“Crap on a cracker, they actually showed up.” I down the rest of my coffee in one gulp, wincing as it hits my empty stomach. “Here we go.”
“Oh, Gabby, I’m so excited,” Annette practically squeals. “I’ve missed my dad so much since he died.”
Mention of fathers makes my cheeks warm against the cold air. "I hope I can see something for you," I say sincerely. "I can't promise what I'll see. I don't control my gift," I remind her.
"I know. I read that on the website. Here's the payment, by the way." She hands over the cash eagerly and I quickly push it into my coat pocket without counting it.
"Are you excited, too, Lucy?" I ask the quiet woman. The daughter seems surprised to be spoken to directly.
“Oh, she’s ecstatic,” Annette answers for her. “Been chattering on about it all morning.”
Lucy looks at the snow-covered ground, and I can't imagine her chattering about anything.
“He’s right over here,” Annette continues, leading us into the cemetery.
A chill that has little to do with the cold slithers down my back. As a rule, I avoid cemeteries, but my new business venture will probably lead to more readings like this. I hunch into my coat collar and focus on the job I came here to do.
It doesn’t take long to find Annette’s father’s headstone. The granite sparkles in the pale sunlight and nearly fresh flowers flash their bright colors against the thin snow. “I brought those a few days ago,” Annette says.
“They’re lovely,” I mutter absently. Every inch of my skin begins to tingle as I near the grave. It feels like ants climb under my clothes. I resist the urge to itch.
“What do you need us to do?” Annette asks.
My head swirls and her words are hard to make out. The itching ants grow stronger. “Shh. Just stand there quietly,” I command.
My tattoo stabs my arm, cutting through the growing haze in my mind. The sudden, unbearable pain knocks me to my knees. Snow melts into my jeans, the bite of cold ground a distant annoyance, overridden by the pain in my arm and the tingling of my skin.
“Gabby are you okay?” Annette’s high voice comes from miles away.
I can’t stand and drop both hands onto the grass covering the burial plot of Annette’s father. On hands and knees, my chest clenches.
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. Lucas, please. Mint and vanilla smothering. Air, I need air. Lucas!
Annette and the now-speaking Lucy shout my name. Their voices barely pierce the vision.
Betrayal, pain, disbelief. I can’t breathe! I wasn’t going to tell. I promise I wasn’t. Don’t do this. Mint and vanilla, cloying perfume. The chain from my necklace cuts into my neck. Lucas’ necklace. The beautiful bird pendant. Air, I need air.
“Gabby, oh my God!” Rough hands pick me up from the grass of the grave and the vision breaks.
Annette tumbles backward, the weight of my limp body pressing her into the ground. I scramble away from her hands.
“Don’t touch me!” I scream inconsolably. “I can’t breathe.”
"Gabby, it's Annette," she calms. "I'm not touching you and you can breathe. Just breathe. Just breathe."
I open my eyes to a pale white sky, snowflakes sinking lazily to land on my wet cheeks. Annette and Lucy stand over me, watching with worried expressions.
"What happened?" I croak, my throat sore.
"I don't know. You fell down and then started writhing around and crying," Annette replies. "Did you talk to Dad?"
I push myself into a sitting position, confused and dizzy. “Your dad?” I ask dumbly.
“That’s Dad’s grave. Did you see something from him?” Annette seems as confused as I feel.
I shake my head violently, trying to make sense of what I saw. “It wasn’t your dad,” I say slowly. “I saw Crystal Hartley.”
“Who’s Crystal Hartley?”Annette asks.
Lucy has her back to me and she stares at the grave. Her tall perm bounces and her shoulders shake as she cries. I must have scared the timid woman.
“A girl I once knew. She was murdered. Call the police station and ask for Dustin McAllister. Only Dustin,” I tell Annette.
I can’t talk to Lucas right now. Not after living through his sister’s murder. Not when her dying thoughts were of him.
I dig the cash out of my pocket and shove it at Annette. "I'm sorry. I can't reach your dad. He's here, but Crystal is in the grave, too. I won't be able to reach him."
“Keep the money,” she says gently. “You earned it.”
She returns the bills, then explains to the 9-1-1 operator that she needs Dustin.
I need Lucas. But how can I trust him now?
I huddle on the snowy grass, shivering with cold and emotion as I wait for the police. Annette walks Lucy back to their car, then returns with a blanket. She wraps the blanket around my shoulders, then sits next to me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, wiping my running nose on the back of my gloves.
Annette hands me a tissue. I'm amazed at the change from a nearly-giddy girl to a caring adult. Must be a mom thing.
“You don’t need to be sorry. That must have been terrifying.” Annette stares at her father’s headstone. “Maybe I needed to bring you here. Maybe Dad was trying to tell me something. I just had to come with you and try. You know what I mean? He knew she was here and wanted you to find her.”
“So you believe me?”
“Of course I believe you. You’re Gabby McAllister.”
I give a humph of disdain. I'd rather be anyone other than myself right now.
“So you knew this Crystal girl?” Annette asks wrapping her arms around her knees.
"We were friends in middle school but drifted apart as we got older. She's the sister of my brother Dustin’s partner.” Dustin's partner, not my friend, or more. Apparently, I know Dustin's trick of distancing.
“Dustin the detective I just talked to?”
“The same. His partner, Lucas, asked me to find out what happened to her. She ran away right after high school and no one has heard from her since. I guess we know why, now." My nose continues to run and I swipe at it angrily.
“This Lucas isn’t going to be happy with what you found. I don’t envy you that conversation.”
Annette doesn’t know the half of it.
Lucas didn’t kill her. There has to be another explanation.
I rub my gloved hands hard against my face. "It's definitely more complicated than that," I say, then shove my lips tight together. I will not tell this odd woman what I saw, no matter how nice she's being to me right now.
I won’t tell anyone about Lucas’ possible involvement until I know for sure.
"Was she nice?" Annette asks.
I’ve thought a lot about Crystal in the last few weeks. Images of her as a kid flash through my mind now. Us swimming in her above ground pool during the summers. Riding our bikes to get ice cream on the town square. Whispering about the boys we liked and the girls we didn’t like until all hours of the night.
“Yes, when we were friends, she was very nice.”
All the early memories shine bright and pure. Attached to each of them is Lucas. Her big brother always on our periphery, sometimes annoying, sometimes welcome.
The later memories, after I nearly died and woke with my abilities, don’t shine as bright. Slowly, but increasingly, Crystal pulled away. Our sleep-overs ceased and she no longer invited me to swim. It wasn't long until she was hanging out with other girls, sleeping over at their houses. Staying up all hours talking. I became one of the girls she didn’t like and spent many lonely nights wondering if she whispered about me behind my back.
Even here in the cold, that thought burns my cheeks. I’d loved Crystal and she’d deserted me after I became a freak.
And then she was gone.
And it took a freak to find her.
Chapter 5
Dustin
The crack in the ceiling above my desk stares back at me as I lean in m
y chair and study the ceiling. Gabby’s voicemail re-plays through my mind as I think. She’d sounded honestly sorry about her crazy antics last night. I want to believe her, want to forgive her.
Why can’t she accept Dad is dead?
A disturbing thought niggles at the back of my mind. As much as I hate to admit it, Gabby is often correct. Doubting her hasn’t worked out so well for me before.
I sit upright in my desk chair and pull my keyboard closer. The desk facing mine is empty, Lucas' desk. I shoot a quick look around the squad room, but no one pays me any attention.
I type Nathaniel McAllister into various search engines, both public and law enforcement. No records, except the ones related to his murder fourteen years ago. The only recent mention of him from a parole hearing for our mom, Emily McAllister over a year ago. She remains in the women’s prison near Indianapolis. Nathan McAllister remains dead.
I shove the keyboard away impatiently. Damn it, Gabby, now you have me searching for ghosts.
The ringing of my desk phone intrudes on my grumpy mood.
"Detective McAllister, a woman is calling in and will only speak to you," dispatch says.
My mood sinks from grumpy to plain angry, “Is it my sister?” I bark. Really, calling dispatch because I won’t answer your voicemail?
“It’s another woman, but she says she’s with Gabby,” dispatch replies with just a hint of enjoyment at our family drama.
I sigh heavily, “Put her through.”
"Detective McAllister," a high, thin voice. "I'm Annette Reed and I'm at Haven Crest Cemetery with Gabby."
I grunt in response, tapping a pen on the desk in irritation. A cemetery? Probably cavorting with dead relatives.
“Gabby says to tell you she found Crystal Hartley.”
My tapping pen freezes.
“What do you mean?” I brace for the answer.
“Apparently, she’s buried in my father’s grave. Gabby sensed her.”
Crystal Hartley? Holy crap, what will Lucas think?
“We’ll be right there.”
"Only you," Annette Reed says quickly. "She said only you can come."
Rubbing the rising tension in my neck, I look at Lucas’ empty desk. My partner and friend has been searching for his sister for ten years. Finding her dead will crush him.
Pulling on my coat, I hope Gabby’s wrong about this.
But Gabby’s rarely wrong.
An impossibly thin woman with large hair waves animatedly across the cemetery. My boots crunch on the thin snow as I plod past headstones, looking for Gabby. I find her huddled on the snowy ground near the excited woman. Her head rests on her bent knees, her arms wrapped defensively around her legs.
“Can you believe it?” Annette Reed bubbles, her manner a sharp contrast to Gabby’s forlorn figure.
Gabby doesn’t raise her head from her knees, piquing my irritation. I scan the marks in the snow. Three different sets of footprints mar the white surface. Near the headstone, several smudges of yellowed winter grass peek through the snow.
A set of handprints show clearly on the grave. Gabby’s handprints. I shudder.
I find Gabby eyeing me warily after I inspect the scene. "What happened?" I ask.
Gabby opens her mouth, then shuts it again. Annette answers for her.
“We came here so Gabby could talk to my father. He died ten years ago, and I miss him so much, you see.”
I just nod at the odd woman.
"Well, when we walked up, Gabby fell on her hands and knees. She started crying and shaking. We had to pull her off the ground. To stop the vision, I guess."
“We?”
“My daughter is here, too.” Annette motions to the parking lot. “She’s waiting in the car.”
Gabby searches my face as Annette explains. “I’m sorry,” she finally whispers.
“What did you see? Are you sure it’s Crystal?” I ask carefully.
Her eyes narrow a touch and her shoulders stiffen. “Of course, I’m sure.”
I glance back at the disturbed grass of the grave. Nothing seems amiss to my eye.
“She’s buried there. On top of Annette’s father.” Her voice louder now, stronger. “She was murdered.” Her eyes slide away from mine and drift over the cemetery. She’s hiding something.
I shuffle my boots in the snow. What do I do with this information?
Gabby supplies an answer, “You’ll have to exhume her. Lucas and his family will want to give her a proper burial.” Her voice catches on Lucas’ name.
“I can’t do that,” I snap bluntly. “I can’t exhume a grave because of a hunch you have.”
She jumps to her feet in anger. I prefer the anger to the forlorn form I first encountered. “We both know it’s not a hunch. I saw her. I saw the necklace Lucas gave her. I saw….” Her mouth snaps shut on the last part.
“I’ll give permission,” Annette ventures. “It’s my father’s grave. I’ll allow you to…,” she searches for the word. “To get the girl out,” she finishes awkwardly.
I kick at a pile of snow. "I'll still need a court order. I won't be able to get one."
“You have to do something,” Gabby pleads. “It’s Crystal. You can’t just leave her here.”
Rubbing my neck does nothing to relieve the mounting tension. I blow out air in exasperation. “We’ll have to talk to Lucas,” I finally say. “If Crystal really is here, he has to know.”
Gabby turns pale and resumes her scan of the cemetery. “Can you tell him?” her voice tiny in the cold. “I don’t think I can.”
“He’d rather hear it from you,” I point out.
Her eyes lock on a distant point, “I can’t,” she says simply.
A tense silence stretches between us.
“Do you need me to give a statement or something?” Annette asks to break the silence.
“No,” I sigh. “There’s nothing to report yet.”
This earns me a sharp look from Gabby, just as I planned.
“Go home,” I tell both women. “I’ll handle it.”
Gabby turns on her heel and strides away without a backwards look or word, leaving me alone with Annette.
“You must be very proud of your sister,” the thin woman says. “She’s really something.”
I manage to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, “Yeah, she’s something.”
Annette’s eyes narrow and her mouth scrunches. She heard the sarcasm after all.
Chapter 6
Grandma Dot
After Gabriella’s stunt last night at the party, her name is on the tongue of every client at the beauty shop. The grand opening party was intended to get the town talking about Gabriella’s services. People are talking, alright.
“Do you think she really saw Nathan McAllister last night?” I’m asked for the umpteenth time this morning. “Isn’t that exciting?”
In the reflection of the wall of mirrors, I lock eyes with the woman who asked the question. “We’ve already been over that. Whoever Gabriella thinks she saw last night, Nathan is dead.” I give the woman a withering look. Even my tiny black dog, Jet, stares at her from under the counter near my feet. The woman waits for her color to set, and will be here for a while yet. Better stop her tongue wagging now.
She looks down at her magazine and away from my glare. I resume the hair cut I’m giving to Anthony Aniston. I run my shop on walk-ins only, and a if a man stops in for a quick trim, I try to get him done and out the door. The women like to hang around and visit, the men just want to get back to work.
"I hear Lacey's got an interview with the NBC affiliate in Indianapolis," I say to Anthony to shift the suddenly tense mood in the shop.
“She did, yesterday,” the proud father beams at me in the mirror. “Said it went well. Lacey’s worked hard to get her reporter career off the ground. Hard to do in a town like this where nothing exciting ever happens.”
My scissors freeze over his short, unruly curls. “Nothing except stopping a serial killer and taking
down a cult.” I point out. I leave out the part that Gabriella is the only reason Lacey’s career is going anywhere. Lacey’s whole angle has been to make Gabriella look bad. But if it means Lacey might move to Indianapolis, it’s a small price to pay. “She did great on those stories,” I lie through my clenched teeth.
From her usual chair in the corner, Pauline Mott ineffectually covers a laugh with a fake cough. I dart my eyes to her through the mirror and she coughs again.
Anthony Aniston doesn’t notice Mrs. Mott. “Both our girls are doing so well for themselves, aren’t they?” he says.
I snip the last curl, resisting the urge to take a chunk of hair from the back of his head where he’ll never look. “Yes, they are,” I reply politely, setting my scissors on the counter and brushing the loose hair from his shoulders.
Anthony stands up and pulls some bills from his wallet. I put the bills in the money drawer and don’t offer him change. “Thanks for working me in so fast,” he says.
“Anything for you, Anthony.” I smile, letting him think I did him a special favor. I motion for a woman with rollers in her hair to take the empty chair.
“You have a nice day, ladies,” Anthony says to the room, in the tone of a man who expects all women to be sad when he leaves.
“Bye-bye, now,” Mrs. Mott says sweetly.
The bell on the door jingles as he shuts it behind him. Mrs. Mott’s laugh joins the jingle.
“Stop that,” I chide my best friend and begin removing rollers from my next client.
I only have six rollers out when the door jingles again and Jet barks. “Oh my gosh, Dot, you won’t believe it.” Annette Reed blows through the door, stomping snow on the mat in her excitement. Her daughter, Lucy, trails behind her, morose and silent as usual, Jet sniffing at her feet.
“If this is about what happened last night at the party, she’s not interested,” the woman I silenced earlier says.
“Last night?” Annette asks, scanning the room of women. “Oh, yeah, that.” Annette pulls off her coat and tosses it on the only open chair in the shop. “No, this just happened.”
Fear swims through my belly and I pull out the next roller from my client a little too hard. I mumble an apology to her and ask, “What happened?”
Message in the Grave Page 3