Deeper Than the Grave

by Tina Whittle

  “How did you figure out where Braxton’s bones were?”

  “Once I decided Lucius hadn’t had help that night, I decided he had to have hidden them somewhere near the chapel. And then I remembered the pry bar you found out in the field.”

  I remembered it too. Hefty, solid, deadly. “You mean the murder weapon.”

  Richard winced. “Yeah. And I wondered why anyone would have needed it. The coffin wasn’t locked, and Lucius had Dexter’s keys to the chapel.”

  “He needed it for the flagstones. To pry them up so that he could hide the bones underneath.”

  Richard nodded. “So a couple of hours ago, I drove up through the park and went in the back way, so that Rose wouldn’t see me. Found the stone he’d hidden them under first try.” He grimaced and pulled his arm tighter to his chest. “I started putting everything together the night you came to the encampment. I decided Rose must have come for the bones the night of the reburial, to destroy them like she thought I’d destroyed the girl’s, and then when she found Lucius there, and an empty coffin, and that pry bar…”

  So that was what Trey had seen in Richard’s face the night we met him in the woods—the painful growing realization that the woman he’d served for thirty years was a killer.

  “I knew Rose was a hard woman, but I never figured she would…” He tilted his head back against the wall, closed his eyes. “I thought I knew her, but I didn’t. And I’m done with her.”

  I heard regret in his voice, but also the bitterness and anger that come from deep betrayal. And then I understood.

  “You’re in love with her, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve never said anything about any of it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’re not getting out of here alive. She’s a crack shot. And she’s got nothing to lose.”

  He didn’t look at me, but I could see he was disgusted with himself. Not as disgusted as I was, but pretty disgusted nonetheless. In the hall, Rose rattled the door again, and his attention jerked that way.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “That door is UL-rated Level Four, which means Rose isn’t getting in without a tank. So settle in. We’re going to be here for a while.”

  But Richard wasn’t going to make it a while, as Rose probably knew. He was still bleeding and getting paler. I pulled Trey’s brand new first aid kit from the shelf and kicked it over with my foot.

  He reached for the box, looking sad and hurt and angry all at once. “You don’t have to stand over there. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  “All the same.”

  “Tai—”

  “I let you in my safe room. That’s as far as I’m going. Now get some gauze and bandages and tie that up before you die.”

  He got to work clumsily. In the silence I could hear Rose in the shop, opening drawers, rifling through boxes, overturning shelves, looking for anything she could use to get into the room. Richard opened the gauze with his teeth, winced in pain as he fumbled with the wrapping.

  I cursed, tucked the gun into the small of my back. “Give me that.”

  He did. I pressed the bandage against the seeping hole, then wound the gauze to hold it in place. It was still bleeding profusely, and his skin had gone ashen.

  “I figured out that Nate killed Braxton and Josephina,” I said. “Violet knew the whole story too.”

  “They’ve all known the story, Tai. Every generation of them.”

  “Evie and Chelsea?”

  He shook his head. “No. Rose gave the secret to me instead. And it was going to die with me.”

  I felt the anger rise again. “Braxton took a bullet between the eyes. The girl was shot in the back, the ME says. Running for her life. You were good with letting their stories die with you too?”

  He shuddered, but not from horror or guilt. He was going down fast. The wound probably wasn’t fatal, not of itself, but the loss of blood and rising shock would get him soon. And then I’d have an unconscious person to deal with, and I had enough on my hands. I went back to the door, pressed my ear against it. The shots came fast—pow pow pow—and I jumped back, my heart banging in my chest.

  But the door held. Of course it did.

  I took my .38 in hand again. At least we had ammo, enough to last till Doomsday. We, I thought bitterly. As if Richard were on my side. He was on the side of whoever wasn’t trying to kill him. Rose had time on her side—up to a point—so she could afford to be patient and thorough. But she could never be as thorough as Trey. The door would hold. I had faith.

  “And Brenda?” I said. “You did figure out that Rose was the one who shot her, right?”

  “I had no proof.”

  “But you knew.”

  He refused to even look at me. “I didn’t want to admit it, but yeah. I knew.”

  My temper sizzled. “So you know that was supposed to have been me that night, bleeding out on the pavement. How far were you willing to go for her, Richard? What was next, pulling the trigger yourself?”

  “Doesn’t matter. She’s going to kill us both now.”

  “Not in this room, she won’t.”

  Richard coughed, grimaced in pain. I tried to gauge how much blood he’d lost and couldn’t, not beneath the heavy coat. I felt the first nibble of fear—maybe he was right, maybe there was no way out.

  I pulled my phone out and checked it one more time, but there was still no service. I cursed. “Freaking blizzard.”

  Richard screwed up his eyes at me. “That’s not why your phone’s not working.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He glared. “How do you think I figured out she was the one who shot Brenda? She stole my jammer, Tai, the one I use in field to keep the boys from using their cell phones. It’s how she kept the security system from going off when she broke in, how she planned on keeping you from calling the police.”

  I crossed the room quickly and knelt in front of him. “Are you telling me the towers aren’t flooded, that the only thing keeping me from calling 911 is your jammer?”

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In her truck, most likely.”

  “How do you stop it?”

  “Push the power button.”

  I stood up. Suddenly I had a Plan B. Not that the cops could get to us with the snow screaming down, the roads slick with black ice and blocked with accidents. But if Rose somehow managed to breech the safe room, at least there was a chance…

  One the screen, Rose leveled the shotgun and shot at the door again, this time in pure thwarted anger. I watched her pace the front room, running down her options. As long as the police couldn’t arrive, it was a standoff, but she was running out of ideas. That was a bad thing. People without ideas were two steps from desperation, and if she got desperate, she’d get reckless.

  “It’s okay if you run,” Richard said, his voice hoarse. “Your Uncle Dexter—”

  “—wouldn’t have left you for that crazy woman to murder, and neither am I. Regardless of what went on before, you tried to do right at the end. So—”

  And then I heard it. A rustling at the window. A quick look at the screen told me it wasn’t Rose, who was still banging around in the front room. I swung the gun toward the window, but I saw nothing except the snow and ice beating against the panes. But then I heard it again. Not a rustling. Three light taps. And then I heard the voice, barely above a whisper.

  “Tai! It’s me.”

  I lowered the gun as disbelief washed over me. “Trey?”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  “Of course it’s me. Don’t shoot.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I stuffed the pistol into the back of my jeans and scrambled on top of the display table. Trey waited, ice crystals in his hair, his coat billowing in the sleeting wind. He was holding onto the windowsill with bare white fingers, his teeth chattering as I crank
ed open the glass.

  I stood on tiptoe. “How in the hell did you get here?”

  “I’m standing on the dumpster. I told you this window was easily—”

  “Not the window, here, at the shop!”

  “Oh. That. I never left.”

  I slipped my hands through the opening and held his cold face between them. “Jesus, Trey, where have you been?”

  “I parked on the other side of the square so you wouldn’t see me. Or hear. But I could see and hear you. Until the electricity went out, and the towers went down—”

  “The towers aren’t down. It’s a jammer. In Rose’s truck.”

  His eyes flared. “I knew it! I told you—”

  “You did. You told me a lot of things. And I’ll be very happy to keep listening if you can get us out of here.”

  “I will.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry I frightened you. Earlier. And broke your computer. And—”

  I pressed fingers over his cold mouth. “Not now.”

  “And I wanted to come back in, especially after the things you said, but I couldn’t. And then I saw Richard, and then I could, but before I could, I heard the rifle shot, saw you both move inside. And then I saw Rose come from behind a bulldozer, but I couldn’t get a clear shot, because I couldn’t get a clear background, not with you somewhere in the shop, and…I am so sorry.”

  “Me too. But that’s for later.” I wiped his ice-crusted hair from his forehead. “Right now I need you to get us out of here.”

  “That’s my main goal.” He looked beyond me to the security monitor. “Why is she doing this? What does she want?”

  “She wants Braxton’s bones, and she’s willing to kill me and Richard to get them.”

  “But you don’t have—”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “You what?”

  “I’ll explain later. Can we make a run for it?”

  He shook his head. “From where she’s standing, she can cover both the front and back doors.”

  “We can’t stay here much longer.” I jerked my head toward Richard. “He’s been hit.”

  “How bad?”

  “Bad enough.”

  Trey peered beyond me to where Richard slumped in the corner. The rain slanted in mercilessly, and the wind howled behind him. Trey’s eyes didn’t reveal an ounce of mercy either.

  I shook my head. “We can’t leave him here. He’s in this mess because he tried to protect me. She’ll kill him out of pure spite, and he doesn’t deserve that.”

  Trey blinked, and I saw his priorities rearranging themselves. Richard, no longer a bad guy, was now reclassified as hostage in need of rescue. A different flowchart, different protocol. I was dying to pepper him with questions, but knew I had to let him think. He had experience with barricaded shooter scenarios. I had zip.

  He did a quick calculation. “How are you for ammo?”

  “I’ve got every bit of it in here. Plus every long gun in the shop, still in the gun safe.”

  “What can Rose access?”

  “Nothing except the reenactment supplies. Clothes, campware…oh shit.”

  “What?

  I looked down at the video screen. Sure enough, Rose had found the kerosene. She looked demonic in the flashing emergency light—her white hair wild, her face dirty, shotgun held in one hand while she dragged the plastic jugs out with the other. She had no way out, and she knew it. The airport was shut down, every interstate a parking lot of spun-out wrecks; even her massive four-wheel drive truck wouldn’t get her out of the city. But it would get her back to her property. And she could burn the shop down before she left, pick us all off like rabbits when we tried to run. And then the fire would turn everything to ash, and the papers would call it an unfortunate accident. A candle falling over, a dropped cigarette. Of course this was how Tai Randolph would go, they’d say, that girl never could manage anything.

  I gritted my teeth. “I am not letting that bitch burn down my life. I swear to God, Trey, I—”

  “I know. Let me think.”

  Trey readjusted his position. He was soaking wet, shivering harder. He didn’t have long before hypothermia set in.

  “Stay here,” he said. “Don’t open that door unless she sets a fire and you have no other option. If I can find the jammer and disarm it, I’ll do that first, so keep your phone on. Call 911 as soon as you can.”

  “Wait, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to neutralize the threat.”

  “What does that mean?”

  His voice was soft and terrifying. “You know what that means.”

  I grabbed his hands. “No, no, no! You can’t do that. You’re not a cop anymore, they’ll send you to prison this time. You have to—”

  “I have to do what’s necessary.”

  I grabbed his collar and held tight. “You find the jammer, call 911, and then run, you hear me?”

  “The police won’t be able to get here in time.”

  “Damn it, Trey, don’t—”

  He pulled free of my fingers, to the edge of the dumpster where I could not reach him. He had that look of trying to make words happen, trying hard. But then he gave up trying, and I watched as his expression shifted, becoming stiller, flatter, reserved and relentless. I watched him become an assassin, right in front of me, as cold and merciless as the night.

  I felt tears spring to my eyes. “No. Please no.”

  But a swirl of snow wrapped him like a shroud, and when it cleared, he was gone.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  I pressed my face to the window, but all I got in return was an icy slap of wind. Trey was out there in the night, part of the howl and storm, and I was stuck in the safe room—again. I felt the surge—itchy, restless, like nausea if nausea were bright purple and two thousand volts and toxic as mercury.

  I clenched my teeth. “No no no! Not now!”

  But I could feel the panic spreading. It would take me down if I stayed in that room. I climbed down to where Richard slumped in the corner. He’d gone quiet, which meant shock was setting in. And although he deserved every ounce of pain wracking his body, he didn’t deserve to die.

  I kicked his foot. “Get up, we have to go.”

  He moaned and slumped sideways. I bent down and grabbed his chin. His eyes fluttered open, but his pupils were dilated, his gaze blank.

  “Damn it, Richard, Trey is about to take on a woman with a fucking twelve-gauge all by himself, and I am not going to sit in this room while he does it.”

  But Richard wasn’t going anywhere. Behind me, the video screen revealed Rose. She’d already emptied one container of kerosene and was opening a gallon of lamp oil, twisting the cap with one hand, holding it with the other. The shotgun stood beside her, propped against the counter. She had no reason to think she might need it. No way to know she was in a sniper’s crosshairs.

  I’ll do what’s necessary, he’d said.

  I cursed, shoved an extra speedloader in my pocket. The door would lock behind me automatically, protecting Richard. If I could get it open quietly, I could use the hallway as concealment. It would let me get the drop on her—no way she could get the shotgun up in time—and I had a wall to duck behind if she did.

  I took a deep breath, feeling the panic melt and a new feeling rise, a quickening heady sensation. So this was what it was like for Trey, sliding into the plan, the protocol, the flow. Everything made sense, so clear and clean…

  I pulled out my .38, warm now from my body. One more ammo check—locked and loaded. One more check of the video screen to make sure Rose was still occupied. Then I eased the door open and slipped into the hallway.

  The smell of kerosene hit me first. The emergency light above the door still pulsed bloody red, and the headlights from Richard’s truck threw a curtain of blinding light through the front window
s. It illuminated Rose, standing at the counter now, the shotgun a foot away. My training unfolded like a map—solid stance, slight lean, both hands on the weapon—and I took a deep breath and stepped around the corner.

  I aimed right at her heart. “Freeze, Rose!”

  She dropped the lamp oil and lunged for the shotgun. She was quicker than I’d expected and managed to grab it, but I pinged a shot into the counter, and she froze, clutching it right above the stock.

  I put the sights back on her. “Drop it. Now.”

  She was breathing hard, her sides heaving. Not fear—fury—as defiant as she’d been the first time I’d spotted her.

  She glared at me. “What are you gonna do, girl, stand there all night? Nobody’s coming. You’re all alone.”

  I kept the gun aimed at her chest. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  And from somewhere out of the blinding wall of brightness, Trey stepped into the shop, his silhouette a blur against the brilliance, his shoes crunching broken glass. He looked murderously surreal in the flashing red light, his weapon drawn, his voice cool and firm.

  “Get back in the room, Tai.”

  I kept my stance. “No, you get in the room. If anybody’s getting shot tonight, I’m doing the shooting.”

  “No, you’re not. Get in the room. I’ll deal with this.”

  This, he’d said. Not her. Rose switched her attention his way. She didn’t drop the shotgun. I could see her running the possibilities—how quickly she could grab the trigger, which target to take down first, could she get us both with one pull—and I knew she’d tumbled down to her last option, that she was in the desperation zone. Her eyes switched from me to Trey and back to me. Calculating.

  I shook my head. “Don’t you even think about it. You might get one of us, but not both. And the one of us you don’t get will put you down, Rose Amberdecker, like a dog, but not before you scream and beg and bleed and die for a very long time. Because as you pointed out, we are all alone out here.”

  Trey stayed silent. No orders, no demands. I squinted at him again the light. He had his finger on the trigger, primed for imminent threat. All Rose had to do was make a suspicious twitch, and he’d drop her. One shot, one kill. And as I saw him standing there in the bright merciless glare, the cold dead darkness behind, I realized that he wanted her to try it. He was giving her the space to take that move because he wanted to shoot her, wanted it very badly.