Eighth Grave After Dark (22 page)

Silence.

“Angry, Howard. It makes me feel angry.”

“If they find out—”

“You'll lose your job?” I scoffed. “You're about to lose it anyway. You've been busted by your mark. A mark who is going to rain hellfire down on your boss's city. How do you think that will end?”

“I'm just an observer. I don't do research.”

“Bullshit. Try again.”

He sat thinking over his options, but the fact was, he didn't have any. Not if he didn't want to lose his cushy job.

“O—”

Before he could even finish the
okay
part, I said, “Get that picture you have of my dad and that other man to my uncle tonight and find out about the nun and the priest. You have two hours.”

When I was met with only silence again, I said, “Howard, give the phone back to my uncle now. You're burning moonlight.”

“What did he say?” Uncle Bob asked as he walked away from Howard. I could hear his footsteps in the background. “Is he going to cooperate?”

“He didn't have anything to do with Dad's death, but I think he might have a photo of someone who did. Dad seemed to be confronting a guy, and they both looked angry. He's going to give you that photo, but you have to let him go. Like immediately.” I was so excited to be getting somewhere on my dad's case, I didn't want to waste another moment.

“You got it, pumpkin. What are you going to say if Reyes finds out you've been working on this case? He is afraid doing so will put you in danger.”

“He won't find out. Don't worry about me.”

“I like him. He's … a good man.”

“Thanks, Ubie. I like him, too.”

“Oh!” I almost forgot. “I'm sure he already knows it, but make sure Howard has my phone number. I'm expecting a call.”

“Do I need to stay on him?” he asked.

“I don't think so. Once you get that photo and anything else he has on Dad, you need to come have sex with your wife.”

“Charley,” he said, and I could almost feel his cheeks heat up.

“I'm telling you, she's out here with three—no, four if you count Quentin, which why wouldn't you?—of the sexiest men on the planet. Just sayin'.”

“I'll be there in an hour.”

“It takes an hour to get here and you still have to get that photo.”

“That's what sirens and flashing lights are for.”

 

10

PEOPLE WILL STOP ASKING QUESTIONS

IF YOU ANSWER BACK IN INTERPRETIVE DANCE.

—T-SHIRT

I decided to work on the door to the locked closet again while I waited for Vatican Boy's phone call. He'd better come through, or I was totally marking him. Not with anything bad. I'd give him a designation like head toilet bowl cleaner at the Pit, Albuquerque's sports complex. Man, that would suck. Though I was pretty sure the designation thing didn't exactly work that way, it was a thought.

I walked to the laundry room, this time with a flashlight, and studied the door from top to bottom. How was it even locked? There was no doorknob, no latch. And what would be the purpose of it locking from the inside? Then the occupant couldn't get out.

I gasped. That was it. Maybe someone was locked inside and they'd suffocated or starved to death. Maybe it was the priest. Maybe that was how he'd vanished.

This was getting exciting. I lowered myself onto all fours and shone the light under the door, hoping to catch a glimpse inside. Nothing. It was sealed tight.

Beep decided to practice the splits while I was down there. I crawled to the washing machine for leverage. Getting up was not so easy as it had once been. But since I was already in the vicinity, I decided to do a load of laundry.

Denise's voice scared the crap out of me. I startled when she said, “I was going to do that. I'm washing all the baby stuff and getting it ready.”

“Wow, you don't give up, do you?”

“I have no intention of losing you.”

Gemma was right. I felt Denise's loneliness cut through to my marrow. But whose freaking fault was that?

“Is Gemma with you?”

“No, I drove. Your friend Lando Calrissian gave me a room. It has a cot.”

“Lando?”

“Long black hair, looks like he's still in high school?”

“Osh. His name is Osh. Lando is—”

“I know who Lando is.”

“Oh. Well—”

“Are you taking your vitamins?”

“Yup.”

She nodded. “Have you had cramping? Any spotting?”

“Nope.” When she only nodded again, I said, “Okay, then. I'm going to go … do stuff. Other stuff. Somewhere else.”

I couldn't miss the relief she felt when I didn't throw her out. I was not forgiving her. I refused. But she could do my laundry if she wanted. And, maybe, help with Beep when she arrived. All babies need a grandmother.

“You should get some rest,” she said.

“I'm waiting on a phone call about a case. But the minute I get it—”

“A case? You're still working cases?”

“'Parently.”

She started to chastise me. I could see it on her face. She wore scorn like a trophy wife wore Louis Vuitton. Instead, she lifted a shirt out of a laundry basket that said
DEAR DIARY, HAD TO CUT A BITCH TODAY
and didn't say a word. No terms of aghastment. No scathing remark. It was weird, and I was more convinced than ever that she was possessed.

I decided to wait for the call in the theater room, which was really a few chairs and a television. I ended up curled into a recliner and watching an episode of
Andy Griffith
when my husband walked in. I eyed him. Yep, I could do him again.

He walked into the theater wearing the lounge pants and nothing else. Even his feet were sexy. But now I understood the scruffiness of his appearance. The sleep-deprived features.

“You're not coming back up?” he asked.

“I'm waiting for a call.”

He nodded, picked up a magazine with Oprah on the cover, and sat in the chair beside me. “You know,” he said right as Opie was going to knock some birds out of a tree. Such a bad boy. “You can tell me anything.”

I snorted. “No, I can't.”

He stopped and gave me his full attention. “Why would you say that?”

He was magnificent, and I didn't want to disappoint him. But now was as good a time as any. The thought of what I was about to do to him—to us—saddened me. I was about to turn his world upside down, but he needed to know what I'd done.

My nerves jumped to attention. My heart raced. He would hate me come morning. But where could he go? We'd be stuck in the same house for God knew how long, hating each other. Or, well, him hating me. I could never hate him. Not even if he ate the last Oreo, though that would be pushing it. “What if I told you—?”

My phone rang. I paused midsentence, swallowed back my fear, and picked up my phone. I had been given a momentary stay of execution, and I damned well was going to take it.

“It's Howard,” the voice on the other end said.

“I figured as much. What did you find out?”

“There was a novice there, about to take her vows when she accused a priest of molesting her.”

“Let me guess, the priest who went missing.”

“Yes. But nothing ever came of her charges, and there's nothing about anyone dying there. Not a young nun anyway. The novice was excommunicated.”

“Of course, she was.” I stood and paced the room. “Coming forward to accuse a priest of misconduct back then usually meant excommunication.” That would explain why her death had not been recorded. But how did she die? Did the priest kill her and then disappear? “What was her name?”

“Bea Heedles.”

“Sister Bea?”

“I think she went by Sister Beatrice. So, is that all?” he asked.

“Did you get the picture to my uncle?”

The moment I asked, I heard a car pull up. That would be Ubie.

Reyes stood to open the door.

“Yes. I did as you asked.” I could hear the resentment in his voice.

“Okay, then answer me this: Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does the Vatican—I mean, seriously,
the Vatican
—have a file on me?”

“I'm just the observer,” he said, trying to pull that innocent-as-the-driven crap again.

“Howard, if this relationship is going to work, we have to be honest with each other. So I, honestly, will let your heart keep beating if you stop bullshitting me.”

He took a long moment to get back to me. When he did, his voice was a tad more reverent than before. I'd take it.

“All I know is that you are of interest to them. They— They have prophecies, and apparently when you were born, all the predictions started to come true.”

“How did they find out about me in the first place?”

“We have people, too,” he said. “People like you. People with gifts. They, they saw you, I guess.”

I knew that they paid very close attention to what Sister Mary Elizabeth had to say. They'd wanted her in Italy when she was a novice, but she wanted to stay in New Mexico, near the girl causing all the uproar in heaven. Were there more like her?

“What about you? Do you have gifts?”

“No,” he said.

Uncle Bob came in, gave me a peck on the cheek, then went upstairs to find his wife. Cookie was about to get a nice surprise. Reyes walked up behind me and draped his arms over the back of the recliner so he could rub my Beep bump. His hands felt wonderful. His heat soothing.

“What about other … people like me?” I asked. “Do you know about them?”

“There are no other people like you.”

“No, I mean, what about other people they observe. How many are there?”

“Look, I was hired to observe you and report back. That's it.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“I know that your husband is special, too.”

He had that right. He was busy nibbling on my earlobe, causing ripples of pleasure to race over my skin.

“Do you know what he is?”

“I know that he's from hell.”

I stilled. That was more than I thought he'd know. “Is the Vatican aware?”

He'd grown more hesitant as the conversation wore on. I sensed a spark of fear in his voice, but he soldiered on. “Everything about you goes into my reports.”

“Will they take any action?” What would they do, really? What could they do? But I needed to know if this was going to be an issue.

“I have no idea. I don't have that kind of clearance.”

I believed him. I also believed that this guy was going to come in handy.

“Howard,” I said, letting a smile spread across my face. “I think we're going to have a long and beautiful relationship.”

“But I thought—”

“How many years have you been stalking me?”

After another long pause, he said, “Observing. Seven.”

Holy cow, how did I not know these things? I was so oblivious sometimes. “Then the way I see it, you owe me seven years of indentured servitude.”

“Crap,” he said.

“You'll be like a double agent. It'll be fun!”

“I'm going to hell.”

“Not anytime soon, you're not. I need you, buddy. It's you and me against the world. Oh, hey, so do you know how to kill a hellhound?”

*   *   *

Determined to stay up with Reyes—if he couldn't sleep, I couldn't sleep—I fell asleep in the theater room about five minutes after we snuggled together and he started rubbing my Beep bump again. I remember being lifted—and thankful that I was only dreaming that I was being airlifted—and carried to our room. I woke up a few hours later to an empty bed.

The sun was just breaching the horizon when I put on my robe and padded down the hall to find the community toilet. I peed and was in the process of brushing my teeth when I looked out the postage stamp window. I had a view from the back of the house. All the wedding goers had left and only an occasional flower or silken streamer remained as evidence of Cookie's special day.

I started back for the mirror, as my tongue was on fire—freaking cinnamon toothpaste—when I noticed a movement along the tree line. It was Reyes and he was sneaking out. To go fight another hellhound? Hadn't he proved that dragging them onto sacred ground wouldn't kill them? Maybe he was meeting that traitor Angel again.

I rinsed and spit, waving a hand in front of my face as I rushed into the darkened bedroom to throw on some clothes and hurried down the stairs. Denise was up, making breakfast. I ran, kind of, past her, then stopped and turned.

“You made bacon?” I asked, my mouth watering.

“It's veggie bacon.”

“Isn't that an oxymoron?”

“Do you want to try it?”

I eyed it distrustfully. “I'm not sure.”

“Sit down, I'll fix you a plate.”

“No time. I have to catch my husband in the act.” In the act of what, I had no idea, but I was damned well about to find out.

She pursed her lips as I grabbed a piece and ran, kind of, out the door. “Okay, I'll keep it warm,” she said.

“Thanks!” I said, not too loud, though. I had to be like a grasshopper on the wind. No! I had to
be
the wind.

Initializing stealth mode: now.

I skirted the tree line to get to where I'd been the day before. I had a pretty good view from there. I really just wanted to make sure my psychotic, sleep-deprived husband wasn't wrestling hellhounds. That would have been such a great metaphor if it weren't real. I'd have to remember it. Use it metaphorically later.

I climbed through the trees, all the while keeping a sharp eye on the drop-off. It still boggled my mind that Reyes didn't notice me right off. If I was so bright, how could he miss me? But there he was, walking through the clearing that was supposedly beyond the border. Freaking Osh. He'd been in on whatever was going on from the first.