The Dirt on Ninth Grave

by Darynda Jones

  But if I had to fess up, I had to fess up. I hadn’t heard back from the FBI agent. She’d sounded competent enough on the phone, but she could’ve been dealing with political red tape.

  I had no red tape. I didn’t even have any clear tape or duct tape or electrical tape.

  Nope. I lived a tape-free life and liked it. Unless, you know, I needed to tape something.

  I lay across Denzel and fantasized about plunging my fingers into a head of thick black hair. Of running them over the top of a damp white towel wrapped around a backdrop of dark, sinuous muscles. Of pressing my lips against a full mouth that defined the word sexy. I’d barely gotten my legs around Reyes’s waist when a knock sounded at the door.

  The fantasy incarnate stood on the other side when I opened it.

  Guilt consumed me. “You can’t read minds, can you?” I asked, suddenly aghast at the thought. He was otherworldly. Who knew what he could do?

  He flashed a set of blindingly white teeth. “Not that I know of.”

  “Swear?”

  After settling his tall frame against the doorjamb and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Pinky swear.”

  Good enough for me.

  He wore a beige sweater with the sleeves pushed up and dark, loose-fitting jeans. He looked like a model for some expensive cologne.

  “I thought we could go to breakfast instead.”

  Elation bounced through me like a rubber ball. “Wait, won’t you be late for work?”

  “I don’t think Dixie will care.”

  “Do you know Dixie?” She was all kinds of wonderful, but forgiving of tardiness was not her strong suit.

  “I’ve gotten to know her pretty well. I think I can risk it.”

  “Okay,” I said, adding an it’s-your-funeral tone to my voice. “Just let me get your jacket.”

  He stepped inside to close the door against the cold wind rushing in and seemed to take special note of the surroundings. Until that moment, I’d never noticed how dreary my apartment was. Or how much the floors creaked. Or how the wind whistled through the ill-fitting windows.

  Then again, he lived in a motel. A dive motel at that. How much greater could he have it? Not a lot. And that made me feel better.

  “Where were you thinking?” I asked when I walked out of my bedroom with his jacket.

  He was checking out the kitchen. My massive supply of coffee cups, all five of them, and my two plastic cups sat on a dish towel. I’d had to put a piece of cardboard over a broken pane over the sink. Something else I’d have to explain to my landlord. My coffeepot was one of those tiny hotel types that did single serve, but that was cool. At least I had one. And a cupboard that was missing a door showed the extent of my food stores, which mainly consisted of saltines, peanut butter, half a box of cereal, and a tube of eyeliner that I’d been looking everywhere for.

  His demeanor had changed. He seemed … upset. Angry even.

  “Reyes?” I followed his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

  He pushed the sleeve of his sweater down to cover his Rolex, the one I was pretty sure was genuine. Did he feel sorry for me? Need I remind him that he lived in a motel? A dive motel? And that the Rolex he was now wearing could probably pay for a fairly decent house? Or at least put a nice down payment on one?

  I took a deep breath and chastised myself for judging him. I didn’t know his financial situation or his family situation. He could’ve still been married. Had a kid even. Or several. Who knew? Maybe his dad gave him that watch or his grandfather on his deathbed. Who was I to question him? To speculate?

  “You’re amazing,” he said, and that certainly wasn’t the direction I’d expected.

  I snorted. “Because I live in squalor? I have it a thousand times better than James over there.” I pointed in the homeless man’s general direction.

  I pulled the sturdier of my two chairs to the center of the room, a challenging grin sliding across my face. “Ready for round two and a half?” Since our first round didn’t quite go as planned, it still deserved half a mark for effort. Luckily our second was pretty fucking spectacular.

  The hungry look that overcame him told me that he most definitely was. He let his gaze wander the length of me before sitting down.

  Reaching down into his pocket, I said, “I don’t have a timer.” I took out his phone and set his timer for fifteen minutes.

  “I can’t wait to get my hands on that ass,” he said.

  I straddled him and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’ll finish you first.”

  One corner of his sensuous mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. “Not this time, sweetheart.”

  Oh, it was on.

  19

  I don’t like making plans for the day.

  Because then the word “premeditated” gets thrown around the courtroom.

  —INTERNET MEME

  After the most incredible breakfast I’d had in ages, I untangled Reyes’s limbs from mine, crawled off the bed, and sought out his phone. It was still in the kitchen, the timer still going off. I hit the STOP button right when a text dinged. The message flashed across the screen, so it wasn’t like I was snooping. It was from Garrett Swopes. The same Garrett Swopes that came into the café?

  It read simply, You need to check this guy out. He’s the only unknown in the area.

  Intrigued, and now truly snooping, I tapped the message. It brought up a picture of a half-fallen storage shed with cardboard boxes inside. It was James’s place right across the street.

  I looked toward the bedroom. Toward Reyes. Why would they be checking out a homeless guy?

  * * *

  An hour later, after we’d made a picnic of crackers and peanut butter on top of Denzel—aka, the second most incredible breakfast I’d had in ages—we headed to the café.

  “Is Erin working today?” Reyes asked me.

  “I don’t know,” I said, curious about the inquiry.

  We walked in, and Reyes had been right. Dixie wasn’t the least bit concerned at how late he was.

  I glared at him. “Are you trading sexual favors with our boss for special consideration and advancement opportunities you are under qualified for?”

  A lopsided grin spread over his face. “No.”

  “Oh. I was going to say that if that’s what it takes, I’d do ’er.”

  “What about Cookie?”

  “I’d do her, too, but I don’t think it would get me very far with Dixie. Unless, you know, she was into that sort of thing.”

  He let out a soft laugh. “I meant, is she working today?”

  “Oh, right. Looks like it.” She walked out of the bathroom, a mortified expression on her face, her blouse splotched with dark espresso. “Short controlled bursts,” I reminded her.

  She gave me a murderous glare worthy of Lizzie Borden.

  “That color looks great on you,” I said, trying to help.

  That time, she flipped me off. I decided to stop while I was ahead.

  Reyes wrapped his arms loosely around me and pulled me closer. “You need to come back for lunch if you can.”

  “I bet I can,” I said, intrigued.

  “I think you’ll like what I have in store for you.”

  “Okay, but it can’t be better than posole for breakfast.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  “I can hardly wait. And looks like she is.”

  He turned to see what I was talking about as Erin walked in, looking both haggard and … at ease. Reyes gave me a sweet kiss, just enough to get my juices flowing, then went to the kitchen to start his day. Erin walked over to me. Francie was already there, and she watched us with a certain kind of bloodlust in her eyes.

  When, without saying a word, Erin hugged me, I thought Francie’s jaw would fall off it dropped so hard.

  Erin set me at arm’s length but again said nothing, and I realized she couldn’t. She was too choked up. Too grateful.

  “You’re welcome,” I said, giving her hands a squeeze. “I’m so
happy for you, Erin.”

  “I am, too,” she said with a hiccup of emotion. “I can never repay you.”

  “What? Erin, no. Please, please, please, don’t ever feel like you owe me.”

  “Okay.” She sniffed. “I’ll try, but just so you know, Billy has vowed to build you a gnarly hog when he gets the money to.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “He loves motorcycles.”

  “Well, tell him thanks, but he needs to save that for Hannah’s college fund. I have a feeling she’s going to be incredibly artistic.”

  Just as I was about to lose all hope of seeing Mr. P today, in he walked with the stripper in tow. Or, with Helen in tow. I’d gotten to know her a little more over the last few days. She had a great sense of humor and offered me some tips from her hooking days. I’d used one on Reyes last night, and he almost came unglued. I totally owed her.

  “Hey, Mr. P,” I said as he sat in a booth. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  “Well, hello there to you, too, and of course. Sounds serious.”

  Francie took his order as I settled in across from him.

  “Do you know the Vandenbergs?”

  He nodded. “Not well, but I do know William from the club.”

  “The country club?”

  He snorted. “No, the strip club. The one in Tarrytown.”

  Helen suddenly made a lot more sense.

  “Mr. V goes to strip clubs?” I asked, trying not to look too surprised.

  “Only with his wife. It’s her idea, I think.”

  When I had an even harder time getting past that, he added, “Don’t worry. They’re not swingers or anything. Just like to appreciate what God put on the earth every once in a while. And I promise you me, that woman did not leave him.”

  Finally, someone immune to the gossipmongers. “I don’t think she did either. Do you know if they have a cabin?”

  “Oh, gosh, I just don’t know, hon.”

  My hopes fled the scene like a parolee at a busted meth lab. I took out the picture I’d grabbed out of Mr. V’s store.

  “Does this area look familiar?”

  “Looks like it might be up at Blue Mountain Lake, but I can’t be sure.”

  “It’s Lake Oscawana,” Helen said, taking a look herself. “That’s Doc Emmett’s place. I been there plenty. Lots of floor space.”

  “Sorry I can’t be of more help,” Mr. P said, and I got the bizarre feeling that he wasn’t. “Why are you asking?”

  Excitement swelled inside me nonetheless. Helen knew. “Oh, I just love the area,” I said, lying through my teeth. “And I thought if this was their cabin, I might ask to rent it for a weekend.”

  “Good idea, Janey. Get out of the city. Get some fresh air.”

  “Exactly. Well, thanks anyway.”

  I got up and motioned for Helen to join me in the little niñas’ room. She did, and five minutes later, working from her verbal directions, I had a crude map of the area. I also knew that while Helen was her first name, her stage name was Helen Bedd, and that Mr. V’s friend Doc Emmett liked fine whiskies, lap dances, and hunting. He’d gone hunting, in fact, last week, and nobody had seen him since.

  * * *

  Using Helen’s map, I took the Taconic State Parkway for about forty-five minutes to Lake Oscawana, where Doc Emmett’s cabin sat nestled on the waterfront. I drove around the lake to the northeast shore, taking this turn and that, until I finally found Chippewa Road. The cabin I sought was somewhere on that road, but it was broad daylight. Well, cloudy-with-a-chance-of-rain daylight. I couldn’t just drive up there and ask if the Vandenbergs were home. I’d been hoping an idea would magically pop into my head as I drove. Sadly, nothing popped, magical or otherwise. I’d just have to do some recon and see what I could see. Hopefully, without getting anyone killed.

  I parked the Fiesta and hiked up the road, passing by a house now and again, but nothing that looked like the cabin in the picture. I was beginning to worry Helen had been wrong when I spotted a canoe I’d seen in one of Mr. V’s photos. The cabin looked different. It could have been the starkness of the forest as compared to the lush greens of the summer camping pictures they’d taken.

  Either way, this had to be the place. By the time I found the cabin, I was too close. They would look out a window and spot me, if they hadn’t already. I didn’t see any vehicles, but they could have had them all parked out back. I walked until I could no longer see any part of the cabin, then doubled back, taking a trail that led farther inland. If I circled around, I might spot cars or other outbuildings where they could have stashed cars.

  I fought the cold with my evolved powers of shivering. As I got closer, every twig that snapped under my feet, every branch that broke as I picked my way through the brush, seemed to echo across the land to announce my arrival. I was scratching the heck out of Reyes’s jacket. Maybe he’d like it even better. It now had a cool “worn” look. People paid out the ass for that crap.

  Hidden by a hill behind the cabin sat two vehicles. The pickup they’d used the other day to bring in the equipment and an older-model PT Cruiser. That had to be Mr. V’s. It just looked like him.

  Without having thought to hunt down a pair of binoculars, I had no way of getting a closer look. So I squinted really hard and saw no movement. Their vehicles were not proof that the Vandenbergs were out here. I needed something good to give Agent Carson. I took a couple of pictures on the phone, then used the camera to zoom in. The picture was so blurry, I still couldn’t make out anything.

  I did, however, notice a man sitting in the brush south of the house. He looked like a hunter. Great. Now I had to worry about being mistaken for a deer. If only Angel were here.

  “What are we looking at?”

  I squeaked and jumped thirty-seven feet in the air. Angel had appeared beside me and was now laughing at my reaction. I held one hand on my chest, the other over my mouth so as not to squeak again.

  “You are so jumpy, chica. People like you make life worth living.”

  “This coming from a dead kid,” I said in a loud whisper.

  “True. We looking for dead people again?”

  “I’m hoping, if the Vandenbergs are in there, they are very much alive. Can you check?”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “Your ability to talk in a normal voice.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  I grabbed his arm, clawing at it, digging my nails into his skin as hard as I could.

  “I get it. I get it,” he said, falling to his knees.

  I let go, and he cradled his injured arm, blowing on the marks I’d left.

  I glanced at him. “People’s lives are at stake, Angel. And all you can worry about is your angle. Your cut.”

  “I’m thirteen.”

  He had a point. “Look, I’m sorry, just go see if the Vandenbergs are there.” When he glared back at me, I added, “Please.”

  He disappeared. I tried to calm down, but I was cold and tired and hungry. And more than a little worried about Mr. V, Natalie, Joseph, and Jasmine.

  Just then I heard a low thud. Nothing too spectacular, but the energy that hit me almost bowled me over. A wall of fear hit me head-on, and I knew before Angel got back that Mr. V and his family were in there. Was the sound a gunshot?

  I stood and started for the cabin. Soon I was sprinting. I would have run right up to the door and burst through it if Angel hadn’t tackled me to the ground.

  We rolled in the brush, and I fought him, trying to get to that family. To those kids.

  “Stop it, damn it,” Angel said, pinning me down.

  I kicked out and tried to claw at him again.

  “They’re okay, Janey. They’re alive.”

  “What was that sound?” I asked, frantic.

  “Mrs. V dropped a pan. The bad guys got mad. They’re okay.”

  I stopped struggling and lay in his arms, trying to calm my breathing. Then I realized how stupid what I’d j
ust done really was. I could’ve gotten them all killed. I put a hand over my eyes as they stung with emotion.

  Angel pulled me tighter. I let him.

  Now I had another big fat dilemma. I’d gotten too close to the house. If they hadn’t seen me already, they very well could when I got up. At the moment, I was hidden by the tall vegetation, but I couldn’t stay there until nightfall. I needed to get them help.

  “Are they okay?” I asked Angel. “Even the kids?”

  “They’re alive.”

  “If only I had a way to—” My eyes flew open. I had a phone. I could call … who? I didn’t have anyone’s number, and it wasn’t like there was a directory for cell numbers. Not that I knew of.

  We were close enough to the house to hear yelling. I cringed when a man’s voice speaking Farsi wafted toward me.

  “I don’t know what to do, Angel.”

  “Me neither.”

  Just when the voices in the house quieted down, my phone rang. At first, I didn’t recognize the sound. Then I realized my pocket was ringing. I scrambled to answer it, hoping the captors hadn’t heard. Who would be calling? No one had this number.

  “Hello?”

  A woman spoke into the phone, her voice calm, soothing. “Janey? What are you doing?”

  I blinked in thought. “Um, nothing.”

  “You’re not lying by a cabin that may or may not have the Vandenbergs held hostage inside?”

  I bolted upright, but Angel tackled me to the ground again. He was right. That was a bad move. Damned reflexes.

  “Agent Carson?”

  “The one and only. And where are you supposed to be?”

  It took me a moment, but I answered, “Anywhere but here?”

  “Brava. You get to move on to the bonus round.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In a very well-thought-out covert position. Unlike, say, you. I had two units that were ready to move until you showed up. I can guarantee, you will also be arrested the minute I can get my hands on you.” She was so testy.