Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (Charley Davidson)

19

When life hands you lemons say,

“Lemons? What else have you got?”

—BUMPER STICKER

Uncle Bob showed up in his own sweet time and ordered a team of investigators as soon as he got to the Beechers’ house and saw me wrestling with Mrs. Beecher. That woman was so much stronger than she looked. Reyes kept wanting to sever her spine, and Angel kept telling me to stop thinking like a human, whatever the hell that meant.

After watching Uncle Bob tackle her to the ground—an image I would cherish forever—I gave my statement to him; then he drove me to the Lowells’ mansion. Harper was in the backseat, still stewing in her own astonishment. Two patrol cars followed behind us, and another detective from Ubie’s precinct was en route to the scene. The Lowells were about to be scandalized.

I still wasn’t exactly sure who had done the terrorizing—Mrs. Beecher or Dewey on Mrs. Beecher’s orders—but it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Neither would be able to do it again.

Uncle Bob put a hand on mine. “Now, just tell them that Dewey told you where the boy’s body was, okay?”

“You say that like I haven’t done this a thousand times,” I said, cringing at the sound of my own voice. It was odd what a crushed larynx did to the midtones.

“I know. Sorry, pumpkin.”

“It’s okay. Harper says she remembers where the suitcase is. The only place it could be. Dewey had started a new garden when they got back. It has to be there.”

He turned a worried expression on me. “This is not going to be pretty, hon. If you need to leave—”

“Oh, hell yeah, I’m leaving. The minute Harper shows us the grave, I’m out of there.”

“So this is it,” Harper said, coming to terms with her demise.

I turned around to face her. “I’m so sorry you’ve passed, hon.”

“Have you known this whole time? That I was dead?”

“Yes. It’s what I do.”

“So, no one else can see me? I’m—I’m a ghost?”

“I’m afraid so. But you can cross through me whenever you’re ready. Your family is waiting for you on the other side. Your mother. Your grandparents. They’ll be so happy to see you.”

She nodded. “I know. I think I’ve known they were waiting for me this whole time.” Her voice cracked. “I wonder how long I’ve been dead.”

“Well, you came to see me two days ago, but Mrs. Beecher knew you’d been gone longer than that. That’s how I knew she did it. But your psychotherapist said the last time he saw you in his office was almost two weeks ago. So it had to be—”

“That’s it.” She stared in thought. “I was in a session with Dr. Roland and I was telling him about a trip I was going on. He asked me what color my suitcase was, and everything came rushing back. Dewey killing that boy. Mrs. Beecher putting him in that red suitcase.” She covered her mouth. “What kind of people do that? She lived with us for over two decades. How could we not know?”

“I was a little floored myself when I figured out she was involved. I think she is very good at fooling people.”

We pulled up to the speaker box. “Whatever you do,” I told Uncle Bob, “do not order a taco. They’re very sensitive about that.”

He nodded, flashed his badge, and said, “Open that gate. I have a warrant.”

And the gate opened. Just like that. No haggling or bartering. I totally needed to become a real cop. It probably paid better.

Mrs. Lowell met us on the steps to her house, as did her son, Art. He was dressed in a nice suit and tie, and Mrs. Lowell had been spit-shined herself. She wore a long evening gown and pearls. Clearly we’d interrupted their evening plans.

“Now what?” she asked as I got out of Ubie’s SUV.

He hurried around to intercept.

Despite their duds, they seemed upset. I got the feeling they’d been arguing when we arrived.

“Mrs. Lowell, we have information about a missing child. He’s been gone for over two de cades, and we believe he is buried on your property.”

She huffed, indignant. “Oh, for the love of—”

“Your former house keeper,” I said, interrupting her tirade before she became too invested in it, “buried him here, knowing no one would look on your property. Why would they? The boy was from Peralta.”

She paused and ogled me like I’d lost my mind. I looked from her to Art, knowing he would take Harper’s death hard.

“Can we go inside?” I asked him.

“I can’t get ahold of Harper,” he said as he waved Uncle Bob and me inside. “She hasn’t returned my calls for over a week. Have you talked to her?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That’s the other reason we’re here.”

Two hours later, I found myself hiding in the Lowells’ bathroom as the digging crew lifted a red suitcase out of the turned earth. It was exactly where Harper had said it would be, under a patch of garden that Dewey had tended for over twenty years. Unlike Mrs. Beecher, Dewey’s actions would speak of remorse and regret.

An entire team had been dispatched to the scene, and along with it came camera crews and reporters galore. I almost felt bad for Mrs. Lowell. This definitely would taint her image, no matter how innocent of wrongdoing she was. But when Uncle Bob told her Harper’s body had been found, the hard shell she’d encased herself in shattered. Her shock was so complete, so devastating, the pain of it almost doubled me over. She really did care for Harper. There was no denying it.

And I also knew she had nothing to do with that little boy’s death or the subsequent cover-up. Her surprise was utterly genuine.

Art took Harper’s death hard. He ensconced himself in a room upstairs, but even the thick walls of the Lowell mansion could not block the waves of agony that poured out of him.

And I stood hiding in a bathroom, fighting for air among the fragments of a broken family. Their suffering was only beginning, and even though I was still not allowed to see Mr. Lowell, I felt his pain spill down the stairs like a heavy fog.

“I can’t be here anymore.”

I turned to Harper. She stood looking out the bathroom window, watching the workers excavate the grounds, a dozen officers surrounding the taped-off area.

“I need to go before I can’t go at all,” she said.

I couldn’t feel emotions off the departed as I could the living, not until they crossed, but the anguish on her face spoke volumes. She looked up toward the second floor, and I realized she was worried about Art.

“He’s in love with you,” I said.

She looked at me in surprise before a sad smile thinned her lips. She really was beautiful.

“He told me he was your contact.”

She nodded. “Yes. We’d kept in contact the whole time. He even flew to the island to visit me a few times.”

“Why didn’t you guys ever hook up for real?” I asked her.

“We did. Kind of. When I came back, Art insisted that we get married, but I couldn’t get past the fact that according to society, we were brother and sister. I hurt him so bad when I said that I wanted to wait.”

“I’m sorry.” Family was so important. If I’d learned nothing more these last three days, it was that.

Harper walked toward me, purpose in her eyes, and with one last glance toward Art, she crossed. I didn’t see the pain and fear she’d suffered through all those years. I didn’t see her being terrorized or the nightmare she suffered through from her time in the mental asylum. What I did see was her father picking her up and carrying her on his shoulders as she pointed out his route through the trees behind the house. I saw her dog, a golden retriever named Sport, who would lick her toes until she couldn’t stand the tickling any longer. And I saw the first time Art kissed her. She was in high school, watching him at a basketball game. He’d been hurt and was in the locker room. She hurried to check on him. Gasped when she saw him being strapped onto a stretcher. Almost fainted when she saw the odd bump of the arm secured at his side, the bone straining to break through the flesh.

He’d covered his eyes with his other arm, hiding his anguish. She rushed forward, and before she knew what was happening, he wrapped his hand around her head and pulled her down until her lips were on his.

And then she was through.

Ever the romantic, the agony of lost love was my undoing. I let a series of sobs quake through me, and when I felt I could face the world despite the obvious swollen eyes to match my swollen jaw, I stepped out of the bathroom and asked an officer to drive me home. The Lowells would have a lot to deal with in the coming weeks, and I could only hope Art would be okay. According to Harper’s memories, he hated chocolate, but I chose not to hold that against him. No one was perfect.

But really? Chocolate?

As I was getting into the officer’s car, I heard a familiar female voice. “Charley Davidson.”

I straightened and turned to Agent Carson as she walked across the driveway toward me. It figured the FBI would be here. It was a missing persons case, after all. “Hey, Agent Carson.”

Before she could respond, Uncle Bob walked over to us. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, Uncle Bob, you remember Special Agent Carson.”

She took his hand. “Detective. Your niece has a knack for solving cold cases.”

He smiled proudly. “Yes, she does.”

“I’m impressed, as usual. Someday you’ll have to share your secrets,” she said to me.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Fair enough. I was wondering if you’d look over a couple of cases for me. One is very old and is as yet unsolved and one is my own personal one-that-got-away.”

I shrugged. “Sure, as long as you don’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes never get out of hand, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then you can bring them by—” I was about to say my office, but realized I no longer had one. “You can bring them by my apartment.”

“Or her office.”

I turned to see Dad walking over to us. He stopped to stand beside Uncle Bob, his expression sheepish but hopeful. Ubie must’ve called him when he realized I’d been injured, but I wasn’t sure I could handle Dad’s presence at that moment. My heart hurt bad enough. And my head hurt. And my eyes were icky and swollen.

He put his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I wondered what Ubie had told him.

“Good as gold.”

“I’m glad. And I’m moving you back into your offices. Pretending I can keep an eye on you, no matter how ridiculous the notion, will give me peace of mind. And you can glare at me and make faces behind my back and hate me forever, but when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be there. Without judgment and without a hidden agenda.”

I looked out over the Lowells’ vast estate. “If I make faces at you, Dad, it won’t be behind your back.”

He nodded. “I’ll come for your stuff this weekend.”

Agent Carson’s brows rose in interest. “Perfect. I’ll drop the files by next week, if that’s okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, ducking into the patrol car. Dad wanted to give me a ride home. I could feel his intentions thick in the air, his eagerness to be with me, but that was a cake I’d have to take in small bites. Still, I thought of Harper. The memories of her dad despite her stepmother’s seeming indifference. I had a feeling Dad and I would be best friends again someday.

I looked back at Carson. “How goes the bank job?”

Uncle Bob grinned at her. “You’re pulling bank jobs? Isn’t that a little against the FBI code of conduct?”

She grinned. “What? There’s a code of conduct? Nobody told me.” She handed me her card. “And this case is turning out stickier than I’d hoped, but you were definitely right about the inside guy. Now to prove it.” She nodded toward the card. “Use that if you hear anything else.”

I winked at her, then closed the door before anyone else could walk up unexpectedly and wrench my heart into pieces.

Cookie called on the way home. I picked up and said, “No cast iron in the house. Ever.”

“Got it. Making a note now. How was it?”

“Exhausting. And Mrs. Lowell isn’t quite the monster I imagined her to be.”

“Maybe Denise isn’t either.”

“Seriously?”

“Okay, I’m putting these feet to bed. Let me know if you need anything. Like an ice pack.”

I jumped in alarm. “Did you say ice pick?”

“No.”

“Because no ice picks in the house either. Ever.”

“Got it. Making a note now.”

The officer, who remained silent all the way home, thank the gods, dropped me at my front door. I offered the most grateful smile I could manage, then set out in search of a long, hot shower and a strong cup of java. But, naturally, the minute I stepped out of the patrol car, I was hit with all kinds of dark emotions that I’d learned to associate with dark people. Feral people. Possessed people.

I’d started to get right back in the car, when I heard an English accent from the shadows very near me. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Wonderful. It was my new friend from the old country. I knew this day had gone too smoothly. My life had been in danger only a couple of times. These things usually happened in threes.

The officer looked back at me. “Is everything okay, Ms. Davidson?”

I so very much wanted to tell him the truth, but there was nothing he could do, and his life would be in just as much danger as mine if I brought him into it, so I said, “Yes, thank you,” instead.

I closed the door and watched as he drove off. A hatred so pure it pulsated swirled around me. I could feel at least four of the beasts near, possibly five, lurking in shadows, afraid of the light even though they were protected by human flesh.

The Englishman stepped out of the dark to stand beside me. “Good girl,” he said, and I wondered what the unpossessed Englishman was like in real life. He certainly dressed nice. But this wasn’t him. This was a fraud, a minion from hell. A demon. I flexed my fingers at my hip, but Hedeshi stopped me again. “And don’t call your dog, either. It will end badly for both of you.”

Was he right? Could he kill Artemis?

“I take it Reyes didn’t stop hunting your pets.”

“You knew he wouldn’t.”

He was right. I did know. “Reyes doesn’t really listen to me.”

The man leaned over to smell my hair. He took a deep whiff, practically nuzzling my neck, reveling in the scent, while he smelled like rotten eggs. I tried not to flinch when his scent burned my nostrils.

When he spoke, the smell grew stronger. Suffocating. “If I could,” he said, his voice soft, sincere, “if I had the time, I would lick the fear off every inch of your body before I bit into your flesh, but no doubt the boy will come soon.”

The moon glinted off a silvery blade in my periphery. A blade very similar to the one Earl Walker had used on me. The fear that flooded my system hit so hard and so fast, the edges of my vision grew fuzzy. I wanted to run, but Hedeshi seemed to sense every thought I had.

He put a hand on my shoulder to stay me. “I’ll make it quick, Dutch. You’ll hardly feel a thing.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice quivering, “I’ve been on the wrong end of a blade before, and I would have to argue with you on that point.”

He stepped around until I could see his face. He wasn’t tall, but I knew the demon inside gave him immeasurable strength. A humorous smile slipped soundlessly across his face. “You’re probably right.” His hand shook with excitement as he drew back the blade, and I hoped Dad would be okay with this. With my death. He’d probably take it hard.

Odd that I would think of him now.

Setting my jaw, I figured I should probably give this my all. If I was going to go out tonight, I was going to go out fighting. Or screaming in agony. Either way.

The blade rushed forward, certain to sink into my stomach, which instantly pissed me off. I’d heard death from a stomach wound was a really painful way to go. Reyes was right. These guys were liars. Before I could think about it, I blocked his attack by thrusting his hand to the side with one of mine, diverting the forward momentum. I twisted around, doing everything in my power to avoid the sharp end of the knife.

I still managed to get cut. The blade sliced across my forearm, through my jacket and into my flesh. The sting of the blade rocketed through me, but Hedeshi brought it back around for another try. He lost control for just an instant, and the demon inside the man slipped to the side. I saw him, and the sight stunned me for a moment. Long enough for him to sink the blade into my side. I rocketed to attention and pushed at him as hard as I could. Then I ran because it seemed like the right thing to do.

This was no ordinary demon, as ridiculous as that sounded. His shell didn’t swallow light like the void of a starless night. Instead, his sleek black exterior gleamed with a red translucent coating, an iridescent shine. He was something else. Something higher. Stronger.

“Older, actually.”

“Reyes,” I whispered.

I tumbled out of Hedeshi’s reach to the ground and swiveled around to see Reyes standing between us. No wonder I wasn’t bleeding from a dozen different stab wounds. Reyes held the man’s arm, the sheer strength each of them possessed causing the earth to quake beneath us. I scrambled back only to be brought up short by a hot breath fanning across my neck.

Slamming my eyes shut, I summoned Artemis, my voice nothing more than a breath on the night air. She rose from the earth beside me and lunged toward the demon at my back. Loud, guttural growls mixed with a series of inhuman screams as the demon was ripped from a woman’s body.

Hedeshi and Reyes seemed oblivious. They stood there, arms clasped, eyeing each other. The energy radiating off them caused the fabric of time to ripple around me. Their images distorted, warped, then snapped back into place. I blinked to clear my vision. To focus.

The woman lay unconscious, but I felt more demons nearby. None dared come any closer, no matter how bad they wanted to. I could feel their desire, their singular drive, pulsate around me. They craved my blood like a desert craves water, my fear driving them into a mental frenzy. But they refrained from acting on it. Artemis was too powerful. She’d disposed of one demon and now stood hunched over me.

Waiting.

Hoping.

“You can’t win,” Hedeshi said.

Reyes lowered his head. “You forget who I am.”

“Not at all.” The man smiled, his teeth gritted with effort as he struggled against Reyes’s hold. Shook with it. “You’re the boy from the village who got lost on his way to the market. Do you remember why you’re here? Why your father created you?”

Another wave rippled through the air with the heat of Reyes’s anger. “He created me so he could get out of hell.”

“That was only half of it. The other half was for you to find the portal.” He nodded toward me. “That particular portal. Why do you think he sent you here?” He leaned in until their noses almost touched. “You?”

Reyes eased back. “He sent me after a portal, any portal. Not her.” He didn’t seem quite as confident as he had before. His brows slid together in thought.

The Englishman laughed. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“I remember everything, like the fact that all you know how to do is lie.”

“She’s royalty, boy. She’s the most valuable pawn we could ever hope to possess. And you think you can keep her to yourself?”

A knowing grin slid across Reyes’s face. “She’s also the most powerful.”

“Exactly,” Hedeshi said, his eyes suddenly bright with hope. “Think of what we can do with her. With the two of you together. That’s what this is all about. What it’s always been about.” He dropped the knife and wrapped his hand around the back of Reyes’s head, pulling him forward into a brotherly embrace, their foreheads touching in affection. “We will be unstoppable, my lord. The world will fall beneath our feet, and your father will rule at last.”

Was he telling the truth? Was Reyes sent for me specifically? He must’ve sensed my doubt. He turned slightly, watching me from his periphery. “Remember what they are, Dutch. What they do.”

“I remember,” I said, trying to scoot out from under Artemis, but she plopped a huge paw on my chest, pinning me to the ground.

“Really?” I asked her, and she leaned over with a whine to lick my face. I pulled her head down into a hug, partly to assure her I wasn’t mad at her and partly to get a better look at the two men standing before me. That’s when I saw where the knife had dropped. Not to the ground as Hedeshi had expected, but into Reyes’s hand.

He took hold of the man’s head, seeming to embrace him back, and plunged the knife into his gut in one lightning-quick strike. Hedeshi gaped at him, his shock genuine as he stumbled back. “You would deny your father his throne?”

“It was never his,” Reyes said, plunging the knife again. Forcing it up his torso. An instant later, the knife reemerged from just underneath the Englishman’s chin.

Hedeshi looked at me, his eyes watering in pain. “Just remember what I’ve told you about him.”

I tried to tamp down the horror I felt at watching a man being cut open. “I’ll tie a string around my finger.”

Another stab wound wrenched a ragged groan from his throat. “He is not what you think he is.”

I thought of my father. Of Harper and Art and Pari. Of pretty much anyone I’d ever known in my entire life, and answered him as truthfully as I could. “No one ever is.”

Reyes embraced him again and plunged the knife into his side. “Your first mistake was coming for her,” he said into the man’s ear.

Hedeshi coughed, knowing full well he was taking his last breaths. “And my second?” he asked as blood gushed out of his mouth.

“Believing that you could get past me.”

The man smiled and said in the gentlest of voices, “Attack.”

And that was pretty much when all hell broke loose.