by Catie Rhodes
Finally, my uncle came out with his gun and shot at it. Don’t know if he hit it or not because it run off, and we never looked for it the next day because Bessie never came to breakfast when her momma called her the next morning. They found her a-laying in bed with her eyes wide open, stiff as a board.
Eddie’s account ended there, and he didn’t make any other notes on Mrs. Rigg’s interview. By that time, the world outside my window was gray with dawn. I knew I had to tell Hannah what I’d found. I sent her a text message.
The church in your daddy’s drawing was called St. Augustine. Eddie had a whole file on it. Call me.
I waited several minutes for her call, but she didn’t. I lay down on my bed, intending to doze for just a couple of minutes. I jerked awake hours later, strangling back a scream. I’d dreamt of being trapped underneath the church tangled up with a bunch of skeletons. Midday sun streamed into the windows. I checked my cellphone but found no text from Hannah. Odd. She usually got up early to open the museum herself, even if she had hired help coming in for the day.
I’d just go to her.
I stopped at Lulu’s Espresso Meltdown and bought Hannah’s favorite latte, two bear claws, and a cup of coffee for myself. The parallel parking spots in front of the museum were empty. Miracle beyond miracles. I whipped into one and walked into the museum balancing the food and drinks.
Myrtle Gaudet stood in front of the reception desk, her purse under her arm. She watched me struggle my way to the desk and set down the coffee and pastries without offering any kind of help. I was surprised she didn’t try to trip me. Damn busybody. “Where’s Hannah Kessler?”
“Maybe upstairs in her apartment?” It made all the sense in the world, only Hannah would have put a “Be Back Soon” sign on the reception desk. I turned by back on Myrtle and hurried to Hannah’s office, expecting the smell of fresh brewed coffee or at least Hannah’s flowery shampoo. Neither. The door stood open, but the lights hadn’t been turned on. It was as though she got interrupted before she could start her morning routine.
“Well, where is she?” Myrtle said from behind me. I spun to face her, and she made a big show of rolling her eyes. My foot begged me to introduce it to her butt cheek.
“Stay here.” I pointed one finger at her and ran for the staircase leading to Hannah’s apartment. Fear, sharp as ground glass, churned in my guts. Settle down, Peri Jean. She just forgot something upstairs.
I tried to picture Hannah’s smile, the way she’d laugh at me running up to her apartment like something was really wrong, but I couldn’t. It was already ten o’clock in the morning. At the very least, Hannah would have a pot of coffee going in her office. She’d have answered my text message, excited to know what I’d learned. I climbed the last riser, ignoring the pain in my lungs, and stood stock still, mesmerized by the closed door.
“Peri Jean?” Myrtle’s voice drifted up the staircase. I ignored her.
I took two steps to the door and turned the knob. It opened. The apartment was a mess, the couch overturned and the wicker chair broken. Shattered dishes lay strewn about the floor. Hannah’s acoustic guitar lay in two pieces, its strings bent in half. My head swam, and my knees went weak. I grabbed the doorjamb to keep from spilling onto the floor. I took a step inside and jammed my hand against my mouth.
Hannah’s purse lay against the wall, its contents scattered around it. Her cellphone lay closest to me. I bent and picked it up, pushing the power button. The screen flashed on, and there was my text message from early this morning. I sat down hard on the floor and watched the walls wobble as shock wavered through me. The screen faded to black, and I stared at my reflection in the glass. I set the cellphone back on top of the mess and pushed it away from me.
The scattered mess in the room told a story I didn’t want to think about. Someone, probably Michael Gage, came in here and took Hannah away. Could I have prevented it? I’d never know. Could I save her? I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.
“Peri Jean?”
I screamed and scrambled to my feet. Myrtle Gaudet stood at the door.
“Where is Hannah?” She glared at me as though she didn’t even see the wreck of Hannah’s apartment. “I’ve got important business to discuss with her.”
“Can’t you see something’s wrong, you moron?” Yelling hurt my throat, but the pain felt good. It woke me up. I took my cellphone out of my bag and called Dean.
10
“What is it, Peri Jean?” Dean’s voice had the world-weary tone he liked to adopt with people he wished he could ignore. Well, he could sniff my dirty socks. No, make that Tubby Tubman’s dirty socks.
“Hannah’s gone. I think Michael Gage has her.” I said the words in a rush and figured he would ask me to repeat myself, but he didn’t.
“How long she been gone?”
“I don’t know. Yesterday was the last time I spoke to her.”
“Her car gone?” His voice carried a note of impatience. In a few more seconds, he’d hang up on me.
“No. It’s out back in the parking lot. But, Dean, her apartment’s all torn up.”
“Maybe she had a party or something. Wandered off with one of her guests.”
“There’s broke dishes everywhere.” I paused to swallow and lick my lips. My mouth was so dry it could have been full of cotton. “That wicker chair she’s so proud of? It’s a pile of sticks. And her purse—”
Dean’s chair let out a squeal of protest. He must have sat up. Good. At least I had his attention. “What about Hannah’s purse? You saw it?”
“It was lying against the baseboard, all dumped out.”
“Damn it all to hell.” He hit something, his desk from the sound of it. “I’ll be right over. Meanwhile, don’t get into anything.”
I hung up on him, not to be a smartass but because I felt the sudden urge to gag. I charged into Hannah’s bathroom and leaned over the toilet, hands on my knees. The wave of nausea turned into an ache in the pit of my stomach.
“Well?” Myrtle followed after me like an invisible string connected us. The nausea came roaring back with its best buddy, slobber.
“Now I’m gonna try not to barf.” I spat into the toilet. A trickle of icy sweat raced down my neck.
“You’re disgusting. You know, I had the utmost respect for Leticia Mace, but you never really matured did you?”
“Would you like me better if I hurled on your shoes?” I held my hand over my mouth, pretty sure I couldn’t hold it back. Brakes squalled out front, and the sound of running footsteps came pounding up the stairs.
“What are you doing in there?” Dean appeared in the doorway, red-faced and panting. He was ten years older than me and had run up the steps in about one-third the time it took me. Maybe I really did need to quit smoking.
“Trying not to vomit. Myrtle wants me to throw up on her. It’s why she keeps following me around griping at me.”
Myrtle huffed and stomped over to where Dean squatted next to Hannah’s purse, squinting at its content. Hannah’s cellphone started to ring. Myrtle reached for it.
“No!” He held up his hand. “Stop, Mrs. Gaudet. This is a possible crime scene. In fact, why don’t you go home?”
The cellphone continued to ring.
“But I…” Myrtle’s lips puckered into a sour moue.
“Just think. You can be the first to spread this juicy gossip all over town.” I widened my eyes at Myrtle in fake excitement.
The cellphone stopped ringing, probably rolled over to voicemail.
Myrtle’s eyes widened. “I uh—need to go check on my little dog. She ain’t used to being left alone so long.” She took off walking, faster than I ever imagined she could. We listened to her going down the endless stairs. The cellphone rang again.
Dean answered it. “This is Hannah Kessler’s cellphone. Who is this?” He frowned and held the phone away from his face, squinting at the screen. It rang again. He handed the phone to me. “You answer it.”
I tapped the a
nswer call icon and put the phone to my ear. Dean crowded so close the scent of his shaving cream tickled my nose.
“Peri Jean?” Michael Gage’s twang, the one he used when he wasn’t pretending to be somebody else, came over the speaker.
A blaze of rage flamed up deep inside where I stored all the hurts and wrongs of my life. My vision wavered with the heat of it, and it burned up any words I might have spoken.
“Peri Jean?” Gage’s voice held a hint of laughter. “You best answer me, girl, you know what’s good for your friend.”
Dean nudged me and gave me a nod. I stared at him, unable to get his meaning. He mouthed “Talk to him.”
“You best bring Hannah right back here to the museum, you know what’s good for you.” I imitated Gage’s way of speaking as best as I could. Next to me, Dean rolled his eyes and put his hands over his face.
“Don’t threaten me, little girl. You barely got away from me yesterday.”
Dean stared at me, eyes wide, mouth turned down. Oh, I’d hear about not letting him in on the action. Might as well go for broke.
“You barely escaped with your face intact, you nitwit.” I took a shuddering breath. “Bring my friend back, and I won’t hunt you down and finish the job.”
“You can’t show me some respect, maybe you can talk nice to your friend.” The sound of the phone being passed off came over the speaker. Hannah’s crying followed it.
“Peri Jean. Oh God. Please make them stop. Please. It’s—”
The sound of flesh striking flesh worked its way into my brain and woke my fury.
“Me-he-he-he.” Michael Gage had the phone again. “You got seventy-two hours to find that treasure, girl. You don’t, and I’ll do so much stuff to your friend, it won’t matter if she lives or not.”
Somewhere in the background, Hannah let out a pain-filled wail.
“I’ll kill you, Michael Gage,” I screamed into the cellphone. “I’ll skin you alive, and—”
Dean snatched the phone from me. “This is Sheriff Dean Turgeau, Burns Cou—” He dropped the phone on top of the purse. “Can’t you ever keep your temper in check? He might have said something to help us figure out where he’s holding her. Instead you have to have a pissing match with a murderer—”
“Shut up,” I screamed in his face. “It’s my fault he took her. Don’t you know how that feels?” I took a few steps toward Dean, wishing I could rush to him and lay my head on his shoulder for comfort, but knowing better. I put my face in my hands and waited for the tears to come, but they wouldn’t. The dark emptiness growing inside me had chewed them up and swallowed them.
“Do you want to tell me what happened between you and Michael Gage?”
I shook my head. A mess of glass and metal in the corner caught my eye. I walked over to it and found the remains of The Jazz Singer movie poster and its frame. “Adam’s drawing,” I mumbled.
“What?” Dean came to stand next to me.
I made a slow circle of the apartment but knew Hannah would have kept the her father’s drawing near her research materials in case she needed to refer back to it.
“What are you looking for?” Dean dogged my every step around the apartment.
Without bothering to answer him, I ran down the stairs to the workroom. Dean huffed along behind me, shouting questions and making a general ass of himself. I let myself into the workroom. What I saw stopped me at the door.
The big table we’d used to take apart the frame holding The Jazz Singer lay overturned. Hannah’s research books lay scattered on the floor. I walked over to the far wall and stood staring at the worst part of it all—a spray of blood about the height of Hannah’s head. I didn’t have to do a close search to know Adam’s drawing was gone. Dean appeared next to me and gently tugged my arm until I followed him out of the room.
“Go home, Peri Jean.” He took a business card out of his wallet and punched in a few numbers. “I’ve got to call in the big boys. If we need a statement from you or anything else, I’ll get you to come in.”
I stared at him, not quite willing to just walk away. Hannah was my most faithful friend. I couldn’t go home like I didn’t care. Dean took a step toward me, reached out, and then jerked back his hand.
“Hannah’s my friend too. Trust me to do everything within my power to help find her.” He put his hands on my arms and gave me a light shake. “Listen to me. Michael Gage can’t hide forever. He’s going to mess up.”
I took in every plane of his face, studying the crow’s feet growing deeper at the corners of his eyes. He would do what he said, but could he compete with Michael Gage?
“The best place you can be is where I can reach you, not underfoot here. Okay?” He locked his gaze on mine until I nodded and pulled away from him.
“Will you lock up the museum?” I showed Dean where Hannah kept an extra set of keys, and he put them in his pocket.
Then I put one foot in front of the other, having to force every step, until I got to my car. I drove a short distance and parked on a side street. The scream clawed its way up my chest and came out in a warrior’s cry. I banged my fists on the steering wheel and let it rip up my throat.
I thought back to the early hours of the morning. Gage was probably kidnapping Hannah while I tried to get into Wade Hill’s pants. I was a slut, and a stupid one at that. I should have been here at the museum, spending the night with my friend, keeping her safe. Now Gage had her. No telling what he’d already done to her or what he’d do to her. I might never get the chance to apologize or to hug her again.
The tears still didn’t come. They hung in my throat, a lump of painful sorrow, held in place by the wrath coursing through me. This was my fault, all of it. Michael Gage would have never targeted Hannah had it not been for me.
Would it have made any difference if I’d already found the treasure? I thought so. Gage might have focused on me instead of going after my friends. Now, Hannah’s life hung in the balance. How quickly could I find the Mace Treasure?
As things stood, I was really no closer than I’d been a month ago. Priscilla Herrera wanting me to take on her mantle saw to that. As long as I held out, time stood still.
The idea of taking any part of Priscilla Herrera into me inspired a fear so complete I couldn’t see around it. My ancestor cared about nothing other than getting her way. She’d use me any way she could to get herself out of purgatory, ghost prison, or wherever she was.
But is Hannah worth it? Yes. The answer came right away. But what if Michael Gage killed her anyway? Or what if he hurt her so much she might as well be dead? What then? I’d have to live with it, was what. Help her any way I could until she got better.
Besides, the next target might be Rainey Bruce or her parents. Maybe Wade Hill, who, despite last night, I still wanted. Maybe Dean. Even though I disliked him as much as a summer cold, I didn’t want to see him hurt.
I’d find the Mace Treasure, even if it meant taking on Priscilla Herrera’s mantle. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise. I took out my cellphone and called Mysti Whitebyrd.
“My sister from another mother,” she answered. “How are you?”
“Ready.” My body fluttered with the rapid slam of my heart.
The sound of Mysti’s footsteps came over the line, and a door closed. “Ready for what, Peri Jean?”
“Ready to take on Priscilla Herrera’s mantle.”
“What changed your mind? You seemed pretty set against it when we last spoke.” Mysti’s usually gentle voice developed an edge.
“Michael Gage is back. He kidnapped Hannah, and he wants the treasure.” The concepts whirled in my mind, competing with each other until none of them made any sense.
“Taking on someone’s mantle is as much will as anything. If you don’t truly want what she’s offering, I don’t know if you can—”
“I have to try.” Now the tears came, roughening my voice. “He was hurting Hannah. You should have heard her screaming.”
Mysti let out a
soft breath. “All right. I’ll help you. My first suggestion is for you to contact Priscilla Herrera, or try to.”
Nervousness and worry spiked through my stomach like a lightning storm. My experiences with my powerful ancestor had alternately scared the life out of me and infuriated me. “What for?”
“We need her cooperation.” In the background on Mysti’s end, a voice came over a loudspeaker. Mysti grunted. “I’ve got to get moving. Pray to the goddess this whole fiasco’ll wrap up in the next few hours. Otherwise, I’m going to pull one of your stunts and whup somebody’s ever-loving ass.”
I pushed out a mirthless laugh.
“Call me and let me know how things go with Priscilla. Even if you have to leave a voicemail.” The voice over the loudspeaker came again, and Mysti hung up before I could answer.
Contact Priscilla Herrera. I wanted to put it off. But I knew better. Priscilla Herrera would do everything she could to make this difficult for me. Maybe it was a test. Maybe she was just a bitch. I didn’t know which it was. What I did know was that I’d work on her terms until the job got done, like it or not.
I started the Nova, pulled out of my parking place, and drove back past the museum. The street was full of Ford Crown Victorias. Some had Burns County Sheriff emblazoned in green and gold on the sides. Others were plain white. One black Crown Vic stood out from the crowd. I knew from my time with Dean it didn’t belong to Burns County. Must be the Feds Dean said were looking for Michael Gage. I drove on past, intent on heading home to do my dirty work.
Passing the Gaslight City limits, a stray thought hit me. Wade might be moving his crap out of my house right then. The idea of facing him made my toes curl. I did a U-turn, skirted Gaslight City’s downtown, and went out to Priscilla Herrera’s old cabin. I parked on the dirt road and fought my way through the brambles cutting the abandoned homesite off from the rest of the world.