Cross Your Heart

by Michele Bardsley

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Is it considered a meal? I thought vampires could only drink blood. Unless you’re in Broken Heart.”

  It hadn’t even occurred to me. “Essence is essence, I suppose. Blood, semen, saliva. Living cells.”

  “So, I was like dessert?” He pulled up his sweats, giving me a very lascivious look.

  “You’re incorrigible.” I narrowed my gaze. “Why were you asking about penetration?”

  He lifted one eyebrow.

  I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  Tez was scheming about something, and I wasn’t sure I would like it. Or maybe I should’ve been more worried about how much I would like it. I had discovered quite a bit about myself in the last few hours—that Tez knew what tempted me; what turned me on; and that he cared enough about me to find out what I liked, to help in a sensual exploration of my own needs—and was very much afraid I was half in love with him already. He was the most virile man I’d ever met—and all that sexual potency might well kill me. Again.

  I put aside the hat and repacked the other clothing. I put on the lid and shoved it back against the wall. Then I dove into the next crate. It was only half full, but the contents made me laugh. I pulled out a bottle and showed it to Tez. “Look,” I said. “Scotch.”

  “So your grandfather really was keeping some of his hooch up here.”

  “It seems so.” I returned the bottle, put on the lid, and pushed the crate against the wall next to the other one.

  “Listen to this, Ellie.” Tez picked up a paper and read: “Dennison Clark married Wilmette Johnson in a church ceremony on last Sunday. It is the second marriage for Mr. Clark, whose first wife, Cora, died tragically six years ago.”

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  “It’s on the back page under ‘Announcements,’ ” said Tez. “Kinda weird to throw in the info about death of the first wife with the notice about the new marriage.” He flipped the paper over, and tapped the top corner. “This is the winter of 1905. Six years prior would make it 1894. If we’re right, then all the women died that year.”

  “We have four women who died the same year—the year my grandfather built the general store,” I said. “Or so we can assume at this point. We may not have confirmation yet, but I would bet my Neiman Marcus charge card that Evangeline LeRoy was killed, too.”

  “Since we’re doing a lot of assuming here,” said Tez as he gathered and stacked the papers, “let’s say Elizabeth is killed by her husband, after he calls forth Mammon’s demon shadow. He’d obviously set something into motion, something he couldn’t control, or take back.”

  “Because he’d already given purpose to the shadow,” I said. “I don’t think he intended to kill Elizabeth.”

  “But maybe he intended to kill the other women.” Tez looked at me. “Let’s say that the ghost gets trapped in the attic with the shadow demon. They’re both released. The demon goes off to finish his task, and the ghost is drawn to you as Elizabeth’s direct descendent.”

  “What I don’t understand is why the focus is on making the women believe their husbands cheated, and being so devastated by it, they end their lives.”

  “You said it before, Ellie. The curse is about ruining love.”

  “Do we continue the conjecture and say that he stopped after killing five women?” I looked down into the opened fourth crate and saw files, papers, books. I knew we’d found the missing archives from the Broken Heart library.

  Tez finished returning the papers to the box, then put on the lid and added it to those already against the wall. “I think we’re making some pretty big leaps without very much evidence.” Tez sat down next to me and helped me empty out the wooden box. We piled the materials around us. “Once he’d killed the object of his true obsession—Elizabeth—he might’ve turned his attention to other women.”

  “You mean killing Elizabeth over and over again?” I shook my head. “She died after he’d invoked the demon. I really do believe he’d planned for her to live, but . . . she took a lover and betrayed him.”

  “Is it possible to change the demon’s purpose?” asked Tez. “Maybe he called him in for one thing, and after Jeremiah killed his wife, he decided he wanted the demon to do something else.”

  “We’re missing some very big pieces of the puzzle.”

  As Tez looked through a stack of paperwork, I began examining the books. There were a couple of family Bibles—one for the Allens and the other for the Clarks. On the inside page of the Clark family Bible was a list of family names. Underneath Cora and Dennison Clark were the names of their children. Wilmette Johnson had not been added to the Bible. Then again, it had probably been stored away in this loft before the marriage.

  Why would these families’ Bibles be in my grandfather’s possession? I looked through each one and could discern no reason to keep them. No notes were hidden between the pages, and I didn’t see any markings other than names of the family. It was all very disappointing.

  I set aside the Bibles, and picked up a small hard-cover book. “Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman,” I said. I opened it to the first page, and stopped cold. “ ‘To my darling Elizabeth, our love will bind us in this life and the next. You are everything to me. Your loving fiancé, Paul Tibbett. June 12, 1889.’ ”

  Tez stopped perusing the paper in his hand and stared at me. “Who the hell is Paul Tibbett?”

  I grappled with this newest truth. “My great-grandmother was engaged to someone else before she married Jeremiah.” I thought about my visions, and suddenly they made sense. The man in the attic, the one who’d strangled her, must’ve been Paul Tibbett, not Jeremiah Silverstone. He was the one mad at her for marrying my great-grandfather. Relief flooded me. Maybe I didn’t have homicidal maniacs in my family. “For whatever reason, she married my great-grandfather, and came with him to the Oklahoma territory to do the land run. They stake their claim, build their manse, and Elizabeth bears her first son a few months after they arrive. Jeremiah starts financing the town, two years go by, and she has another son.”

  “But Paul can’t let go,” said Tez. “He follows her to Broken Heart. She feels guilty about the way she dumped him.”

  I nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “She lets him stay, maybe gets him a job in town, but doesn’t tell her husband that her old boyfriend is in town.”

  “And he hangs out in the attic?” I asked. “Would she really let him live in her house with her husband and kids?”

  “Maybe they were carrying on their affair.”

  “You mean she loved Paul, but married Jeremiah for his money?” I didn’t want to think my own flesh and blood had done something so selfish, but times had been different. Courtship wasn’t always about love. “She was scared of him.” I rubbed my jaw. “He hit her, and knocked her out.”

  “His jealousy drove him crazy. He realized she was never going to leave Jeremiah, and he decided if he couldn’t have her, then no one could.”

  Could love really turn so ugly? How awful it must’ve been for Elizabeth. The hands that once caressed her with tender regard had been the instruments of her death.

  “I still don’t understand why he was in the attic.”

  “Maybe Paul did the land run, too. He could’ve been in town the whole time. Or maybe he was hired to help build the house and did his own project on the side so he could be close to her. Maybe she didn’t know about the secret room.”

  “Wait,” said Tez. “You got Internet on your iPhone?”

  “Yes, but I left it downstairs in the bedroom.”

  “Damn.”

  “What in the world do you need to Google?”

  “The date of the Oklahoma land run.”

  “April 22, 1889.”

  Tez blinked at me. “How did you know that?”

  “Because Oklahoma history is a requirement to graduate high school. For some reason, the date always stuck in my mind.” I pa
used, staring down at the book of poetry. “He dated it June 12, 1889.”

  “It fits our hypothesis,” said Tez. “He’s obsessed with her, gives her the book.”

  “What if Elizabeth did the land run with Paul?” I asked. “They’re engaged, maybe too poor to buy land of their own. They have a chance to start over in the new territory . . . so they come to Oklahoma.”

  “They stake out their plot, and Elizabeth breaks off the engagement. She marries Jeremiah instead and becomes the belle of the town.” Tez nodded. “That’s a good scenario, too. But either way, the story ends the same. Paul gets obsessed with her, can’t let go, and he kills her.”

  “Then he somehow forces the wives of the four other founding families to commit suicide?” I asked. “That doesn’t tie in to the demon shadow.”

  “Well, he was the one to call it forth.”

  “It all goes back to why,” I said, feeling frustrated. “Why would anyone go through all the trouble of calling forth a powerful ancient demon—one who thrives off greed?”

  “Sounds like a rich man’s demon,” said Tez.

  “Sounds like a poor man’s demon,” I countered.

  Tez stood up and stretched, and those lovely chest muscles of his expanded in a most alluring way. All thoughts fled my mind. I found myself off the floor and pressed against him without even realizing I’d done so—not until he leaned down and gave me a lazy kiss.

  “We’ve discovered a lot of useful information,” said Tez. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me tight against him. “Let’s call it a night.”

  “But it’s at least three hours before daylight.”

  “Yeah,” said Tez, grinning. He cupped my buttocks and squeezed me so that I rubbed against his thickening length. “But I have a few ideas about how to spend those hours.”

  “We should at least check out the last box,” I said. “I don’t want to return to this room. I don’t like it up here.”

  I wasn’t sure if Tez would let common sense rule, or if he would throw me over his shoulder and march to the bedroom. I was sorta hoping for the latter. I’d never been taken to bed in such a manner, and I have to admit I liked the idea.

  Tez sighed. “You’re right. We’ll look in the last crate, take a quick gander at the rolltop, and get outta here.”

  “We should take the box with the archives and give it to Eva. She’ll want it for the library. Or she will once she’s well again.”

  Tez kissed me again, dipping his tongue into my mouth, offering a promise of what delights awaited me.

  “Let’s hurry,” I said.

  “Damn right.” He let me go, and then knelt down and started loading up the papers and books into the crate we’d emptied. He wasn’t exactly being careful, but I couldn’t blame him. We could straighten it all out later.

  I was eager to leave, too, and not just because I wanted to get naked with Tez. My grandfather’s secret room had tainted my memories of him. I hated the idea that he’d known about his mother’s murder and helped, so many years later, to continue the cover-up. I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but here was the evidence of his duplicity.

  I was hoping to find just another batch of fine Scotch, but instead I found a wool blanket. Impatient, I yanked it out. Something bounced out of its folds, spun across the floor, and landed at Tez’s feet.

  Horrified by what I’d done, and what had fallen out, I stood there like a moron and clung to the blanket.

  Tez bent down and picked up the skull. He looked at me. “Look at that, Ellie Bee. You’ve lost your head.”

  Chapter 15

  “That’s not funny!” I dropped the blanket and marched to him, taking the skull.

  “Well, at least you’ve got another one for your collection.”

  “Oh, be quiet.” I examined the skull. It was damaged, and not from its unfortunate dance across the floor. A hole permeated the back, and cracks radiated from the trauma.

  “Blunt instrument,” said Tez. “The victim was hit with extreme force.”

  I couldn’t imagine to whom the skull belonged, or why my grandfather had hidden it. I prayed it wasn’t the cranium of one of the women we presumed dead—but then if it wasn’t . . . who the hell else had been killed?

  We examined the box, and found nothing else. No other bones, no missing piece of the skull, and certainly no note indicating whose head had been sitting in my grandfather’s attic.

  “The plot thickens,” said Tez. “I guess we need to take the skull back, too.”

  “Stan will want to examine it.” I looked at the rolltop desk and dread filled me. What would we find in it? I was getting weary of all the morbid surprises.

  Tez packed the skull in the blanket and put it on top of the crate we planned to take with us. “Tell you what. I’ll empty the rolltop. Whatever’s in there, we’ll examine tomorrow, okay? Let’s go downstairs and relax.”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea.” I was relieved by Tez’s practical suggestion, and his willingness to take over what had become a laborious task. “I need to check in with Damian and let him know what we found. I’ll tell him about our theories, too. Maybe he has some good news about Patsy and Eva.”

  “I hope so, Ellie.” Tez gave me a hug, and I didn’t realize how much I wanted one. How wonderful it was to have a partner who understood what I needed and could provide it. I couldn’t recall the last time I had felt cared for, and Tez did it as naturally as breathing.

  We headed downstairs, and when we entered the study, we made sure the secret door was closed tightly. Tez promised to retrieve everything later, and I was grateful we’d decided to take a break. I felt only a little cowardly about abandoning the room and its contents.

  I really wanted to settle down with a cup of tea. Or a dry martini.

  “I’m going to run a hot bath,” said Tez as we entered our bedroom suite.

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful. When you’re finished, I’ll take one.”

  He laughed. “I took a peek at that bathroom. I think the entire defensive line of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers can fit in that tub.” He took me into his arms and smiled. “I meant that I would run the bath for you. I know you’re stressed, and you can’t drink that sissy tea you like so much, so I’ll fill the tub. You soak. I’ll load up the Honda with our creepy cargo.”

  “I can run my own bath,” I said, touched by his thoughtfulness.

  “It’s not about you being capable. It’s about you letting someone help shoulder your burdens. It’s about you remembering that you’re worthy of being taken care of—and you deserve to be pampered.”

  He was right. I wasn’t very good at letting others take care of me. Granted, I hadn’t had anyone in a long time who wanted to do so. It was much easier to do things myself than to rely on others. I realized there were plenty of people (relatively speaking) who would gladly help me. I was too used to taking care of everything, and it was hard to trust others to do the job right. I was used to being relied upon, to being the clear head and the straight shoulders. Elizabeth Bretton could always put things aright, and she never, ever fell apart.

  “I would very much appreciate you running a bath for me,” I said. “And I hope you’ll join me.”

  “Rain check, princess.” He kissed my forehead and let me go.

  I stared at him, flabbergasted. “Rain check?”

  “See, here’s the thing. You gotta learn to take. Just . . . take. You don’t have to give back. Me doing something for you is not a debt. You gotta stop trying to earn a gold star for your life chart.” He tapped my temple. “You keep score, princess. I don’t.”

  I opened my mouth to deny his ridiculous accusation, but no words came out.

  “God, you’re cute,” he said. He kissed me lightly before disappearing into the bathroom. I heard him whistling “Don’t Be Cruel,” and then I heard the rush of water as he turned on the faucets.

  I stood in the bedroom, feeling off-kilter. I never considered myself a scorekeeper. I di
dn’t keep track of doing nice things for other people. I never felt as though I was owed for any kindness I’d given.

  But that wasn’t Tez’s point, and I knew it.

  I did keep track of the kindnesses done for me. I never wanted to feel as though I was indebted to someone else, no matter how small the favor. If a friend dropped by and brought flowers, I’d drop off some cookies the very next day. One time, Darrius had come to my rescue in town and changed a flat tire. I sent him a case of his favorite lager. I planned to gift Lenette and her sisters with a selection of coffees for the boxes of scones. I’d already insisted on paying them for the room Tez and I had taken, though Lenette tried to refused my payment. As I recounted all the times I’d repaid every, single nice thing others had done for me, I realized my motivation had very little to do with gratitude.

  I didn’t want anyone anywhere to be able to claim I owed them.

  I thought about Henry, and how his betrayal had cut me to the quick. Was that when I started paying attention to who did what for whom? We stayed married, we even stayed friends, but I made damned sure he could never hurt me again. I had no faith in him, and, somehow, I had transferred that lack of faith to every relationship.

  Deep down inside, I had decided that no one wanted to help me just to help me. That was too simple an explanation. Everyone had a motive; everyone had an angle. Tez had figured out this facet of my personality; he’d seen it clearly even when I had not. He didn’t seem bothered by it, and he hadn’t been cruel when he called me to the carpet, either.

  I felt ashamed about how I had dishonored the genuine affection of my friends by overcompensating with gift giving. If I didn’t keep score of what I happily did for others, then why couldn’t I believe that my friends did the same? Was I so caught up in my own insecurities I couldn’t even accept Tez’s offer of running a hot bath without thinking about how to repay the gesture?

  “You still having that epiphany, princess?” Tez leaned against the doorjamb of the bathroom, and studied me.

  “I’m afraid so,” I said. “It’s quite disturbing to see such a glaring flaw in one’s own personality.”