Avengers of Blood

by Gae-Lynn Woods

  Sam nodded. “Yeah. You know who he is?”

  “We do now.”

  “So we can clean the room?” Sam asked.

  “Not quite. I have to get that slug out of the wall.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll have to cut away the sheetrock and dig it out.”

  “Great,” Sam sighed. “Eddie Vedder stays at our motel and I’m filing on insurance for damages. That’s so rock ‘n’ roll.”

  CHAPTER 99

  THE SHOOTER LEANED CLOSER to the mirror and bit back a whimper as he wrapped the small round bandage over his ear. He’d heard that there were few nerve endings in cartilage. Given the pain that was radiating through his neck and scalp, he could firmly denounce that notion. One more scrub with a damp paper towel to remove the last of the blood and he stood back and adjusted his hair. Instead of pushing it back, he ruffled it and let it fall over his ears and forehead. The bandage disappeared. His fingers still trembled from the adrenaline rush. That shot was too close. Millimeters to the right, and it would’ve been his brain. Hedder or Franklin. It didn’t matter who had pulled the trigger. The time for playing was over. Both would suffer when he caught up with them. And he would catch up. Sooner rather than later.

  Someone banged on the bathroom door and he opened it, shouldering his way through the crowded Dairy Queen to pick up his order of fries and a strawberry shake. He took a seat near the window and powered up his laptop. Thanks to the fast food restaurants, free internet access abounded nowadays, even in a place as backward as Arcadia.

  “Hey, darling. I thought you hung out at The Golden Gate.”

  He looked up to see one of the staff hovering next to his table, a red tray piled high with discarded food wrappers and plastic baskets balanced on one hand. She was a curvy brunette and in a different lifetime, he would have enjoyed getting to know her better.

  “Had to have a fix tonight. Stan and Sally don’t do milkshakes.”

  With her free hand, she reached out and touched his bangs where they tumbled across his forehead. “Love the new look. It’s kind of scruffy. But it works on you.” She checked her watch. “Three more hours. Then it’s home to wash the grease out of my hair, soak these feet, and sleep for ten hours.”

  “I hear you,” he answered with a grin.

  “Let me know if you want a refill on that shake. It’s on me.” She winked and sauntered away.

  The shooter tilted the laptop’s screen inward and fired up the GPS tracking program. Comparing it to his cell phone, he stifled a chuckle. The tracking devices on Hedder’s and Franklin’s vehicles were motionless near a shopping center on the Loop. He wondered if he’d caught one of them with the single shot from his rifle. No matter. The batteries on the devices were almost gone and he was ready to draw this little game to a close. He sucked the last of the milkshake down and ate the remaining fries, ready to go home and crash. His plans for the weekend were picking up speed.

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER 100

  DARLA STONE WATCHED HER husband flail beneath the sheets. She leaned over to check the clock on the nightstand: three fifty-five, right on time. Mitch’s nightmares were much more physical since the accident, and she supposed he was reliving his frustration at abandoning Cass in a dangerous situation. Their bond was strong, Darla knew, not from any physical attraction, but from the years that Mitch spent as a virtual member of the Elliot household as Jack Elliot’s childhood friend. She waited, letting the dream play out, recognizing that he wasn’t far from waking himself up.

  He sat bolt upright and clawed at his immobilized leg. Mitch’s eyes were wild and a muted scream struggled to escape his throat. Darla touched his shoulder. His gaze flew to hers and he crumpled then, slumping toward her. She stroked the blond hair from his sweaty forehead. “Same dream?”

  He nodded against her breasts and stomach.

  “I only ask because it could’ve been a dog dream. You looked like you were chasing a car. Or maybe a postal employee on a bike.”

  She felt a slow grin move across his face. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “Not just me. You better apologize to the boy over there.”

  As if on cue, a lanky greyhound jumped onto the bed, his hind legs scrambling for purchase against the comforter. He laid his bony head on Mitch’s thigh and his delicate brows twitched over soulful gray eyes. Mitch rubbed the dog’s silky ears. “Hey, Zeus. You’ll have to teach me how to catch that guy on the bike. It’s hard work.”

  Zeus rolled over, presenting his skinny belly. Mitch scratched. “It was the same dream, but different this time,” he said, looking over at his wife.

  She switched on the lamp. “How?”

  “I see the flickering light from the campfire and I have to get to that clearing. Like always, my leg won’t move and it drives me crazy. This time, I can hear a phone vibrating. I look down, and there it is in my hand, but I can’t get the damn thing open. It just keeps buzzing and buzzing.”

  “Why are you dreaming about a buzzing phone? Yours rings, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I don’t know. Maybe I –”

  Mitch stopped, his mouth hanging open, and Darla nudged him. “Maybe you what?”

  “Oh, God.” He yanked on the sheets, trying to untangle himself. “I was tired, I didn’t make the connection. I need to get to the courthouse, Darla.”

  “Mitch! It’s four o’clock Saturday morning. It can wait. It probably should wait until Monday.”

  “No, no, this really can’t wait.” He swung his good leg off the bed and then struggled upright.

  “Are you nuts?” she asked, sliding out of bed and watching him limp to the bathroom. He stopped and turned, his eyes desperate. She shivered. He’d worn the same look when he woke in the hospital that horrifying night, terrified that something bad had happened to Cass. When he spoke, his voice was dead serious.

  “Darla, I hope I’m wrong, but if I’m not, things are about to get very nasty for a fellow officer.”

  CHAPTER 101

  ACROSS THE COUNTY, JOSEPH opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of Moses’ room, letting his brain work through whatever problem had woken him. He’d developed the ability to emerge from sleep fully alert while in prison. It was a useful skill because it allowed him to retain the remnants of his dreams. Tonight, they revolved around the woman from The Golden Gate Café.

  Whoever cleaned and repaired your kitchen did a wonderful job. And fast, too. The backsplash behind the stove is perfect. They even found a new head for the rooster.

  Those words had bothered him when she spoke them, but he still didn’t know why. He got out of bed and padded down the hall to the kitchen, switching on the soft lighting beneath the cabinets to avoid waking the relatives sleeping on the sofa and living and dining room floors. He filled the carafe and spooned grounds into the filter, then waited as the coffee brewed, studying the backsplash. The woman, Junie, was right. The work was very good, and completed quickly. He leaned closer to the stove. The damage to the tile was completely gone, vanished. Repaired so perfectly that, with the exception of the two bodies at the funeral home, the shooting might not have happened. The whole the kitchen sparkled.

  What was it that bothered him about what Junie had said?

  Joseph walked slowly around the compact area, trying to see it through her eyes. Last night, she probably came in through the hall door, picked up food, then left through the door that led to the combination dining and living room. She had a chance to see every aspect of the kitchen. As had everyone else who visited yesterday.

  What was wrong with what Junie said?

  The coffee pot spat a final few drops into the carafe. Joseph poured a mug and started at the sound of slippered feet on the linoleum. Turning, he spotted a tiny body in footed pajamas dragging a teddy bear across the kitchen. The little girl stopped and craned her neck to look up at him, breaking into a sleepy grin. “Coffee-milk?” she asked, and Joseph smiled back.

  “I can’t remem
ber your name,” he whispered, picking her up and sitting her on the counter.

  “I’m Amelia. This is Froggy,” she whispered back, hoisting the bear for him to see. “And you’re Cousin Moses.”

  “I am. Why do you call your teddy bear Froggy?”

  “Because I like frogs the best. So far. But I like that chicken, too.” She pointed to the tile rooster. “She has a pretty face. I might change Froggy’s name to Birdie.”

  “I see,” Joseph answered, her answer tugging at him. He filled a mug half full with coffee, topped it off with milk, and stirred in sugar. She sipped from the spoon he held to her lips and nodded approval.

  Joseph shifted Amelia from the counter to a chair at the kitchen table and spilled a little coffee-milk in her saucer, then watched as she puffed her cheeks out and blew. She gave Froggy a chance to blow, then lifted the saucer and sipped. A ripple of sound came from her chair and she looked over her shoulder at her bottom, then frowned down at Froggy.

  “What was that?” Joseph whispered.

  Amelia giggled. “Froggy farted.”

  Joseph stifled a laugh. He poured a second mug and sat next to the child, looking at his reflection in the repaired kitchen window. He stared through the ghost of himself and tried to bore through the woods to the tree in Deadwood Hollow. To the bough that had supported the man who destroyed his family.

  And then he knew.

  Joseph watched as Amelia finished the last of her coffee-milk and held her mug out for more.

  “Go back to bed, baby. It’s too early for Froggy to be up. And Cousin Moses has business to tend to.”

  Amelia placed the mug in its saucer, presented her cheek for a kiss, and shuffled into the living room dragging Froggy the bear behind her. Joseph stared out the window again, excitement sparking through his synapses.

  He was certain the papers hadn’t printed details about where in their home the Franklins had died. And while Officer Hugo Petchard would have access to the case files, Joseph hadn’t seen his initials on any of the entries related to the murders. Petchard had barely come inside the house; the man couldn’t stand the smell. He had no knowledge of the details of the crime. There was no way Junie could know that the backsplash had been damaged by a bullet, that the tile bearing the rooster’s head was shattered.

  Unless she had seen it through the scope of the rifle that killed his mother and brother.

  CHAPTER 102

  THE HAPPY SOUNDS OF Sister Sledge’s “We Are Family” poured through door and Cass gave a startled laugh at the sight of Junie dancing across the empty café. She plucked a coffee pot and mug from the counter and met Cass at her regular table, her grin wide.

  Cass smiled in return. “You’re full of energy this morning.”

  “Glad to be alive. Some days are like that,” Junie replied as she poured. She took in Cass’s black suit and maroon blouse. “I wouldn’t have thought dark red would work with your hair, but it does. You should wear it down more. It looks good loose.”

  “Yours, too,” Cass said. “I like it brushed forward.”

  Junie fingered the dark mass. “I thought I’d try something new. Are you going to the funeral today?”

  Cass nodded.

  “Me, too. Moses is such a nice man. This must be terrible for him.” Junie put the coffee pot on a nearby table and pulled an order pad from her black jeans. Her make-up was meticulous and she wore another mock turtle neck, this one a chocolate brown that brought out her dark eyes. “Do you want your order to go? Like that forensics guy?”

  “Kado’s already been in?”

  “He said that he and some other detective came to the courthouse really early. Kado? That’s his name?”

  “Tom Kado,” Cass confirmed.

  “Ordered six sausage biscuits and four coffees to go. What can I get for you?”

  If he’s buying that much food, Mitch must be in, Cass thought. She shook her hands, limbering her wrists to tote the coffee carriers to the courthouse. “Give me ten coffees and ten breakfast burritos.”

  Junie lifted an eyebrow as she wrote.

  “I know,” Cass said, “but it sounds like it’s going to be a long day for a lot of us.”

  ____________

  CASS DID A DOUBLE take as she walked past Sheriff Hoffner’s office and spotted a slab of light falling beneath the door. A thought slipped into her brain. Let’s see what happens when I take Hugo Petchard’s advantage away.

  She passed the forensic room, noticing light and movement behind the door’s frosted window, and carried on to the empty squad room. She’d slept surprisingly well last night. Once Harry and Bruce got their father up the stairs to his bedroom, everything had been peaceful. Instead of spending the evening cleaning up the ramshackle mess Abe usually left after a binge, they’d gone quietly to bed. All thanks to Goober.

  Sliding the coffee carriers and bag onto the counter, she shook her hands to restore circulation, lifted a coffee cup from the container and added cream and sugar. Hesitating, she snagged another coffee cup and headed back down the hall.

  At her knock, Hoffner barked, “Who is it?”

  She opened the door a crack. “Cass, sir. May I come in?”

  “Why are you here so early, Elliot?”

  Hoffner wore a crisp white shirt, open at the neck, a tuft of snowy hair peeking through. A black suit jacket hung from the coat tree in the corner, and Cass caught sight of a dark blue tie folded on his credenza. “I thought I’d better come in and get started before the funerals.” She held out a cup of coffee.

  Hoffner’s nostrils flared as he took in her thick, dark red hair, hanging loose around her shoulders, then he nodded.

  “It’s black, sir. I wasn’t sure what you put in it.”

  “Thank you, Elliot. Is that all?”

  “I wanted to tell you what Officer Petchard did last night.”

  His eyes hardened beneath his hoary brows. “Go on.”

  “Officer Petchard called me when he was on his way home from Mojo’s house. He’d spotted my dad in Shady Grove Cemetery.” Cass cleared her throat. “My dad was drunk, and ended up passing out on my mom’s grave. Instead of arresting him for public intoxication, Officer Petchard gave me and my brothers the opportunity to deal with my father privately. That was a kind thing to do, and I thought you should know.”

  Hoffner removed the lid and wiped the coffee cup’s rim with a napkin. “Was Abe driving?”

  “From the look of things, he didn’t start drinking until he got to my mom’s grave. Bruce and Harry took him home, and I cleaned up the mess in the cemetery.” She waited patiently while he studied her, wondering if Hoffner would remember how meaningful the month of May was to her family.

  Finally, he nodded. “That was kind of him. I’m glad you and Officer Petchard are finding common ground. He’s got potential, Elliot. And connections. You could do worse than to have him as an ally.”

  Not in his fondest dreams, Cass thought, but she managed to keep a straight face. “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  At his curt nod, she left and pulled the door closed behind her, wondering how two people could have such different views of the world and the people in it.

  CHAPTER 103

  THE GOLDEN GATE CAFÉ smelled of Costa Rican coffee, and Joseph gratefully accepted a mug from Stan as he switched on Moses’ laptop.

  “How are you holding up?” Stan asked.

  “I’m all right. Thanks for coming to the house last night. And for bringing sandwiches.”

  “We were glad to do it. Sally wants us to close and come to the funeral, and I think we will.”

  “I’d appreciate having you there.”

  “Good,” Stan said, pulling an order pad from his pocket. “Breakfast?”

  “Please. But not too much food.”

  “Half a ham and cheese omelet with whole grain toast?”

  “And some hash browns.”

  “Good choice. I’ll get
it started.”

  “Stan,” Joseph said as the older man started to turn away. “What is Junie’s last name?”

  “Archer. Why?”

  “I just wondered. She’s been very nice about my mom and brother. Where’s she from?”

  Stan leaned in and spoke softly. “Her license says Tennessee. She’s been kind of quiet about her life. Makes me think she’s been through some hard times, you know?”

  “Yeah. Has she been with you long?”

  “Six weeks. Maybe a little longer. I’ll get your order in.”

  Joseph pulled the laptop toward him and prepared to complete several searches. Last night, Emmet had told him that Donna Moore called the little killing trio ‘avengers of blood’. When Joseph returned home after seeing Emmet, he found his mother’s worn Bible. He licked a finger and gingerly turned the onionskin pages, scanning for references to avengers of blood. He used the concordance to locate references in Numbers and Deuteronomy, but got lost in the spidery notes crawling in the margins of almost every page. Time slipped by as he squinted to read his mother’s handwriting. Finally, the tiny print was too much for his tired eyes and he gave up, deciding to use a more modern means of understanding the phrase. Now, he sipped Stan’s coffee and decided to try the most direct route. He typed in ‘avengers of blood’.

  The seat’s vinyl protested with a squeal as someone slid into the booth. His new companion was tapping a coffee cup in a meaningless rhythm. Joseph slowly lifted his gaze from the computer screen and the tapping stopped. A skinny white man with a jailhouse complexion sat across from him. The rank odor of an unwashed body wafted across the table. Joseph squinted. The man looked vaguely familiar. Moses, he thought. I am Moses. “Can I help you?”

  The man’s tongue darted lizard-like from between his lips. “You don’t remember me? Grief does strange things to people, but I’ve never heard of it causing amnesia.” He took a sip of coffee. “Sure was sorry to hear about your momma and brother. Me? I just knew it was you who got killed. Wouldn’t be surprising that someone comes after a cop, would it?”