Deeper Than the Grave (24 page)

Chapter Fifty-one

I spent the next sixty seconds cursing the darkness. I cursed the general meltdown of technology too, then cursed some more just to hear myself curse, a human voice against the storm outside. And then I gathered my wits and opened the supply box Trey had brought. It was a survivalist's delight—candles and matches, batteries and protein bars, solar rechargers and handcrank flashlights.

The romantic in me chose the candles first. I lit a few and lined them up on the counter, then spread a blanket on the floor in front of the deer head even though Trey couldn't hear or see me anymore. The system's battery backup powered its essential components, like the emergency alarms and the interior monitors. So the cameras still recorded, and the monitors still worked inside the shop, but without the Wi-Fi, there was no way Trey could tap the feed. And even if the towers came back up and a 911 call went out, neither police nor ambulance could respond, not until the roads cleared. I was essentially on my own.

So I poured another cup of coffee before it went cold and sat on the blanket, wrapping a second one around my shoulders. I turned off my useless cell phone to conserve the battery. And then I hunkered down to wait out the storm.

“They were secret lovers,” I said to the deer head. “They took advantage of Braxton's Missing-in-Action status after the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain to flee the city, but they went back to the Amberdecker plantation to get provisions from Violet. That's where they were murdered. By Nate Amberdecker. His own brother.”

There was no one to hear my words, but they sounded true enough in the dark cold. Josephina's story mentioned an older brother, unsympathetic, that she and Braxton had to sneak the provisions past. They'd not succeeded. Nate had discovered the two lovers making off with the money and food that Violet had supplied, so he killed both of them and buried them in the woods. Only he didn't get away with the crime undiscovered—Violet knew.

“They've all known,” I said, and my voice echoed back to me. “Starting with Violet, who got shut up in an asylum and drugged to death so she'd stop talking about her dream, about her brother dying in the woods. But it wasn't a dream, not at all, and the cover-up has continued with every single Amberdecker since. They've known Braxton was an adulterer and a deserter, and that Nate murdered him and Josephina. And they've known those bones were out there somewhere, the ones that would tell the truth, so they never developed the land, never allowed excavation. And that's why they want those bones back so badly, so they can shove them in the ground again, so nobody will figure it out. And one of them was willing to kill me to make that happen.”

I looked up at the deer head. Still no red light.

“Damn it, Trey, where are you?” I said, louder now. “I need you to hear this, right now! I'm cracking the whole damn case, and I'm stuck here until—”

The popping crunch of tires on gravel broke through my tirade, and I saw headlights swing across the back wall. Not the Ferrari. No, this was a deeper rumble, unfamiliar on this deserted night, a night when there should be no traffic. I stood, and was surprised to find that my hand automatically went to my gun-less hip. And I heard Trey's voice as clear in my head as if he'd been standing there—
what do you do now?
—and I knew the answer to that.

I hurried behind the counter and got my carry bag from the safe. I pulled the .38 from the holster, opened the cylinder to check it. Fully loaded.

I looked out the front window. The square outside was dark and empty, every business shuttered and locked tight, except for the massive black truck parked askew at my door. The engine sputtered to a stop, the driver's door opened, and a familiar figure stepped out, boots crunching in the ice and snow.

Richard.

I double-checked the locks, including the industrial-grade deadbolt. Then I put my back to the wall and both hands on the .38.

He banged at the door. “I know you're in there, Tai!”

“Go away!”

“Let me in and I'll explain everything!”

“I figured it out myself! Now get off my property!”

He banged some more. The headlights from his truck pierced the darkness of the shop. It was a four-wheel drive, capable of running roughshod over ice and snow, hell and high water. He didn't need my shelter, and he wasn't getting it.

“I'm the one who found that girl's bones, Tai, right next to Braxton's! I know who she is and I know who put her there and I know why Rose doesn't want anybody to know!”

“So do I!”

“Then you know why she's coming to kill you!”

I felt a new chill, one that had nothing to do with the storm. I tightened my grip on the gun. It was cold. I liked it cold. The cold made it was clear where the gun ended and I began.

“Tai!”

“I'm listening.”

He blew on his hands and stamped his feet. “I found two sets of bones in the woods that morning. Right away I knew one had to be Braxton—I saw the bayonet—but when I told everybody about it, Rose had a fit. She told me to march back out there and destroy them, both sets, but I told her it was too late, that Evie had already called the archaeologist's office. Rose told me to pretend I'd only found one set and to destroy the others. But I couldn't, I just couldn't, so I got Lucius to help me bury them back near the park line.”

“That was a big mistake, considering he promptly dug them right back up again and hid them in the walls here.”

“I know that now.”

“Did you know he took Braxton's remains too?”

Richard shook his head vehemently. “I thought they were in the casket, I swear I did. I didn't realize Lucius was dead either, not until the morning of the tornado. And then you found the girl's bones, and Rose found out about them, and she knew I'd lied…look, just let me in, okay?”

I sighed, then unlocked the door and opened it a sliver. Richard stood on the welcome mat, shoulders hunched, face raw from the cold.

“I don't have Braxton's bones,” I said.

“I know,” he replied. “I do.”

He unslung a drawstring bag from his shoulder and held it in my direction. I stood there, staring, sleet frosting the heavy canvas, but I didn't put down the gun.

“You found them near the chapel, didn't you?”

He nodded. “I dug 'em up under the flagstone path. Lucius had a cache there, probably built it when he lay the path during the restoration.”

“Does Rose know you have them?”

“She will when she sees that path dug up. And then she'll come for me. But she's going to come for you first. She came for you once already, only she got your neighbor instead, and when she sees that hole in the ground, she'll come for you again. And I can't let that happen, Tai. I'm sorry for the rest, by God I am, but I'm here now, and I'm going to keep you safe until I get Rose Amberdecker to justice.” Richard took a step forward. “Now let me in.”

I raised the revolver. “Oh no, you don't, you're—”

I heard the crack of the rifle and the whine of a bullet at the same time, and I threw myself on the floor. Richard bellowed and went to his knees, the bag still in hand. He lunged for the doorway, and I dragged him inside as another bullet shattered the front window, leaving only the burglar bars for protection. The emergency alarm tripped, filling the room with flashing red lights and shrieking sirens. I slammed the door, locked it. Through the slanting snow, I saw a figure coming across the square—Rose, two long guns in hand—and I crawled behind the counter, Richard right behind.

He sagged to the floor, one hand pressed against the red stain blossoming on his shoulder. “Aw, shit. I'm shot.”

I knelt in front of him. He cursed and clenched his teeth as I pulled his jacket back. It was a clean exit wound, a through-and-through in the left shoulder, but it bled like a stuck pig. He'd been shot from behind. I hadn't seen Rose across the square, but that was no surprise. The bulldozers provided excellent cover. Richard had been lucky that the storm had dropped visibility to virtually nil. Otherwise, she'd have picked him off first shot.

I heard boots kicking at the front door, a rifle butt banging in broken glass. I fumbled in the drawer under the cash register until I found the spare speedloader. I was moving from memory, from training, and if Trey had been there, I would have kissed him on the mouth for making me stuff that stupid thing full of bullets over and over again, because it was by rote now, even though my hands were shaking and my vision was collapsing, and I was sick, and cold, and tunnel-visioned.

Rose emptied some rounds into the lock—which held, by the love of all that was holy—but she was using the shotgun now, not the rifle. Any second she'd come at the lock with a buck slug, and the door would fall open like a freaking red carpet.

“Rose Amberdecker!” I yelled. “I got enough ammo to put a hundred holes in you. So you stay the hell out of here, you hear me?”

She fired through the broken window again, but said nothing. I knelt next to Richard. “Can you crawl?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Stay low and follow me.”

“Where are you going?”

“The storage room.”

“But she'll—”

“Not my storage room, she won't.”

There was a shotgun blast at the door, and that was enough for me. I scrambled for the back using the counter as cover, Richard right behind, the bag of bones still clutched in his hand.

Chapter Fifty-two

Rose kicked the door in just as we cleared the threshold of the storage room. I slammed the door behind Richard, listened as the deadbolts engaged with robotic precision, then moved to the far corner, my back against the wall. I kept the .38 out, and I kept it pointed right at him.

Richard took a step in my direction, but I shook my head. “You stay right there, or I'll put a fresh bullet in you.”

Rose kicked at the door, but it wasn't budging. Three more kicks—rapid, violent, wrenching—and then a final thud as she flung her whole body against the door. She shot at the handle, but it held. Another blast and the shrieking alarm ceased. And then I heard Rose's voice on the other side of the wood.

“I got no quarrel with you, girl. You open this door, and you can walk out safe and sound. Richard too. It's the bones I want.”

I ignored her—no way I was falling for that line. I switched the gun to one hand, pulled up the shop's security monitor with the other. One click, and I got a panoramic 360 of the front room, brilliant in the blaze of Richard's headlights, then a quick switch shot to the outside cameras, which were a blizzard of black and white.

Richard pressed his hand against his shoulder. “This is all my fault. I should have seen this coming sooner.”

“Yeah, you should have. But this isn't about you, it's about a whole line of dark-skinned descendants who don't even know they're Amberdeckers.”

He was pale, and in shock, but I saw no surprise on his face.

Anger bloomed in my chest. “You knew all of this too, didn't you?”

He stared at the far wall. “Rose told me that part when I found the bones the first time. She needed me to understand why that second set of bones could never see the light of day. She said it was necessary to protect the family, that if I really cared about her and Evie and Chelsea, I'd do what she asked. And God help me, I almost did it, but I couldn't go through with it. I told Rose I had, though, and she believed me. Until you found the bones in the wall.”

“How did you figure out where Braxton's bones were?”

“Once I decided Lucius hadn't had help that night, I decided he had to have hidden them somewhere near the chapel. And then I remembered the pry bar you found out in the field.”

I remembered it too. Hefty, solid, deadly. “You mean the murder weapon.”

Richard winced. “Yeah. And I wondered why anyone would have needed it. The coffin wasn't locked, and Lucius had Dexter's keys to the chapel.”

“He needed it for the flagstones. To pry them up so that he could hide the bones underneath.”

Richard nodded. “So a couple of hours ago, I drove up through the park and went in the back way, so that Rose wouldn't see me. Found the stone he'd hidden them under first try.” He grimaced and pulled his arm tighter to his chest. “I started putting everything together the night you came to the encampment. I decided Rose must have come for the bones the night of the reburial, to destroy them like she thought I'd destroyed the girl's, and then when she found Lucius there, and an empty coffin, and that pry bar…”

So that was what Trey had seen in Richard's face the night we met him in the woods—the painful growing realization that the woman he'd served for thirty years was a killer.

“I knew Rose was a hard woman, but I never figured she would…” He tilted his head back against the wall, closed his eyes. “I thought I knew her, but I didn't. And I'm done with her.”

I heard regret in his voice, but also the bitterness and anger that come from deep betrayal. And then I understood.

“You're in love with her, aren't you? That's why you've never said anything about any of it.”

“It doesn't matter. We're not getting out of here alive. She's a crack shot. And she's got nothing to lose.”

He didn't look at me, but I could see he was disgusted with himself. Not as disgusted as I was, but pretty disgusted nonetheless. In the hall, Rose rattled the door again, and his attention jerked that way.

“Don't worry,” I said. “That door is UL-rated Level Four, which means Rose isn't getting in without a tank. So settle in. We're going to be here for a while.”

But Richard wasn't going to make it a while, as Rose probably knew. He was still bleeding and getting paler. I pulled Trey's brand new first aid kit from the shelf and kicked it over with my foot.

He reached for the box, looking sad and hurt and angry all at once. “You don't have to stand over there. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“All the same.”

“Tai—”

“I let you in my safe room. That's as far as I'm going. Now get some gauze and bandages and tie that up before you die.”

He got to work clumsily. In the silence I could hear Rose in the shop, opening drawers, rifling through boxes, overturning shelves, looking for anything she could use to get into the room. Richard opened the gauze with his teeth, winced in pain as he fumbled with the wrapping.

I cursed, tucked the gun into the small of my back. “Give me that.”

He did. I pressed the bandage against the seeping hole, then wound the gauze to hold it in place. It was still bleeding profusely, and his skin had gone ashen.

“I figured out that Nate killed Braxton and Josephina,” I said. “Violet knew the whole story too.”

“They've all known the story, Tai. Every generation of them.”

“Evie and Chelsea?”

He shook his head. “No. Rose gave the secret to me instead. And it was going to die with me.”

I felt the anger rise again. “Braxton took a bullet between the eyes. The girl was shot in the back, the ME says. Running for her life. You were good with letting their stories die with you too?”

He shuddered, but not from horror or guilt. He was going down fast. The wound probably wasn't fatal, not of itself, but the loss of blood and rising shock would get him soon. And then I'd have an unconscious person to deal with, and I had enough on my hands. I went back to the door, pressed my ear against it. The shots came fast—pow pow pow—and I jumped back, my heart banging in my chest.

But the door held. Of course it did.

I took my .38 in hand again. At least we had ammo, enough to last till Doomsday.
We,
I thought bitterly. As if Richard were on my side. He was on the side of whoever wasn't trying to kill him. Rose had time on her side—up to a point—so she could afford to be patient and thorough. But she could never be as thorough as Trey. The door would hold. I had faith.

“And Brenda?” I said. “You did figure out that Rose was the one who shot her, right?”

“I had no proof.”

“But you knew.”

He refused to even look at me. “I didn't want to admit it, but yeah. I knew.”

My temper sizzled. “So you know that was supposed to have been me that night, bleeding out on the pavement. How far were you willing to go for her, Richard? What was next, pulling the trigger yourself?”

“Doesn't matter. She's going to kill us both now.”

“Not in this room, she won't.”

Richard coughed, grimaced in pain. I tried to gauge how much blood he'd lost and couldn't, not beneath the heavy coat. I felt the first nibble of fear—maybe he was right, maybe there was no way out.

I pulled my phone out and checked it one more time, but there was still no service. I cursed. “Freaking blizzard.”

Richard screwed up his eyes at me. “That's not why your phone's not working.”

“What do you mean?”

He glared. “How do you think I figured out she was the one who shot Brenda? She stole my jammer, Tai, the one I use in field to keep the boys from using their cell phones. It's how she kept the security system from going off when she broke in, how she planned on keeping you from calling the police.”

I crossed the room quickly and knelt in front of him. “Are you telling me the towers aren't flooded, that the only thing keeping me from calling 911 is your jammer?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

“Where is it?”

“In her truck, most likely.”

“How do you stop it?”

“Push the power button.”

I stood up. Suddenly I had a Plan B. Not that the cops could get to us with the snow screaming down, the roads slick with black ice and blocked with accidents. But if Rose somehow managed to breech the safe room, at least there was a chance…

One the screen, Rose leveled the shotgun and shot at the door again, this time in pure thwarted anger. I watched her pace the front room, running down her options. As long as the police couldn't arrive, it was a standoff, but she was running out of ideas. That was a bad thing. People without ideas were two steps from desperation, and if she got desperate, she'd get reckless.

“It's okay if you run,” Richard said, his voice hoarse. “Your Uncle Dexter—”

“—wouldn't have left you for that crazy woman to murder, and neither am I. Regardless of what went on before, you tried to do right at the end. So—”

And then I heard it. A rustling at the window. A quick look at the screen told me it wasn't Rose, who was still banging around in the front room. I swung the gun toward the window, but I saw nothing except the snow and ice beating against the panes. But then I heard it again. Not a rustling. Three light taps. And then I heard the voice, barely above a whisper.

“Tai! It's me.”

I lowered the gun as disbelief washed over me. “Trey?”