Fall From Grace

by Judith A. Boss

  “Stay, Yoda,” she said quietly, pointing to a spot just inside the door. Dropping the leash, she went over and fetched the envelope.

  Yoda followed.

  Zoe shoved the journal into the envelope and was about to leave when she remembered she had almost an hour before she had to be home for lunch. It would be safer reading more of the journal here than in her room at home. She sat down, took out the journal, and opened it to the entry from Montserrat in Spain.

  Yoda began sniffing and pawing around the edge of the plywood and making low growling sounds.

  “Hush, Yoda,” Zoe whispered. She moved back against the wall and, propping the journal against her knees, reread the last entry about the argument Grace and Luke had had at their hotel in Spain.

  Was the argument about Luke having an affair with Detective Tasca? And what about the locket Grace had found? Was it a gift Luke was planning to give to Detective Tasca? Zoe felt a flush of anger. Sort of like what happened to poor Princess Diana and Prince Charles and his mistress Camilla, until Diana had finally had the good sense to divorce the cheating scumbag. Zoe’s jaw tightened. Princess Diana had died not long after in a mysterious accident, just like what happened to Aunt Grace.

  The boards she sat on jerked underneath Zoe. She looked at Yoda frantically digging under the edge of the plywood.

  “Stop it, Yoda,” she said sharply.

  Yoda ignored her.

  She sighed. Well, at least it would keep him distracted so he wouldn’t bark or whimper to go back outside. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she leaned forward and began reading from where she had left off.

  The afternoon didn’t go much better. Some honeymoon! Here we are walking along a mountain path at this beautiful monastery, and he has to ruin everything by starting up again with his dumb accusations. Finally, I got a break when he stopped to take some photos. He got up on this low stone wall along the side of the path and began aiming his camera. The drop on the other side of the wall was steep and rocky. I didn’t have to be a genius to know what I had to do. In the distance I could see a red gondola suspended on a cable starting its descent down the mountain. I knew I was taking a risk, but he gave me no choice. I pouted my lips like a little girl—he always falls for that—blinked out some crocodile tears and said, “Don’t be mad at me, baby. Please don’t be a grump and ruin our honeymoon.ˮ Then he turned and looked at me. I could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. I reached up and put my arms around his neck and slipped the strap of his passport wallet from his neck and put it around mine. Then I held the passport close to my heart and said, in baby talk, “I love you.ˮ It worked. He melted.

  All of a sudden Yoda let out a muffled bark, startling Zoe. He began grunting and tugging on something.

  Zoe gasped and dropped the journal as his head emerged from under the edge of the plywood.

  In his mouth he had a bone, maybe three inches long. It looked like a drumstick—except it was slightly curved.

  “Yoda, drop it,” Zoe ordered. She reached out to take the bone.

  Yoda crouched back, the whites of his eyes showing, and let out a long, low growl.

  Zoe jerked her hand back. Her skin prickled.

  Grabbing his leash, she dragged the dog toward the door startling him so much he dropped the bone. After tying the leash to the doorknob, she went back to the plywood. Taking a deep breath, she slowly pushed it aside with her foot. There, in a shallow grave, was the skeleton of an animal. She screamed and stumbled backward, falling over a board.

  Her heart thumping wildly, she picked herself up and edged her way back to the hole. Yoda, now quiet but vigilant, watched her from the door. Peering into the hole, Zoe noticed the side of the skull had been crushed. Around its bony neck was a powder blue rhinestone collar, the few remaining once-glittering stones now dull and lifeless in the gloom of the garage.

  She leaned closer, torn between a morbid fascination and the urge to get out of there. It looked like the collar Precious wore, except the gold heart-shaped dog tag was missing. Examining it more closely she noticed small teeth marks on some of the bones. Had mice—or rats—killed Precious and dragged the Chihuahua’s body into the garage and buried her here? Or, even more likely, was this the work of a coyote?

  The sound of footsteps.

  Yoda’s ears perked up.

  Zoe froze. She half expected to see a coyote the size of a werewolf with red ember eyes, teeth bared, and spittle drooling from its mouth. Taking a deep breath, she glanced around. But it was just her and Yoda in the garage—and the remains of poor Precious.

  She listened.

  A snap, like a small branch breaking. The shadow made by a swaying tree outside passed over the open grave creating the illusion the skeleton was moving.

  Yoda let out a bark.

  Grabbing the leash, Zoe ran outside, dragging Yoda behind her. She came to an abrupt stop and squinted into the sunlight at a silhouetted figure.

  “I heard someone scream,” Billy said, his eyes wide with concern.

  Zoe stared at him.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I just…” Zoe shot a glance over her shoulder. “I mean…there was a rat,” she gasped, “a huge rat in the garage!”

  “A rat?” Billy licked his lips and stared nervously at the garage door.

  “And the garage—I think it’s haunted,” Zoe cried. “Let’s get out of here before it gets us!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Zoe stopped running when she reached her house. She turned and peered back through the woods toward the garage next door. No sign of Billy. He must have gone back to his own house. She breathed a sigh of relief. He would be so upset if he found out what had happened to his dog Precious.

  She sat down on the porch step and rested her head in her hands. She felt overwhelmed. She had to get rid of the skeleton before Billy found it. But how?

  She thought long and hard. In school she had learned some soft drinks like cola could turn teeth into mush—and it didn’t take long. She figured it should work on bones too. She was pretty sure there was some cola in the fridge she could use. She stood and brushed the loose dirt from Yoda’s nose. But this time she would leave Yoda home.

  After taking a deep breath to calm herself, she opened the door to her house and stepped inside.

  Mom was standing at the kitchen counter pouring a cup of coffee. “You weren’t gone long,” she said, setting down her cup. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I mean…it’s Yoda.”

  “Oh? What happened?”

  “Uh,” Zoe said, thinking fast, “it’s like, well, there was this big dog—and Yoda took off after it.”

  Mom looked alarmed. “A dog loose in the neighborhood? We should call the animal control officer and let…”

  “No, not a dog…I meant a coyote,” Zoe interrupted. “It looked like a coyote. But it’s gone now. I had to chase Yoda all through the woods. And he’s all worked up now, so I brought him home.ˮ Zoe looked down at her feet, hoping Mom did not notice the flush rising in her cheeks. She was horrible at lying—not like Jen’s friend Megan who could get away with anything.

  Mom shook her head and took a sip of coffee. “Well, I’ll be glad when we get the Invisible Fence. Yoda just has too much energy to be cooped up in the house most of the day.”

  Zoe bit her lower lip. “Mom?”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “I dropped something in the woods—is it okay if I go back and get it?”

  Dad walked into the kitchen. He gave Zoe a questioning look but said nothing.

  “Oh? What did you drop?” Mom asked.

  “Just something.”

  Mom hesitated.

  “And I might stop by and see Billy too…if that’s okay,” Zoe added.

  Mom glanced at the clock. It was not quite noon. “Okay,” she said. “I guess there’s still time.”

  Zoe reached for the fridge door. “I’ll just grab something to drink to take with me—all th
is running has made me thirsty.”

  ****

  A bottle of soda in hand, Zoe retraced her steps to the garage next door. She pushed open the back door and squeezed through. She hesitated just inside the door, unnerved by the eerie silence. It was as though there was an evil presence waiting to pounce on her and rip out her heart. She held her breath, listening. But the only sound was the pounding of her heart.

  Getting up her courage, she tiptoed over to the hole beside the plywood. She unscrewed the cap to the bottle and poured out the contents. The soda fizzled as it ran off the bones into the dirt.

  Once the bottle was empty, Zoe set it down and peered into the hole. Her mind was racing. Had a coyote killed Precious and buried him in the garage? She knew dogs buried things like bones. But how did the plywood get over the hole? And what about the crushed skull?

  Tears of confusion welled up in her eyes as she remembered what Billy had said at the bus stop. She shook her head. No, Aunt Grace would never, never do something like that—no matter what Billy’s mother had said. It had to be a coyote—it just had to be a coyote like Dad said. And Dad was a lot smarter about these things than Mrs. Spitz.

  Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Zoe forced herself to look at the skeleton again. Nothing had changed. She bit her lower lip. Maybe diet cola didn’t work. Maybe it had to be the real stuff. She rubbed her arms, fighting the urge to get out of there—to run. She should probably wait a while longer just to make sure the soda was doing its job.

  She glanced around. Grace’s journal lay open and face down on the pile of dirt next to the plywood. Picking up the journal, Zoe shook off the dirt and carried it over to the wooden steps leading up to the door to the house. The light wasn’t as good there, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near the not-yet-dissolving dog bones. She sat down on the steps and began to read the rest of the entry about Montserrat.

  I remember reading somewhere how conscience cripples the free spirit, holding it in bondage to social hypocrisy. Well, I’m not going to let anyone—let alone Luke—cripple my spirit! I placed both my hands on his chest and gave him a good shove. His eyes widened in disbelief as he lost his footing, his arms flailing as he tried to catch his balance. Then he disappeared.

  Zoe stared at the page. Her mouth went dry. Had her Aunt Grace just made all this up because she was mad at Luke? A chilling numbness enveloped Zoe as horrible, unspeakable thoughts raced through her mind. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. She wanted to look away—to run—but her eyes were frozen to the page. She started to read again as if she had no will of her own.

  I couldn’t believe I’d done it! I peeked over the wall, just to make sure. I could barely make out his body far below in some weeds between two boulders. One leg jutted out at a ridiculous angle. Really, he gave me no choice. He’d brought this on himself. What else could I have done? Why did he have to go and ruin everything?

  Just then, I heard voices coming from around the bend in the path. I quickly pulled the passport and some cash from Luke’s wallet and put them in my pocket. I tossed the wallet, along with his credit cards, on the path. Then I hurried back to the gift shop at the end of the trail where we were supposed to meet the tour bus. A policeman, a bored expression on his face, stood with his arms crossed at one end of the patio.

  As I mingled in with the crowd of tourists, I noticed a gypsy couple, carrying a baby in a ragged sling on the woman’s back, coming up the stone steps leading from the path to the patio outside the shop. Then someone screamed. “A body,” some hysterical woman cried out, pointing down the mountain slope. Everyone, like a flock of mindless sheep, rushed over to gawk. The gypsy couple stopped dead in their tracks at the top of the stairs, their faces drained of color, as though they already knew their fate. The policeman was heading in their direction. What a stroke of luck! Once again the gods had conspired to help me!!

  Zoe closed the journal and looked away. She felt a nauseating numbness like reality was slipping from her grasp. None of this made any sense.

  After a few moments she took a deep breath, opened the journal again, and began searching through it for the date in early June when Precious had disappeared. But there was nothing except a comment about a killer headache and some words, probably from some hymn or prayer, scribbled underneath:

  “Oh sacred head now wounded, redeem me through your precious blood.”

  In the bottom corner of the page was a crude picture of a crucifixion. Zoe grimaced. On the back of the opposite page was a piece of tape, maybe two inches long and loose at the middle as though what it had once held in place had been removed or had fallen out.

  Hands shaking, she skimmed through the next dozen or so pages. Except for the occasional legible entry, most of it was rambling gibberish.

  Shoving the journal aside, Zoe slumped back and closed her eyes. What was going on? It didn’t make sense. Was Grace being framed? Or was this all just a bad dream?

  In the distance she heard a low hum, like wind in a tunnel. Maybe she was going to wake up any moment and hear her aunt humming her favorite show tune “Climb Every Mountain.ˮ The humming grew louder. Then it stopped. Zoe could smell the scent of Grace’s lily of the valley cologne, feel the warmth of her aunt’s hand as she gently nudged her awake, smiling: “Time to wake up, Zoe.”

  A door slammed.

  Zoe’s eyes jerked open. From outside she heard a car…no…two cars or vehicles of some sort pulling up in front of the house. She jumped up and peeked out the broken window. Through the tangled stand of mountain laurel she could just make out a black sedan parked along the edge of the road behind a dark pickup truck. A woman wearing a black pantsuit and sunglasses stepped out of the car. Zoe gasped. Was it Detective Tasca? She could not tell.

  The woman walked over to join a man who was waiting by the truck. The man wore a baseball cap that hid his hair and face. He carried a clipboard and what looked like a tool case.

  Zoe strained to get a better look through the bushes. Her heart pounded. Was it another police officer? Or was it the creepy man who had tried to run her over yesterday?

  The man and woman started down the driveway together.

  Zoe ducked down. Keeping low, she snatched up the plastic FedEx bag, shoved the journal and envelope into it, and threw it into the hole on top of what was left of Precious.

  She could hear their voices now—footsteps getting closer. Dropping to her knees she frantically pushed the pile of dirt over the journal and the skeleton, then pulled the plywood back in place.

  Just as she was about to head out toward the back door of the garage, the footsteps stopped. Had they heard her? Through the space between the garage door and the dirt floor she could see feet—a pair of black pumps and steel-toed work boots.

  “We need to get moving on this,” she heard a female voice say. “I’d like to get this job done as soon as possible.”

  “No problem,” the man replied in a gravelly voice. “Let’s go inside.ˮ

  Zoe clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle a cry. She scrambled for cover under the wooden stairs just as the side door began to open.

  “That’s funny,ˮ the man said. “The door’s unlocked.ˮ

  The floor beneath her was damp and the space cramped. A spider, whose web had been disturbed by the intrusion, began crawling along the bottom of the step toward her. Zoe shrank back into a tight ball and held her breath.

  From her hideout, she could hear them walking around the garage, feet scuffling on the dirt. She caught a glimpse of the man’s neatly cropped dark hair through a crack between the boards.

  “Stinks in here, too,ˮ the man said. “And it looks like someone’s been in here. Look—there’s an empty soda bottle on the floor.”

  Someone kicked at the piece of plywood, and Zoe heard it shimmy a few inches along the floor. She swallowed, fighting back the panic threatening to envelop her.

  “So what do you think?” the woman asked.

  “I should be able to cle
an this mess up tomorrow after we finish the work you wanted done in the bedroom.”

  Bedroom? Zoe’s heart was pounding so wildly, she could not even hear the rest of the man’s reply. What were they saying about her bedroom? And why were they going to search this garage as well? Did they suspect she had been here? Had a neighbor—maybe that nosy Mrs. Spitz—reported a trespasser on the property? Had Billy told his mother he had seen her coming out of the garage?

  Zoe swallowed. The police would surely find the journal now—and Zoe’s fingerprints were all over it. And what about Aunt Grace? What if they thought she killed Luke? What if they didn’t know—or refused to believe—the journal was all just a novel she was writing? Tears flooded Zoe’s eyes. How was she going to save Aunt Grace from their lies now?

  “What do you want me to do about those wooden stairs?” she heard the man ask.

  “Tear them out.”

  Zoe felt so scared she thought she might pass out. She barely managed to stifle a scream as a boot came down hard on the bottom step.

  Then everything went black.

  ****

  The next thing Zoe remembered was the spider walking across her cheek, tickling her from her stupor. Startled, she let out a yelp and whisked it away with the back of her hand. She froze. Had they heard her?

  The voices were coming from the outside now—from around the front of the house. Zoe uncramped her body and peeked out from under the stairs. The garage door was open. She crawled out of her hiding place. She was about to dig up the journal so she could take it with her when the voices began moving toward the garage again. No time for the journal. She sprinted for the side door to the garage, squeezed through it, And instead of taking the shortcut between her house and this one, ran into the woods and down the narrow trail behind the houses as fast as her legs could carry her. If they saw her, she didn’t want them to find out where she lived.