Rocks & Gravel (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3) (26 page)

“When I was fighting for my life in that clearing, I realized something.” I took a deep breath, still unsure about what I was about to say. “I want to find the Mace Treasure. People are never going to quit hunting it. Some of them are bad people, willing to kill over it. I can’t live with anybody else I love getting killed over some money that might or might not exist.” Thing is, for the first time in my life, I thought it did exist. Maybe it had never been found because the best camouflage in the world—magic—was used to hide it. My take away from this whole ordeal was that I had the talent to find it.

Hannah smiled. “I’m going to help you.”

“I am, too,” Hooty said. “We’ll either put the myth to rest or get rich.”

“I’m in,” Rainey said.

Wade ignored us all, still pretending to read his book. I didn’t blame him.

Hooty showed me Memaw’s funeral plan, and I signed off on it, tears streaking down my cheeks. My friends said their goodnights and left soon afterward. I followed Rainey to her car, ignoring Hannah’s curious stare.

“Barbie and Amanda killed my daddy. Uncle Jesse can’t stay in jail for it.” I put my hand on the door of her Mercedes so she couldn’t jump in and drive away. She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.

“I’ve been working on his case since I passed the bar,” she said. “I don’t want him there any more than you do, but to get him out, we have to prove he didn’t kill your father.”

“But I’m standing here telling you who did it.” I wanted to shake her.

“There’s nobody left to back up your story. You killed them.” Her dark gaze searched my face.

“I didn’t kill anybody. They made bad choices, and they paid.” I took my hand off her car door and let her get in.

“They’re still dead. No court can hear their testimony.” She started the engine and turned to me. “Believe me when I say I want to help your uncle as much as do you do. Keep thinking. I’m listening.”

“There might be something in the police file. You know it’s missing?”

Rainy nodded, closing her eyes.

“Sheriff Joey—I mean ex-Sheriff Joey’s got it.” My anger flamed up at the very thought. “If I can figure out where he’s hiding it—”

“I’m willing to listen to any
legal
ideas you have to help your uncle.” Rainey took her eyes off me and started her car.

I snapped my fingers. “My uncle Jesse said to tell you hi.”

Rainey said nothing. She didn’t even look at me. But I thought I saw her cheeks darken before she grabbed the car door and shut it. She took off fast enough to spin her tires.

Interesting and definitely not my business.
Staring out at the silhouettes of the pine trees in the moonlight, I lit a cigarette. Movement on the porch caught my eye. I turned, thinking Wade had come out after all. The soft glow coming from the living room windows made my daddy’s ghost look even more transparent than he already was. He stood there, hands in the pockets of his jeans, watching me. Then he smiled, hopped off the edge of the porch, and disappeared around the side of the house. I ran to see where he’d gone and saw him pass through the chain-link fence, walking toward the dark woods. He glanced over his shoulder and blew me a kiss. He kept on walking.

Tears stung my eyes, and all the things I never got to say to him flooded my mind. I held it in and let him go. There was time. My ability to see ghosts cursed me, stigmatized me, made my life a kind of hell. But it also blessed me. Because of it, I got a second chance to have a relationship with my daddy.

I went back in the house. Wade sat at the kitchen table, reading and smoking and not talking. My aching body demanded I go to bed, but once I got there I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the way the right path had been in front of me all along, and I refused to see it. I was what I was. No pretending or wishing would ever change it. Time to be a big girl and face it, if for no other reason than to protect the people I loved.

My phone buzzed, signaling I had a text message. I turned on one of Memaw’s glass bedside lamps, making the crystals jingle together, and picked up my phone. It said I had a message from Dean.

I handled things wrong. Can I come over so we can talk?

I thought it over.
There’s really no need.

I turned off the cellphone before he could answer and clicked off the lamp. The dark and the quiet did nothing to slow my mind. Thoughts sped through it like a runaway train. Several minutes passed. I flicked the lamp back on, got Mysti Whitebyrd’s card out, and stared at it. I turned my cellphone back on and started dialing.

I
reached
for my iced latte, an hour old and mostly water, and fumbled it. It tipped toward the immaculate floorboard of Mysti Whitebyrd’s Toyota Camry. She grabbed the paper cup before it could capsize and pushed it into my hand.

“Nervous, Peri Jean?” She turned off the radio, a relief since the Tyler-based station spat more static than music two hours north of its signal.

Nervous didn’t cover it. I spent the eight years after my divorce developing my ability to do odd jobs into a lucrative business only to lose it all in the course of twenty-four hours. Venturing into uncharted career territory using my ability to communicate with the spirit world scared the life out me.

“Maybe you should let Brad do this.” The few seances I’d done for Mysti’s witch-for-hire business did little to make me feel prepared to contract for an actual missing persons investigator.

“Hell, no. My brother, much as I love him, doesn’t have the talent to do this job.” Mysti pulled her wild, sun-bleached brown hair into a butterfly clip and examined herself in the visor mirror. “He’s careless, and he complains all the time. Griffin Reed insists on complete professionalism from his contractors.”

What if I don’t measure up?
I still had hope I could use my curse to make money. Griffin Reed could dash those hopes all to hell. What then? Slinging fried chicken at a gas station?

“Stop worrying. You hear me?” She took her gaze off my face and read the road signs. “Our turn off’s coming up.” She pointed at a green sign reading “Nazareth” with an arrow pointing right.

I turned east off HWY 69N onto SH 231 and immediately saw another sign for Nazareth. This one told me it was two miles away. I sped up to fifty-five, the posted speed limit, and took in my surroundings.

On both sides of the road flat, cleared pastures full of yellow, dead grass stretched far as I could see. Clusters of black angus cows clustered around watering tanks, waving their skinny tails against the horseflies. The land was empty. There wasn’t even a convenience store. No man’s land.

“Life is about taking chances. Sometimes we jump out of choice. Sometimes it’s out of necessity.” Mysti glanced at a slip of paper sitting in her lap. “Your part-time bartending gig, working for those bikers, can’t pay much.”

It didn’t. Last month, after I paid for gas to drive out there and back, it paid the light bill and the propane bill. I imagined I’d have the high speed internet or the satellite TV cut off before too much longer.

“I’m guessing you don’t have too many other options.” Mysti squeezed my shoulder, maybe to let me know she meant no harm.

“You’re right. The best offer I’ve gotten came from Benny Longstreet as his personal assistant.” I grimaced, reliving the rage I felt when he asked me to come work for him, offered with a lewd wink. I knew what he wanted my assistance doing.
Not in this lifetime, donkey boy.
I’d rather eat boiled raccoon asshole, but I knew I needed paying work. Mysti’s help in turning my ability to communicate with the spirit world into money was my last chance. No matter how much sense it made, I still felt like a charlatan. I never imagined it would come to this.

“See the white billboard up there?” Mysti tapped me and pointed. “Pull off in front of it. Griff wanted us to see it before we came into town.”

The flaking white billboard winked in the distance. I squinted to read the faded black writing covering it but was still too far away. Sensing movement in my peripheral vision, I took my eyes off the road. Out here in North Texas farm country, hitting an animal might mean hitting a horse, a cow, or a deer. The impact could very well kill us.

At first, my mind rejected what I saw. Then a ringing buzzed in my ears. It spread until my whole head hummed with it. My stomach tried to climb out of my body via my throat. I grunted. What I saw was too weird for words.

A family of four stood on the side of the road. Mother, father, and two kids. Each member of the family wore a bloodstained burlap bag over his head. The bags had no eye holes and were tied at the neck. The smallest member of the burlap bag head family wore a cute white dress with sunflowers on it. The dress bore dirt stains with blood dripping from its ruffled hem. She raised her hand to wave at me. Somewhere in another part of my brain a child’s voice screamed in agony and fear. Sweat popped out all over me as I took in her horror and pain.

Mysti half turned to me. “Peri Jean, girl, it’s right up here.” She took one look at the expression on my face and leaned forward so she could see out the driver’s side window. She turned back to me, lines etched into her forehead and her mouth open in horror. She saw it, too. Mysti started to speak but something else caught her attention. Her eyes got even wider.

“Watch out,” she screamed.

I jerked my attention back to the road and yanked the wheel. The bumper of Mysti’s brand new Toyota Camry barely missed a dude riding his tractor in the middle of the fucking road. I jerked the wheel hard, hitting the gravel shoulder and fishtailing. We slid to a stop less than a foot from a barbed wire fence. I sat there gasping, heart jackhammering in my chest.

The farmer dude stopped his tractor in the middle of the road. He shook his fist and yelled, “The hell you doing? Slow down!”

I ignored him, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. The calm crowded out the fear still racing through me. I opened my eyes again. In front of us was the billboard where Mysti wanted us to stop.

“See?” I turned to her. “Here we are.”

My friend had her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes still wide and spooked. She shook her head at my attempt to lighten the situation.

I turned my attention to the billboard.

“My daughter went missing March 28, 1980. Her name is Susan Lynn Franklin. Susie was born December 18, 1962, has brown hair and eyes, 5’2” and weighs 98 lbs. The State Police said she’s a runaway, but I don’t believe that. If you have any information, please contact Margaret (Meg) Franklin at 304 S Main Street or at the following phone number.”

“This is who your PI friend wants us to look for?” I nudged Mysti.

“You know what I know,” Mysti said. “Griffin Reed has his quirks, and not telling about a case until he can talk to me face to face is one of them.”

Not for the first time, I took note of the way Mysti said “Griffin Reed.” It made me think their relationship consisted of more than professional interest. I held back a smirk and read over the sign again. This girl, Susie Franklin, had been missing for over thirty-five years. Why try to find her after all that time? In spite of my new job jitters, I felt a little spark of curiosity.

The farmer turned his tractor around and parked it across the road from us.
Oh, boy. He wants to chew us out.
I didn’t take chewings out very graciously.

The guy got off his tractor and hitched up his plain black pants, probably Dickie’s. He waited for an eighteen wheeler to go past. The wind from it ruffled his thick white hair. He crossed the road, the shine from his black work shoes catching the dull sun. I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out of the car, waiting until he got close enough to hear before I spoke.

“I sure am sorry. I thought I saw,” I paused here and searched my mind for an appropriate substitute, “an animal about to dart out on the road. Been driving for a couple of hours, and I’m tired.” Truth was, I was always tired these days. It plagued me like a cold I couldn’t quite shake. If this old dude copped an attitude, I might give him something to remember me by. We stared at each other a few minutes. I tried to keep my expression humble and contrite. Really, I did.

“It’s all right. Anywhere near that curve is always a risk.” He squinted his eyes and stared at me, cocking his head to one side and glancing right at the spot where I saw the burlap head family. “You’re white as a sheet, girl. You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. Shook up is all.” I rubbed my hand over my cheek and found it covered with a clammy layer of sweat.

“Where you coming from?” He asked the question the way a country person does, completely sure of his right to know.

“South of here. Tyler.”

He nodded. “You headed into Nazareth? Or going all the way to Sandal?”

“Nazareth.” Mysti joined us.

The old dude took in Mysti’s handkerchief style skirt of many colors and her fringed shawl. He raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the leather Jesus shoes she wore. He smiled.

“Heard Meggy Franklin hired some folks to find out what happened to her Susie. Y’all them?”

“Sure are. I’m Mysti Whitebyrd, and this is my associate Peri Jean Mace.” Mysti put on a big, toothy smile, but I saw the uncertainty in her coffee colored eyes. She held out her hand to the old man. He took it, gave it a token squeeze, and dropped it like it might contaminate him.

“Lewis DeVoss.” He glanced at Mysti and frowned before turning his gaze on me, the weight of it drifting down to my torn up jeans and worn out cowboy boots. He nodded, almost to himself. “Own this whole stretch ‘o land, both sides of the road.”

“Lotta land.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Cows? Or crops, too?”

“Mostly the cows,” DeVoss said. “Some hay.”

“How’d you know we were here to work the Susie Franklin case?” Mysti asked.

“Nazareth ain’t got more’n eight hundred souls calling it home. We’re all related or we’ve known each other so long we might as well be. Not much stays secret ‘round these parts.” He wiped at his nose. “Besides, I felt bad for poor Meggy Franklin. She’s good folks.”

I grew up in a small town. Maybe not as small as Nazareth, but I knew all about the way secrets don’t stay secrets. This open landscape and the big sky hanging over it seemed like it wouldn’t harbor secrets too happily. Feeling the old man’s hard gaze on me, I glanced back at him and recoiled at the intensity of his stare.

“Give you ladies a piece o’ advice, you don’t mind.” He waited for us to invite him to continue, like country folks do, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Please,” I said.

“Don’t stay here in Nazareth too long. And don’t go in no abandoned buildings. We got a dangerous element ‘round here. Outsiders got a way of disappearing.” His speech made, he turned to go.

“Thanks, Mr. DeVoss,” I called after him, throwing a glance at Mysti. She needed to thank him, too, in case we had to talk to him again. I found her frozen, her hands hanging limply at her sides, the way city people get when something scares them. DeVoss half-turned and gave me a little wave and smile. The smile never touched his eyes.

Mysti turned back to the car, but I stepped close and grabbed her arm and shook my head. Keeping my voice low, I said, “Don’t let him know he spooked you. Wait for him to leave.” I elbowed her. “Try not to look so damn scared.”

I might as well have told her to hold her breath and count to six thousand. Everything about Mysti, from her posture to the expression on her face, screamed fear.
Can’t win ‘em all.

We stood there in front of the old billboard like it held the answers to the world and watched Lewis DeVoss amble to his tractor. The old man took his time climbing up and turning the thing on. He turned back for one last wave. Then he was gone, and I strolled toward the car. Mysti tried hard not to run, and she almost made it, only jogging the last couple of steps.

“He’s just unhappy a couple of outsiders are poking around,” I told her.

“I know.” She kept her gaze fastened on the road, jaw working. Having seen her like this a few other times, I knew to keep my mouth shut.

I got the car back on the road and drove slowly, hoping not to run into Lewis DeVoss again. We passed an overgrown rest stop with a chain across the driveway. A closed sign and a no trespassing sign hung from the chain. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. The old man’s words came back to me.
Don’t go in no abandoned buildings. Outsiders got a way of disappearing.

I was glad to see the green city limits sign for Nazareth, Texas. The population listed on the sign said seven hundred fifty-seven. DeVoss had been close to right.

“Highway 231 goes straight through town.” Mysti regained some of her composure. She set the cellphone on her lap and tapped on its screen. “The motel’s after we pass through.”

We drove through downtown Nazareth. Not much here. The weatherbeaten, faded buildings housed a few antique shops, a dollar store, and a couple of diners. Nobody walked the streets, other than a stray dog so skinny his ribs and hip bones showed. I slowed to let him pass in front of us and was struck by the feeling of being watched. I twisted in my seat, casting my gaze about, until a car came up behind us and I had to start moving again.

“This is a creepy damn place,” Mysti muttered, almost to herself. “Wonder how Griff is faring here.”

Again I heard the lilt in her voice when she spoke his name. Despite my unease, I smiled. The motel, a single row of about ten rooms set a few hundred yards off the road, came up and I pulled into the driveway. This place didn’t look much better than the rest of Nazareth. The bricks needed a good pressure washing, and the asphalt parking lot was buckled and cracked. The rooms would either be so nasty they made our skin crawl or run down but clean. I prayed for the latter and pulled into a parking place.

Here we go
, I thought. I had to do the best I could and stuff my worries down deep. Hope it was enough to impress Griffin Reed.