"Not sure, really. Some time next week would be my guess." Then she paused. "Spence, I've known you for a long time as well as the Cowells. I knew your parents quite well. We moved in the same circles you could say."
"Right."
"So I wanted to suggest to you and Mark that you offer up your DNA samples before they exhume. To show your honesty and good intentions. Otherwise," she continued, "they'll have to give me another affidavit. I've already refused them one, when they wanted to turn the Cowell house upside down. I can't do it a second time, or they'll move the whole trial and everything to Rushburg."
Spence understood what she was saying. "All right. We'll do it tomorrow first thing. Thanks, Judge."
After he clicked off, Spence explained to Mark who said, "Makes sense, no skin off my nose, bro."
"We'd better get going then."
"Yeah."
The funeral was held at Rushburg Memorial Cemetery.
Meg walked down the concrete path with Lila and Willie. The further they walked, the more they were scorched by the hot sun. A stiff breeze blew leaves and dust on them. Silent and introspective, they approached the grave site. Jake, Karl and Harv followed, not saying a word.
Meg nodded to Mark and Spence who stood by Carmen, Maria's sister. After that, her eyes wandered to the distant mountains.
Her thoughts were a tangle of years that Maria lived and worked at their house. What a gentle soul, she thought, as she watched the pall bearers, Carmen's sons, carrying the simple casket. And, she felt responsible somehow. Her eyes took in the majestic mountains, and she was humbled, yet so alone. No more Maria. Ever. She just couldn't bear the thought of Maria in the cold ground.
Why Lacene? she wondered. Why was the town and her family singled out for this violence? Was this an end to it, or would there be more? Who was responsible, and was that person walking among them?
She came up with more questions than answers as she stared blankly at the priest. Then, she shut down and felt nothing.
Dust to dust, ashes to ashes.
Another person, dead.
After the funeral, Willie sat on the back porch dressed in a t-shirt, shorts and sneakers. He hadn't checked his phone yet and didn't really want to. His ribs hurt and his stomach was still queasy.
His mother came onto the porch. "Willie? You all right, sweetie?" She'd also changed out of her fancy clothes and into shorts.
"Wonder why people need to get dressed up for funerals?" he said.
She sat next to him. "Out of respect. It was hot over there today, wasn't it? Wearing that suit of yours must have been so uncomfortable. But Maria would have been proud of you. She loved you so. I remember at Chad's wake, she told me how handsome you were."
"Yeah." He couldn't think about both the funerals now. He couldn't think about Maria either. He'd think about it all later. "Mom, in your dreams, is there a club? I mean, are they hitting you with a club? And what about the ghosts? Do you dream about the ghosts in the house? I did, night before last."
She paused, before saying, "I don't know what hits me Willie. I just feel it. And, no, I haven't dreamed about the entity or ghost or whatever you want to call it. I try not to think about it. Bad things happen when I think about it. There was so much fear that night."
He nodded. "Ma, can I take Grampa's old truck into town? I have my license now you know, and you guys never let me drive. And I wanted to get a haircut."
"At Ned's? I didn't know he worked on Sunday."
"Oh, he's there every day. I don't think he has a family. Least, not that I know of."
"Well," she sighed, "I guess we'll have to let you drive on your own sooner or later then. Go ask Grampa and get the keys."
Five minutes later, Willie was on the highway. "Woo-hoo!" he hooted loudly. His ribs barely hurt now and his stomach felt better after he had a fast food burger and fries.
Pulling in front of Ned's, he stepped out of the truck and entered the shop.
Ned came out of the back, with a big smile. "Willie C., how 'ya doing?" They high-fived. "Shave and haircut?" Ned asked.
Laughing, Willie said, "No. Just haircut."
Ned swooped the black cape around him and led him to a chair.
"Not too much, Ned," Willie warned.
"Don't you worry, I'll leave them girls something to fool with."
Willie laughed again. "You have a girlfriend, Ned?"
"Ah," he said, as he cut hair, "used to have a fine woman. Used to visit her all the time in Rushburg."
"Still see her?"
"Ah, she up and died on me, son. Last winter. Kinda sudden for me. Knew she had a bad heart. But, didn't know it would kill her."
"You ever dream about her? Or want to see her again?"
"Oh, yeah. I wanted to see that woman all the time. Wanted to be with her all the time. Dream about her? You bet. Like she's sitting there next to me."
"Did you know you loved her right away?"
Ned laughed. "It was like a damn symphony played when I first laid eyes on her."
"That's how I feel about Susie. Like there's music playing. Like there's no other girl in the world. But I'm afraid..."
Ned stopped cutting and watched Willie in the mirror. "What, Willie?"
"I just don't want to spoil her," Willie said softly, "I think she's a virgin. I mean, she knows about sex, but she's still innocent. She told me I'm the first one she's been with."
"Hmmm," Ned said as he resumed cutting. "Nothing says you have to have sex, Willie. You need to respect the women and the women have to respect themselves."
"But she's just so beautiful, Ned."
"Well, what you think is fine one day might just not be fine the next day or three weeks from now." Then he laughed. "You can always take matters in hand, you know."
Willie laughed while Ned finished up. He paid the man, then said, "Seen Spence?"
"Yeah, son. He's over at the Roadway. Saw him yesterday."
"Okay." Willie went a few steps down then turned. "Thanks, Ned."
"Any time, Willie."
*****
The Rushburg precinct was deserted, being it was Sunday. And Martinez was gone so Ellison and Smith both sat with their feet up on their desks.
"So, lay it out for me," Smith said tiredly.
"Blow me, dick-wad. Why don't you lay it out for me for a change?"
"Whatever. We got the exhum tomorrow. From there the parents go to the M.E. and the samples go to FBI Quantico Lab. DNA and fingerprints or what's left of them. Tests for drugs, illegal crap which is unlikely. Glad it's not me having to work on those gray old corpses. Then they'll make sure the bodies are the real thing. Do the paperwork for DNA from Spence and Mark Moorehouse."
"That on your to do list for today?"
"Yeah. What the fuck. We need to call Karl Cowell, see if he'll give us a written statement so we can really go after Spence Moorehouse. I'll let you do that."
"Then," he continued, "on the maid, we got fingerprints going across her back, like the Moorehouse kid just hugged her or something. Jives with his story. He admitted freely to being in her room. No murder weapon again. No bloody clothes. Unable to get a search warrant, although I won't tell Martinez until he asks me."
"Yeah."
Ellison's phone rang and he swore as he sprang forward to answer it.
When he was done, he looked at Smith. "Seems like the Moorehouse duo is offering up their DNA. You're off the hook, phlegm-wad."
"Ah," Smith said, "things are finally going my way."
"Makes us look like two pieces of shit, though. You still going to question the girlfriend?"
"Going over there right now."
"You're fucking nuts. You'll excuse me if I wait in the car."
They arrived at the Cowell house around noon. True to his word, Ellison waited in the car with the air conditioner going full blast.
The place seemed deserted and, as Smith got out of the car, he noticed a blustery wind around him. The weather was hot, dry and uncomforta
ble, and he ran a finger around his collar. Damn suits, anyway, he thought. Always had to look the part even if he didn't feel it. Damn Arizona weather.
He knocked twice and was pleasantly surprised as Meg answered the door. He thought she had a tight little body in her sleeveless top and running shorts. Her dainty, small feet were bare, too, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He had a foot fetish and a hundred dollar an hour hooker in Rushburg who knew it well. A little too well, at times, as his bank account could attest.
She let him in and calmly sat across from him on the couch. He looked, but saw no ashtrays around. Good sign.
He wondered how he could start the questioning to catch her off guard.
Then, an idea came to him. "Spence and Mark Moorehouse are offering up their DNA samples tomorrow. To match with the parents. Thought you should know."
She didn't move but he realized he'd just hit pay dirt. A raw nerve. Her eyes rested on his, then towards some point behind him. A muscle in her jaw moved.
Finally, she said, "And you're letting me know this because?"
The chair he sat on moved slightly then he realized he was tired and had one too many lattes today. He called it the shimmy effect. It had happened to him before. Just nerves. "I always like to keep people informed along the way in each investigation," he said smoothly, wondering what other bullshit she'd believe.
"Come on, detective," she laughed, "you can do better than that." Then she paused and observed him. "Well, maybe not."
"So," he said, as if he hadn't heard her, "how long did you and the Moorehouse kids plan the murder?"
She sighed patiently. "I don't know why I keep telling you this over and over again. We did not murder anyone."
His chair shimmied again, and he swore off lattes forever.
"But, back to the blood tests," he said, prodding her, "do you think the boys were the fruit of one loin...or two?"
His chair suddenly rose in the air six inches and slammed back down with such force it gave him whiplash. It couldn't be, he thought. He had to have imagined it. He clutched the chair arms with both his hands.
He looked her up and down, ending at her feet. They were beautiful feet, graceful and elegant. His neck began to throb as he looked at them, and his dick grew hard. He wasn't able to fight the feelings, either, like he usually did.
She didn't say a word. His chair rose up again, twelve inches this time, and slammed him to the ground. He heard a giant crack in his neck as it spun forward then back.
"Get the hell out of here," she said in a low tone.
Adjusting his tie, and trying to adjust the crick in his neck, he stood, and walked out the front door.
*****
Renee snapped her phone closed and looked at Lex across his desk. "She's controlling it."
He nodded. "Your doing. You're a good teacher." He watched her with ice blue, unfathomable eyes.
"What?" She knew his mind was blocking her for some reason.
"I can't concentrate. I can't work. You're getting to be an obsession with me," he said.
"Well, let's talk about work then."
"Why not? What's going on?"
"Meg. Let's talk about her. What's the deal on her dreams?"
He sighed and looked away from her. "My theory is that when she had the breakdown, a portal opened. A door opened which she probably will never be able to fully close. It could be a door to the future. It could be a door to the past. That's our unknown. What have you heard from Tim?"
"He found a bone fragment. He's going back out there today. Said he'd keep in touch. Just about talked my ear off. Never saw a guy so full of himself." She paused. "So back to the obsession thing. What's going on, Lex? Maybe we should talk about that for a minute."
His gaze was heated now as he stared at her. And, his mind opened up.
I always want to be with you. I watch you walk and pace around the office and I want to take you away. Have you all to myself somewhere.
Her breath came out in a long gasp. He hadn't said a word, yet she understood him perfectly. "How did you do that?"
You could do it too. Then I would truly have you to myself.
"No, I can't Lex. It's like not me. I have to speak. If I couldn't talk, then what would I do?"
A smile quirked his lips. Our deepest fear is that we are intensely powerful. It is not our darkness but our light that most frightens us.
Then, he said aloud, "I can think of a few things you could do, but I guess you're right. Where would I be without your chatter?" He adjusted his computer and, ignoring her now, began typing.
She walked back to her desk with a feeling of disappointment. And, she thought she'd never understand Lex.
While, the e-mail he'd sent himself came up on his computer screen 'She'll come around,' it said, in bold letters. He smiled.
*****
Professor Tim pulled into the Cowell's driveway around two in the afternoon. He'd lingered with his coffee and beloved Sunday newspaper that morning, and now wondered if he was wasting his time when he could be working on Berilian Flats instead. He'd had coffee today, too and he knew he wasn't supposed to drink the stuff. But, he thought, what good was life if you couldn't enjoy eating and drinking what you liked?
He waved at the boy and his mother, Meg, who sat on the porch. The boy was soon at his side, thankfully a silent observer. He took out his sketches and moved to the roped off area.
Watching the arc of the soil, he carefully drew his paintbrush along one area. No luck. He moved to the left and repeated. Again, no luck.
Sighing his frustration, he said to the boy, "See what I mean? Sometimes it takes forever just to unearth one or two bones. There should be more here soon."
The sun was baking him and he wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. He was really feeling the heat today.
"Can I get you some lemonade?" the boy asked, shooting him a concerned look.
"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
The boy looked offended for a second. "Willie."
"That would be great, Willie. Lemonade sounds wonderful."
Tim's throat was parched and he was dehydrated from too much coffee.
He moved his brush over a few inches, and swiped it back and forth. But then he really thought he was seeing things. It couldn't be. He did a few more swipes and revealed more of the thing. It just couldn't be. He'd only seen it in museums. Salado Polychrome.
Quickly, he grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and called Orenda Sanchez.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
That evening at the motel, Spence was pacing again.
"You're wearing a path in the carpet buddy," Mark said patiently, as he flipped TV channels. "Why don't you just go over there? Karl's called me three times today. He wants us to come back to Cowell house. I keep putting him off because I don't know what you want to do."
Spence stopped for a minute. "You really doing some big deal with him in Rushburg? You don't remember how he is?"
Mark laughed. "He's not that bad, and he's got good business sense. And, yeah, we are doing a deal. I'm going into it with eyes wide open. Don't worry. I don't gamble what I can't lose."
Sniffing and grabbing his wallet, Spence said, "I wouldn't trust him to hold a dime for me. He'd make it into a dollar in two seconds, and keep it for himself. I'm going to the Cowells. I need to talk with Meg."
"Good luck bro."
But when Spence pulled into Meg's driveway he saw two unfamiliar trucks. The house was lit up like a Christmas tree and he heard people talking in the kitchen as he got out of the Cadillac.
He also noticed a roped off area to one side of the house, with what appeared to be a young Indian boy standing next to it.
Walking up to the boy, he said, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
The boy looked him up and down and didn't answer him right away. Spence thought he might be around Willie's age, maybe older. His black hair was long in a braid down his back, and he was dressed in a checkered shirt and battered jeans
.
"My name is Chetan," the boy said. "I am the guard."
"The guard of what?" Spence asked, impatient now. What would need guarding in the Cowell's side yard? But, the Indian just continued staring at him.
Meg heard the Cadillac pull into the driveway, even over the din in the house.
She went to the screen door and looked out into the yard. Spence stood talking with the Indian boy, and her heart contracted when she saw him.
He wore his usual t-shirt and jeans, but had boots on his feet. He towered over the boy. She watched his arm and back muscles ripple as he gestured. Her eyes roved over him hungrily. She needed him. Why had they fought? Tim. Professor Tim, who sat in her kitchen right now, chatting animatedly with Willie, Jake and Lila. Jake had asked the professor to dinner. She wouldn't have done it. Too many memories.
She sighed and went onto the back porch. The humidity was stifling and she thought another monsoon might strike soon.
Spence left the boy and moved towards her. He always did have the most graceful way about him, she thought. Light on his feet, like a panther. Her girlfriends in high school were always jealous of her. His buttocks were always so temptingly tight and muscular and his arms solid and powerful.
Her heart drummed loudly as he strolled onto the porch. Looking down at her, he said, "Meg."
"Spence." She was at a loss for words temporarily. "Back so soon?" It came out of her mouth wrong. She hadn't meant it that way.
He smiled contemptuously and leaned casually on the porch rail. "You must have missed me, but I see the good professor didn't waste any time." His gaze shot past her into the kitchen. "Stayed for dinner, did he?"
"Just take-out," she said tightly, "he paid for it. Jake asked him to stay. Willie seems to like him."
"Why not? They have so much in common."
She let that one slide, as she looked off into the distance at the harsh desert beyond.
"What's with the Indian?" he said finally.
Her eyes came back on Spence. "They hit the jackpot over there. According to Tim, they've found a Berilian encampment from 1350. Extremely rare. They're afraid someone will find out and pilfer it. Supposedly just one of the pottery vases like they found today would go for seventy-five thousand on the black market."
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