Dying to Know (17 page)

inside—willing me to come to her. There was no lightning, no

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sparks; just a warm, simmering passion like our first time. I

didn’t know what it was, but a week ago, before leaving her griev-

ing over my body, I called it love. Now, that love was seizing and consuming me.

I was no longer in control; she was.

My eyes closed and I felt her release me. The current of pas-

sion subsided, replaced by strange slivers of warmth that shim-

mered around us like the northern lights on a clear winter night.

Hercule jumped to his feet and wagged. He barked first at

Angel, then at me. He pointed his muzzle and stared down his

nose at me, raising his eyebrows—first the one, then the other.

He barked and moaned; moaned and barked.

“Tuck?” Angel’s voice shook me from my lethargy. She was

staring at me. Right at me. “Tuck? Is that …”

“Angel. It’s me.”

“I … know.” She stepped back and fixed her eyes on me. A

hand lifted to touch my face but hovered in midair. “It
was
you the other night.”

What? “Angel, can you hear me again?”

“Yes …” Her eyes cascaded tears. “And I see you.”

Doc Gilley was going to be pissed for sure.

“Yes, it’s me. I’ve been here all along.”

She came to me. Her eyes were soft and alive, but her move-

ments unsure and unsteady. Her hand reached for mine but

found nothing. She pulled away. Then she reached for my face

and again withdrew.

“Oh no, I’ve lost it.” Her hands flew to her face.

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“No.” I touched her cheek and then her hand. I felt a spark as

our feelings merged—the warmth like a fire’s embers on a cold

winter night. “It’s real. Real as it can be.”

Her face flushed and she retreated into the den, found the re-

cliner, and col apsed into it. I followed and Hercule slipped into the chair with her. He licked her face, soothing her.

“Dammit, Tuck. It’s all my fault. All of this. That night … what

do you remember? Do you know who killed you? Do you know

why?”

“No, no. I think that’s why I’m here. Why I’m back.” I knelt

down beside my quivering wife and took her hand. I could feel

her warmth but wasn’t sure she could feel mine. “Okay, Angel. I

hope you’re ready for all this …”

“I don’t know, Tuck. I’m afraid.”

So was I. But who cares, because at that moment, we were to-

gether. I was as real to her as she was to me. Nothing else—in-

cluding murder—mattered.

“I don’t understand. Please, tell me what’s going on. How are

you here? Tell me what you know. Did you see anything? Are you

back because of me? Is it my fault you’re not … you

know … somewhere else?”

Good questions, al .

“Slow down, Angel. It’s like this …”

I took a breath and told her everything since taking a bullet in

our foyer. I went through some things twice. Wel , twenty times

if you count the “me being dead” mantra. Angel tried to deny

everything and twice left the den to check her sanity. Each time

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she returned. When I was through, she began sobbing and laugh-

ing at the same time.

“Damn you, Tuck. I always said I’d haunt you.”

“Yeah,” I said, swirling slow circles in my desk chair. “But, that was to keep me from cheating on you.”

“You’re right.”

“But I got here first.”

“Tuck, neither of us ever believed in, in, well,
ghosts
. Why haven’t you, like, you know …”

“Gone into the light?”

She nodded.

“There’s no light—not yet. I don’t know if there is one.”

“Then you’re staying?”

“I’m not sure. I think I’m here to find my killer.”

“Does Bear hear you? See you? Have you been around us al

the time?”

“Only you can see me and I have no idea why or for how

long.”

Hercule barked.

“I mean you and Herc. He was first.”

Angel put a bear hug on him. “Just Hercule and I? Because we

love you.”

Doc was right and I understood. “I guess so. Sometimes, I

think Bear can hear me. You know, inside. Not that he ever lis-

tened before.”

“That night, with his cell phone. You warned me.”

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“Yes. Bear wasn’t around. I knew you were in danger—it hit

me right before the shots. Angel, there are some things I have to

ask you. Don’t get mad at me, but I have to know about …”

“Carmen was attacked. You told me it was at the campus.”

“Yes, I did.” Carmen was my fault. “I got it all wrong. I found

your earrings at the sink. When I touched them, poof, I saw her

attacked in the university parking lot. I thought it was you. The

earrings—the raincoat …”

“Earrings?” Angel flushed. “Those were hers, not mine. She

left them the other day. She borrowed my coat.”

I felt foolish. “Yes, I know that now. About …”

“You saved me in the rain that night—saved me again. Damn,

you Tuck. I don’t deserve you.”

A wave of guilt drifted from her to me. “Angel? I’m here to

find …”

She dropped her face into her hands. “Tuck, I’m so sorry this

happened. I’m so sorry you’re gone. And you came back. Is it al

my fault?”

I didn’t know how to answer that.

For a long time, we shared silence. Neither of us understood

what was happening—this strange connection. Neither of us un-

derstood anything. Just then, for the moments we were sharing,

it didn’t matter.

“If only I could figure this out.” I paced the room, stopping

after the third tour of the bookshelves. “I have to find the bastard who killed me.”

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“What will you do if you find out? What happens then?” Her

voice trailed off. Then, she looked around the room. Tears welled

again. “No, you’re gone. Come back.”

“No, babe, I’m here.”

She brightened. “I can’t see you anymore, but I can hear you.

Is this how it’s going to be? In and out?”

I thought about that. “Maybe—I don’t know. It’s emotions or

something. Like when you were shot at, and then attacked at the

school. You reached me—I think it’s all emotions.”

Angel sat in the recliner again and tucked her legs up to her

chin. She seemed distant, distracted; perhaps denial was return-

ing.

It hit me that she was my only hope. “Angel, you have to help

me—to get my killer. You can be my partner, now. I know what

to do and you can do it.”

She lightened a little. “Right. You’re dead and I’m a history

professor. What a team.”

“Hey, you’re not just a great pair of legs and … wel , you know.

Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

“I’ve got a PhD, Tuck.” She raised one eyebrow. “If you can be

a detective, I can.”

“Your doctorate is in history, dear.”

“You never graduated college,
dear
.”

Touché. “So, you’ll do it?”

“I don’t know. The university gave me lots of bereavement

time off. And I guess that won’t be so tough.”

“Oh? A few hugs and kisses and you’re okay?”

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Angel’s half-smile gave way to tears as she glanced around the

room searching for me. “You ass, of course not. But, dead is one

thing and gone is another. You’re not gone. Not real y.”

Hercule moaned and dropped his head onto his paws, ignor-

ing the mushy words that followed. He was still young and it em-

barrassed him to hear us carry on.

“Doc told me I had to go easy—not to overdo it. But he didn’t

say I couldn’t use a partner.”

“Who’s Doc?”

“That doesn’t matter. When we find my kil er, I’m gonna re-

turn the favor.”

Angel went to Hercule and rubbed his head. She looked sul-

len and upset. “Can a ghost real y kill someone?”

“I don’t know, but I just might find out.”

Her face flushed. “If you do, will you leave? I mean, if that’s

why you’re here.”

“I don’t know. I …”

“Damn you.” She burst into tears as she ran from the room,

crying, “Will you still kill them if it’s someone you know?”

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t went y-seven

“Someone I know?” Her parting words plagued me all night.

When I asked her about them, she dismissed it all as stress, con-

fusion, and the insanity of talking to a ghost. I bought that last excuse. Nonetheless, Angel was struggling with something—

something simmering just below the surface that slipped out in a

word or a look when she wasn’t guarded. Whether it was confu-

sion or insanity, she would not talk about it, and when pressed,

she retreated.

Even with her occasional withdrawal, we spent the most un-

usual night we ever spent together. We talked about my side of

“life” and all that I had yet to learn. We discussed death and al

we once believed it to be. She compared it to movies and books; I

tried to find the answers to her millions of questions. Somewhere

between “I don’t knows” and a therapeutic cocktail of tears and

red wine, she slept.

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The next morning, she rushed through her rituals and headed

for the campus. As we pulled into her parking space at the uni-

versity, I asked her again.

“Angel, about last night.”

She heard me but couldn’t see me. How and when I could ma-

terialize was sort of a mystery; one we hadn’t solved yet.

“Didn’t we talk about everything?”

“Wel , you asked what I’d do if it were someone I know. Is there

something you want to tell me? Do you know who killed me?”

“Tuck, give me some time on this, okay?” She lowered her

eyes. “Think about it. It could be someone you know. Someone

came into our house—right into our house. No break in; no any-

thing like that. Spence, Captain Sutter, even Bear, thinks it could be someone we know.”

I laughed. “Yeah, and Bear has a key to the front door.”

“That isn’t funny, Tuck—revenge isn’t funny. None of this is.

Don’t push me, please.”

She was right, of course, this wasn’t very funny. Despite her

settling into our “situation” quite wel —odd considering we just

reconnected—everything that brought us to this point was dark

and scary. Even more was unknown. When I found all the miss-

ing pieces, I had no idea what I would do with them. Revenge

might cure my appetite, but it might also take me from Angel

again.

Would it be worth it?

We drove in silence to the campus and parked in the front

row facing her office. She climbed out of the car and had just

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reached the sidewalk when a voice startled us both and turned us

around.

“Angela?” André Cartier walked to us holding two cups of

coffee. He handed her one. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“André,” Angel said, surprised as I was to see him. “What

brings you?”

“I wanted to ask how Carmen is. They wouldn’t let me see her

at the hospital. I was worried about both of you.”

“She’s alive, thankful y, and doing better. She has a minor con-

cussion and some bad bruises. The doctor says she may go home

in a day or so.”

“Did she see anything? Hear anything at all?”

She shook her head. “No. She doesn’t remember a thing after

leaving here that night. Bear is handling it. He thinks it’s all connected.”

André frowned and took a long sip of coffee. “Angela,

please—it’s obvious.”

“André?”

His eyes rose and they were hard and angry. “Things are cer-

tainly connected and that’s exactly why he should let someone

else handle this. He’s too involved.”

Angel’s silence was chilling.

Finally, André changed the subject. “I have some findings

from the skul fragment we found the other day that I need to

check against the original M.E. report.”

“What findings?”

“The M.E report suggested there are two sets of remains from

Kel y’s Dig.”

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“Yes, that’s right.”

“The report is wrong. There may be three, perhaps four.”

“Are you sure? If that’s the case, we’re probably dealing with

an unrecorded cemetery.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m as sure as I can be for now. There’s

other discrepancies with the bones, too. And get this—I found an

old coin in the soil samples around the barn’s foundation. It was

caked in clay and I didn’t see it until I got to my lab. It was …”

“Am I interrupting?” Bear strode up from the parking lot.

“Hello, André. Angel, I need to talk with you.”

Angel’s face lit up. “André and I are discussing Kel y’s Dig.”

“No, I’m leaving.” André glared at Bear.

“Don’t go,” Bear said. “Did I hear you say something about a

coin from Kel y’s Dig?”

André shook his head and turned to leave. “No, nothing I can

discuss.”

“André wait,” Angel said but he shook his head and she re-

lented. “All right. Please call me soonest you know something.”

“I will.”

“Sorry, pal,” Bear said. “I just wanted to check on Angel.”

André kissed Angel on the cheek and winked at Bear. “I trust

you’re looking after Carmen as well?” He didn’t wait for a reply

and walked off into the parking lot.

Ouch. Professor André Cartier just scored a direct hit.

“I’m sorry about that, Bear,” Angel said looking after André.

“I don’t know what got into him.”

I said, “I do. So does Bear.”

Bear watched André disappear. “What’s his problem?”

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