Dying to Know (33 page)

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Nicholas.” Angel

brushed past Bobby and Tommy. “Tuck sends his regards.”

Poor Nic signaled them to let her pass. “Professor, this isn’t

over. Your luck is. It has been for a while. The bracelet is mine.

I’ve paid for it a thousand times over the years. It’s mine and I

must have it.”

As the door shut behind us, the last thing he said chilled me.

“Please, Angela, don’t let it cost you more than it already has.”

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fift y-nine

“Dammit, Bear, answer the phone.” After the third unan-

swered cal , Angel’s frustration was mounting but mine was days

ahead of her.

“So, the bracelet is Poor Nic’s. He’s behind all of this, Angel.”

“I can’t believe it. The other day in my office, he was so con-

vincing.”

“Yeah he was.” A lot of people were fooling me. “Like Bear.”

“Tuck, please—Hercule?”

Hercule had slept in the backseat the entire trip back from

Livingston’s shop. Now, he was awake and agitated. As we pulled

into our driveway, he jumped to his feet and jammed his head

out the partial y opened rear window. He growled and barked,

pawing at the door to get out. When Angel stopped the car and

opened his door, he made a dash for the front porch and jumped

up to peer into the front window, barking a warning.

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“Angel, stay here. I’ll check the house. Keep Herc with you—

let him go if anyone comes out.” You can’t argue with a ghost, so

off I went. Hercule begrudgingly obeyed Angel’s summons and

he stayed beside her on the porch, hair ridging up on his back.

Inside, Hercule’s angst became clear before I left the foyer.

The entire house was trashed. My den took the brunt of some-

one’s anger. My books were off their shelves and thrown through-

out the room. Desk drawers hung open and some were smashed

on the floor with their contents littered everywhere. My filing

cabinet lay on its side and someone took their temper out on it;

all that was left was a pile of crushed wood and metal. The entire room was destroyed.

The rest of the house received the same razing, although our

bedroom was perhaps, worse. Someone took the time to gut our

king-sized mattress into shreds. The contents of our dressers and

closets were in debris piles in the middle of the room. The car-

nage continued through the entire upstairs. Years of our memo-

ries lay in piles on the floor. If they found what they were looking for, I couldn’t tel . Nothing was left untouched by their search.

The bastards.

When Angel came into the house, I warned her to stay back.

The warning fell on deaf ears—two sets. She and Hercule went

room-to-room—she to view the destruction and Hercule to hunt

our guest. Neither was happy with the result. Angel returned to

the kitchen and tried the light switch. No power. Next she tried

the phone—it too was not working.

“Tuck, there’s no electricity and the phone’s out.”

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“They probably tripped a breaker trashing the place. The

phone’s another problem.”

Angel righted one of the kitchen chairs to sit on. She dropped

her keys and cell phone on the table amidst broken crystal and

china. “Tuck, who did this? Why?”

“It’s that damned bracelet. Poor Nic’s goons no doubt. You

told them you didn’t have the piece with you—they came to find

it.”

“I should have just given it to him.” She dug into her jeans

pocket and pulled it out. “I had it all the time. Maybe I could

have stopped this.”

“No,” I touched her cheek and for a moment, her hand

touched mine. I wasn’t sure if she felt me or not, but comfort

warmed her face. “I’m sure it was already too late.”

Angel’s eyes widened and panic whitened her face. “Tuck,

what if they come back?”

She was right.

“Do you still have Bear’s spare gun he gave you at Iggi’s?”

She looked at the open kitchen cabinets and went to inspect

the drawers. “It’s gone. I left it in this drawer—they took it. I’ll try Bear again.” She did, but held up her phone. “Battery’s dead. I

forgot to charge it in the car.”

“My police gear bag is in the garage. I have a spare automatic

in it. Get my keys.”

“Where are they?”

“In the big cup on the shelf.” The shelf, of course, was among

the destruction on the floor and the oversized coffee mug was

shattered. She dug around debris on the floor and found my keys.

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“Tuck, I have them.”

“Get the gun, Angel. Then, use your car phone charger and

call Bear. Wait in the car until he gets here. But get the gun first.”

I followed her to the back door. Hercule braced himself in

front of her legs, refusing to allow her to go outside. He moaned

and tried pushing her back into the kitchen.

“No boy, you stay here. Don’t let anyone in the house. I’ll be

right back.” Hercule didn’t look happy, but he relented and let her through the door.

I followed her to the garage and we slipped inside and shut

the door behind us. It was dark, but with the little ambient light from the window, the garage appeared unscathed from the razing the house received.

Angel tried the light switch. “No lights in here, either. I’m

scared.”

“I’ll keep watch. You get the gun.”

Angel unlocked the rear hatch of my SUV and grabbed the

black nylon gear bag. When she pulled the bag forward, she no-

ticed something else tucked behind it in the rear cargo.

“Tuck, what’s this?” She held up a large, manila shipping en-

velope two inches thick.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s from the local medical examiner. When did this arrive?”

I thought back but nothing surfaced. “I’m not sure.”

“Think, Tuck.”

I looked at the package. A memory started to form in my

dead brain cells—a memory I didn’t know I had. The package

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was delivered the day I was killed. It was for Angel and I’d signed for it that morning.

“Yeah, I remember now—a special courier.”

The courier’s recipient copy was still taped to the front of the

envelope. Angel read it. “It came the day …”

“Right—I got it when I was leaving for work. You were al-

ready gone so I tossed it in the back.”

“André and Ernie have been asking me about this—the M.E.

sent several items from Kel y’s Dig to me. After they cleared the

site as a crime scene, he didn’t want to keep this stuff. He as-

sumed it would be part of my court research.”

“Okay, but we can worry about that later.”

Angel ignored me and ripped open the end of the package,

dumping the contents onto the SUV’s cargo bed.

A thin, white report folder and a clear plastic evidence bag

fell out. The report folder was titled, “Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Northern Virginia District Office” and the citation

referenced Kel y Orchard Farms. The bag was still intact and the

evidence seal unbroken. Inside was a tarnished, well-worn silver

necklace.

“Tuck, why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“I didn’t remember it until now.” I barely remembered the

skinny college kid standing on the front porch that morning. I

thought he was selling scout cookies or something. “I’m dead—

my memory was the second thing to go.”

Angel ripped open the evidence bag and took out the neck-

lace. When she turned it over and held it up in the dim light, we

both knew exactly how important it was. Grimy and tarnished, a

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three-inch G-cleft hung on the end of a silver chain. In the center of the “G” was a dul , clay-crusted emerald.

“Tuck, do you know what this means?” Angel wiped some of

the grit from the necklace. “This matches Nicholas’ bracelet. It

means …”

“Yes,” I said, watching the emerald begin to glitter in the win-

dow light. “It means whoever killed me came here that night to

get this back.”

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sixt y

“I’ll be taking that,” a man’s voice—strangely familiar—said

from the garage door. “Now.”

Angel and I had forgotten why we came to the garage—to re-

trieve my spare handgun. Hercule didn’t want us leaving the

house. He knew. He knew that someone was still close by. That

someone was now standing with a gun waist high, pointing at

Angel.

When she turned toward the garage door, we came face-to-

face with Lucca Tuscani.

“Put the necklace down and step back.” Tuscani took two

steps into the garage and prodded her backwards with his gun.

“Don’t try anything or, wel , I’m sure you know how this goes.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” she said in a low voice, laying the

necklace on top of the evidence bag. “Take the necklace and go.”

“Where’s the bracelet?” Tuscani asked. “And who’s in here

with you?”

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“No one.”

“You’re lying. I heard you talking to someone.” He stepped

sideways and worked his way around the rear of the SUV, peek-

ing inside the vehicle. When he came around the other side, his

eyes narrowed on Angel. “Where’d they go?”

“There’s no one. I was talking to myself. Ever since you killed

Tuck—you bastard—I talk to him. That’s al .”

“Me? You have it all wrong, lady.” Tuscani forced a laugh.

“Now, where’s the bracelet? I came for the set.”

“In the house.”

“You’re lying. Don’t make me take it.”

I moved beside Tuscani and said, “Give it to him.”

“No.”

“No?” Tuscani scanned the garage again. “What do you mean,

no? Give it to me.”

I lunged for the killer but grabbed emptiness. I swung at the

gun but hit nothing. Dammit. I couldn’t find the strength—

couldn’t make any connection—I couldn’t reach the bastard. My

bond to this world needed energy—power—and it was off. Even

Angel’s cell phone was dead. I was helpless to save her. He could

do what he wished and all I could do was watch.

“Angel, I can’t help you right now. You have to get him out of

here and get me a chance to find a way to help.”

Her eyes darted toward my voice. She nodded, and the move

startled Tuscani.

He stepped toward her, thrusting the gun into her chest.

“Knock it off, lady. Where’s the bracelet?”

“Give it to him, Angel—just do it.”

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She dug the G-cleft bracelet from her jean’s pocket and

dropped it on the cargo bed beside the necklace. The pieces lay

side-by-side, and I looked at them. This was all about the tar-

nished silver and earth-caked gems—the killings, the attacks,

dead girls, bones, and premonitions. Lying there, they seemed

too innocent to have caused all they had. Yet, these two pieces of silver and gems had reigned terror since they were unearthed.

Raymundo Salazar and Iggi Suarez found them by lamplight, and

that started their killing spree.

“Ah, very good.” Tuscani stepped forward and scooped up the

pieces. He never took his eyes off Angel. “Now it’s time to go for a little ride.”

“What? Where?”

“To my aunt, of course.”

“Aunt?” Angel’s voice was thick with confusion. “I don’t un-

derstand.”

“No?” Tuscani forced another laugh. “You don’t understand

what you’ve found, do you?”

“Why don’t you tell me.”

“No. Better yet, we’ll show you.”

“We?”

He laughed again. He dangled the necklace and bracelet

through his fingers, taunting her with it. “These belong to her—

to Amy.”

“Who is Amy?”

Tuscani’s face darkened and he stepped toward her, lifting the

gun up, and touching it to her chin. “It’s time we went to see

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her—her bones anyway. As soon as we get those, I’m going to set

this right. I’m going to set everyone right.”

“And me?”

“Yes, Professor Tucker, e
special y
you.”

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sixt y-one

“He’s taking you to Kel y’s Dig,” I said. Everything began there.

Everything would end there, too. “Try to stay calm.”

“Kel y’s Dig?” Angel was driving and fighting back the terror.

“Right?”

Tuscani grinned. “Yes, good guess.”

“I’ll find a way out of this.” I touched her cheek from the

backseat and she peeked at the rearview mirror. “I promise.”

Everything surrounded Kel y’s Dig and yet, obviously now, it

was more than gold coins and Civil War bones. There were so

many unanswered questions. But, the “who” part of the equation

suddenly seemed too obvious; especial y when he continued to

poke Angel with his gun.

“What do you want with me?” Angel asked. “I don’t know

you. What have I done to deserve this?”

“Relax, lady.” He traced her arm with the barrel of his gun,

laughing in a sadistic, harsh way. She recoiled and sent the car

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veering toward the median. “Easy. No point getting killed yet.

There is so much we have to talk about first.”

“Don’t touch me again.”

“Oh, you can bet I wil .”

“Lucca, Lucca …” Anger welled inside me and I slid behind

him, blowing into his left ear. “Touch her again and you’ll be

joining me in the dead-lane, pal.”

“Huh?” His head whipped around and he looked into the

back seat. When he turned back, he retracted his arm from An-

gel’s side and rested the gun on his thigh, staring straight ahead.