Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  If he had anything to do with it, this was the last time Tabatha would have to go through it. He was going to have a long talk with Carla. She was about to learn the meaning of the fear of God. But first, he had to explain all this to his fellow police officers. Derek kissed her softly. “We’ll face it when it comes. Together.”

  “Together.” Tabatha grasped his arm as he walked away. “Twenty-nine.”

  Twenty-nine what? What the hell is she talking about?

  “Twenty-nine?”

  “I’m twenty-nine years old. Not a kid.”

  He trailed his fingertips over her cheek, hot, silky smooth and oh so kissable. “We’ll deal with that, too. Get dressed, and meet me downstairs. They’ll want to talk to all of us.” He could keep them from hauling all of them downtown. He could keep the questioning friendly. But he couldn’t stop them from talking to everyone in the house. Even Carla. That should prove interesting.

  Tabatha sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs. “Derek?” “Yeah?”

  “You might want to zip up.”

  He reached down and pulled up the zipper to his slacks just as Bobbie and Rhonda rushed in.

  Tabatha drew Bobbie and Rhonda into a hug. “It’s okay. No one is hurt.”

  Bobbie squeezed so hard Tabatha swore her ribs groaned. “We got here a few minutes ago, but when we saw your mother storming down the hall, we waited until she left. What the hell happened?”

  “What was that explosion?” Rhonda’s gaze roamed the room. Tabatha pointed to the ceiling above the window, noticing how her hands shook.

  “Oh, my.” Rhonda placed her hand over her heart. “Is that a bullet hole? What kind of gun makes that kind of crater?”

  Bobbie’s voice trembled with her reply. “Some kind of rifle. A 30.6, maybe. When I was a kid, my dad had one. It went off by accident and hit the ceiling. Looked just like that.”

  “Looks like someone’s been hunting for bear.” Bobbie raked her hair away from her face.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Tabatha took several deep breaths trying to calm her nerves. “Derek said the police would want to talk to us. Just tell the truth, you were sleeping and don’t know anything.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” Bobbie shook her head. I saw the car. It was the same Caddy that was at the cemetery.”

  Tabatha thought for a few seconds. “No. You were asleep and saw nothing. We don’t know which cops are helping Phelps, and it’s best we keep this to ourselves until we do.” Tabatha settled her gaze on Rhonda. “Where’s Shane?”

  “He’s still sleeping.” Rhonda smiled. “It takes more than a mere gunshot to wake that boy. I think an atom bomb could go off, and he’d sleep through it.”

  The corners of Rhonda’s mouth quivered and Tabatha understood. She was still a little shaky, too. “It’s going to be all right. Just stick to your story. You didn’t see a thing. And look scared.”

  Rhonda shrugged her shoulders. “Won’t be hard for me. I didn’t see anything, and I’m terrified.”

  Bobbie took a few deep breaths. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Tabatha brought up the rear as Rhonda and Bobbie entered the great room. Derek opened the door and greeted the policemen.

  “Come on in.” Derek stepped away from the doorway, letting the two officers pass.

  “What are you doing here, Detective Bainbridge?” the older officer asked.

  “Detective Bainbridge is here because I invited him. Do you have a problem with that?” Tabatha glared at the cop daring him to say anything. The blond-haired officer cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, Ma’am. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He cleared his throat again. “Now, someone want to tell us what happened here? How about you, Detective?”

  He shrugged. “Someone shot out our bedroom window.”

  “Guess that’s why you’re bleeding,” the other cop noted.

  Tabatha and Derek glanced at each other.

  “Derek?” Tabatha’s voice shook.

  “It’s both of us.” Derek said, guiding her to a nearby chair. “Let me see. Your robe is all bloody.”

  “It’s just small cuts. Must have been when the window shattered. A few shards hit me. Where are you cut?”

  “My right arm. Nothing serious.”

  “Any idea who would want to harm you or Detective Bainbridge, Miss? I’m sorry, what is your name?” the blond officer asked.

  Frank walked through the doorway and answered his question. “Her name’s Tabatha Gray, Officer Wayne. Evening, Officer Dillon.”

  Wayne turned to acknowledge Frank. “Detective Panner.”

  Frank faced Derek, mouth turned down into a hard frown. “What are you doing here, Bainbridge?”

  “Why do you care why Derek is here, when you should be trying to find out who shot at us?” Tabatha stepped forward, positioning her face so close to Frank’s she could smell stale cigarette smoke on his breath. “I know you wanted to pair Derek up with some cop’s whore, but we have other plans. Live with it.”

  Frank smiled. “Let’s see if you can live with it, witch.”

  It appeared to Tabatha that Frank leaped up, then flew backwards, but she soon realized he dangled from his shirt collar twisted in Derek’s fist. “Did you just threaten her?”

  Frank struggled to free himself. “Let me go, dammit. You don’t know what you’re doing. She’s not a normal person. She’s a witch. She’s evil.”

  Derek glanced at Officers Wayne and Dillon. “Do you have need of a homicide detective in this case, officers?”

  “Anyone dead?” Dillon glanced from one to the other. “Nope. Don’t see a stiff.”

  “Go away, Frank. You’re not needed.” Derek stood him on his feet and pointed toward the door.

  “I can’t believe you’d give up more than twenty years of friendship over this slut.” Frank straightened his collar and smoothed his hair back.

  Derek’s gaze turned cold and when he spoke his voice held an icy calm. “I’ve warned you once, one more word against Tabatha and you won’t be leaving on your own power.”

  Tabatha’s stomach tightened with the magic building under her skin. She’d been called slut and whore one too many times tonight. Frank’s mouth lifted in a grin. She returned his knowing smile, conjured enough power to lift him from his feet and send him flying out the door.

  “Shit!” Officer Dillon jumped backward.

  “What the hell did he trip over?” Officer Wayne scratched his head. Derek shrugged but sent a look at Tabatha. She knew that he knew. Wayne chuckled. “I’ll make a report, but you’ve got to come in today and file your statements. Did anyone see who shot at the house?”

  “Wasn’t time. Everyone was in bed. By the time Tabatha and I got to the window they were gone.” Derek turned to Bobbie and Rhonda. “Did you two happen to see anything?”

  They shook their heads.

  “We’ll have a look around the property.” Officer Dillon turned to leave. Derek ran his hands over his face. “The sun’s going to rise soon, and I’m willing to bet none of us are going to get any more sleep.”

  “What’s going on here?” Bertha’s voice bellowed from the doorway. Tabatha jumped and slapped her hand on her chest. The officers reached for their guns, stopping short of drawing on Bertha.

  Derek grumbled under his breath. “Bertha, one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

  Bertha rested her fists firmly on her hips. “Is anyone going to answer me?”

  Bobbie moved front and forward. “Someone shot out Tabatha’s bedroom window. The cops are here to check it out, but they were about to leave.”

  “Baby girl, you’re bleeding. You, too, Mr. Derek. Get on into the kitchen. I’ll bandage you up and fix breakfast. You officers look hungry.”

  “No, ma’am. We need to be going.” Wayne started toward the door. Bertha crossed her arms under her breasts and glared down her nose at them.

  Tabatha leaned her chin against her chest to hide her smile. Bertha didn’t
know a stranger and everyone was hers to take care of. Tabatha tightened the sash around her housecoat. “Don’t even bother to argue. When she says go, you go, so you might as well wash your hands, and get ready for breakfast. After you eat, you can take a look around.”

  They filed into the kitchen and sat around the table. All heads turned when Carla came to the doorway and stomped her foot. “No. I won’t have it. No more people moving into my house.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Derek walked officers Wayne and Dillon to their patrol car, chatting with the usual ease of one cop to another. “Ever been on a call like this before?”

  Dillon smiled. “No, sir, I haven’t. That’s some girl you have, Detective. Does she have a sister?”

  Wayne punched him on the arm. “Boy, have some respect.”

  “Didn’t mean no disrespect, Detective.” Blood rushed into the young detective’s face.

  “None taken, Dillon.” Derek fought down the strong rush of possessiveness the man’s comment raised. “And, no. No sisters. I don’t know if the world could take more than one Tabatha Gray.”

  Dillon ran a keen gaze over the house. “If you’d like, we can run by here a few times a night during our rounds. Keep an eye on the place.”

  Derek batted the idea around inside his mind. How much should he tell them? “How long have you two been on the force?”

  “Dillon is a rookie.” Wayne jerked his thumb toward his partner. “Less than one year. Me, I’ve been a cop for three years.”

  “You boys clean?” Derek knew they would understand his meaning. Dillon’s face showed his resentment. “Hell, yes, I’m clean. I became a cop to fight crime, not become part of the problem.”

  Derek nodded, giving his attention to Wayne.

  Wayne returned Derek’s hard stare, his face stoic but open. He searched Derek’s face intently. “Detective, I don’t know why you’re asking, but I’m clean as they come. What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”

  “This is the second time Tabatha and I have been shot at. The first time we didn’t report it, for reasons of our own.” Derek looked from one to the other, interested in what their response would be to his next question. “You boys ever hear of the Guardians?”

  Wayne’s eyes flashed angrily. “Man, if you’re one of them, I don’t want anything to do with you. And if you got them on your ass, you’re in deep shit. No one knows for sure who they are, but everyone knows you don’t want to piss them off.”

  “Do you know their convictions?” Derek liked Wayne’s quick reply. He leaned against the squad car. “Their agenda?”

  Wayne and Dillon glanced at each other before Wayne answered. “Killing.”

  Derek nodded. “If the Guardians have reason to believe you’re different, they view you as expendable.”

  Dillon rubbed his chin. “What do you mean by different?”

  A glut of explanations rushed through Derek’s mind but he wasn’t sure which one to use. “Remember the Salem Witch Trials?”

  They nodded.

  “The Guardians have the same mentality. If they believe you dabble in the arts, so to speak, you’re given the death sentence. They set themselves up as judge, jury and executioner.”

  “Shit,” Dillon said under his breath. “They think you’re a warlock?”

  “No. They think my girl is a witch.”

  “Tabatha? Hell, that girl doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.” Dillon scoffed.

  A wave of shock rippled over Derek’s skin. He’d called Tabatha his girl. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but Dillon was right. Tabatha didn’t have it in her to do anyone harm. She was kind and gentle, and always put herself last.

  “It’s her hair and eyes. She looks a bit different, so, to them, she is different.” Wayne hiked his gun belt higher on his hips and shifted his weight to his other foot. “What is it you want us to do, Detective?”

  “Call me if you see anything out of place or anyone hanging around.” Derek pushed away from the car. “I expect what I’ve said will remain between us.”

  “Of course.” Wayne nodded.

  Dillon copied his partner’s actions and hiked his gun belt higher. “I have no problem with that.”

  A laugh tugged at Derek’s throat at the young officer’s demeanor. Had it been so long ago he’d been that transparent? “Wayne, you’re looking to move up in the department, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You two stick with me on this, and I’ll make sure everyone hears good reports about you.” Derek wasn’t sure he should make such promises, but it never hurt to have a detective pass a good word around about you. Sometimes it gained you respect, other times it made you the target of those not so liked by the higher ups.

  Dillon puffed up his chest. “You can count on us, Detective, but not because we want a leg up. This whole thing is wrong. Just let us know if or when you need us. We’re your men.”

  A slight nod from Derek was enough to draw a smile from Dillon. “You boys have first names?”

  “Travis Dillon.” The man reached out and shook Derek’s hand. “Hal Wayne.” Hal did the same.

  “Derek Bainbridge.” He pulled two business cards out of his wallet. “My home, cell and office numbers are on these. Use your first names, no last names. We’ve been told the Guardians have one or more cops on the payroll. Am I getting across to you?”

  Travis’s brow crinkled.

  “How do you know we’re not with the Guardians?” Hal glanced at Dillon then Derek.

  Derek remembered the flash of anger at the questioning of his honesty.

  “Instinct.”

  An hour later, Derek watched them drive away, hoping his gut reaction was correct and that he’d done the right thing. He scanned the neighborhood. Several groups of people still huddled in clusters, pointing, staring and whispering behind their hands. He started to walk away when a woman’s voice rang out heavy with resentment.

  “This is a nice neighborhood, mister. We don’t want a whorehouse in it. Get your girls out of here.”

  Anger speared his gut. This was the second time tonight someone had called Tabatha a whore. He crossed the street and flashed his badge. The woman swallowed so hard the sound of her throat clenching and releasing was audible. “Ma’am, I can assure you this is not a whorehouse. But you can file a complaint if you think it necessary. First, though, I’d look up slander or defamation of character if I were you. My officers will want to question you fine folks further. Make yourselves available.” When they quickly scattered, he pocketed his wallet and made his way to Tabatha’s back yard.

  He checked the garage locks and windows then studied the lay of the gardens. Tall shrubs separated the homes on St. Charles Avenue from the houses on Carondelet Street.

  He knelt, looking beneath lower limbs to find a cedar fence blocking any entry. His gaze once again strayed to the mound behind the garage. The shape of it bothered him. It hadn’t settled in a natural form—blocky and too smooth. It matched up against the building too perfectly. An old oak tree had made its home on the peak of the soil amid a thick mat of English ivy that draped itself down and across the gardens below.

  He ruffled through the groundcover, running his fingers along the surface of the hardened soil. Knotted tree roots wove in and out, tangled with the ivy’s thinner but equally embedded root system. His eyes traveled over the mass again where it butted against the garage, forming the back wall of the structure.

  “What you looking for?”

  His heart skipped a beat at the unexpected voice. Not like him to let someone sneak up on him like that. He turned to see Bertha standing in the doorway watching him. “You wouldn’t know where the key to the garage is, would you?”

  “Why, sure I do.” She waved her hand as if dismissing a wayward child. “Ain’t nothing in this house I don’t know where it is. Why you wanting it?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Well, Mr. Derek.” She raised an eyebrow. “You know what they sa
y about curiosity, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. It solves a lot of crimes.” Her laugh brought a smile to his lips. “Bertha if we’re going to be friends, can you drop the Mister? Derek will do.”

  “Whew.” Bertha tilted her head to the side. “That’s a relief. I thought you were going to ask me to call you detective.”

  That drew a laugh from him. “That’s my job, not my name. Now, about that key.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll get it for you. Tabatha went to shower and dress. You need to do the same, son. You look like a grizzly bear, all that hair on your face. You be needing a razor?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You happen to have one around here?”

  “Humph. Been more than one man lived in this house. I think I can come up with a razor and some fresh blades. Be right back with that key.”

  He returned his attention to the mound and walked its edge, end to end. “This isn’t just a pile of dirt. I’d bet my life on that.”

  “Who the hell are you? Get away from there.”

  He’d done it again—let himself get distracted and not pay attention to his surroundings. Derek turned to find himself face to face with a very angry woman pointing a very big gun. Anger speared his gut and fear dried his mouth. This wasn’t good.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tabatha switched off her hair dryer and placed it on a shelf above the sink before pulling a T-shirt over her head and slipping on a pair of jeans. She let her mother’s latest episode of As Carla’s World Turns do a rerun through her thoughts.

  Carla’s frustration over finding two more people making themselves at home around the kitchen table had been too much for her to handle. She’d ranted. She’d shattered dishes. She’d stomped her feet. In short, she’d thrown an old-fashioned tantrum. It had taken Derek and both the officers to subdue Carla and convince her they were only there investigating the shooting, not moving in. Tabatha had wanted to crawl in a hole never to have to face Derek or the officers again. God love her momma, because she was struggling to.

  Carla had straightened her back and tipped her nose in the air. “Well, okay then. See to it you don’t stretch it out any longer than absolutely necessary.”