Dead of Night (10 page)

Ten

W
hile I was riding the bus into town the next afternoon, I thought about everything I had to tell Jesse. So much had happened that I started running a mental list: Jesse and Mena had been right about Rika being afraid (of my brothers), Gray had psychic visions in his dreams (was that part of his Van Helsing finder ability? I needed to ask Jesse what he thought), and (if Gray was right) Melissa Wayne had not been grabbed outside her family's church, but had gone willingly with the kidnapper.

I also used the opportunity to read a little of
Dracula
, the novel I'd borrowed from the shop. I skipped through a long, droning introduction by some modern critic I'd never heard of to read the first page, which had been written as a journal entry. It was mostly a travelogue about traveling around Europe on a train. It seemed almost as boring as the intro, although I did smile when Jonathan Harker complained about the spiciness of a dish made with lots of paprika.

Someone sat down next to me, but by that time I was so caught up in the story that I didn't pay any attention until I heard a distinctive click.

I looked into Kari Carson's camera lens. “What happened to ‘Hi, Cat, can I take your picture?'”

“Shoot first, worry about law suits later.” She grinned and shifted position. “Plus you photograph like a Vogue cover girl, Youngblood.”

I held up my book to block her from taking another picture. “Does that mean I can charge you a thousand dollars an hour?”

“No. What are you reading?” She cocked her head to see the front cover. “Ah, Bram Stoker, who never met a diary or letter he didn't like. I used to read that book whenever I couldn't sleep. Knocked me out better than a sedative. So anyway, how do you like being a working girl, in the non-prostitute sense of the term?”

I told her a little about my job, leaving out only the fact that Jesse Raven was my boyfriend and came every night to help me. I liked Kari, but I wasn't ready to confide all my secrets in someone who worked for a subversive underground newswire being secretly passed around our school.

She listened without comment until I mentioned the collection, and then she looked around the bus before she asked, “You know what happened in the cemetery last month, right?”

I thought for a minute. “I remember my brother saying someone vandalized a grave.”

“That's the official story. Aka a complete lie.” She unzipped her backpack and took out a plain spiral notebook, opening it before she handed it to me. “Seek made it the lead story for the winter break edition.”

I read the headline. “Lost Lake has a grave-robber?” I put down the notebook. “Seriously?”

She nodded solemnly. “Whoever broke into the Hargraves tomb stole all three bodies inside. Now Mom and Pop had been there for like fifty years, so they were only skeletons, but they'd just had old Julian's funeral the day before. He was probably still pretty juicy.”

“Oh, gross.” I cringed. “Did you have to tell me that?”

“The public has the right to know all the gruesome details.” As the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, she slid down in her seat and pulled her hood forward to conceal her face. In a lower voice, she said, “Seek and I are investigating the break-in. We thought it might be some kid pulling a really nasty prank, but so far this looks like an inside job.”

I frowned. “I don't understand.”

“Julian was the last of the Hargraves, you know. When they put him in there, they were supposed to close up the tomb for good.” Kari pressed some buttons on her camera before she showed me the LCD screen. On it was an image of a huge marble tomb, the front of which stood open. “See the edges?” She pointed to them. “Bare marble. They were never sealed. Whoever stole the bodies just had to push in the front panel.”

Something was wrong with the picture, but I couldn't tell what. “Did Seek run this photo in the Ledger?” I touched the notebook. When she nodded, I realized something. “Your boyfriend is the editor of the Lost Ledger?”

Kari winked. “I cannot confirm or deny that statement.”

Which meant yes, I thought. “Can I show this to someone?”

“Sure, as long as you tell me what you find out.” She took out a pen and wrote a phone number on the corner of one blank page. “I'll be home every morning through New Year's. Or come over to Tony's Garage the day before Christmas Eve.” She looked up. “Oops, this is me.” She reached over me to tug on the stop cord. “Don't work too hard, Youngblood. Santa's elves will picket you.”

Kari's warning made me feel a pang of guilt; I hadn't given a single thought to what I would give my brothers for Christmas. Gray always gave us T-shirts, black for Trick and white for me, but he made up for his lack of imagination by recording Christmas movies for us all to watch. Trick always liked to surprise us with something special; last year he had found a beautiful black leather saddle for Gray, and had given me a gorgeous red and white fountain pen along with six bottles of fancy-colored inks.

My usual thing was to make a batch of Gray's favorite cookies and put a tin of them in a basket with a book, a mug and some hot cocoa mix. I did the same for Trick, except I made him an apple pie instead of cookies. Neither of them ever complained, but I wanted to do something different this year.

Then there was my dark boy. Jesse couldn't eat food, which ruled out baking, and since I'd handed over my paycheck to Trick I didn't have a lot of money to spend on a store-bought gift. I didn't even know if Jesse and his parents celebrated Christmas.

I stopped in front of the bookstore and glanced across the street. I'd never been inside the Junktique, and on impulse I crossed the street to look in the windows. The Johnsons displayed lots of little holiday-themed oddities, like Christmas tree salt and pepper shakers, and cookie jars shaped like snowmen and angels. I put up my hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun on the window, and saw Mrs. Johnson standing on the other side.

I dropped my hand, smiled uneasily and turned to go back to the bookstore.

“Catlyn.” She came out and held the door open. “Would you like to come inside?”

“No, ma'am.” That sounded so panicky I added, “Thank you, but I have to get to work.” She looked so disappointed that I felt even worse. “Maybe just for a few minutes.”

Mrs. Johnson followed me into the store. “Are you window shopping for any particular reason?”

“I might need a gift for a friend.” I looked around the shop, which was crammed with all sorts of old and interesting things. “He, uh, likes art.”

“Come this way.” She went around a big table stacked with vintage linens and led me to a wall with various old paintings. “The framed oils are rather expensive, but we have a few watercolors.”

“They're very nice.” I'd actually been thinking more along the lines of art supplies versus finished art.

“They are.” She took out a rag and dusted the edge of one frame. “Did you have any classes with my daughter?”

The abrupt question flustered me. “Um, no, ma'am, I didn't.”

“Sunny's very friendly. It's why she's so popular at school.” She put away the rag and straightened one of the paintings. “Maybe you sat with her at lunch one day.”

“I'm sorry, but I never met your daughter, Mrs. Johnson.” I pretended to check my watch. “I should really be getting to work.”

“I know she told her friends where she was going that day,” she continued, as if she hadn't heard me. “They won't admit it because they're afraid of getting in trouble, but they know. I can see it.” She turned to me. “You have the same look in your eyes, Catlyn.”

“Nancy.” The man I'd seen arguing with her near the bus stop appeared and took Mrs. Johnson's hand. “We should close up and go home early tonight. This young lady can come back another time.” He gave me a direct look.

“Of course I can.” I forced a smile. “Thank you for showing me the paintings, Mrs. Johnson.”

“Anytime, dear.” Sunny's mother wandered off, leaving me alone with the man.

“I'm Catlyn Youngblood,” I said. “I work across the street.”

“You're the girl Martha hired, of course. I'm Nancy's husband, Jack.” He sighed. “I'm sorry if my wife frightened you. She's … not herself.”

“You don't have to apologize, sir,” I assured him. “I shouldn't have bothered her.”

“Let me walk you out.” As he did, he looked back a few times, and as soon as I left he turned the OPEN sign over to CLOSED and pulled down the door blind.

I hurried across the street and let myself into the bookstore. Only when I'd locked the door behind me did I let out the breath I'd been holding. “No more window shopping,” I told myself as I went to take care of the alarm.

The unnerving encounter with Sunny's mother left me with a jumpy feeling I couldn't shake. I didn't understand why at first, until I took my tally sheets into Mrs. Frost's office and switched on the computer. That reminded me of the day in the school media center, when Barb Riley had sabotaged one of the computers and almost got me in trouble for it. At the time I hadn't known how disturbed Barb was. Seeing me with Aaron Boone on Halloween night had somehow pushed her over the edge, and she'd attacked, almost killing Boone and Jesse in the process.

The way Mrs. Johnson had talked to me about Sunny had made her sound a lot like Barb when she'd talked about Boone. I was no shrink, but even I could see that Sunny's mother was seriously losing her grip on reality.

Although Jesse had been taking care of the computer data entry part of my job, I needed something to focus on, and so I sat down and got started on the first tally sheet. Working with the numbers helped me stop thinking about the dreadful events of Halloween night, and I decided to keep working until Jesse showed up.

An hour later I finished entering the counts from the last sheet, but still, no Jesse.

He told me that he might not be able to come every night
,
I thought as I went to the fridge and retrieved my dinner.
His parents must have wanted him to stay in tonight.

Seeing Jesse almost every day had spoiled me, and I refused to sulk. I called home to check in with Trick, who told me that from now on either he or Gray would be picking me up at the store.

“I haven't had any problems walking from the store to the bus stop,” I reminded him. “I'm also not stupid or careless.”

My brother wouldn't budge. “This is how we're going to do it until they find those girls.”

Once I tidied the office I went back to the storeroom to look at the bins. I really didn't want to work on the collection by myself, but I was already two days ahead of schedule on the shelf counts.

I walked back out and stood over the tunnel hatch. To avoid getting caught Jesse and I had been staying in the store; I hadn't been back down in the tunnels since that first night.

He never told me I couldn't go by myself
,
I reasoned, and thought of the storage closet in Jesse's underground vault.
Maybe I can see what sort of art supplies he already has, so I'll know what he doesn't need.

I took care to go down the ladder slowly—the last thing I needed to do was fall and knock myself out—and followed the tunnels in the direction I thought would lead me to Jesse's vault room. To my surprise I didn't get lost or take a wrong turn; my feet seemed to know the way there.

Once I walked inside Jesse's work room, I felt immediately better. I could almost feel him there, as if he'd spent so much time in that place that he'd left behind an imprint on every object in the room. Even picking up the jacket he'd left draped on the back of his desk chair gave me a little thrill, especially when I held it up to my nose and smelled the sweet-spicy scent he'd left on the material.

“When you start sniffing his clothes,” I told the shelf of carved birds, “you know you're stupid in love.”

I had forgotten one thing: the door to the storage closet was locked. For the first time I also realized how strange that was. If no one but his parents and Sheriff Yamah knew the tunnels existed, why did he have to lock up anything down here?

“It's just a closet,” I told my overactive imagination. “Not Bluebeard's secret room of ex-wives.”

I looked through the drawers and cubbyholes of his desk, but didn't find a key. Then on a hunch I searched the pockets of his jacket, and found a ring of keys, all the same size and brand.

“Here we go.” I took them over to the storage closet and began trying them one after the other, until I found the right one and popped the lock.

“Catlyn?” Jesse's voice echoed down the tunnel.

“I'm in here,” I called back. I took off the padlock, but found the door knob jammed. “Not having much luck snooping through your stuff, though.” I rattled the knob, working it back and forth. “This place is like an underground Fort Knox.”

I felt a rush of air behind me, and then a cool hand covered mine.

“I'm sorry I'm late.” He drew my hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “What are you looking for?”

“I can't tell you.” I grinned up at him. “You'll have to wait until Christmas morning.” Finally I felt the knob turn all the way. “What have you got in here, anyway?”

“Catlyn, don't—”

A light came on inside the closet as the door opened, and then I saw it wasn't a closet at all, but another room that was the same size as his work room.

A crowded room, I thought as I looked at the long rows of painted canvases leaning against the walls. He had installed wide shelves on the walls to hold more canvases, although these paintings were stacked face-down in tall piles. The shelves marched all the way up to the ceiling.