s motivation, his revelations had merit. People who did bad things tended to make the wrong folks mad. Sometimes they got mashed flatter than a cow turd underneath a tractor wheel. I had to be careful or I’d get squashed right along with them.

  I stopped on some railroad tracks to stare at the bright orb of moon chasing the rails off into the darkness. The road to the unknown. Story of my life. The thick banks of pine trees framing the railroad tracks contrasted sharply with the flat, concrete wasteland I’d lived in for the past few months. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen any of this when we went to Travis’s house. The trees, the silence, and the solitude felt almost like home. Almost. I smiled in spite of the snake’s nest of nerves writhing in my stomach. I pressed the accelerator and eased forward.

  “Destination is on the right,” the dull voice from the GPS intoned. I slowed to a crawl, not sure what I was looking for. The headlights flashed on a faded sign reading Woodsy Haven RV Park. Is this it?

  I turned into the driveway and stopped at a metal gate barring my way. Cecil hadn’t mentioned a gate. Maybe I was at the wrong place. I stared at the sign. No. The address on the sign matched the one Cecil gave me. A silhouette fluttered in front of my headlights. Orev, my raven familiar, landed on the gatepost. He leaned forward. I didn’t have to hear to know he was cawing at me.

  Orev wasn’t a nocturnal creature. He only came out at night if he had good reason. Had he come to warn me? I touched the magic of my black opal necklace and reached out to my familiar. The crackling feel of his spirit, which lived within mine, filled my mind. It wasn’t distress that brought him here. He thought he could help. With what? I tried to send the question to the bird, but he closed himself off to me.

  A small pair of headlights cut through the darkness on the other side of the gate. I disconnected from Orev and got out of my car, chest tight with apprehension. The gate slowly swung open. The headlights drew closer and passed under a floodlight. A golf cart? A skinny figure sat in the driver’s seat. I recognized Cecil’s posture before I made out his face. He drew alongside me and showed me the straight line of his dentures. “Welcome to Sanctuary.”

 
; What’s Sanctuary? Before I could voice my question, Orev cawed from the fencepost.

  “See you got your podna with you.” Cecil watched the raven, something close to awe on his face.

  “He thought he could help.” I stared past my uncle and into the darkened campground. Lights glowed on white sand paths through the maze of campers and motor homes, most with lights glowing from behind their windows. The smell of someone cooking on an outdoor grill drifted out. The chili I’d eaten at Griff and Mysti’s sat greasily in my stomach.

  “See that parking lot over there?” Cecil pointed at a dirt lot in front of a portable building with a sign that said Check In Here. “Park your car and ride up to my RV in the cart.”

  I did as Cecil said and joined him in the golf cart, the bag holding the marshmallows and other treats rattling against my chest. The silence of the cold night closed around us. Somewhere nearby, a deer snorted. The light sound of its hoofs hitting the dirt drummed and then faded as it ran for safety. Maybe I should have been doing the same thing. The golf cart whirred to life, and I understood it was too late.

  Cecil drove us up a hill and toward a stretch of woods running behind the RV park. Two rows of campers and RVs sat off to the side, separate from the rest of the park. We rattled over a wooden bridge and across a drainage pond and passed a large white sign reading Sanctuary in black, blocky letters.

  “So what’s Sanctuary?” I held on too tight to the edge of my seat. “The sign out front said Woodsy Haven.”

  “Sanctuary is the community my parents created after the death of their youngest son, my brother Raymond.” Cecil’s thin voice got even more so, a tremor shaking the edges of his words. I remembered who Raymond was. Memaw told me she left home after he died because her parents’ lifestyle caused his death.

  Cecil drove us past the RVs on Sanctuary’s little hill. A few of the blinds peeked open, dim lights streaking into the darkness. The stares from behind those blinds felt heavy with curiosity. Cecil stopped in front of a tour-bus-sized motor home with slide-out extensions on both sides and cut the golf cart’s engine. He faced me. “Sanctuary is wherever me and my people happen to be at any given moment. It’s a haven for all of us outsiders and castoffs. This RV park, Woodsy Haven, is our home base, so to speak. We take a rest here each year.”