Chest of Bone (The Afterworld Chronicles Book 1)

by Vicki Stiefel

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Is it? You’re the impediment, one that needs to be removed. Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

  The phrase flung me into the past.

  I sit on the fresh-mown grass, on a lonely hill with a view of Mt. Cranadnock.

  Tommy. I feel him at my back as he strolls up.

  “Hey, Clee.”

  “Hey, Tom.” I miss our longer names that aren’t cool as teens. Tommy and Clea somehow sounds better, fits better.

  He sits beside me, uncaring that his favorite pair of jeans will get grass stains, and I love that about him.

  “I heard you bombed out with Jen,” he says.

  I did.” I make my voice assured, confident in ways I don’t feel. “I was performing at that kids’ party. Like I always do. You know, where I was doing Dave’s mentalism tricks. The kids were eating them up.”

  A sidelong smile. “You’re good at them.”

  “Thanks. But they’re tricks, practice, nothing more. I’m no shut eye. I was in the middle of a cold reading. Jen was there, with her little brother. And I looked at this kid, Luke, and blurted out that his mother was hurt.” I shrug. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sweetness.” He pushes my lips into a smile.

  I slap his hand away. “Stop it. One of the adults called home. Turned out, Luke’s mom had fallen down the stairs that morning. Luke was shocked. The kid hadn’t known. Everybody got really quiet then. Spooked. Jen… Ever since then…” I puff out a breath. “I really stink at friendships.”

  He winks. “Not with me.”

  “You’re special.”

  “Well, natch. But so are you.” He tugs my hand to his lips and kisses my palm.

  I chew on his words for long moments. “I scare people. Sometimes… I know what they’re going to say or do next. I feel their emotions, too.”

  “So keep it to yourself. Your empathy gene is in overdrive, kiddo.”

  I pluck a couple blades of grass, toss them. “It’s more than that. You know it.”

  “Jen hurt you, huh?”

  I shrug.

  He massages my shoulders. I feel his caring, his love. He comforts me in ways others can’t.

  “I’m going to fuck her over good,” he says.

  “Tommy, don’t.”

  “Tom.”

  “You’re going cold, Tom.” The sun shines so bright today, so dazzling. I shiver. Beside me, Tommy gets colder and colder, smoky, like dry ice. He burns. “Please don’t. It’s cruel.”

  He notches his head. “So? Look what she did to you.”

  “That wasn’t cruelty. Just human nature.”

  “Yeah, well, this human’s gonna nature her but good.”

  And he did—dated her, bedded her, and dumped her. And whatever else he did, whenever I’d see Jen in school, she’d shoot me a wary, almost frightened glance, and give me a wide berth.

  If that was what my magic produced… Revulsion tremored through me.

  The memory of Tommy, vivid, alive. At times like this, I felt like an amputee, missing an arm. Tommy’d always had my back, sometimes to the detriment of others.

  “Clea?” Larrimer said. “Clea?”

  I shook off the memories and snapped, “Thanks, but I watch my own back.”

  “As you will.” In one liquid movement, he unfolded himself from the chair. “I’m heading out.”

  “Not without breakfast,” came the steel-laced voice from the kitchen.

  “Of course, Lady,” Larrimer said.

  Bernadette—I’d swear she could command battalions. That was the strength I needed to acquire. Except it wasn’t me, not who I was. If only she’d see that.

  Larrimer straightened, all six-foot-plus of him, then gestured toward the red chair. “You can have your property back now.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  His deep-chested laugh erupted.

  He was one of those. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

  A board creaked. Lulu stood on the stairs. The two mutts ran to her.

  “How’d you sleep, kiddo?” I asked.

  Her shrug said it all.

  “This is James Larrimer. I’m working with him on your dad’s case.”

  Larrimer crossed to her. “I’m sorry about your dad. I know how hard a loss like that can be.”

  “Thank you.” Lulu looked up at him all googly eyed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Larrimer.” She beamed.

  Oh, dear, a crush.

  He crouched down to pet the dogs, scratching beneath their chins. “Handsome. Part Brittany, aren’t they?”

  She giggled, blushed. “Yes.”

  A spark of irritation, and I’d almost blurted What about Ronan? Geesh!

  We sat around the dining table while Bernadette buzzed about the kitchen, putting out steaming pots of coffee and tea and laying platters of biscuits and ham and eggs in front of us.

  When she finally joined us, she gave me a wink. Oh, that devil. She knew how shocked I was at her welcoming Larrimer and Lulu. Understatement. Some Candyland golem had replaced my Bernadette.

  I leaned toward Lulu, a brief touch to her hands. “It’s been a scary time for you, sweetie. We’re trying to understand why your dad was killed and why those men came after you.”

  Her puff of breath ruffled her bangs. “A few weeks ago, Daddy started acting funny.”

  “Funny how?” I asked.

  She kneaded her napkin. “He sort of, well, got all closed up. I tried to get him to talk to me, but… he kept saying I was his first treasure, he had to protect me.”

  That made me smile. “Well sure. That’s what dads do.”

  “His other treasures?” Larrimer said.

  She shrugged, began to play with a long strand of copper hair. “I don’t know.”

  “Did he do anything unlike himself?” I asked. “Go anywhere unusual?”

  She shrugged again.

  When I’d visited Tibet, I met a young girl with a loving spirit and many secrets—Lulu reminded me of her. I searched for the path inside her, found a maze of wants and needs, fears and secrets, all twisted together, constantly shifting.

  Larrimer leaned his chair back onto two legs.

  Bernadette’s unibrow rippled as she frowned, and he lowered the chair to the floor.

  I lifted my work from the knitting bag beside my chair. “Feel it,” I said to Lulu.

  Lulu reached a tentative hand toward the mushroom-colored scarf. “Oh. Wow. It feels like butter, no, velvet.”

  I smiled. “It’s cashmere. From Loki and Lofn.”

  “You mean…?”

  “Yeah. Two of my goats.”

  Lulu laughed, a sweet chime. I knit, and as I did, Lulu relaxed as she fingered the scarf, rubbing the cashmere over and over.

  “The lace edging,” I said, “Is called a Fir Cone stitch. Easy to knit.”

  “I could never knit anything that pretty,” she said.

  “Sure you could.” I snared her eyes, but didn’t stop knitting.

  “After Daddy died, and I was home—”

  “Alone?” Larrimer said.

  “Yes. We don’t have any relatives.” She twirled her hair, dipped her chin. “And I’m almost sixteen. I didn’t know Clea was my guardian. Daddy never told me. Then Ronan called and said I should stay with him. But then later, I went home again.” She turned to me. “You know why.”

  “I do. And those men came.”

  She sighed, looked away. “I don’t want to remember.”

  I couldn’t blame her. I was so tempted to give her a pass. Instead, I ran the back of my hand across her cheek. “I wouldn’t either. Except, it could help find your dad’s killer. And it can be better to get some stuff out.”

  “I guess.”

  “The men, Lulu,” Larrimer said. “Did they say anything before they came into your living room?”

  A one-shouldered shrug. “Maybe. Sort of.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “One said if they didn’t find it, The Master would kill th
em.”

  he Master.I shot Larrimer a glance, and he shook his head, the barest movement. But his eyes gleamed like a cat’s when it spotted a mouse.

  “I don’t know what they were looking for,” she said. “It was all fast and icky. And then they came into the room, and I escaped.”

  To the secret room under the barn. But what did Dave foresee to prepare that room, the exploding windows, Lulu’s “trial runs?” If there was such trouble brewing, why hadn’t Dave talked to me about it?

  “Is there anything else you can recall?” Larrimer asked, his voice a deep caramel. “A small thing, perhaps?”

  Her cheeks flushed. “I disobeyed Dad. He told me never to look back, only to run. And I did. Except, I looked back once. And in front of the red shed, I saw that big hearse thing.”

  After we cleaned up, Larrimer vanished into my office, and I changed and got my stuff, preparing for a little road trip. I expected Larrimer would join me. He’d be ready fast, so I’d have to hustle as I planted a few seeds. I made a dozen calls around town—shops and eateries, the police and the selectmen’s office. All schmoozing, sure, but I carefully mentioned “The Master,” to see if anyone reacted. No one had, but the trees would start clacking. If I shook enough branches, a juicy morsel might fall out.

  Larrimer reappeared wearing all black right down to his thin leather gloves and began to strap on a dual-pistol shoulder harness. Two guns, knife slots. Impressive and useful. And all cold predator.

  “I’m heading over to Lulu’s place,” he said.

  “Ready when you are.”

  He straightened. “Not a good idea.”

  I smiled.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I think it’s a very good idea. In fact, that’s exactly where I was headed.” With a stop in between.

  Grim-faced, he crossed his arms, all bulging biceps and rigid resolve. “You’re injured. Tired. And you’re a target. I don’t need to be worried about you while I’m examining the house.”

  I tilted my head. “Like you have charge of me. Right.”

  “You’re my adjunct,” he said, words spat like BBs. “I make the decisions.”

  “Okay, then.” I nodded. That was my windup. Now I slammed him with the pitch. “Except, as Lulu’s guardian, the house is mine now. Step one foot in the place without the proper paperwork, and you’re toast.” I smiled, sweet as pie.

  The temp in the room definitely dipped. He could freeze me all he wanted, we were going as a team.

  With his “okay” nod, I relaxed.

  Then a finger poked under my nose, and he bent until his eyes were even with mine. “You don’t ever threaten me again, Clea. Not ever.”

  I might have shivered a little as I shrugged on my leather jacket. I slid my Glock into its shoulder holster and my Tru-Bal throwing knife into its boot sheath, added an extra clip, and tugged on my leather fingerless mitts.

  After yesterday, I wasn’t going anywhere unprepared.

  From his pack, Larrimer pulled out some fancy-assed gun I didn’t recognize. Intense. “Ready?”

  I nodded. “We can take my truck.”

  I reached for the mudroom door, and heard Lulu say, “Wait!”

  “I’ll warm up the truck.” Larrimer plucked the keys from my hand.

  “Coward,” I mumbled, as Lulu appeared in the mudroom.

  “Wow, you look…” she said.

  “Badass?” I grinned. “We’re just doing a little reconnaissance.”

  “Where?” she asked.

  Crap, I’d hoped to avoid this. “Over at your place, hon.”

  She clasped her hands, a smile on her face. “I’ll come! I can be ready in a sec.”

  I hated turning her down. “I’m sorry. No.”

  Her eyes welled with tears.

  “We’ll take you back there,” I said. “Just not today.”

  She spread her arms, palms up. “I want to go. The stuff I have here, well, that’s what I kept at the store and in the back of the pickup. At the house I’ve got—”

  “Not today. I’m sorry.”

  Her chin trembled.

  In so many ways, Lulu’s life had been stolen. I rested a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe we could bring you something from home?”

  She cocked her head to the side, eyes brightening. “Okay. That would be good. Um. I know! My pink dress in the closet. And my bras. I really want my bras. And the picture album next to my bed. My jewelry box. It’s on my dresser. And there’s Blue Monkey. Dad gave me him for Christmas. Mutt and Jeff tried to steal him before… I think he’s under the bed.” She flapped her hands. “I mean, he’s got slobber all over him. Gross.”

  I winked. “We can handle Mutt and Jeff’s slobber.”

  A giggle. “Thanks. That’ll be good until you can take me back.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Larrimer grudgingly relinquished the wheel when I insisted on driving, and now sat in the passenger seat, bubbles of annoyance floating around him. Tough. It was my truck, my roads, my dead friend.

  Snow flowed across the landscape and softened the world like a white drop cloth. The town plows hadn’t yet made a second pass on the backroads and the going was slow. Larrimer’s displeasure finally dissipated, which was when he said, “I know where you’re going, and it’s not to the house. Not right away.”

  Smarty-pants. “Shatzkin Funeral Home is the only game in town. So Shatzkin’s hearse parked outside her home when she was attacked bugs the hell out of me.”

  “Could be nothing,” he said.

  “True. He could’ve simply been paying her a condolence visit. I thought we might stop and ask him on the way to the house.”

  “Good.”

  As we turned right onto Main Street, my phone chimed Beethoven’s 5th, while Larrimer’s played Clapton’s cover of “I Shot the Sheriff.”

  I looked at Larrimer and smiled. “Nice ringtone.”

  He grinned, all white teeth and bronzed skin. Given the heat pooling in my nether regions, that smile should be banned.

  “Bob,” I said into the phone.

  “How’s it going with Larrimer?” he asked.

  Exasperation made me want to snark. He hadn’t told me about Larrimer’s arrival, and now was acting all paternalistic, something he hadn’t done in years. “Fine. He seems competent.”

  Bob snorted. “That’s one word for it. We’ve made some progress on Carney. I could use your expertise today. Special Agent Taka would benefit from an observation.”

  I almost asked if she benefited from his banging her. Almost. “Give it up, Bob. Carney’s a minor-leaguer. Taka will handle him fine, and you know it.”

  Shatzkin’s Funeral Home appeared around the bend, and I slowed. “Gotta go,” I said, and clicked off.

  I pulled into the driveway next to the large gray Victorian with the wide pillared porch and parked beside a hearse. My wrist started to itch like crazy, and I scratched. A signal of some sort?

  Larrimer stilled my hand with his gloved one. “Don’t do that. You’ll make yourself bleed.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  His chuckle irritated me. I felt smothered. First Bob, now Larrimer.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  No cars were parked out front, so no funeral in progress. As I punched the back doorbell, I tried to ignore Larrimer’s intense presence behind me. Fail. Good thing he’d covered his array of firepower with his jacket or he’d scare the hell out the funeral director. I gripped my knitting bag. He’d better not make any cracks about it.

  Boy, did I have my grouch on.

  Sonorous chimes rang, and soon a large-bosomed woman with gray hair opened the door. She wore a gray dress, too, that matched her hair and the house. Nothing like color coordination.

  After we showed her our badges, she led us down the hall, where we passed a large man smelling of Listerine heading the other way. Apparently not Shatzkin. She ushered us into a small waiting room and opened the door to an office that once must have been a
back parlor.

  “Visitors, Terrance,” she said, and turned to us. “He’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Once she left, I peered into the office. Heavy oak lined the room; papers—stacks of them—were strewn about in a seemingly random fashion, along with hole punches, notebooks, binders, and a sleeping, ancient Great Dane. He was gray, too.

  A blue leather wingchair facing the desk on the far wall hid the occupant, but not the sticky psychic scent that perfumed the room. To the chair’s left on the floor, my eyes snagged on what looked like an invitation, calligraphed in red atop a pile. Too far away for me to read, it pulled at me as if it were magnetized, and that wrist itch worsened. Interesting.

  I moved closer, trying to get a peek at the card. The Great Dane chose that moment to totter over and butt its head against my hand. I hunkered down to pet him, drifting ever closer to the invitation. What I got was a face bath from a humongous pink tongue. Larrimer cleared his throat, I stood, and he waved a blue-dotted handkerchief. I retreated to where he sat and wiped my face.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  No hint of answering laughter except the eyes. Damn those laughing eyes. Warm and bright and thrilling.

  He leaned in close so his breath warmed my ear. “You realize you crawled halfway across his office floor.”

  Well no, I hadn’t. Guess I’d have to wait on Mr. Shatzkin to get close to the card.

  I sat beside him and took out my knitting.

  We waited. Larrimer cleared his throat again, this time louder. No response.

  I’d had it. “Mr. Shatzkin, we’d like to speak to you about Lulu Cochran.”

  Silence.

  I stood, but Larrimer was across the room faster than The Flash.

  His face hardened. “He’s dead.”

  We were back on the road two hours later, leaving behind one dead funeral director, the Gray Lady, who was Shatzkin’s wife, the dog, and the usual hullabaloo of cops, ME’s people, and forensics. We were questioned about everything, in particular the guy we’d passed in the hall. We had little to tell them, and the Gray Lady knew nada.