"You're certainly not a genius." I'm gratified to see her fake smile droop at the insult. "To answer your ridiculous question, I didn't have anything to do with Crystal's death. I only found her by accident."
“Coincidence and accident. Sure.”
My fist takes on a life of their own and I raise my hand to strike.
A knock at the door saves Lacey from my attack.
I lower my hand and force my fists to open. “That will be my client,” I say through clenched teeth, “Now get out before I throw you out.” I open the door to a surprised woman.
“Lacey, what are you doing here?” Ashley questions clutching a plastic bag to her chest.
I'd forgotten that Ashley and Lacey were friends. I hadn't seen them together since I found Lacey's lost son a few months ago at the superstore. That feels like a lifetime ago now.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Lacey says to her friend, eyeing the plastic bag Ashley clings to.
“I….” Ashley stammers, her face pink from cold and embarrassment.
“It’s none of your business what my clients are here for,” I snap at Lacey. My hands ball into fists again and a headache starts pounding above my left eye near my scar. Lacey finally gets the point and looks at my hand.
“I’m watching you Gabriella McAllister.”
“Enjoy the show,” I say and shove her as gently as I can through the front door.
Ashley stands guiltily in my shop once Lacey is gone. “I’m sorry about that,” I soothe. “I didn’t know she would be here.”
Ashley uncrosses her arms and lowers the plastic bag to her side. “It’s okay,” she says vaguely.
My stomach grumbles and my head pounds mercilessly. “Look, Ashley, I’m sorry to do this,” I say rubbing at my scar. “I’ve had an awful day and I’m afraid I’m not up to doing the reading you want today.”
Ashley looks down at the bag in her hand. “I understand.” A faraway look crosses her face. “It can wait. Can we reschedule?”
The tension in my shoulders slips away in relief. “That would be wonderful. I want to give you my full attention, and I’m afraid I can’t offer that right now.”
“Tomorrow then?” she asks hopefully.
I’d rather put it off for a few more days, but I agree to tomorrow.
Ashley hesitates at the door, “What did Lacey want with you? She didn’t want to hire you did she?”
I laugh out loud at that. "We both know Lacey would never pay me for my services. She'd rather use me to make a name for herself as a reporter."
Ashley has the good grace not to gossip about her friend, only looks at the floor with a sly smile.
“She heard about something I found this morning and was trying to get a story out of me.”
“What did you find?” Ashley asks, genuinely curious.
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you,” I say politely.
“Oh, of course. Of course,” she mutters.
“I’m sure it will be on the news tonight, knowing Lacey. Most of the details will be blown out of proportion, but that never stops her.”
Ashley smiles prettily at the floor again and reaches for the doorknob. "See you tomorrow?"
“I’ll be here.”
I lock the door behind her and breathe a sigh of relief. The roller coaster has started again and I’m sure a wild ride is coming.
But first I need food.
Chapter 8
Gabby
I toss the crust from the last piece of pizza into the box with disgust.
“I shouldn’t have eaten all of that,” I tell Chester my cat who watches me with interest from the coffee table. He takes the words as an invitation and leaps gracefully onto my lap. “Ugh,” I moan as he steps on my full belly. "You've been eating too much, too."
Chester ignores the slight and curls onto me for a nap. I wrap my favorite yellow blanket around us and join him. I’m far from hungry now, but I’m still exhausted from the emotional morning.
My nap is interrupted by the chirping of my phone a few hours later. It takes a moment for me to remember why I’m on the couch. I rub my face hard with the heel of my hand, dig into my blurry eyes.
My phone stops ringing.
I push the empty pizza box to the side and find my phone under it. Darkness has fallen outside my windows and the time on my phone says just after six. This time of year in Indiana, it could either be six p.m. or six a.m. and still be dark out. Squinting at the phone, I see the tiny p.m. after the number. At least I didn’t sleep around the clock.
The phone chirps in my hand, telling me the caller left a voicemail. I don’t recognize the number and frankly don’t care at the moment.
I toss the phone back on the coffee table and gather up the pizza box. “Better hide the evidence,” I tell Chester.
After shoving the empty box to the bottom of my trash can, I sip a glass of water from the faucet and shake myself awake. Maybe finding Crystal and my fight with Lucas was just a dream? I splash cold water on my face and dry it with a dingy towel hanging on the stove door. The headache behind my scar still throbs, flashes of memory from this morning pounding through my head along with the pain. It wasn’t a dream.
I toss the dirty towel across the kitchen in frustration and shame.
Crystal is dead.
I’d hurt Lucas.
Needing a release, I stalk across the floor and snatch the towel up. The rest of the evening passes in a blur of cleaning. I can’t control the world, but I can control my small space. I’d rather go for a run, but the cold and dark keeps me locked in the house.
Chester hides behind the couch as I frantically scrub the counters and sweep the floors. Only when I fall into bed, tired but spent, does he come out of hiding. I wrap myself around my best friend.
The overcast morning sky does nothing to brighten my mood as I sip my coffee and stare out the front window of my house. Next door, I hear Preston start his car and leave for work. I freeze, hoping he doesn't see me at the window. We've barely spoken since that night in the woods at Halloween. The pain of his rejection has faded, added to the long list of similar reactions I've received from those I thought cared for me. Living next door to my ex-whatever-he-was has been awkward, but we've managed.
Once the sound of his car fades away, I drop the curtain back in place.
My house is spotless after last night’s cleaning frenzy. The pristine conditions make me anxious. My rescheduled appointment with Ashley is a few hours away and I struggle to find something, anything, to keep my mind off of Crystal and Lucas.
The voicemail from last night offers a welcome distraction.
I barely recognize the voice on the message as Lucy Reed. The quiet mouse of a woman has transformed with her excitement.
"Gabby, this is Lucy Reed. I need to talk to you about what happened today. Please call me when you can." Simple and to the point, but the words tumble out of her at a pace I didn't think was possible.
The animation is still in her when I call back.
"Thank heavens you called," she gushes.
“What can I do for you?” I ask politely.
“Can you come see me this morning? I hate to ask, but I need to talk to someone.”
Her unusual excitement sets my nerves on edge.
“I’ll pay you the usual rate,” she adds before giving me a chance to answer.
“I….” My eyes settle on my nearly-empty fridge. Since getting fired from my previous job and the costs of setting up my new shop, money has been tight. Guiltily, I agree, although talking about yesterday is at the bottom of my list of fun things to do to pass the time.
"You're a lifesaver," Lucy says. "I can't thank you enough."
Her dramatic response doesn’t sit well. I almost prefer the silent, morose attitude she had before.
“Can you be here in an hour?” she continues.
“Sure. Where’s here?” I dig a pen and pad out of the junk drawer, ready for an address.
“Bethel Stab
les,” she says as if I should already have known.
I drop the pen on the counter.
“You know where it is?” she asks.
My mind scrambles to connect the massive property with the understated woman I met yesterday. “Of course I do. Everyone does. You own Bethel Stables?”
“Yes,” she says simply, then hurries on, “Great, see you in an hour.”
A moment of silence stretches.
“Thank you, Gabby. Really,” Lucy says quietly, a small waver in her voice.
She hangs up before my mind can form a response.
I have no trouble finding Bethel Stables. It's a favorite place to drive by on my long, lonely explorations of the country roads surrounding River Bend. A classic wrought iron fence flanks the road approaching the property. Brick pillars stand as sentinels every so often, adding a touch of elegance. Behind the fence, several horses graze in the expansive pastures, nosing through the snow for hidden grasses. A few curious horses raise their heads as I turn past the beautiful Bethel Stables sign flanked by two statues of horses.
The asphalt has been plowed free of yesterday's snow and winds like a black snake through the pastures and up a hill. At the top of the hill, I park near a white colonial-style mansion. A bright green roof stands out against the white of the house and the white of the fields.
My old Charger looks out of place. The entire property screams money in an understated manner.
My footsteps echo across the silent snow as I walk past the white pillars that hold up a second-story wrap-around balcony. I lift the heavy brass door knocker with my gloved hand and drop it on the elaborate door. Above my head, a chandelier rocks gently in the winter breeze.
"This is Lucy Reed's?" I ask the swinging light. I search my mind for memories of Lucy. I vaguely remember her from high school as shy and intelligent. Nothing in my memories helps reconcile this glorious property with the woman. She still goes by her maiden name, so marrying into money doesn't make sense either. Apparently, Lucy’s done very well for herself.
I suddenly wish I’d dressed nicer for this visit. My worn hiking boots and jeans don’t seem to be the correct attire.
I shuffle nervously as the door remains unanswered. I drop the heavy knocker again and the noise carries across the quiet of the snow-covered pastures, reverberates through the house.
“Lucy?” I call to the house, “It’s Gabby.”
I step back from the door and look up to the balcony, searching for movement. The house is silent.
To the right of the property stands the stables and a large outdoor arena. The green roof and white walls match the house.
“Boarding a horse here probably costs more than my mortgage,” I mutter as I cross to the stables looking for Lucy. Any guilt over charging her for this visit vanishes and is replaced with irritation. “Lucy?” I call out again as I push open the door to the stables. “You asked me to come, remember?”
The immensity of the barn overwhelms me. Four walkways branch off of a central indoor arena, each walkway flanked by stalls.
I listen for a response. The few horses that remain in their stalls instead of being turned out to pasture for the day nicker as I call for Lucy again.
A blur of black rushes out of the nearest stall-flanked walkway. I jump back and let out a startled shout. The black lab jumps against my legs in greeting, making me feel foolish for my fear.
"Hey boy," I rub behind the dog's ears, "Where's your momma?"
The dog leans against my leg, then jumps again, unable to settle. He spins around, then rubs against me again, a whine deep in his throat.
My blood begins to sing with adrenaline as I realize my tattoo is tingling. I take two steps into the stables and look cautiously down the walkway. The far end is blocked by a gate, but the walkway is empty.
I call to Lucy again, and the dog whines.
A stall door clatters and a horse snorts angrily, causing my already taut nerves to jump. I duck under a board blocking the walkway from the rest of the barn and take a few cautious steps towards the agitated horse. The chalkboard plaque says Razor.
The spotted horse snorts at me and kicks at the stall door.
“Shh,” I soothe, not at all sure how to talk to a horse. “Everything’s okay.”
Razor raises on his back legs and paws at the bars on the top half of his stall in response.
The dog whines.
“Shh,” I say to them both, as well as myself.
Razor pushes his nose against the bars and I reach to pet the soft skin. He pulls away and circles the small, blowing air.
Beneath his feet, I see the toe of a rubber boot.
I cling to the bars to pull myself higher above the wood wall so I can see better. I can only see the other boot and the beginnings of jean-clad legs.
Razor kicks again and I let go of the bars. Covered with heavy winter gloves, my shaking fingers fumble on the sliding latch of the stall door. Sensing my growing panic, Razor circles the stall again, blowing and snorting.
I manage to slide the heavy door open.
Razor bolts into the walkway, knocking me to the dirt. His heavy hooves pound the ground as he runs past. He reaches the gate at the end of the walkway, rears up, then rushes towards me.
The dog runs out, away from the wild horse.
I push to my feet and flatten my body against the door of an empty stall. Trapped in the walkway, Razor runs back and forth, his hooves dangerously close to my feet.
With my back to the wall, I slide towards the gate that leads outside, murmuring what I hope are calming sounds to the horse.
Once at the gate, I wait until Razor is at the far end of the walkway, then open the latch as quickly as possible.
Sensing freedom, the horse bolts at a full gallop. He brushes past me and takes off across the snow.
I slam the gate closed, checking to make sure it latches, then rush to the body in the stall.
Chapter 9
Gabby
The black lab beats me into the stall. He nuzzles at the badly broken body. His whine tears at my heart.
I drop onto my knees, unsure of what to do.
From the huge permed hair, I know instantly it’s Lucy. One arm and both of her legs jut at odd angles. Bloody hoof prints show where Razor had stepped and pawed at her, killing her.
Lucy lies perfectly still, like a broken doll tossed on the ground.
Her skin has turned white beneath the blood on her face. Her eyes stare sightlessly past me at the wall.
Yesterday’s grief over finding Crystal combines with grief over this woman I barely knew. I pull her lifeless body into my arms and bury my face into her coat.
“I’m so sorry,” I sob to them both. “I’m so sorry.”
Sitting on my knees amidst the sawdust and manure, I cradle Lucy. Rocking with the ache of sorrow torn from deep within me, I shake with heaving sobs. My nose fills and I raise my head to wipe it.
Lucy’s blood stains my glove. I stare at the stain, then look to the ceiling.
“Why did you take her?” I scream to God, not sure if I mean Lucy or Crystal. “Why did you do this?”
A soft nicker from another part of the stables is God’s only response.
From my lap, Lucy's lifeless eyes stare up at me, snapping me back to the present. As gently as possible, I slide her body off and climb to my feet. My legs wobble so badly, I cling to the bars on the stalls to get out of the stables.
The dog remains with Lucy.
I need air.
The door leading to outside won’t open. I panic, kicking and heaving my shoulder into the panel. I try the handle again and the door swings open suddenly. I crash onto the sidewalk and gulp the fresh air. Blood covers my gloves and coat. I crawl to a pile of shoveled snow, scoop up handfuls and scrub. The snow turns pink and falls to the ground.
Blood still stains my gloves. I pull them off and throw them. A breeze catches them and blows them back to me.
“Get away!” I scream at the gl
oves and throw them again. They land on the pristine snow, dark red stains against the white.
The symbol of my gifts stained with Lucy’s innocent blood sears my soul.
“I don’t want this!” I scream at God. “I can’t do what you need me to. There’s too much death, too much pain.”
The property of Bethel Stables surrounds me in gray winter silence.
“Do you hear me? I can’t do this anymore.”
I wrap my arms around my knees and lay my head on the pile of snow. “Please,” I beg. “I’m not strong enough.”
A cloud breaks overhead. The sunlight suddenly reflected on the snow burns my eyes.
My tattoo sizzles.
Get up.
"I don't want to," I reply. "I don't want to do any of it."
An electric shock runs up my arm, so strong I jump in pain.
The sunlight glitters against my squinting eyes.
Get up and get to work.
The pain in my arm increases, grows unbearable. I rub the spot angrily, but it won't stop.
I finally obey and climb to my feet.
The shock from my tattoo subsides.
I take out my phone to call for help.
The pain from my tattoo disappears.
My finger hovers over Lucas’ name in my contacts. I need him, I want him here. But he won’t want to talk to me.
I scroll up to Dustin’s number, but can’t bring myself to push the icon.
I turn my face to the bright slash of sunshine pouring through the break in the clouds. The light glows behind my closed eyelids. The warmth of the sun caresses my cheeks. A peace soaks into me, the feeling out of place with Lucy lying trampled to death nearby.
I scroll back to Lucas’s number and push the icon, hoping for the best.
“I’m really not ready to talk to you,” Lucas says instead of hello.
“I understand,” I say, secretly thrilled just to hear his voice. “But we have a problem.”
“You think?” he snarks. “What, did I kill someone else?”
The sharp words make my breath catch in my throat. "Maybe this was a bad idea," I stall. "Is Dustin there?"
"Man, what did you do to tick him off?" Dustin asks on the line.
Message in the Grave Page 5