Eighth Grave After Dark (30 page)

Speaking of bad moods, with all the unwanted attention Beep was getting, even she'd started leaning toward the fussy end of the spectrum, so I wrapped her up like a burrito, warmed up a bottle of breast milk I'd collected earlier, and walked around the house crooning and crowing about this and that. It was like dinner theater.

Uncle Bob had taken Quentin back to school in Santa Fe, and Cookie and Amber left, too. Amber had school in the morning, much to her chagrin, and Cookie wanted to get some shopping done. She'd been cooking quite a bit and bringing it out to us.

I thought about cooking once.

Beep and I walked around the house as she ate, partly to look out the windows in the hopes of seeing her daddy. And partly to work off some nervous tension. I'd hurt him by going to hell, and that was only the half of it. We wandered into the laundry room and I explained the washer and dryer as best I could. I turned on the dryer and put her on it. The vibrations lulled her to sleep again.

“Oh, no you don't,” I said, picking her back up again. “You have to be burped. If I don't burp you, I'll get arrested by the burp police, and then—”

I stopped midsentence. The wall Reyes broke was adjacent to the locked closet door. He must've triggered a latching mechanism when he broke the stud, because it stood slightly ajar.

“At last,” I said as we walked to it. “Are we ready for this?” I asked her.

She didn't reply.

I slid open the heavy door. It creaked along rusted tracks. It was a pocket door, which explained why it hadn't opened when we pushed on it, but as tall and narrow as it was, it had to be at least three inches thick. I peeked inside and, wow, was I not impressed.

“This is it?” I asked Beep. After fumbling in my pocket for my phone, I turned the flashlight on and took a closer look. It was a tiny round room, dusty and cobwebbed. Nothing special about it. The ceiling formed an arch overhead, so that was almost interesting. But there were no shelves. No nooks for storage. No dead bodies. Nada.

“What on earth is this for?” Finding no light switch, I stepped inside and, only a little fearful we wouldn't get the door open again as I'd seen how it latched, slid it closed. Then we stood there. Waited. Turned in a circle. Then I opened the door, utterly disappointed.

“Okay, then,” I said, stepping out and giving it another once-over. “This is rather useless in the grand scheme of things.”

I turned to leave and came face-to-face with everyone left in the house. They all stared at us with mouths slightly agape.

“What?” I asked, wiping at my face, then smoothing my hair down. “What?”

“Your light,” Angel said at last. “It completely disappeared when you were in there.”

“Really?” I turned back to give it another once-over. “That's odd, right?”

Osh stepped to the closet. “You have no idea. Your light is eternal. It's constant and boundless. Nothing can stop it from being seen from a thousand different planes.”

“I can't see it,” I said, my hand raised.

“Try it again, but be careful,” he said, suddenly untrusting of the tiny compartment. It did seem a tad ominous. Maybe it was a portal to hell. Or a broom closet. I always felt broom closets were a little shady. Why would a broom need its own closet?

I stepped inside and closed the door again. Then I waited for the signal. Not that we'd decided on one, but surely they'd let me know when they were ready for us to come out. I was beginning to think we'd been punked when I heard a male voice from behind me.

“Hey, pumpkin.”

Goose bumps erupted across my skin as I turned. “Dad!” I yelled, and threw my free arm around his neck.

He laughed and hugged me back, being careful not to squish my package. Then he looked down at said package, his eyes glistening. “My God,” he said, his expression full of pride.

“Dad, how are you here?” I asked.

He sobered and smiled at me. “This is kind of like a safe room. No one from outside can see us in here. They would literally have to come inside this room to hear anything we say, even the departed, and you would see them.”

“Really? This is the coolest room ever. But what happened?”

He smoothed my hair back. “No time for that, pumpkin. If you don't come out soon, that group out there is likely to rip the door off its hinges.”

“Oh, you're right. Hold on.”

I cracked open the door. Everyone was still standing in awe.

“I'll just be a minute.”

Osh grew suspicious. It was like he didn't trust me.

“Why? What are you doing?”

“Reflecting.”

I closed the door then turned back to my father. I touched his face and his cool skin reminded me exactly what state he was in.

“Now, what happened? Who killed you?”

“First, you have to know, there are spies.”

“I know. I totally busted one. She was living in my closet.”

“There are more.”

I knew that. I'd known for a while. “Duff.”

“Yes.”

“More?”

“A couple on the lawn, I think. It's like the Cold War here.”

“Wait, are you a spy for the good guys?”

He grinned. “I'm a spy for you, honey. I just had no idea.” He glanced down at Beep again. “I had absolutely no idea.”

“Okay, but really, who killed you?”

He shook his head. “I don't want you involved in any of that. You're too important. She's too important.”

“Dad.”

“Charley.”

“Dad.”

“Charley.”

“Dad. And, yes, I can do this all day.” I had taken hold of his arm. “And just so you know, you can't disappear as long as I'm holding on to you.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

I raised my brows.

He turned away, as though unable to look me in the eye. “You know, you always amazed me. From the day you were born, you were different. I knew it, too.”

“Dad,” I repeated. We didn't have the time for a stroll down memory lane. I wanted to know who had killed my father, and said father was darned sure going to tell me.

“Just give me a sec, hon. You have to understand what happened before.”

“Okay.” I leaned back against the wall and bounced Beep, but didn't let go of his wrist. I didn't think I ever could again. I laced my fingers through his and waited for him to say what he had to.

It took him a moment. Tears swelled between his lashes. “Once you started helping me solve crimes, people noticed. They didn't know about you, of course, but somehow a few of the cops figured out I was getting … outside help. One was dirty. As dirty as they come. He told a businessman whose payroll he was on. As a result, that man became very interested in me.”

“All this from my help solving crimes?”

“Yes. And no.” He lowered his head, completely embarrassed. “You helped in other ways. Ways you were unaware of.”

“Like what?”

“Charley, I wasn't always— I mean, I made mistakes. I— I got in over my head with a situation.”

This time I lowered my head. “Did it involve the racetrack at Ruidoso Downs?”

“How did you know?”

I shrugged. “You changed after that. When you got home from your camping trip, you were devastated.”

“Ah, yes, you can feel people's emotions, can't you?”

I nodded.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Like I wasn't enough of a freak.”

“Charley, if there is one thing you are not, it's a freak. But that doesn't explain how you figured out what happened that weekend.”

“It took me a few years to piece together, but I realized you'd gone to Ruidoso. There's only three things in Ruidoso: shopping, camping, and gambling. So, what happened?”

He lowered his head once more, embarrassed. “I had what we call in the gambling business a sure thing.”

“But you weren't a gambler.”

“Normally, no, but I got this tip. The guy said it was all set up.”

“The sure thing.”

“Yes. And I'd seen him win a fortune once based on a similar tip. So, I bet everything.”

“And you lost it all.”

“In the blink of an eye.”

“Then how did you open the bar? I thought you did that with your savings?”

“That's where you come in. This businessman offered to pay me double what I lost for one name.”

I gasped teasingly. “You used me.”

“Charley, it's not funny.”

“Right. Sorry. But, Dad, really, it's not that bad.”

“It is, actually, and it gets worse.”

“Oh,” I said, understanding. “You gave him the name, and now you were indebted to him, only he knew you had a secret weapon.”

“Yes. I led him to believe I had a confidential informant.”

“What happened to the first guy? The first name you gave him?”

He bit down, embarrassed to say. “He was never found,” he said at last.

“I'm sorry, Dad.”

“As you can imagine, I retired soon after. I told him I no longer had access to my CI.”

The gravity hit me. “Dad, he could have killed you.”

A sad smile thinned his lips. “He did, actually.”

That time, I gasped for real. “What happened?”

“He got himself in a bind, needed my informant.”

“And you refused. So, your death was my fault, too. Just like mom's.”

“Charley, you can't honestly say that about your mother. Not after what you've just been through.”

He was right. Beep was worth the risk that went hand in hand with pregnancy.

“And my death was entirely my fault. I was never perfect.”

“You were in my eyes.” I leaned forward. “And you still are.”

“Charley, I used you for years to advance my career. That doesn't exactly qualify me for Father of the Year.”

“We work with what we got. Do you think I resent you in any way? I would do the same today. You never placed me in any danger. You caught bad guys that I led you to. We were doing a good thing.”

“Yes, bad guys that I asked you to lead me to. That alone placed you in danger.”

“Do you blame Uncle Bob for what he's doing? Special Agent Carson? Or her FedEx?”

“No, but you're older now, hon. It's different. You know what you're getting yourself in for most of the time. I just let you advance my career while leaving you completely in the dark as to what was at stake. And then there's the whole Denise issue.”

“What about her?”

“I should have been harder on her. I shouldn't have let her treat you that way. But I could sense her fear. She believed, Charley. She always believed in you. For her, that
was
the problem.”

“Denise and I are finding our way.”

“And I want to thank you for that. You have a bigger heart than people give you credit for.”

“Right?” I said in complete agreement. “Now, who actually pulled the trigger? And who is this businessman?”

“No. And I mean it. Your uncle is closing in, thanks to you and that anonymous tip. You've done enough.” He smiled down at the little princess, and a soft squeak sounded.

“Uh-oh,” I said to her, unlacing my hand to pat her mouth with the blanket. “Someone burped.”

“Don't worry, Beep,” Dad said. “What happens in the closet stays in the closet.”

The door slid open then, and Spanky and the Gang stood in the exact same positions as when I'd closed it.

“We were getting worried,” Angel said.

I turned, but Dad was gone. I could smell him on my clothes and on Beep's blanket.

Osh stepped inside and turned full circle. “Seriously, what the hell?”

“I don't know, but we need to have a powwow.”

*   *   *

This time I hunted Denise down and gave her Beep for a while. She was more than happy to take her while Osh and I went hunting.

We went into the office, where it was quieter. No need to alarm Denise.

It didn't take us long to find him, since I could summon him right to me. I did so and immediately grabbed his wrist so he couldn't vanish.

“Wh-what's going on?” Duff asked, his eyes wide behind the glasses.

“How does this work?” I asked him.

“Wh-what?”

“And you can stop stuttering now,” I added. “How does this work? Who do you report to?”

He looked down at his wrist, then back at me. “You don't know what it's like down there,” he said, vying for the sympathy angle. “You are burned alive.”

“I know. I visited recently.”

He had the decency to look shocked.

“Don't pretend you didn't know that.”

“I haven't been able to hang around much,” he said, scowling at Angel. “Rey'aziel caught on. Sent the kid to babysit. Can't turn around without him watching me.”

I turned to Angel. “Is that what all that was about?”

Angel shrugged. “We're also watching a few more.”

“We?”

“Rey'aziel has a whole army of spies watching other spies.”

“Why didn't he just tell me?” I asked, appalled. “I thought this was something horrible like you two were trying to figure out which asylum to have me locked in once Beep was born.”

He snickered. “We decided that months ago.”

Garrett walked in then. “Got him,” he said, carrying a tablet. “Duff Newman, executed for killing a woman and her daughter in 1987.”

Osh tsked. “Duff. That's not very nice.”

Focusing on Duff again, I said, “Once more with feeling. Who do you report to?”

“If I tell you, he'll send me back.”

“To hell?” I asked. “You're going back there anyway, sport. It's hot. You might want to plan for that. Take an ointment.”

Osh spoke up again. “Why let him live at all? I could use dessert.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” That wolfish grin was back, and Duff tried to jerk out of my grip, suddenly terrified.