Dying to Know

by TJ O'Connor

  Climbing into Bear’s car, Angel’s cell rang. “Yes? Oh, hello, Ernie.” She listened. “I can’t discuss that right now.” Ernie was jabbering on and on until Angel interrupted him. “Ernie, listen. I’m afraid he’s dead.” She explained the details.

  In between sighs and “I can’t believe its,” Ernie asked ten minutes of questions. She ended the call with, “The computer records were stolen, but we may have found the backup files. We also found an empty mailing envelope from Tyler Byrd’s company. Bear is following that up.”

  When she bade him goodnight and closed her phone, her face was tired and drained. “Ernie and McCorkle were close friends. He’s devastated.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Bear said. “What did he call for, anyway?”

  Angel brightened. “André spoke with him. André now has proof the medical examiner made a huge mistake. He wants to meet me tomorrow morning at Kelly’s Dig to show us what he’s found. Ernie’s meeting us there, too.”

  “I better join you,” Bear said, taking the highway on-ramp. “God only knows what’ll happen if I don’t.”

  forty-seven

  In the morning, we got a late start to meet André at Kelly’s Dig. Angel was tired—I guess “tired” would be the polite word after she and Bear emptied two bottles of merlot. Another attempt on her life and Liam McCorkle’s murder weighed heavily on her. I can’t blame her for tipping a few.

  If given the chance, I’d tip more than a few.

  During the night, Angel and Bear took time off from playing Agatha Christie. Instead, they bantered on about almost nothing, seemingly avoiding all discussion of my case or the events surrounding Liam McCorkle. I stayed close but didn’t participate for fear of angering Angel or invading her sudden need for “privacy.” During the wine and small talk, I studied Bear and paid careful attention to every ounce of body language. My heart ached, fearing that Spence might be right—that Bear had a thing with Angel. Making things worse were Angel’s odd comments of late and the way she had been acting, well, guilty. So, I sat petting Hercule and gave them the opportunity to make mistakes.

  They didn’t and with each passing hour, guilt buried jealousy.

  It was before eight when Angel poured another cup of coffee and I took a seat cross from her. I don’t recall what time Bear left, but looking at Angel now, it was very late and she hadn’t slept.

  “Angel, I think you need to be careful around Bear. Don’t you?”

  “No—just stop.” I’m not sure the ire was my question or the wine wearing off.

  “But, Angel, last night, someone shot at you—again.”

  “Tuck, please.” She dumped the last of her coffee in the sink. “It certainly wasn’t Bear. Besides, you’re back and I’m so confused. Don’t you get it? As much as I miss you … you shouldn’t be here. I don’t know if I’m glad or not about that. This whole thing is my fault and I don’t know what to do.”

  Huh? “How’s this your fault? You keep saying that.”

  The answer wasn’t coming any time soon. Our conversation was over when she locked the front door and put Hercule in the Explorer. I barely popped into the back seat with him before she was off.

  Something I said?

  Twenty minutes later, we passed by Kelly Orchard Farm’s main house—well, mansion was more the word—on the way to the dig site. It was an enormous early-American antebellum estate. The two-story, white stone house had four tall chimneys that reminded me of a Georgia plantation house, with stone steps leading to the front veranda where heavy columns stood guard. Even the rear servant’s cottage, which was a smaller two-story stone house on the north side of a landscaped courtyard, presented a stalwart charm that exuded aristocracy.

  It was not difficult to understand why Kelly Orchard Farms was a battle cry for historical preservation.

  Angel looked around and checked her watch. “Bear left a message that he’d be late. We might as well go on to the dig site. André and Ernie will be there.”

  “Do you still have Bear’s gun?”

  “Of course.” She patted her small backpack that was normally full of university books and papers. This morning, it hefted a few extra pounds of steel, brass, and lead. “I don’t want anyone getting lucky on the fourth try.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  We continued down the gravel road through the apple orchards a half mile southeast until we saw the huge debris pile that overlooked Kelly’s Dig. But as we approached, it was obvious something had changed. There was a wide, newly worn patch of earth where Byrd’s heavy equipment had been parked just days ago. Now, only one bulldozer and backhoe remained. The debris pile blocked the gravel road and we couldn’t reach the construction trailer on the opposite side of Kelly’s Dig. The trailer now sat obscured behind the pile of trees, brush, and earth.

  “Someone’s been working again,” she said, jumping out of the Explorer. “This debris pile is much larger and now it’s blocking the road. No one should have been working.”

  “Most of Byrd’s heavy equipment is gone, too.” Something was nagging at me again. “Stay here. Let Herc and me check around.”

  A green, late model BMW bounced up the road behind us and the driver waved out the window.

  Hercule growled low and bounded out onto the ground.

  “Hercule, it’s only Ernie,” Angel said, kneeling to pet him as Ernie rolled to a stop. “It’s okay, boy, it’s safe.”

  “Good morning,” he called. “Where’s André and Bear?”

  Angel shrugged. “I haven’t found André yet. Bear had a meeting with Captain Sutter. He’ll be along later.”

  “How are you holding up? Last night must have been terrible. Liam McCorkle was a good man and a good friend. Frankly, I can’t believe what’s happened. None of it.”

  “I know, Ernie. I feel the same way.” When we rounded the far side of the debris pile, Ernie pointed to a sleek, blue Mercedes convertible parked with its top down near the road coming from the highway. “That’s André’s car. Now where is he?”

  I added, “Let’s check around. I don’t like this at all.”

  “I’ll check the orchard,” Angel said, walking toward the far end of the debris pile. “Can you check the trailer, Ernie? Maybe he’s inside.”

  “Of course.”

  Ernie first went to André’s convertible and looked inside. Then he walked to the trailer and tried the trailer door several times but the door didn’t open. He took out his cell phone and dialed. After several seconds, he redialed, and waited longer before closing it. He returned to the Explorer and met Angel.

  “The trailer’s locked and there’s no sign of André. I called his cell, but he’s not answering. Byrd’s security guard is gone, too. They’re supposed to be here.”

  “I wonder what’s going on.” Angel scanned the orchard in all directions. “This isn’t like him.”

  “Shouldn’t security still be here?”

  “Yes. Tyler told me yesterday he’d let them know we were still working.” Angel’s voice was curt and irritated. “I don’t like this, Ernie. We better call Bear.”

  “Wait,” Ernie said, walking to the edge of the pit. “The site’s been compromised. Someone’s been digging—far too much—and they’ve been reckless about it.”

  The damage to the dig site was obvious. The pit, like the debris pile, had changed from last week. The barn’s timbers from inside the pit were now broken and strewn far behind it. The rear foundation wall was smashed through and a large swath of earth removed. Fresh backhoe tracks marred the area surrounding the pit. The pile of foundation stones where André and Angel had last been working were now scattered haphazardly. A fresh cavity of missing earth remained where the foundation had been there last.

  “Ernie, call Bear—now.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll do that. This is terrible. Any chance of properly ex
cavating more remains has been destroyed.”

  As I was about to go search for André, something caught my eye from the corner of the pit.

  A flicker of light glinted in the morning sun. The twinkle came from beneath one of the remaining foundation stones overturned by the backhoe. A faint, eerie glimmer sparkled and bade my attention. I slid into the pit and knelt down. There, I found a tiny, half-inch stone caked in earth. It was no larger than a dime and only a sliver of its face was free of clay. That sliver caught the sunlight and simmered with a glint of green light.

  “Angel, look at this …” I said and touched it …

  _____

  The sun disappeared but left a strange aura surrounding the dig site. My fingers tingled and a foggy haze engulfed me. I couldn’t see the orchard trees or the debris pile any longer. In fact, I couldn’t distinguish anything but the crumbled stones and timbers lying above the pit.

  Angel and Ernie were gone, too.

  The haze was growing and someone was walking toward me—a faint image emerging just yards away.

  It was the young brunette who had visited me twice before. But unlike her previous visits, I saw her with clarity and distinction. She stood above me at the pile of foundation stones and gazed down at me. A faint smile crept across her lips. I was seeing her clearly for the first time and I understood why. She was pretty and young, and most importantly, she belonged here—right here at Kelly’s Dig.

  “Hello,” she said in a calm, whispered voice. “We’ve been waiting for you to visit us here again.”

  Crap, that can’t be good. “Really? Why here?”

  “It’s all right. You’ll understand.” The girl turned and waved behind her. “It’s all right. He’s here. He finally came. He’s going to help us.”

  Her blonde friend appeared. She stood next to the brunette beaming at me as though some surprise was looming. “Yes, you can help us. But first, help them. Help the others. You can stop this.”

  “Stop what?” I asked, trying not to frighten them as I had before. “Who are you? Will you tell me your names so I can help you?”

  “It was all here.” The brunette’s face darkened and she took her friend’s hand. “He killed us.”

  “Who? Who killed you?”

  “He’s not going to stop until you make him. We can’t—it’s too late for us. It’s too late for you, too. But you give us hope. You have friends. Get them to help you; get them to help us all. Hurry.”

  I started to climb up out of the pit, but they withdrew. I smiled again, trying not to scare them as I had before. “Do you know who killed me? Can you tell me that?”

  The brunette shook her head. “Oliver, it’s not about you.”

  “No, not about you.” The blonde gripped the brunette’s hand tighter as they backed away. “We want to go—to leave here. We can’t until he does. And we can’t leave the others behind, they protected us for so long. Oh, no, it’s happening again. Save him!”

  “Again?”

  The sky lit up and the explosion rocked me.

  forty-eight

  When I recovered, the girls were gone. Smoke churned in the air and I could hear Angel crying out. I scrambled up the pit to find her and Ernie running toward the pillar of smoke behind the debris pile. I ran after them and we rounded the debris pile just yards from the front of the construction office trailer.

  The trailer was on fire.

  Hercule charged ahead, barking, and leaping into the air. He ran toward us, stopped, howled, and ran back toward the trailer. He continued this frenzy as the flames crackled behind him.

  “Angel, stay back. Stay back.”

  “Let me try,” Ernie yelled and darted toward the trailer. “Hercule, come boy.”

  Hercule became more frantic and animated. He barked and dodged back and forth, churning the earth with his paws each time he got close to the trailer; each time the flames drove him back. He wouldn’t stop. His retreat got shorter, his daring got too close.

  “Angel, watch out,” I yelled as she reached Hercule and tried dragging him from the fire. He fought her and pulled free, barking and bolting back again.

  “No, Angela.” Ernie grabbed her and pulled her to safety. “Stay clear. It might explode again. Hercule, come. Come, Hercule!”

  I watched Herc and knew what he knew—someone was inside the trailer. André Cartier was inside. “He’s trying to warn us. André ’s inside.”

  “What?” Angel looked at the convertible. “Oh my God, André!”

  Ernie charged the trailer, protecting his face with his arms. Two steps before the door, smoke forced his retreat. More flames rose from the far end of the trailer but the side nearest us had yet to be engulfed. Ernie made three attempts before surrendering and retreating to Angel’s side. “I can’t make it, Angela. It’s too much for me.”

  A car roared down the gravel road and skidded to a stop behind the convertible. Bear leapt out and ran to us. “Are you all right? What the hell happened?”

  “It’s André,” Angel cried. “I think he’s inside.”

  Bear’s mouth dropped. He turned and saw Hercule’s frantic dance back toward the flames. “Jesus, no.”

  Without hesitating—that’s what I remembered about Bear—he ran to his cruiser, pulled out a large, hand-held fire extinguisher from the trunk, and dashed to the rear trailer door.

  Fighting the smoke and heat, he made his move.

  He sprayed the trailer handle with a long, heavy burst and gave the door a violent kick. The flames engulfing the roof were unmerciful and twice he withdrew. On the third assault, he drew his handgun and shot the door lock off. Spraying the remaining handle with the extinguisher again, he cursed, yanked the door open, and dove inside.

  I followed.

  Smoke made it impossible for him to see. The searing heat was already blistering Bear’s face and hands. Only seconds remained before he would have to withdraw or die. Unfazed, I ran deeper into the smoke and searched around until I found a body. It was lying face down on the carpet against the far office wall.

  André.

  I tried to reach inside him and pull his being—his thoughts—to me. There was nothing returning my probes. There were no thoughts, no emotions, nothing I could take hold of. Death was seeping in; André was slipping away.

  “Bear, follow my voice—like last night—listen. Stay down; stay low. Come to me. Here, Bear, here.”

  He threw himself to his knees and crawled forward, groping inch by inch, hand over hand. He choked smoke and cursed loudly as the heat blistered his skin. “Dammit, André. Can you hear me? André?”

  “Another foot, Bear. Come on. You’re here.”

  Bear fell upon André’s lifeless body. He grabbed his arms and pulled him backward to the door. There, the heat overtook him and he collapsed. I tried to move him but all I found was emptiness in my grasp. I screamed into his head, commanded he listen and obey.

  “You son-of-a-bitch, get up. Get up. Three more feet. You can’t give up, not yet. You’re there. Dammit, fight. Fight, Bear.”

  He did.

  In slow, beleaguered moves, Bear’s powerful arms grabbed André’s shoulders and he stood. With the last of his strength, he propelled himself out the door and onto the ground. Their clothes were smoldering and Bear’s shoes were blackened and scorched; their faces red and blistering.

  Neither moved.

  Bear gasped for air but couldn’t rise. André was still.

  Through the smoke, Spence and Clemens charged in spraying fire extinguishers over the two men, then fought back the flames. Spence grabbed Bear and Clemens grabbed André. They dragged them back to safety, rolling them onto their backs and instantly triaging their wounds. Clemens took the lead, first checking their pulse, then their breathing. He barked at Spence who instantly tore at André’s shirt.

  Ernie and Angel clung
together and watched.

  Bear coughed and gasped for air. After a second, he stirred and got to his knees. He pushed Clemens off André’s body and descended upon it. He checked his pulse—once, twice, three times. Clemens began chest compressions—Bear tried breathing life into his dying body. Spence pulled Bear free and took up the cause.

  Feverishly, the three detectives fought André’s failing body. Seconds. Minutes. Breath after breath. One more compression, five more, fifteen … twenty-five …

  “Stop.” Clemens sat back and slid his fingers from André’s neck. “You can stop.”

  “No,” Angel cried. “Please, he can’t be dead.”

  Spence pressed his fingers to André’s throat. He looked up, closing his eyes as his chin dropped to his chest.

  “No, he’s alive.”

  forty-nine

  Bear sat wiping the soot and smoke from his face as the ambulance pulled away. Angel was helping him. Leaning on their own cruiser, Clemens and Spence talked with the fire chief—they looked grim. Ernie Stuart looked the worst. He was sitting in the fire chief’s Suburban taking breaths from an oxygen mask. Every word the chief spoke seemed to make his breathing all the harder.

  I was standing beside Angel. She knelt down and rubbed Hercule’s face with a damp cloth. There was an acrid scent of burnt hair around him, but he looked okay. Once again, Hercule saved the day.

  “Herc, you’re a hero—again. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have found André in time. Good boy, another steak tonight.”

  Hercule, not wanting to display any false modesty, wagged up a storm and barked at Bear to make sure he knew who the real hero was—and who would not be sharing a T-bone.

  “Angel,” I said, “you know this was no accident, right?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Bear looked around. “You know what?”

  “Someone just tried to kill André.” She stood up and faced him. “My God, I don’t know how you found him in all that smoke. We’re lucky you arrived in time.”