Graveyard Games

by Sheri Leigh

  “I’ll manage.”

  She frowned at the tone in his voice. “Nick, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Really. It’s not so bad, being back. It’s kind of like old times. Me and the guys are even driving out to the path tonight.”

  "What guys?" She frowned, and understood only later that he’d said it on purpose, to distract her.

  "Come on, Dusty, what guys do think I’d be hanging out with?"

  She sat silently, still frowning.

  Nick sighed. “Do you ever let go of a grudge?”

  "No," she snapped.

  "God, you can be so shallow," he breathed. “Sometimes I think you’re more like Julia than you are like Mom.”

  It hit her like a blow to the midsection and she sucked in air, blinking back tears. “That’s not fair.”

  Nick’s voice took on a tight, sharp tone she recognized quite well. "It's not their fault, what this little tight-ass town thinks about them.”

  "Right.” She didn’t care if he was angry. She was, too. “They’re the victims. Like the guy who had a nine millimeter pointed at my head, right? His mommy didn’t love him enough, his daddy beat him with a two-by-four, so that makes it okay for him to rape and kill a woman in a back alley?”

  Nick was quiet for a minute and the silence stretched between them. Finally, he sighed. "God, I wish you could hear yourself."

  “So I’m a little cynical.” She shrugged. “Sue me.”

  “I’m not a lawyer anymore.”

  “Come on, Nick.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the door, ignoring the insistent pawing of the cat under the door. “Let’s not fight. This is stupid. We haven’t had a fight in a long time.”

  He was back to crunching Doritos. “Funny how we still fight about the same things.”

  “Good thing neither of us is a psychologist.” She laughed.

  The crunching stopped and there was a silence again. She was about to ask if he was okay when he started talking again. “You know…every one of us carries around these labels. The world slaps them on us, and sometimes we just…grow into them. But sometimes we’re not really whatever it says on the labels the world pasted on our foreheads. Not even close.”

  She blinked at his words and then frowned. “Are you talking about Shane?”

  “…yeah, I guess.” Nick cleared his throat. “You, me, Shane. All of us.”

  "Maybe.” She didn’t believe it, not for a minute, but she didn’t want to fight with him. “But I still say that square pegs don’t fit into round holes.”

  He started crunching again and spoke with his mouth full. "Shane isn’t as bad as you think he is."

  “Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, changing the subject. “So what have you been doing, besides hanging out with the town riff-raff?”

  “I’m seeing Suzanne.”

  Dusty perked up. “Seeing? As in seeing? What happened to that girl you were talking about, Katie-something-or-other…?”

  “You know me.” She could almost hear him shrug. “Girl in every port.”

  “One of these days you need to settle down.”

  Nick snorted. “Pot meet kettle. Besides, Suzanne’s taking good care of me. Hey, did you know she’s a nurse now? A real RN.”

  “Well, that’s one fantasy down…” Dusty grinned.

  “Very funny.”

  "Hey, let’s synchronize our Monty Python and watch together on the phone, what do you say?” she asked. “I could use a good laugh tonight."

  “Dusty, don’t do that.” His tone made her cringe—he acted like he knew just what she was trying to do and wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “I’ve got plans. I told you.”

  "Come on,” she cajoled. “I’m not more exciting that Shane Curtis? You’re just going to go get drunk and pass out, or worse, end up puking all night long.”

  He laughed. "It will be high school all over again!"

  "Fine,” she snipped, knowing she wasn’t going to get her way. “I hope they steal all your clothes and leave you passed out on the lawn like they did on graduation night."

  "I love you, too." His grin stretched so wide she could actually hear it in his voice. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  "I hope you smash up your Jeep, then!" she retorted, grinning too.

  "Shane’s driving."

  "Even better! I hope he smashes up that pretty little Mustang of his,” she said, her glib, gleeful tone inching up a notch. "With you in it!"

  Nick snorted, their disagreement clearly forgiven. "Not likely."

  "Good riddance!” she teased.

  “You’re such a bitch,” he said, but he was laughing. “Goodbyyyye!”

  "Rotten brother," she mumbled, laughing, too. “Bye!”

  It was the last time she ever heard Nick's voice.

  * * * *

  "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord."

  Dusty blinked, hearing the echoes of "Amen," and glanced around her. It was over. Mercifully, the droning of the Reverend had stopped.

  She looked over at Shane. He was leading Suzanne toward his car, the rest of the gang following. The family broke up, talking amongst themselves.

  "Do you want to stay a minute?" her father asked from her side. She shook her head, watching Shane's retreating form, something small, tight and burning lodged in her chest.

  "No," she answered. "It's over."

  Deep inside, though, she felt that it—something—had just begun.

  Chapter Two

  Dusty had been appointed by Julia, who’d orchestrated everything about this day down to the last detail, to stand in the kitchen, accept food from the incoming guests and direct them toward the family room. The Powells, a family her father knew well, brought a casserole. After they had gone into the family room, where her father was mixing drinks, she opened the lid. It was unidentifiable except for the distinct odor of tuna.

  Sarah White and Annie Miller showed up with a pie between them. It was store bought, but it was lemon meringue, so Julia might forgive them, since lemon was her personal favorite.

  "I'm so sorry." Sarah hugged her. It was awkward as Dusty had to keep the pie from being squashed. Annie scooted by, offering her a weak smile.

  She didn't know what to say. I don't either.

  “Dusty.” James Thomas hugged her tight and she gasped for air in his hold. “My god, I’m so sorry. You look amazing. I haven’t seen you since…”

  “It’s been a long time,” she agreed, taking a step back from him and accepting a tinfoil-covered dish.

  “Too long.” He smiled at her, cocking his head as if he was listening to something, a gesture she remembered well from high school. “What are you doing now?”

  “I…” She swallowed past her words, insisting to herself that it wasn’t a lie. “I’m a cop now, working in Chicago.”

  “Yeah, I think Nick mentioned something about that.” James looked at her appreciatively. “So are you married? Kids?”

  She shook her head. “No time. You?”

  “No.” He shrugged, running a hand through his dark hair. “Was married. But she left…took the kid with her.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dusty felt a wave of sadness come over her at the look on his face. It was amazing how much pain people carried, just beneath the surface. She wanted to hug him again, but they hadn’t seen each other in years, and it felt too awkward in the silence. She remembered him asking her out in high school, and she had turned him down. Nick always said it was because James was too much of a nerd for her, and she’d always denied it, insisting James was just too good of a friend to get involved with.

  “How long are you in town for?”

  “I’m not sure.” She shrugged. “As long as it takes, I guess…” The words sounded strange, even to her. As long as what took, she wondered? As long as it took for her to find out the fate of her career? As long as it took for her to find out who or what kil
led her brother?

  “Well, maybe we can hang out.” His smile was warm. “Go out for coffee or something.”

  She smiled back, teasing. “Don’t tell me Larkspur has a Starbucks now!”

  “No, but there’s always the Starlite,” he reminded her with a wink.

  That made her laugh. “You said coffee, not tequila.”

  “Well, there’s Nellie’s…” He shrugged. “And I think they actually do have a Starbucks in West Lake now.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Dusty opened it to find Laurie Murphy carrying a baby and a cake covered in chocolate frosting. Wasn’t she a cheerleader in high school? Dusty eyed Laurie’s still-svelte figure. Probably never touches this stuff. Dusty set the cake on the table and tuned into the conversation again.

  “My laptop keeps overheating. Can I bring it in to you next week?” Laurie asked, shifting the baby on her hip. It was a little boy with big brown eyes who kept reaching for her dangly earrings and missing.

  “Sure,” James said, and Dusty saw the pain in his eyes when he looked at the little boy. Probably reminds him of his little one, she thought. James turned to her and gave her a one-armed hug. “I’ll go pay my respects to your parents. I’m sorry, Dusty.”

  “Thanks.” She pointed him in the direction of the living room, not really paying much attention to Laurie, who was still talking.

  “Me, too. I can’t believe it. Spencer, no.” Laurie took her hoop earring from her baby’s chubby fist. “I was telling my husband just this morning how amazing Nick was—in high school, he was just the center of everything, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Dusty gave her a weak smile as she opened the door again. It was Martha Sanchez, who had babysat for them ages ago, carrying a quiche. Dusty thanked her and accepted her apologies, although she knew the quiche wouldn’t get eaten. Julia was a picky eater, and her father… well, real men still didn’t eat quiche in rural America. When she put it on the table, she noticed Laurie and Martha had both gone to the living room, following the sound of voices.

  After that, the people and the food seemed to run together, but she wrote it down, like Julia had requested. Nellie Edwards, who ran the diner in town, brought her special—noodles and beef casserole. Probably leftover ‘special of the day.’ Will Cougar, who ran Cougar's General Store down on the corner of Hubbard and North Rose, brought a chocolate cream pie he told her his wife made.

  Then he handed her a package of Twizzlers. "I remembered how much you both like ’em, hon."

  It brought a lump to her throat, and she couldn’t look at him when she thanked him. He touched her shoulder and then was gone.

  By the time Suzanne came in the door, the list of food had expanded to include two pounds of hamburger—from Mr. Maxwell, who ran Max's Meats—a pan of brownies, five more pies—two were coconut cream, one was strawberry, one was apple, and one was pumpkin—eight cannolies, two mysterious Jello salads, and a sack of California navel oranges. Dusty was running out of room on the table.

  Suzanne had changed from the simple black dress she’d worn to the funeral into a pair of dark blue sweats, a hoodie and Nikes. She came through the front door into the kitchen.

  "Hi." Dusty swallowed, memories flooding back, and couldn’t manage to follow her greeting up with anything. Looking at Suzanne brought Nick back, hard and fast. They had all known each other since grade school.

  Suzanne eyed the pies lined up on the table. "I didn't think to bring anything. I'm sorry."

  Dusty shrugged and attempted a smile. "I was running out of room, anyway."

  Suzanne smiled, but even her smile looked hollow. "Who's here?" Voices floated in from the family room, subdued, but there was still some laughter. It sounded like a party that had just begun.

  "Nearly everybody I used to know, and some I don't." Dusty sat on one of the kitchen chairs. "Have a seat."

  "Is Shane here?" Suzanne sat down.

  "No." Dusty glanced toward the door with narrowed eyes. "That's one person I won't miss."

  "He said he might drop by." Suzanne twisted a strand of hair, no longer pulled back, around her finger.

  "Great, I'll look forward to it." Dusty rolled her eyes.

  "I hate funerals." Suzanne sighed, absently tucking the cling wrap back under one of the homemade pies. "But I hate these 'afterward' things most. Who needs this?"

  "I know," Dusty said, and she did. This wasn’t a comfort—it was just etiquette. Julia could write a book on the etiquette of funerals, it seemed. Nick had always said their father had married Miss Manners.

  "I miss him already." Suzanne traced the blue flower design on the tablecloth with her finger. "There was this really brief period of shock, when I didn’t feel anything…”

  Dusty nodded. She remembered the phone call, her father’s voice telling her to come home…and then telling her why. She had gone into business mode almost immediately, arranging a flight, packing her bag. At least I don’t have to arrange for time off work, she’d thought bitterly, looking at the empty gun belt hanging over a chair in the corner. That thought stopped her, and when the flurry of activity halted, the feeling flooded in, and she realized she’d been numb.

  She had preferred numb. This pain was unbearable.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?” Suzanne asked.

  "The night before." Dusty didn’t look at her, remembering their conversation.

  "We were in a fight." Suzanne's voice was tight. "We were in a stupid fight about some stupid thing—I can't even remember what it was about it was so stupid—and I hadn't seen him in two days. Hadn't even talked to him. I called the next day, the day after it happened..." She drew a shaky breath. "And your dad told me..."

  "That's okay. I told him I hoped he got into a car accident. How's that for guilt-trip material?" Dusty snorted. "I know what you're thinking, but it's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault."

  Even as she said it, she inwardly denied it. It’s someone’s fault, all right—it has to be! It was too hard to accept an accident, no one at fault—no one who could be identified, at least.

  "I don't understand what he was doing out in the cemetery in the first place." Suzanne swiped at tears. “He shouldn’t have been out at all.”

  "I don't know." Dusty sighed. And that was true. "Nobody does, as far as I can tell. It’s just…strange."

  "I wish I knew what really happened." Suzanne shook her head, chewing her lower lip.

  Dusty's heart plummeted at Suzanne’s genuine look of confusion. She’d hoped maybe Suzanne could give her a clue—something, anything.

  Nobody seemed to know. All sorts of red flags went up when Dusty had heard where he’d been, what they assumed had happened, but no one else seemed to think it was anything but a tragic accident.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  "Well, I'd better go put in an appearance." Suzanne stood and stretched. "Then I'm going to go home to sleep for the rest of my life." Dusty didn’t say anything as she watched her walk out of the kitchen. The knock came again, more insistent and she opened the door.

  "Hey, Dusty." Shane stepped into the kitchen, the heels of his black motorcycle boots loud on the linoleum. Everything he had on was black—boots, jeans, even the t-shirt making an appearance above the gold zipper of his leather jacket.

  "Well, aren’t you the picture of mourning?" She peered over his shoulder. "Where are your followers?"

  "Just me." He held both hands out, palms up in apology as she shut the door behind him. His head cocked, listening. "They in the family room?" He shoved his hands into his jean pockets and Dusty looked away, feeling his gaze on her still.

  “Where else?” She nodded in the direction of the voices. “I’m sure they’re all in there wondering about what killed Nick.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, watching him out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction. His eyes widened only slightly at her remark.

  "Sheriff said it was a bobcat." Shane f
rowned.

  "That's what the papers say, too." Dusty snorted. “And I’m sure that’s what the death certificate will also say. I’m just not so sure I believe it.”

  “No?” His gaze swept slowly from her feet to her eyes. "You know…you really look like him." He almost sounded sad and his tone made Dusty look directly at him again. Their eyes met and she realized how long it had been since they’d stood this close to one another, let alone been in the same room. She wondered if he felt it, too, and wanted to take a step back but resisted the impulse. His direct scrutiny made her feel a little dizzy. It seemed almost as if he could see into her thoughts.

  "Well, that’s very clever.” She managed to keep her voice from shaking. “I mean, we were only twins.”

  He smiled, but it was a sad smile. She’d known what he’d meant.

  "Yeah. Well...I'm really sorry, Dusty." He tried to catch her eye again but she focused her attention on the table, rearranging the food until he turned and left her, going in the direction of the voices.

  When he was gone, Dusty leaned against the door with a long, shaky sigh. It was too much to handle, too much to deal with in one day. Exhausted, she just wanted to crawl into bed and, as Suzanne had suggested, sleep for the rest of her life.

  She closed her eyes, the image of Shane’s always-smug smile filling her head. She hated the way he was so sure, so full of himself. A knock on the door made her jump and she turned to fling it open.

  "Well hey there, Missy." Sheriff Buck Thompson stepped into the kitchen. It was strange to see him out of uniform. That uniform had sparked her interest in law enforcement in the first place, long before she could even voice her preferences, she remembered with a nostalgic smile. I probably teethed on his badge, she thought. Buck was a good friend of her father's and spent a great deal of time around their place. She noticed him holding yet another casserole, and wondered if she should follow her instincts and ask him what leads they had. Or is that bad etiquette?

  "Hi, Sheriff. Thanks for coming." Dusty gave him her polite, Julia-taught speech. "Can I get that for you?"