“Gabby found a dead woman,” Annette states without pre-amble. “In the cemetery.”
“The cemetery is full of dead people,” Mrs. Mott points out.
“Not like this. There’s a murdered woman buried in my father’s grave.” Annette looks around the room, basking in the attention.
A ripple of interest flows through the room and a sinking feeling flows through me.
“Who?” the woman with half the rollers still in her hair asks from my chair.
“Some girl Gabby knew from school. Crystal something or other.”
A few gasps escape from hanging mouths. “Crystal Hartley?” Mrs. Mott asks quietly.
Annette nods, her tall perm bouncing. Lingering by the door, Lucy stares out a window.
My mouth suddenly dry, I drop another roller on the counter then usher Annette through the sliding pocket door to my kitchen. The shop twitters behind me.
"Tell me what happened?" I demand in the quiet of my kitchen, scooping Jet into my arms.
“Gabby went with us to the cemetery to talk to Dad. You know?”
I nod.
“As soon as we got to his grave, she fell on the ground and started crying and carrying on.” Annette looks over her shoulder as Mrs. Mott quietly joins us. “She was really gone. I pulled her off the ground and she came back to the present. She was so upset, saying she couldn’t breathe.”
Annette runs a hand down her face. “It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Annette’s eyes glow with awe. “She found her, can you imagine?”
“Did you call the police?” Mrs. Mott asks.
“Your grandson came. Dustin. He said there’s nothing we can do. The dead girl might not actually be there.”
“Dustin’s like that,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “There wasn’t another detective with him? Lucas Hartley?”
Annette shakes her head. “They talked about him, but Gabby didn’t want to see him.”
The bad feeling in my stomach congeals. “You haven’t told anyone else have you?”
Annette shuffles uncomfortably. “I came straight here,” she evades. “Anthony Aniston was in the parking lot just now.”
I blow air in exasperation. If her dad knows the story, Lacey will soon be on Gabby's case with camera in hand, demanding the next big scoop and flinging accusations.
“Annette, do me a favor,” I say gently, ushering her to the back door. “Please go home and keep this to yourself.”
Annette seems confused, “But isn’t this exciting?”
“Things usually are where Gabriella’s concerned,” I reply. I gently shove her towards the back door.
“Oh, Lucy’s still in the beauty shop,” Annette hesitates.
“I’ll send her out to you,” Mrs. Mott says, blocking Annette.
“Well, okay then.” Annette opens the door. “You’ll let me know how it all turns out, right?”
“Of course,” I soothe. “But this is a matter for the police now. The best thing we can do is keep the details to ourselves.”
She nods solemnly. “A matter for the police,” she repeats.
“Thank you for understanding.” I shut the door behind the woman and take a deep breath. “Our girl’s gotten herself into something again,” I say to Mrs. Mott.
Her pale purple poof of hair bounces as she nods in agreement. “What are you going to do?”
I look out the window at the back parking area of the farm. “I’m surprised Gabriella hasn’t come here,” I muse.
“She’s never found someone she knew before. Maybe she needs some time alone,” Mrs. Mott says practically.
“She needs her family,” I state firmly.
I turn the open sign to closed and finish up the last few clients waiting in the beauty shop. No one asks about Annette’s sudden announcement and Mrs. Mott steers the conversation into safer waters. With one ear on the driveway, listening for Gabriella’s roaring Dodge Charger, I put the finishing touches on the last client.
“Well, it’s time we went,” Mrs. Mott says to the woman, a not-so-subtle hint that I need them to leave. The client hurries into her coat and out the door.
I bundle Jet in my arms and stare out the window at the empty driveway. "Where is she?" I ask Mrs. Mott.
“Go find her,” she replies, patting Jet on the head. “Call me later and let me know she’s okay.” Mrs. Mott wraps a scarf around her pale purple poof of hair I expertly set this morning.
“You’re good to her,” I muse.
“She’s a good girl.”
As she leaves, a dusting of snow blows in the open door and settles on the chairs in the waiting area. I tuck my nose into Jet's fur and stare at the snow, yearning to hear the Charger. As the snow melts to water droplets before my eyes, apprehension melts into my blood.
“Wanna go for a ride?” I ask Jet.
Gabriella’s driveway is empty, her small house sad in the snow. I try her phone again, but she still doesn’t answer.
“Where could she be?” I ask Jet. He wags his tail and puts his feet on the window of my flatbed truck, recognizing the house. “She’s not there,” I tell him. He pants excitedly, not understanding.
We sit in my truck, snow falling gently on the windshield. I’d already driven past her shop and all the lights were out, no car parked in its usual spot in the alley. I don’t know where else to look.
The wipers swipe at the snow, a forlorn sound fills the cab of the truck. Desperate, I close my eyes and lean my head back on the seat. Gabriella gets her talents from my side of the family and I’ve always fancied myself a bit gifted as well. Nothing like her abilities, just a sense of things that I shouldn’t have.
With my eyes closed, I open myself to that sense now. Listen to universe, hoping for a sign of where to find my granddaughter.
I don’t hear a location, but I put the truck in drive and make my way through town. When I feel the need to turn, I turn, to go straight, I go straight. I push conscious thought away and drive on instinct.
I find her gray Charger parked at the cemetery. Leaving Jet in the warm cab of the truck, I pull my knit hat over my ears and step into the silence of falling snow. Far across the sea of gravestones, I see her.
A lonely figure huddled against the cold.
The angle of her shoulders stiffens as I approach, but she doesn’t turn.
“How’d you find me?” she asks.
“I have my ways.” I take her gloved hand in mine, squeeze it in reassurance. “Is this where you found her?”
She sniffles in response.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't want you to start your business so you could be upset.” I say the guilty thought that’s plagued me all morning.
“It’s not your fault. It’s his.” She sniffles again.
“I don’t follow.”
“Lucas. She was thinking of Lucas as she died. She begged him to help her, to stop.”
The gravity of her words knocks speech from my lips. We listen to the snow fall for a few moments as my mind reels for how to respond. “You know Lucas didn’t have anything to do with her death,” I finally state firmly. “There has to be another reason.”
“A reason she was thinking of him as she died?” she snaps. “There’s only one reason.”
“Lucas did not hurt his sister.” I grab her by the upper arm and shake her. “Lucas has been your friend nearly all your life. He’s been the one person to stand by you. You cannot believe he’d do anything like that.”
She snaps her eyes at mine. The anguish swimming there makes me drop her arm. “I saw it. Watch.”
She suddenly pulls off her gloves and drops to her knees in the snow. She places both bare hands on the cold grave. Her body shakes and bucks from the vision. “Lucas, please,” she cries, “Lucas.”
Watching her receive the vision terrifies me. I know what she does, have seen it happen before, but never like this. “Lucas, please,” she begs again from deep in the vision, her body shaking with emotion, her hands gripping th
e grass and snow.
"Stop that!" I scream in horror, unable to watch her torture herself. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull. A shock of fear and the smell of mint and vanilla fills my senses, Lucas’s name whispers through my mind.
We roll onto the ground, both of us gasping. My chest hurts and my senses sting. “What the hell was that?” I say to the gray sky.
“That was Lucas murdering his sister,” she says miserably, climbing off me.
She retrieves her gloves from the ground, slides them back on, then reaches to help me up. For the first time in my life, I hesitate to touch her, even with gloves.
I avoid her the slightest sliver of a moment, but she sees. Her face crumples in pain and betrayal. "Get away from me," she screams.
I scramble to my feet and throw my arms around her. "Gabriella, I'm so sorry," I say into her tight shoulder. She tries to wriggle away, but I wrap myself tighter around her tense frame. "I love you so much. I'm so sorry."
Shame swamps me as I cling. "You flinched," she sniffles near my ear, her voice muffled by our coats.
“I know.” The truth, only the truth can fix this. “I saw what you saw, and I was scared. Not of you, but of the….” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. “I’m never afraid of you.”
“You flinched,” she says again, miserably, but her body softens and her arms pull me tighter.
“Shh,” I soothe. “Everything’s fine now.” Confident she won’t pull away, I run one hand over her hair.
“What am I going to do?” she begs into my shoulder. “What will I tell Lucas?”
I put her at arm’s length and meet her miserable eyes. “There’s no way Lucas killed her,” I say as evenly and clearly as possible.
“But, you saw it too.”
“She was thinking of him, but that doesn’t mean he killed her. There has to be another explanation.”
Gabriella cocks her head sideways as if listening to a voice far away. Her face settles into resignation. “I have to talk to him. I owe him that much.”
She suddenly throws her arms around me again and kisses my cheek. “I love you, Grandma Dot.”
I watch Gabriella walk across the snowy graveyard. Shame still simmers in my soul. Cold bites at my nose and cheeks and my fingertips sting. I deserve the small pain.
Chapter 7
Gabby
Grandma Dot's tiny slight stings me to the core, but her embrace and desperate pleas of loving me cool the burn. If she truly did see some of what I saw, I can't blame her for freaking a bit.
She seems so sure of Lucas’ innocence. I should have such faith. Her words in his defense give me courage, but the tingle of my tattoo telling me to go to him sets my feet in motion.
Once in my car, I call him. His “Morning, Gabby,” greeting when he answers stabs my heart. He sounds so happy, so relaxed. I hate to ruin his day, ruin his life, but I owe him the truth.
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
“I must be popular. Dustin just said the same thing to me.”
“Don’t talk to him,” I snap suddenly.
“Why not?” he questions, his voice filling with apprehension. “What’s going on?”
“Where are you?” I hedge.
“At the station.”
“Just wait for me. I’m only a few minutes away. Don’t talk to Dustin until I get there, okay?”
“He’s right here. Are either of you going to tell me what this is about?”
“Just meet me out front.” I hang up before he can push the issue and pray that Dustin keeps his mouth shut.
Both Dustin and Lucas wait for me in front of the small police station. Dustin wears an expression as gray as the overcast sky. Lucas leans against a light pole, attempting to appear relaxed. The attempt fails. I know him too well.
My heart stings as I watch him. My feelings for Lucas are complicated and confusing, especially now.
I park at the curb and approach on dragging feet. Dustin glowers, "I thought you said…."
I cut him off, “I know what I said. But I have to do this myself.”
Lucas looks from my brother to me. "One of you want to clue me in here?" Agitation tinges his words.
“I’ve got this,” I say to Dustin.
“Have it your way,” he grumbles. “You always do.”
Lucas watches his partner’s retreating back then turns his weary eyes to mine. “It’s about Crystal, isn’t it?”
Now that I stand in front of him, my doubts fade away. This is Lucas. My friend, my maybe more than a friend. No matter what I think I saw, Grandma Dot is right. There has to be an explanation that makes sense.
“Can we go somewhere private?” I hedge.
Lucas looks up and down the deserted sidewalk. “It’s pretty private here,” he grumbles, growing annoyed with my evasion.
I stare at the cracked and snow-dusted concrete, unsure what to say. "I found Crystal," I finally blurt out.
“You did?” he exclaims. “Where is she?”
The hope in his voice nearly shatters me. “She’s….” I trail off, wishing I could blow away with the cold wind. “She was murdered.” I say plainly.
Air rushes out of Lucas and he leans against the light pole for support. Another officer exits the station door and glances at us curiously. “Can we sit in my car?” I offer.
Lucas follows numbly.
Once inside the car with the heat blasting on our faces, I start my story. I explain about Annette Reed and why I was at the cemetery. Despite the heat in the car, my teeth chatter as I reach the part about finding Crystal.
Lucas stares out the window and down the street as I talk. Once I finish, we sit in silence.
“You’re sure?” he asks miserably.
I don’t bristle at his doubt. “I’m sure. I even went back and checked again. She’s there. Has been all along. The date on the headstone coincides with when she ran away.”
“She didn’t run away,” he says flatly. “She was taken away from us.”
His pain is a palpable thing in the enclosed car. It rolls off him in waves. Real pain and shock, not faked surprise from a killer. I hate myself for ever doubting him.
“There’s more.” My words barely audible over the blasting of the heater. I fiddle with the knob and turn the blast down.
He turns to me, searching my face. “You know who did this, don’t you?”
I pull at the cuff of my coat, fingering a loose thread nervously. “Not exactly.”
His eyes plead for answers.
“She was thinking of you.”
He looks as if I slapped him. “What do you mean?”
“Her last thoughts were of you. ‘Lucas, please,’ to be exact.”
“Why me?” pain etches his face, settles into the creases at the corners of his eyes.
“I don’t know. But that’s what I heard.”
He spins suddenly in his seat. "You thought I did it, didn't you?" he accuses.
I pull hard on the loose thread at the cuff of my coat. It breaks off in my hand. "I don't now.”
“But you did,” he snaps. “Jesus, Gabby.” He runs his hand hard across his face. “You told Dustin? You didn’t call me right away.” He looks back down the street. “You thought I killed my own sister?”
“She was thinking of you,” I try to explain. “I didn’t know what I thought. I was pretty shook up at finding her there.”
Lucas pulls hard on the door handle and slams the door open. “You know, Gabby,” he looks directly in my eyes, the intensity making me flinch. “You and I have been through a lot together. Never, I mean never, have I doubted you. It’d be nice if you showed me the same courtesy.”
My mouth opens, but there’s no protest I can make. He climbs into the cold and slams the door behind him. The whole car shakes with the force.
My whole body shakes as I watch him stalk away from me, leaving a yearning hole at my core.
Exhausted and hungry, I drive through town yearning for a sandwich or taco,
or anything to fill the emptiness inside. “Crap on a cracker,” I mutter, noticing the time. Food will have to wait. I’m late for another appointment with a client.
I pull into my usual parking spot in the alley at the shop and let myself in the back. The outline of a person darkens the glass of the front door. I hurry to let my client in.
“So sorry I’m late,” I chatter as I pull the door open. “I had another appointment and it went long.”
“Another appointment? Is that what you call it?” the blonde woman snides.
Lacey Aniston’s impossibly white teeth and perfectly applied makeup greets me.
"You're not my next client," I say dumbly, a sinking feeling settling into my empty belly. "What are you doing here?"
Lacey pushes her way into the shop. At least she doesn't have a cameraman with her. Not yet. “I heard about your little find this morning. Thought I’d get the scoop straight from the source.”
“You know I’m not going to tell you anything,” I reply, holding the door open. “You can leave now. I’m expecting someone.”
Lacey ignores the open door and inspects my shop. She huffs at the scuffed wood floors and lifts her chin high in disdain. “Nice place,” she says sarcastically.
I swing the open door in invitation, “You’re letting the cold in. Please leave now.” I fight to keep my tone even.
She continues to ignore me, so I close the door.
“So you just happened to find Crystal this morning,” she says leadingly. “You two used to be friends, didn’t you?”
I don’t justify the implications with a response.
“Now you’re dating her brother.” To my horror, I feel my cheeks burn.
“Lucas and I aren’t dating.”
Lacey shrugs and tosses her long blond hair over a shoulder. “If you say so. A little coincidental that you, and only you, knew where she was buried."
My hands ball into fists and I yearn to pummel her surgically altered nose. “Get to the point, Lacey. I’m too busy for this.”
"My point is that you two were friends, then you weren't. That had to sting. Then Crystal was murdered. Only you knew where to find her. It doesn't take a genius to connect those dots."
Message in the Grave Page 4