Dustin’s blood.
My chin quivers and I clench my teeth to stop it, transfixed by the blood.
“Gabby, what the crap?” Lucas exclaims, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me into the dining room away from everyone else.
“You’re hurting me,” I protest, prying his fingers off my arm.
He removes his hand and runs it over his head. “What are you doing here? You should be at the hospital.”
“I can’t help from the hospital. I need to be here, to see.”
He visibly struggles for patience. “I know you want to help, but you can’t just show up at a crime scene.”
"Let me walk around for a few minutes. I won't touch anything. Well, I'll need to touch some things, but I won't mess up the scene. I promise."
He pushes both his hands against his eyes. “You’re putting me into a bad position here.”
“Hartley,” a loud voice booms from the next room.
“Crap, that’s Chief Simmons.” Lucas gives me a desperate look.
“Let me handle this.” I spin on my heel and stride out of the dining room before Lucas can stop me.
“Hartley,” Simmons bellows again. “Anyone see Hartley?”
I follow the bellow, then standing as tall as I can, I shove out a hand towards Simmons. “Chief Simmons, I’m Gabby McAllister. Sister of Detective McAllister.” I give a small nod to the blood on the floor.
Lucas groans behind me as Simmons’ wide face hardens. “What’s she doing here?” he barks at Lucas, ignoring my outstretched hand.
“I’m here to help with this investigation. I’m sure you’re familiar with my work on previous cases.”
I push my gloved hand towards him again. Simmons stares at it, but won’t touch me. “Is this some kind of joke?” he asks Lucas.
“No, sir,” Lucas says contritely. A few officers have stopped to watch us now.
“I came on my own accord, Chief. Detective Hartley had nothing to do with it.” I offer my hand one more time, testing him.
“She shouldn’t be here,” Simmons says, taking a step away from me.
“Since you won’t touch my hand, you obviously believe I can do what I say I can,” I say smugly.
A snicker rises from one of the on-looking officers and adds to my confidence.
“Just let me look around a little bit and I’ll get out of your way,” I push.
Simmons considers, knowing I backed him into a corner. "You have five minutes," she snaps at me. "Hartley, come with me. Patterson, follow her."
Lucas follows Simmons outside without another look in my direction. A young man joins me. “I’ve heard about you,” he says conspiratorially. “Pretty cool stuff you do.”
“Thanks,” I say shakily, nervous now that the confrontation is over. “This is where Dustin was shot?” I ask to have something to say.
“I found him right here,” Patterson says.
“You found him?”
“I was first on the scene.” He rubs his hands on his thighs. “McAllister was unconscious. I only found the one gun-shot to his shoulder. It was pretty bad.” He darts his eyes for my reaction. “I’m sorry about your brother.”
Panic for Dustin’s safety rears inside me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I let Patterson lead me past the blood. “Can you show me where the other two victims were shot?”
“Upstairs. The coroner has already taken the bodies.”
I follow Patterson up the steps to the master bedroom, my feet dragging on the steps. I hover outside the doorway, watch the forensic techs doing their work. Patterson stops near the bed and looks at me in the hall.
“You okay?”
I nod slowly and step into the room. The techs look up, curious. “Can I be alone here a minute?” I ask.
The techs look to Patterson. “Can we have the room?” he asks.
A few grumbles and questioning looks, but the techs leave us.
“The male was shot in the bathroom,” Patterson says. “Looks like he was coming out of the shower.”
I enter the spacious bathroom, see the blood spatter on the shower curtain. I search for the bravado I used to confront Simmons and slide off my left glove.
“Can you stand outside the door?” I ask.
Patterson steps out but watches with interest.
I reach my bare hand to the stained shower curtain, braced for what I’ll see.
The fabric of the curtain sends me nothing.
“Lord let me see what I need to see,” I pray quietly and touch the actual blood.
The blood sends me nothing.
“He didn’t know what was coming,” I tell Patterson. “He had no idea, then he was dead.”
Patterson nods with wide eyes.
I push past him into the bedroom. When I entered the room, I didn’t see the blood between the bed and the wall.
“The female was found there,” Patterson says quietly. "Probably drawn by the gunshot to her husband."
I look from Patterson to the door leading to the hall. He gets the point and steps out.
Kneeling by the blood, I say my prayer again and touch the sticky stain.
Surprise and fear. We didn’t tell anyone. I swear we didn’t. Please don’t kill me. I shouldn’t have asked for more. He shot Lane. Help. Mint and vanilla. Please don’t.
The vision is fresh and sharp and leaves me shaking. On my knees I look to Patterson, “Do you smell that?”
“That’s gun powder.”
“No, the mint and vanilla? It’s so strong.”
He sniffs the air. “I don’t smell it. Maybe Mr. Markle wore Aqua Velva?”
I suddenly have a memory of Father's Day gifts from my previous life. A blue bottle of cologne wrapped with love.
Nausea floods with the memory. “It’s been in front of me the whole time,” I moan. “The matching smells.”
I push past Patterson and run down the stairs to find Lucas. Flattening myself against the wall, I shuffle past Dustin's bloodstain, then run into the front yard.
Lucas and Chief Simmons are deep in conversation. Simmons barks orders at a few officers who hurry to their cruisers.
I want to tell Lucas what I found out, I want to blurt, "He killed them all." I stop in the grass and snap my mouth closed.
Something is wrong.
Lucas feels my gaze on him.
"You done?" he asks gently, his body tense.
I nod. "Everything okay?" I eye a cruiser pulling away. "Where are they going?"
"We have another call. A woman is holding her husband hostage at gunpoint." He crosses the grass to take my hand. "We have to divert some men to the scene."
Another wave of guilt. "It's Ashley Gerber, isn't it?"
"How?"
"She just found out her husband is having an affair." I focus on the grass, on the toes of my hiking boots. Another dangerous mess I caused. More carnage because of me. "She's a client," I say miserably, and keep my insights about my father to myself.
Lucas exhales long and loud.
"I only told her what I saw," I plead for him to understand. "I had no idea she'd flip out and hold him at gunpoint."
"Go to the hospital," he finally says. "Sit with Grandma Dot and Alexis and pray for Dustin. That's the best thing you can do right now."
Guilt flips to worry. "He's going to be fine. He has to be."
“He will be, but he needs you there with the family. I have to stay here for now, but I’ll catch up with you later at the hospital, okay?”
“Okay,” I say weakly. He kisses me on the forehead and releases me to the night.
When I said ‘okay,’ I meant it.
When I climb into my Charger, I change my mind.
Sitting and worrying in a waiting room is not the best thing I can do right now.
Convincing myself that changing my mind about my destination isn’t the same thing as lying to Lucas, I formulate my plan.
I have one stop to make first. One detail to nail down.
Chapter 28
<
br /> Gabby
“Gabriella, where are you?” Grandma Dot yells, her voice so shrill, I hold the phone away to protect my ear. “You should be here.”
“I know, I know.” I can confront the chief of police and keep my courage, but Grandma Dot reduces me to a petulant teenager. “I have something to do.”
“What could be more important than waiting for your brother to come out of surgery? He’s fighting for his life and you’re out doing who-knows-what.”
"I was at the crime scene." I swallow hard. "Dad's alive. He shot Dustin, he killed Vee and Lane."
"Oh, my," Grandma breathes into the phone. "Emily's coming home."
“Chief Simmons is working on that right now.”
“My baby girl will be free,” she mutters, lost in her own emotions.
I hate to ruin the moment, but I need answers. “If I’m right, he also killed Crystal and Lucy.” I pause, give her time to let the news sink in.
“Good heavens, how awful is this man? Have they caught him yet?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“You? You need to be here, not chasing a crazy murderer, even if he is your father." Her emotions are focused now, on protecting me.
I let her anger slide past me. “When I showed you that coin, you said you’d seen one once. Have you remembered where?”
“Gabriella, whatever this is, stay out of this. He’s dangerous.”
"I'm not staying out of it," I snap. Just answer the question. Where did you see the coin?"
“It was a long time ago,” she hedges.
“So you do remember. I’ll do this with or without your help. Please tell me.”
She exhales long and loud. “When I packed up your parents’ stuff. After ….”
A memory flashes through my mind. A box of personal items that fell off a shelf. A photo album with pictures of my family. A jewelry box, its contents spilled across the carpet.
“I know where it is,” I tell her.
“Gabriella, don’t. Just stop.”
“You know I can’t stop now.” My voice low and firm. “Hug Alexis for me and let her know my thoughts are there with you guys.”
“Gabriella?”
I hang up on her and speed through the dark country roads. Grandma’s farm is only a few miles away. My phone rings again but I ignore it.
A few moments later, it rings again.
“I’m not talking right now,” I say to Grandma’s number on the screen and toss the phone on the passenger seat.
Grandma's kitchen light spills onto the back porch, a welcoming beacon of home.
The bright light clashes with my dark mood.
I let myself into the kitchen and Jet barks, excited to see me. "Not now," I snap at him, pushing him off my legs. Jet cowers at the harsh words but follows me up the stairs to Grandma's bedroom.
High on her closet shelf, where I stuck it a few months ago, I find the box of things Grandma hid away after Mom was sent to prison. I pull it off the shelf and dump the contents on Grandma's bed. Papers and the photo album spread across the quilt. The album falls open to a picture of my dad.
I slam the album shut on his smiling, lying face.
“You don’t deserve to be remembered like that,” I say to the closed book.
I pull each drawer out of the jewelry box and add the assorted items to the pile on the quilt. Pushing away the bracelets and earrings and mementos, I find some coins. The gold coin sparkles amongst the pesos from a trip to Mexico when we were kids, a silver dollar, a flattened penny from the zoo.
“Gotcha,” I shout to the room.
My mother’s wedding ring catches my attention, the same way it did the first time I went through this box.
I take off my right glove and slide the ring on my finger. It’s a perfect fit.
Last time, I used the ring to feel closer to my mother.
Tonight it’s a symbol of our revenge.
“Now you’ll be there, too,” I say to mom. “I’ll bring him down for all of us.”
Leaving the mess for later, I hurry back downstairs. Jet anxiously follows. I spare him a moment before I leave and rub him behind the ears. “Be a good boy until Grandma comes home, okay?”
He wags his tail at the attention and I leave him behind.
Grandma has called a few more times while I was inside. I ignore the many notifications of her voice mails and scroll through my contacts.
When I find the number I need, I type in my carefully crafted text.
“I know about the coins. I want to join you. Tell him to meet me where he met Crystal.”
My fingers tingle as I hit send, hoping she’ll take the bait.
I wait in my car behind Grandma's house for a response. Not sure I'll get one or if I'm wrong. A pile of dirt and gravel under the porch catches my eyes as I wait.
“Darn groundhogs,” I mutter. “Grandma’s going to shoot you if she sees you.” I laugh with nervous tension, remembering spring afternoons watching Grandma shoot the pests with her .22 pistol.
I climb back out of my car and bound up the steps and into the kitchen. Behind a collection of mismatched winter gloves and flashlights, I find the coffee can on the shelf in a closet. Grandma's pistol clanks heavily in the can, a scattering of bullets loose at the bottom.
The gun feels foreign in my hand. Grandma taught both Dustin and me to shoot when we were kids. Dustin took to it right away and loved shooting. I was always nervous with the power of the gun, even in the small .22.
Silently thanking Grandma for the lessons long ago, I fill the magazine with bullets and tuck the gun in the waistband of my jeans.
Jet looks at me curiously. “Just in case,” I tell him.
My phone chirps a response to my text.
“OK.”
"Here we go," I say to Jet and stride into the dark.
Chapter 29
Gabby
In the house that Deidre built, all the lights are on. The lovely home stands like a mask in the dark, the lighted windows eyes that hide the evil inside.
I drive past the house and park near the bridge the way I did the first time. In my haste, I forget about the drop-off on the side of the road. With a sinking feeling, I feel my front tire slide off the road.
My phone rings again and I snatch it angrily. “Grandma, stop calling! My tire just got stuck again and I don’t have time for this.”
“Gabby? What are you doing?”
It’s not Grandma. It’s Lucas. I freeze guiltily. “You don’t want to know. Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s really going on here.”
I hang up on the man I love, hating myself for leaving him out, but needing to protect him from the truth if I can. I power my phone off before he can call back.
“Just do what you need to do,” I give myself a pep-talk and shut the door silently behind me. “He’ll forgive you when this is all over.”
Moonlight spills across the bridge, the eternal ripple of the river plays through the air. A sharp wind cuts against my face and I wrap my coat tighter.
The dark woods loom like a wall of menace. A shiver runs up my back and I zip up my collar. This deserted section of river was less than inviting in the daylight. The rising wind rattles through bare branches like the soundtrack from a horror movie.
“Crap on a cracker, get moving,” I mutter and step off the road into the snow. The moon and stars overhead offer little light and I struggle over downed branches and slide on wet leaves. Keeping the river on my left, I push on and ignore my rising panic.
“Just call Lucas,” my rational mind says.
“Not until you’re sure about her involvement,” the part of me desperate to protect him argues.
Even prepared for the sharp drop I slid down last time, the slippery snow wins against my feet and I slide down the hill. Snow shoves up the back of my coat and into the waist band of my pants. After landing with a huff, I check to make sure the gun is still secure.
The cold metal is firmly in p
lace.
The putrid smell of death wrinkles my nose. I've slid into the rotten remains of a raccoon or some other furry woodland creature. It’s insides are smeared on my jeans. With handfuls of snow, I wipe at the sick stain.
The largest globs of yuck wipe away, but a heavy scent of rotting flesh clings to my gloves.
I shake them off as best I can and make my way to the clearing nestled on the riverbank.
The peeling paint of the shack stands out in the moonlight. The heart with Lucas loves Ka barely visible. The sagging roof line and leaning walls exude and air of desperation that matches my own. I lick my dry lips and the cold air wicks at the moisture. My entire body tingles, my muscles jumpy with excess adrenaline.
I touch the gun tucked into my jeans. Its presence offers no comfort. How had things gone so wrong that I’m meeting my dead father in a run-down shack in the woods with a gun in my pants?
If I wasn’t so anxious, I’d find this funny.
Nothing about murder and betrayal is funny.
The snow in the clearing swirls in the wind, but is unmarred by footprints.
I’m the first one here.
Leaving tell-tale marks behind me, I go to the door of the shack. It hangs by the single hinge, the darkness behind it broken only by moonlight pouring through the holes in the roof. I wait outside the door for a few minutes, stomping my feet in the snow to keep them warm.
Another gust of winter air convinces me to enter. The stench inside is worse than the smell lingering on my glove.
As my eyes adjust to the dark, the wind mourns its way through the flimsy walls. The shack looks the same as before, only sadder, if possible. The destroyed mattress and broken chairs lurk in the corners. Plastic cups and empty beer cans skitter under my stomping feet.
"What are you doing out here?" I mutter to myself. "This is crazy."
My rational mind almost wins, almost convinces me to leave and go to the hospital where I belong, where it’s warm, where my family waits.
Approaching voices keep me inside the shack, my ears straining to hear the words over the whistling wind.
“You sure this is where she said to meet?” Nathan, no longer Dad, asks.
"She said meet me where you met Crystal. This is where the accident happened, right?"
Message in the Grave Page 15