by Maria Lima
But rest was not what I'd gotten. Instead, my brain kept replaying my nightmare, only this time, every time I tried to leave, Marty appeared in front of me, miles of plastic tubing emerging from his body, filled with his blood and dripping on the floor. I'd try to push the table out of the way, but every time I grabbed the edge, Marty sat up and told me that I was trapped and I had to take the blood.
On the third or fourth round of this gruesome cycle, I woke up. A deafening clap of thunder knocked me out of dreamland and into the damp early afternoon of the same awful day. So much for a restful sleep.
I took my time showering and getting dressed. I didn't want to face the reality of being awake. Maybe if I stayed home and didn't talk to anyone, this whole thing would go away.
But the world intruded when I walked into the living room. My brother was sitting in my easy chair, a mug in his hand and an easy grin on his face.
"Hey there,” he said. “Good coffee."
He nodded toward the answering machine, which was blinking malevolently on its small stand. “You've got messages."
"You listened to my messages?"
He shrugged. “Not exactly. I've been here for a few hours. I didn't want to wake you up. I heard the messages when they called."
I took the cup from my brother and sank into the couch across from him, slugging down a healthy dose of caffeine. He was right—it was good coffee.
"Who called?"
Tucker frowned. “Bea called, three times. Then your old friend, the sheriff. Did I hear him right? Is Marty dead?"
I nodded. “Yeah, Carlton stopped by earlier to tell me. The cleaning service found him."
"Dead how?"
"Murdered."
The word sounded so blunt, so final.
"Any ideas?"
I shook my head. “No, I was going to go over there, to—"
"Look at the body?"
More blunt words.
"Yeah."
"Good idea. Want me to come with you?"
I looked at him relaxing in the chair, all denim shirt, chinos and topsiders, six-foot-four pale-faced pseudo-yuppie sporting a braid longer than Willie Nelson's and a history longer than most European countries. No one looking at him now would be able to guess his true nature. He really was my favorite brother.
I smiled a little. “Yeah, I'd love it if you came with me."
He smiled back. “Anytime you're ready."
I drained the remains of the coffee and stood up. “Tell you what, let's stop by Bea's first and get food before we go to the Sheriff's office. I need a little fortification."
Tucker grinned as he followed me out the front door. “Oh yeah, there was one more call."
I glanced over my shoulder as crossed the porch. My brother's grin widened.
"Adam Walker. Wanted to know about dinner."
Oh, great. Another complication I didn't need right now.
"Did he leave a number?” I asked, ignoring my brother's silent, but obvious question.
"I already programmed it into your cell phone."
He ducked as I swung my backpack at his head.
I gave in and told Tucker about seeing Adam last night. Although he hadn't been in England while I was there, he knew about what happened with Gideon. Tucker had been the only member of my family to listen to me when I'd come back. It still hadn't stopped him from emigrating, though.
"I agree with Bea,” he said.
"What?” I grunted as I pulled into the caf? parking lot.
"Go out with the guy, see what happens."
"Shit, don't you start,” I said. “Besides, we need to find out what happened to Marty before I think about anything like a date."
Tucker smiled as he unfastened his seat belt. “That wasn't a ‘no'."
"It wasn't,” I said. “But it wasn't an ‘I'm going to jump his bones’ either. Let's just get through today and worry about the rest later."
"Deal,” he said.
Neither Bea nor Noe were out front, but Carlton sat at the same booth as he had yesterday morning, as if he'd never left. Piles of dishes and cups were pushed to one side. He was reading from a stack of papers. Well, shit. Didn't he have an office to go to? Or a murder investigation to conduct ... somewhere else?
Without looking in his direction, I motioned to Tucker to follow me and walked past the cash-wrap and into the kitchen. The place was in chaos. Noe was up to his shoulders in dishwater and dirty plates in the sinks, while Bea's elderly Aunt Petra sat on a tall stool peeling potatoes. Two equally elderly uncles were scurrying back and forth, various kitchen implements in hand, stirring pots of steaming food.
Bea appeared out of the storeroom underneath an industrial-sized sack of carrots. She hefted the bag onto the counter, whirled around and ran back into the storeroom, a bare nod of acknowledgement to us.
"Hey, Tucker, Keira, hang on a sec, ‘kay?” she said over her shoulder as she rummaged through stacks of canned goods. “It's only a couple of hours until I have to serve the early dinner specials and I still need to make the carrot salad.” The rest of her words were lost as she stuck her head between shelves.
"Aqui, m'hija,” said Tia Petra, patting a stool next to her. “You don't want to get dirty.” She smiled and climbed back onto her own stool to peel more potatoes. Tucker followed and stood next to me. “Beatriz is worried. Those men never came to work today."
I looked at her with a frown. I opened my mouth to speak, when Bea came out of the storeroom balancing a large can on either arm. Petra's husband, Richard, took the cans from Bea and went back over to the stove. “Thank you,” he said in his quiet, low voice. “I will begin the enchiladas."
Bea smiled her thanks at him then came over to me. “I'm so sorry to hear about Marty,” she said as she grabbed me in a bear hug and kissed my cheek. “Are you okay? I was worried.” She shot a glance at Tucker. “When did he get here?"
"Last night,” I said. “I went to sleep after Carlton left. Nothing but nightmares. But I'll be fine."
She grimaced. “We've been pretty swamped all day,” she said, starting to chop carrots. “The two idiots didn't show up to work and they're not answering the phone at their apartment.” She chopped even harder. “I had to call in family to help."
So the Albrights had proven their reputation. I wasn't surprised.
Bea snorted, her knife hitting the chopping block with an audible thunk. Orange-colored slices flew off as her blade bit into the roots. “And ese,” she nodded toward her nephew, who was out of earshot, “decides to sleep in this morning and not show up until nearly ten. Petra and I handled breakfast rush. That boy is becoming worse than useless."
I watched Bea for a few more minutes, listening to the clanging of pots and pans and the normal kitchen busy-ness. I wanted to offer to help, but the last time I'd tried to help in the kitchen, Bea had thanked me and asked me to never do it again. I'd managed to ruin an entire night's special by mixing up tablespoons and teaspoons. Tucker stayed silent, observing the chaos.
Bea swept the last of the chopped carrots into a large metal bowl and handed it over to Aunt Petra. “Here, Tia, would you start the salad for me?” She wiped her hands on her apron then turned back to me. “Come on, you two, we need to talk,” she said, and took off in the direction of her office. We followed her.
"Close the door,” she said, settling into her chair. I did as she asked and sat down, Tucker settled beside me. “Tell me, what exactly happened? Sheriff-man out there isn't saying much even though he's been sitting in my caf? for the better part of two hours."
I wasn't sure where to start, so I told her everything. From the nightmares of Marty's death to what Carlton had told me. She was silent after I finished talking, her normally mobile face still.
"Damn, Sis,” Tucker said quietly. “You dreamed all of this?"
Bea shook her head slowly from side to side. “I can't believe all of this,” she said, her voice uneven. “Things like this don't happen in Rio Seco.” She took both my hands in
hers, pulled me over and grabbed me in a bear hug. “Are you okay? Really, okay?"
I stood up, pulling away from her hug.
"Okay? I have no earthly idea. I'm not sure what to feel. I don't feel like crying. I'm pissed off, at Marty, at myself for—damn it, I don't have any clue what the hell I'm supposed to do."
I felt as if I'd been set adrift in a bad Twilight Zone episode and if I looked closely, I'd see a skinny man in a dark suit standing in the corner, ready to announce the next episode. This was all too unreal.
"You're not supposed to feel fake feelings,” Tucker said, his blunt honesty refreshing. “Keira...” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back into the chair. I hadn't realized I'd started pacing. “You never liked Marty and it's not your fault he died."
I leaned over and put my head in my hands, not wanting to hear him. Wallowing was better than having to deal with this guilt.
"It would be better if it was my fault,” I mumbled around my hands.
Tucker's hand smoothed an awkward path down my back. He'd never seen me like this, not his all-together smart-ass sister.
"Damn, that really sucks,” said Bea. “I don't know what to tell you. Marty was an asshole, but I know you didn't want him to be murdered. You had nothing to do with it. All you did was dream about it."
"But what if I'd told him?"
Both Bea and Tucker snorted at this.
"C'mon, Sis, you really think he would have listened?"
"He's right, Keira. Let's be honest here. Marty was about as fond of you as you were of him. He never listened to you about anything else, why would he have done so now?"
I shrugged Tucker's hand away and stood up again.
"I know, you're both right,” I said. “But I was responsible for him."
"And you went over there,” Bea said. “He wasn't there, was he?"
"No,” I agreed. “He wasn't."
"There, then.” Bea said it like everything was settled. I wasn't so sure.
"Now, if you want to do something, you should go talk to Carlton. I imagine that there's going to be a lot of red tape or whatever before you can even think about a funeral."
Oh, great, a funeral. I was going to have to plan my cousin's funeral. I looked over at Tucker who was trying not to chortle too audibly. He had another thing coming if he didn't believe I'd ask him to help with arrangements.
Bea stood up and glanced at her watch. “I'm sorry I can't be more help right, now, m'hija, but I've got to work the dinner rush. I can't expect my relatives to do it by themselves. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Damn it, Keira, I wish there was something I could do for you. Stuff like this is always too weird. I never know what to say."
I got out of the chair and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Bea. It's enough that you're here."
"You know I'll help any way I can,” said Bea. “Just let me know if you need me. I'll be here until at least eight tonight, but then I can come over and stay with you.” She shot a sideways glance at my brother. “Although, I think Tucker here has a handle on things.” She smiled a brilliant smile and batted her lashes a little.
Tucker looked as if he'd been punched in the belly. His eyes narrowed a moment, then a thoughtful look crossed his face.
I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door.
"Thanks, girl. You know how much I appreciate it."
It was time to face Carlton.
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER EIGHT
I took a deep breath and walked over to the booth where Carlton was muttering over a stack of papers. This could be awkward.
"Hey, Carlton,” I began, not exactly sure of what I wanted to or should say.
"Hey, Keira,” he replied, setting down the paper he was reading. He looked up at me, the expression on his face solemn, then puzzled as he saw Tucker.
"You remember my brother, Tucker?"
Carlton nodded. “Hey."
Tucker looked at me, then at Carlton, then disengaged my arm from his. “I'll just grab a cup of coffee, then go over to the deli,” he said. “I need to pick up a few things. Take as long as you need."
I frowned at him, wondering what he was up to. “Okay,” I said. “Meet me out by the car in about fifteen?"
"Sure thing. Carlton, good to see you.” Tucker smiled a little and left the caf?.
Shifting a few papers and making room, Carlton invited me to sit.
I slid in across from him, clasping my hands together on the table, mostly to keep from fidgeting.
"That was sure quick,” he said.
"What?"
"Your brother. He got here quick."
I smiled a little. “He was already here,” I said.
"Oh."
Carlton toyed with his mug for a few moments.
"How you holding up?"
Suddenly, I wished I had a glass of tea or bowl of popcorn or something to keep my hands busy. I felt awkward and out of place. It was one thing to talk to Bea and Tucker, but another entirely to talk to Carlton. I didn't have to hide what I was from my friend and my brother. The sheriff was another story. He'd expect me to be the bereaved cousin. To feel human emotions I wasn't familiar with.
I'd helped so many cross the veil over the last dozen years. Performed the deed for clan members who'd had enough of eternal living and wanted to move on, watched as death sentences were carried out by my clan chief. Those deaths didn't bother me. They were part and parcel of my world. I really did know Death well. But he wasn't supposed to visit my human cousin, not yet. Marty should have died of old age or illness. He was an undertaker, for pity's sake. Not a mob boss or a drug dealer. His life was about as risk-free as a human life got—yet he'd been murdered and right under my nose. My mind was numb, empty, guilt still at the top of the confusing emotions. Marty had been in my charge and I'd failed.
"I just don't know, Carlton,” I said. “This whole thing has been so bizarre. I keep feeling like someone's taken over my life and dropped me into a bad movie."
I started playing with a napkin from a stack on the table, folding and refolding it. “You know Marty and I weren't close. Hell, we were about as far apart as two relatives could be while still living in the same town. But, maybe if I'd stuck around until he got back, or—"
Carlton's hand landed on my forearm sending a quick buzz along my skin. “Stop that thinking right now, Keira,” he said in a stern voice. “What if you had been there and whoever attacked your cousin had attacked you too?"
They'd have been dead, instead, I thought, viciously. I'm not only an Escort to the other side, but I was trained to fight, most of us were. I'd danced with Death daily until two years ago. But I'd left the mortuary and left my cousin to his doom, running away from something as intangible as a vision, not wanting to face it.
Carlton pulled his hand back and absently wiped the condensation from the side of his tea glass. “You could have been hurt or killed, too.” He stared at his glass and wouldn't meet my eyes.
"I don't want to be the adult here, Carlton,” I said. “I just want to go back to my house and pretend none of this happened.” I wadded up the pieces of paper napkin that I'd torn into shreds. “I want to go back to yesterday morning."
"Keira, I don't rightly know what to tell you. I can't make time run backward. All I can do is to try to figure out this mess and find out who did this to Marty."
He looked up; his dark eyes showed both sadness and concern. As I met his gaze, something else flared briefly behind the worry. Damn it, even with everything that had happened, his desire was still there, a small flame behind the darkness. I dropped my eyes and stared at my hands. How much more convoluted could this all get?
"Keira, I talked to my friend a little bit ago. The forensics tech...” He hesitated, as if to make sure I was listening. I'd picked up another paper napkin and was folding it into a fan shape. When I realized what he was trying to tell me, I set it down and placed my hands flat on the table. I didn't look up though.
&nb
sp; He paused and took a sip of tea. “She's pretty sure Marty was already dead when..."
I let out a breath of relief. I'd imagined the worst—that my cousin had been alive and aware when his murderer stuck the tube into his jugular to drain him of blood.
"Does she have any idea how he died?"
"Nothing obvious,” he said. “No trauma to his body, other than the—We'll know more after the autopsy. Do you still want to see him?"
I nodded. “I really think I have to. Tucker's going with me. Where'd they take him? San Antonio or Blanco County?"
His face turned red and he looked down at his hands. After a moment, I caught the clue bus.
"Shit, Carlton, he's still here?"
"I'm sorry, Keira, but it's the only thing I could do for now. Both morgues are backed up. A bunch of staff are out sick. No one can come get him until sometime tomorrow morning. I'm trying to speed things up since it's a homicide, but no one's returned my call yet. We had to put him somewhere. It was convenient."
"Thanks, I get the picture.” I changed the subject. “I imagine you have to come with us?"
"Yeah,” he said. “I need to go through the place again, see if anything's missing. Take a look at his files, check financial records, you know. We did the obvious stuff, but I want to look for the not-so-obvious.” He looked at me, trying to tell me something with his eyes. I wasn't up to reading eye language.
"What, Carlton?"
"I hate to ask you this, but would you be willing to help me dig through the files? Maybe you'll be able to tell if something's missing or different?"
Damn it. Even dead my cousin was dragging me into things I wanted no part of. I'd been planning to take a quick look at Marty's body and then get out of there. But this could take a while.
"Maybe,” I said. “But honestly, I really didn't spend a lot of time there. I don't know how much help I'll be. Tucker would be more than useless."
"I'd appreciate it,” he said, keeping his voice soft. His eyes stayed fixed on mine. I saw a mix of emotions whirling behind them. I stared back, letting the doubt I felt reflect in my own eyes.
He looked away first. “Look, Keira, I promise,” he said softly, “this will be strictly business, routine."