Lucy’s blood on the front of my coat makes me wince. The stains nearly blend in with the dark blue fabric now that they’ve dried. If I do this right, I won’t see anyone, so the stains won’t matter.
When the beautiful house that Deidre Hartley built comes into view, uncertainty niggles at my brain. I can't just walk up to the house and ask if I can explore their riverbank. I drive past the property and pull over near the bridge down the road. One front wheel of my Charger slides off the side of the road, but the other three tires hold. I might have trouble getting out of the snow when I leave, but decide to worry about that later.
The slam of my door echoes loudly across the empty river. Broken sheets of ice reach like gnarled fingers from the banks into the black water flowing timelessly at the river’s center. The eternal movement of the water draws my eyes hypnotically.
I shake my head to focus on my mission and trudge into the woods lining the banks.
It only takes a few minutes for the isolation of the woods to engulf me. My car waits a hundred yards or so behind and the Hartley house is not far away to my right, but trekking through the quiet woods, I might as well be a thousand miles from nowhere.
Snow slips down into my hiking boots and my toes soon ache with cold. Feeling foolish, I realize that the shack was probably torn down years ago. The rest of the Hartley property is pristine, small chance they’d leave a run-down eyesore out here for so long. I should have checked with someone that the shack was still here. But who could I call?
I stop on a hill and scan the woods, torn between turning back and pressing further into the trees.
I listen to the wind, listen to my tattoo.
The river’s quiet gurgle is the only response.
“I give up,” I mutter.
Turning to retrace my steps, my boot slips on a patch of ice hidden below snowy leaves. Facedown on the hill, I slide, my knee colliding with a fallen branch painfully. At the bottom of the hill, I roll onto my rear.
Cold seeps into the seat of my jeans as I rub at my sore knee. “Crap on a cracker, that hurt.”
I straighten and bend my leg a few times, testing my knee. “Just rub some dirt on it,” I mutter and climb to my feet.
My knee holds my weight and after a few steps, the pain subsides.
Just bruised, could have been worse.
And no one knows I’m out here.
The thought sobers me instantly. Trespassing alone in the frozen woods when no one knows I’m here is definitely not one of my best ideas.
A few more ginger steps around the low area I fell into, and I’m sure my knee is fine. Behind me, a branch breaks in the woods and I spin at the sound.
Dark tree trunks surround me. A squirrel chatters in the distance.
But nothing jumps out of the woods to tackle me.
Squinting up the next hill, an unnaturally straight piece of wood catches my attention. Patches of peeling white paint on the weathered wood blend into the trees and snow, but the straight lines give it away.
I found the shack.
Chapter 12
Gabby
My hurt knee forgotten, I scramble up the hill to the shack. Whatever the slant-roof building’s original use was is lost to time and decay. The whole thing leans to the right at a dangerous angle, looking like one more harsh winter storm would bring it to the ground. The original white paint has peeled off in large chunks. Graffiti mars the paint still clinging to the wood.
A large blue heart dominates the wall next to the front door. The words "Lucas Loves Ka…" with the rest of her name missing stuns me. It's hard to picture the straight-laced Lucas I know now as a lovesick teen spray-painting his name in a heart with a mysterious girl. I wrack my brain for a Kay, Katelyn, Kayla, Kara, any girl from school Lucas thought he loved.
No one jumps to mind. The heart and names stir a jealous surge I have no right to feel. I touch the faded paint and peel a chip away. More chips fall to the frozen ground, and the Ka is gone.
Feeling both satisfied and petty, I push on the battered door hanging by one hinge.
It takes several shoves until the door swings into the dark interior of the shack. The heavy scent of animal waste and rotting wood assails my nose. I peer inside, braced for a raccoon or rats or something sinister to fly at me.
Nothing worse than the nasty smell attacks me, so I step inside.
The dirt floor is uneven, shifted by years of freezing and thaw. Light seeps through widening gaps in the wood planks of the walls. A portion of the roof in a far corner has caved in.
Even as a hang-out for teens wanting to smoke and party, it's nasty. I'd been a little envious when Ashley told me all the kids had come here for fun and I was never invited. Even accounting for years of neglect, I can't imagine this place as one I'd want to spend time in.
Some rusted metal folding chairs lean against one wall. A few plastic lawn chairs lean on broken legs. A folding table sags below a window, covered with a thick coat of dust and chewed nutshells from squirrel activity. Empty beer cans and plastic cups litter the table, as well as glass bottles that once held liquor. My original intention had been to touch things here, hope for a vision of anything that would point to Crystal’s killer. Everything is so filthy, I can’t bring myself to pull off my gloves, let alone touch something.
A bare mattress, torn to shreds by mice, lies in a lumpy mess in another corner. No way I’m touching it. Even if it was clean, I have no interest in visions of groping teens doing who knows what to each other on it.
Piles of dirt and gravel surround the mattress. On closer inspection, dark tunnels lead from the piles under the mattress. I recognize the piles and tunnels from similar ones Grandma Dot deals with on her farm. Groundhogs are horribly destructive and hard to get rid of.
I kick loose gravel down a tunnel, "Nasty varmints," I mutter at the dark hole.
My kicking loosens something shiny. Even in the faded light inside the shack, I recognize the coin as gold.
The glittering circle nearly glows against the dingy backdrop of the shack. I pick it up and turn it over in my gloved palm.
The coin has a cross stamped on one side and a coat of arms on the other.
I gasp in excitement at the find. I’m no historian, but it looks like a gold Spanish doubloon. I exit the shack, eager to see the coin in the light.
“Has to be a fake,” I say out loud, pulling my left glove off, anxious to touch the gold.
“Maverick!” a man’s shout tears through the woods, making me jump.
The gold coin tumbles from my palm and into the snow.
Startled, I shove through the snow until my fingers wrap around the coin.
A massive white dog, covered in black spots bounds out of the trees, his long tongue flopping out of his mouth.
I shove the coin in my pocket and turn my attention to the Great Dane. Luckily, he’s more interested in licking my face than attacking me.
“Mav? Where are you?” The man’s shouts for his dog are closer this time.
I freeze in indecision. Should I hide? Fat chance, the dog will give me away. I shove the spotted Great Dane away, irritated.
The man appears, leaving me no choice but to confess my presence.
He stops short when he sees me. Even with longer hair and a full beard, the man’s resemblance to Lucas is instantly apparent.
“Hi, Mr. Hartley,” I say with an awkward wave, trying to keep the huge dog from jumping on me at the same time.
Curiously, Mr. Hartley doesn’t seem that surprised to see me. “Looks like we had the same idea today, Gabby,” he says. With the gold coin heavy in my pocket, it takes me a moment to follow his train of thought. “Crystal loved coming here,” he continues wistfully. “You probably have lots of memories of here.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him this is my first time coming to the shack.
“I’m so sorry about what happened with Crystal,” I say honestly. “It was quite a shock.” I push on the dog again.
&nb
sp; “Maverick, down,” Mr. Hartley commands. Maverick lies at my feet, his huge head on his paws. “Must have been hardest on you,” he adds. “Finding her like that.”
I focus on Maverick so I don’t have to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t pleasant.” I finger the coin in my pocket debating whether or not to tell him what I found. “I’m sorry I trespassed, Mr. Hartley," I say to stall.
His blue eyes, so like Lucas', search mine. "Call me Gregor. We're practically family.”
His easy manner is so soothing, I understand how he became such a prominent psychiatrist. “Family?”
"You were so close to Crystal as kids. And now you and Lucas are…." He trails off, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Not talking at the moment,” I offer, pulling my empty hand out of my pocket.
If the admission shocked him, he doesn't show it. Instead, he looks pointedly at the freshly peeled wood of the heart, then at me. "Only a passing squabble. Lucas cares for you. He talks about you all the time.”
My cheeks burn against the cold air. “Most people talk about me,” I point out. “Few people like me.”
Gregor laughs at this. “That’s how you know you’re doing the right things. You can’t make it far in this world without ruffling a few feathers.” His face turns solemn. “Crystal was good at ruffling feathers.”
“I hate to ask this, but do you have any idea who would want to hurt her?”
"All these years, I thought she'd just run away. She was always fighting with Deidre, and even squabbling with Lucas. Just normal teen stuff. I figured she'd outgrow it. Rebellion is a necessary phase of development."
He looks to me, seemingly waiting for an answer. I shrug in response.
“When she ran away, I was sure she’d run wild for a while, then come back. When she never contacted us again, it hurt. Really hurt.”
A shrug doesn’t seem appropriate, so I say, “I can imagine.”
"On the one hand, it's easier knowing she couldn't contact us, not that she didn't want to see us ever again. Does that make sense?" He doesn't wait for a response. "Knowing my baby girl was murdered years ago is such a shock. I don't know how to process the change to my belief system about the situation."
“Being able to lay her to rest properly and say good-bye is a good place to start.”
Gregor looks at the shack, mulls over my suggestion. “You’re sure she’s there? That she’s in someone else’s grave?” he asks without looking at me.
“I can’t ever be completely sure about the things I see,” I hedge.
“But you did see her? You saw her murder?”
“In a way.”
“But you don’t know who did it? With all your abilities, you don’t know that simple fact?” His voice rises and two spots of red appear above his beard.
I sigh heavily. “Trust me. More than anyone else, I wish I could see more. I never pretend to be able to control it.”
“Of course, of course.” The red spots fade. “I’m sorry I snapped.”
If that was the extent of his snapping, I could teach him a thing or two. "No apologies necessary. This is hard on all of us, not knowing for sure," I prod again.
Gregor continues to stare at the shack. “I have a judge friend who owes me a favor,” he mutters. “I think I’ll place a call.” He snaps his fingers at Maverick and the dog jumps to his long legs.
“You won’t tell Lucas I was here, will you?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can take it back.
Gregor turns his full smile on me. “Your secret’s safe with me, Gabby. But don’t let this little squabble go on too long. You'll never find a better man than my son, but he can be stubborn. Something tells me stubbornness is a trait you're very familiar with."
“Maybe.” I smile shyly. “You’re a sweet man, Gregor. I see where Lucas gets it from.”
"Tell you what. On Friday, Deidre is hosting a fundraiser at the antique car museum over in Coburn. Lucas is required by his mother to attend every year. He'll need a date."
“Lucas can find his own dates.”
“He doesn’t want to find a different one. You make up with him before Friday. I’m counting on seeing you at that party.” Gregor winks at me, then calls to Maverick. They disappear into the trees before I can refuse.
I stand alone outside of the shack, my mouth hanging open in surprise.
Chapter 13
GABBY
Gregor’s words about stubbornness echo through my mind as I make the long trek back to my car. My pride still stings from Lucas ignoring me this morning, but pride and stubbornness have no place in a relationship.
Either does sneaking around on his parents' property.
Once in my car, the heater running, I call Lucas, mentally crossing my fingers that he’ll answer.
"Hi," he warily answers on the fourth ring.
“Hey,” I say awkwardly, my mouth suddenly dry, my mind at a loss for words.
The line remains silent for a few tense beats. “It’s been a long day, Gabby,” he says with an edge to his voice.
“I know, I’m sorry.” I rub my hand across the worn leather of my steering wheel. “Can we talk? I’d really like to talk to you.”
He sighs heavily. “I just left Annette Reed’s and I’m headed out to see my parents now. Can we meet later?”
"I, um, I'm actually just down the road from your parents right now."
He blows air in exasperation. “Why are you at my parents’? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“I want you to know. That’s part of why I called.” He hasn’t hung up on me yet. I take that as a good sign and push my advantage. “I’m parked by the bridge. Can you meet me here?”
On the far side of the bridge, I see his car approaching. "I'm already there."
He hangs up and I wonder if he’ll just drive past me.
He parks on the other side of the road.
My belly swims and my arms feel weak with nervous energy now that he’s here. I thought I’d have more time to prepare.
I shut the door of the Charger and lean against the car. He leans against his cruiser on the opposite side of the road, the strip of slushy asphalt between us. His face looks crumpled and tired and I have a sudden urge to run my hand down his cheek and smooth the hurt away.
“Can we walk?” I ask, motioning to the bridge. He pushes himself away from his car and takes a few steps in the direction of the bridge, his hand shoved deep into his pockets.
My feet move on the side of the road, but my tongue refuses to form words.
“What did you want to talk about?” Lucas grumbles from his side of the road.
Just be honest. Truly honest.
“You’ve always been a good friend to me, Lucas.” Once the words start, they fall like snow. “You’ve been the one person I could always count on. No matter what I saw, or thought I saw, I shouldn’t have doubted you. You’ve never doubted me.”
“That’s true,” he says cautiously.
We’ve reached the center of the bridge and I stop walking, turn to face him. “Finding Crystal scared the crap out of me. Hearing your name in her mind scared me even more.” I swipe at my nose that’s begun to run and take a step across the road. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I just want you to know where I was coming from.” I hate the desperate tone of my voice, but owe it to him.
He takes a step towards me. "I always know where you're coming from. It's been my curse, always having your back."
I take another step towards him, search his face for forgiveness. “I know that being my friend isn’t easy.” I wipe at my nose again, angry that my eyes are watering too. “It’s not exactly easy being me.”
I step again, nearly reaching the yellow centerline.
I wait for his response, watch the emotions as they play over his so-familiar face. “I can only tell you I’m sorry.” I continue, taking another step. I swallow hard and force myself to say the words that have been swirling in my head the last day. “I need you Lucas.
Nothing else in my life is as important as our friendship. I need you.”
Our eyes lock across the last few feet of the road between us. The world around me disappears. All that matters is his next words.
The blast of a horn shatters the moment. A car swerves behind me, annoyed we’re blocking the narrow bridge road. A gust of wind from the car pushes me. and Lucas grabs the front of my coat pulling me away from the car.
The car honks angrily and drives away.
Lucas crushes me to his chest.
“Looks like I’m always saving you,” he says, his face so close I clearly see the crinkles of humor at the corners of his blue eyes.
"I told you I need you." I lick my dry lips. His eyes watch the path my tongue takes.
“You’re wrong, though,” he nearly whispers. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
He still holds the front of my coat and uses it to pull me closer to his body. Even in the cold, I can feel the heat of his thighs against mine. The scant air between us crackles.
I take the plunge. “I don’t want to be your friend either,” I breathe.
Pushing up on the toes of my boots, I lift my mouth to his, half afraid he’ll push me away.
His lips lower, hesitate a delicious moment.
I push higher on my toes. His mouth is warm and firm, and unbelievably right. I sink into the moment, the exquisite moment.
His hands release my coat and slide behind my shoulders. Our bodies crush together as our mouths explore.
When the kiss ends, I let him hold me, weak and breathless. Below us, the dark water continues its quiet, eternal journey. Through his coat and the protective vest of his uniform, I can hear his heartbeat against my ear, another eternal sound.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” I ask.
Lucas pushes me back so he can see my face. “You talk too much,” he says, then kisses me again. A shiver runs through my body at the contact.
"Are you cold?"
"Not really. Just amazed." I burrow into his arms, hoping the moment will last forever.
The radio on his shoulder crackles. I jump in surprise and crash back to reality.
Message in the Grave Page 7