A Grave End

by Wendy Roberts

  “Damn. It’s gotta be Rachel Wu.” I drew in a calming breath before I pushed the weeds away from the window and leaned in for a look.

  A large airbag obscured most of my view but I could make out the body of a young woman slumped to the side in the driver’s seat. Her black hair hung like a sheet obscuring part of her face. What I could see wasn’t pretty. This wasn’t a recent accident. Decay and bugs had found her. To be sure, I pushed a shrub away from the license plate and compared it the number Rachel Wu’s mother had given me. It was a match.

  I released a vivid stream of curses as I stumbled back a few feet and then closed my eyes against a wave of nausea that was quickly followed by the desire for a drink so fierce that I could almost taste it. I did a deep breath calming exercise I’d learned from Dr. Chen, then slowly made my way back up the steep side of the trench to the road. I was surprised when a hand reached out to help me once I was near the top.

  “I heard you swearing so I’m guessing you found what you already knew was there,” Ray asked as I ignored his hand and took the last step up to the roadside.

  I nodded. “Not pretty. Guess she ran her car off the road.” Dragging shaky hands through my hair, I tried desperately to push down the craving for booze. “Thanks for sticking around to make sure I made it back up okay.” I took my cell phone out of my pocket. “But I’m going to call the authorities now. No sense in you hanging around and getting all caught up in the activity.”

  I made the call to 911, and while I gave directions to the location, a cool breeze picked up. My clothes were soaked and I shivered. I pocketed my phone and noticed Ray was still standing there.

  He held out a bottle of water. “Thought after that climb you might be thirsty.”

  “Thanks but I have lots of water in my car.” I pushed back the wet hair from my eyes and then something occurred to me. “You said earlier that you’d offered Roscoe your services. What do you do, Ray?”

  “I’m a bit of a psychic.” He toed the ground sheepishly with his foot. “Nothing like you, of course, but I get the occasional call to help find lost ones.” He walked back to his car and I watched as he opened the console, took something out and then returned to me holding out a business card that read Raymond Hughes—Psychic Medium, Private and group readings!

  Beneath his phone number was an email address and website.

  “Interesting,” I said, unclear of what else I should say when meeting a self-proclaimed psychic. I moved to hand him back the card but he told me to keep it.

  “Maybe we’ll work together sometime. I know you get swamped with requests. As a matter of fact, I emailed you a while back myself and you didn’t reply.”

  “Sorry.” I cringed as I stuffed his card into my pocket. “I’m really not very good at keeping up with my emails. I get so many...”

  “No worries.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled.

  Also, I’ve had to be a bit more careful about who I replied to. A while back I’d had some emails from a “fan” that started off kindly enough but after a few messages had taken a creepy turn, I’d had to block him. Lesson learned.

  “Since we’re in similar lines of work, if you ever need a hand, give me a call.” He smiled. “Like I said, maybe we can work together sometime.”

  “I prefer to work alone, actually.”

  “I respect that.” He nodded enthusiastically. “And I completely understand because it’s hard to work with others when nobody can even begin to understand what we do, right? I know what it’s like to have people not understand my line of work. Believe me.”

  He laughed easily and I found myself smiling back.

  “Sometimes it’s helpful to have a like-minded person to bounce ideas off of, not to mention the fact that we could be sending each other referrals,” Ray added. “Like this one. I told the Wu family to contact you and they did.”

  “Wait. You knew I was looking for Rachel Wu? You told Mrs. Wu to contact me?”

  “Yes, she was on the news making a plea for people to help her find her daughter. I reached out and offered my psychic services. After giving her a reading, I felt strongly that her daughter had passed, and she felt the same way, so I told her she may want to look into contacting you.” He smiled. “I’m glad she did. Feel free to call me if you ever need help with a case and want some input.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the offer.”

  He wiped his hand on his pants and then stuck it out for me. “Do you mind?”

  I thought he was asking to shake my hand. I transferred my rods into my left hand and stuck out my right. Immediately he wrapped both his hands around mine and gave a gentle squeeze. His eyes were closed and his face tilted to the gray sky.

  “You’re worried about Wayland,” he muttered.

  I yanked my hand from his and stared openmouthed. “What the hell?”

  “Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Just felt the urge to give a quick read and that’s what popped into my head.” He hooked his thumb in the direction of his car. “I’m going to head out. You’ve got my card so—”

  “Yeah. I’ve got it.” I hurried back to my Jeep, climbed inside and locked the doors. After I started it up, I cranked the heat. As I watched Ray drive away, I hugged myself to infuse some warmth. Even with the seat warmer and fan on high I was chilled to my soul.

  You’re worried about Wayland.

  The words were like a jolt of electricity and they triggered a vision in my head.

  The pub was dimly lit and I sat in a dark booth in the corner. There was a glass of wine in front of me and I was so hammered that I tried to push it away so as not to drink more. Some of the wine sloshed on my hand as I moved the glass, and I brought my fingers to my lips to lick away the sweetness.

  The memory brought on a wave of nausea that caused me to briefly clutch my stomach. Wayland Canteen was a drinking establishment a couple miles from my house. About six months ago, I’d had a setback. I hadn’t had a drink in a long time but one day the dark, quicksand thoughts of my abusive childhood clamored so loud inside me that I’d sought solace at the bottom of a bottle. I wish I could remember the details of that night because it felt like I was forgetting something important, but I’d been blackout drunk and it blurred away the night. As a recovering alcoholic, I had a laundry list of shame, but right now that night topped the list.

  After the Wayland incident I did the mental work. I returned to seeing my psychiatrist, Dr. Chen, on a weekly basis. I journaled and meditated and listened to self-help audio books until I could recite them verbatim. I also doted on Garrett and did housework like a nineteen-fifties housewife as I tried to atone for my sins.

  When Ray Hughes grabbed my hand and said the word Wayland, it was like he reached right inside me and brought all that sin out for the world to see. I shuddered and guiltily fumbled with my phone to dial Garrett. He picked up on the first ring. I told him about my visit to Ozette Corrections Center and about how I hadn’t decided yet about taking Roscoe’s case to find Alice’s body.

  “What else is going on?” Garrett asked. “You sound...upset.”

  “Yeah, I was just going to tell you I found a body on my way home. A few minutes before the Hood Canal Bridge. My rods moved so I pulled over and went to look in the ditch. I found my client’s daughter. Looks like Rachel Wu drove off the road, and she’s been there a while.” The words came out in a rush.

  “Are you okay? You called it in?”

  “Just waiting for the law to arrive,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I could hear the worry in his tone and felt the shame of putting it there.

  “I’m absolutely positive.” I infused my voice with confidence to wipe away his concern. “Just a little cold and damp from wading in the wet weeds.”

  I wasn’t okay. Ray reaching into my reprehensible soul had shaken me, but I
didn’t share with Garrett about meeting Ray or what he’d picked up from clutching my hand. I didn’t want to bring up my disgraceful night from a few months ago, but I knew what Garrett was thinking—what he was probably always thinking: would I reach for a drink again today?

  “After I’m done here, I’m stopping in to visit Tracey. We’re going to have a cookie-baking marathon.” There was forced cheeriness in my voice.

  “That sounds great.”

  I could hear him exhale worry and I felt awful for putting it there in the first place. He kept me on the phone a little longer until a police car pulled up behind me and I told him I had to go. We ended our call with our usual I-love-yous.

  I introduced myself to the officer and explained how I found a body using my dowsing rods. He didn’t look skeptical or even pepper me with questions. Over the past few years I’d built a considerable and constructive reputation in Washington State and most of the law knew me.

  We walked in the rain toward where I’d gone down the embankment into the ditch. I pointed to give him an indication of where he’d find the car and warned him about the slippery slope going down. I offered to go with him, but he insisted he’d be okay.

  A minute later I heard crashing in the bushes below and guessed the officer must’ve lost his footing down the slope. By the sound of his cursing I figured he was all right. A little while later I heard startled and more creative swear words and guessed he found the car and the body. It wasn’t long before the officer had scrambled his way back up to the roadside. He was now sweaty, his knees muddy and his face more than a little pale. He only gave me a brief nod as he walked over to his vehicle and got on his radio.

  The rest was a repeat of what I was used to. Other officers arrived followed by the investigative unit. I told my story a couple times and provided a complete statement and all my contact information before I was allowed to leave.

  All the persons who arrived spoke about the same assumption: it looked as though the driver didn’t make the turn and her car rolled down the embankment. Also, based on how the body looked and the fact that the brush and grasses weren’t bent or crushed in any way leading to the car, she’d been there a few weeks at least.

  By the time I was driving onto the ferry, the sun was going down, revealing streaks of pink between the clouds. Even though the air was cold I once again stood on the deck of the boat, relishing the numbing of my face and hands during the half hour crossing of Puget Sound. I called Rachel Wu’s mother and told her about finding her daughter. The woman’s broken sob on the line hit me in the gut.

  After, as I hit the road in Edmonds, it wasn’t just the face of the dead woman that was filling my thoughts. I was also running through what psychic Ray had said to me.

  You’re worried about Wayland.

  His words soured my gut the rest of my journey home. It wasn’t until I was pulling into my driveway hours later that I remembered that I’d planned on stopping at Tracey’s to bake cookies.

  I called her and tried to get out of it by telling her I’d already been gone too long and needed to make sure Wookie got out for a walk. She listened patiently about finding the victim on the side of the road and made all the appropriate sympathetic noises.

  “You need a distraction and baking these cookies will help.”

  “I really don’t feel like visiting. Can we do it another day? I’m tired from driving all day.”

  “I’ll come to you. These cookie pucks can travel. Set your oven to three fifty. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  With a relenting laugh I ended the call and took Wookie for a jog to the green space at the end of our street. Tracey was waiting on my front steps and talking with my neighbor, Preston, when I got back. Tracey was my age but had the heart of someone much younger and today sported lime-green tips in her hair that made her look even younger.

  “Garrett mentioned he was going out of town for a couple days,” Preston said with an easy smile. “Thought I’d just check to see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine.”

  My tone was clipped. Preston was a fellow FBI agent, and while he and his husband were nice enough, I suspected he was checking on me for Garrett and making sure I was sober. I hated that it was necessary.

  “If you don’t mind...” I nodded to Tracey. “We have cookies to bake.”

  “I’ll drop some off before I leave,” Tracey told him cheerily. “As long as we don’t eat them all.”

  “Somehow I doubt we’re going to eat them all.”

  As we stepped inside the house, Tracey paused to pat Wookie formally on the head and he eagerly licked her hand in return. There had been a time when Tracey was so terrified of dogs she wouldn’t come inside my house, but after Wookie risked his own life to save her, she’d accepted my rottweiler and all his slobbery kisses.

  “Who knows how many cookies it’s going to take to get that look off your face.” Tracey kicked off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen. “You’re strung so tight it looks like you’re about to snap.”

  “I’m just...” I thought briefly of telling her about my encounter with Ray, but that would mean sharing my shame regarding my Wayland drunk, and I’d hidden that from my friend. Instead, I gave her a few more details about finding the body off the road and blamed my uneasiness on that incident.

  “That’s horrible that someone would die like that and lie in the ditch without anyone finding them for so long. Who knows how long that car would’ve been there if your rods hadn’t sounded the alarm?”

  She tsked as she searched my cupboards for a cookie sheet and finally found one. It was new. When Garrett and I set up house together it was one of the things I bought but I hadn’t magically turned into a baking genius despite the tools that sat waiting.

  “You think she fell asleep at the wheel or was drunk?” Tracey removed the price sticker and then washed and dried the pan.

  “No way of knowing.”

  I walked over to help her line the pan with the frozen circles of cookie dough and then I changed the topic by talking to her about my visit to Ozette Corrections Center.

  “It sucks that you have to go up to Blaine to search for the body.” Tracey slid the tray into the oven and set the timer. “I know that’s going to be hard because you hate going to the area where you grew up.”

  “Exactly why I haven’t agreed to do it.”

  “Oh, you’re going to do it all right.” She scooped up my cat, Fluffy, and began snuggling the cat against his will. “You never talk about a case unless you’ve already made up your mind you’re going to do it.”

  She was right. Somewhere Alice’s body was abandoned minus her thumb. She deserved to find her way home.

  Chapter Three

  We sat at the table eating cookies that were still warm and gooey from the oven.

  “You’ve got a real worried look on your face,” Tracey said around a mouthful of cookie.

  “Not worried. Just curious...”

  I pushed the cookies away because the sugary sweetness was turning my stomach. Or maybe the queasiness was Raymond Hughes. I decided to risk bringing up the meeting to Tracey without sharing the part about Wayland.

  “Do you believe in psychics?”

  “Well, I believe in you.” She playfully punched me in the arm. “Aren’t you a psychic?”

  I’d never thought of myself that way. Sure I found bodies using dowsing rods and that was a pretty weird and unique talent, but it felt different.

  “What about the kind of psychic medium who can grab your hand and tell your future?” I swallowed. “Or your past?”

  “Last year my mom and I went to get a reading from this old lady in Bremerton. For fifty bucks she’d tell you your future.”

  “And?”

  “She told my mom she was going to take a long trip and she told me I was going to join a gym and get ph
ysically fit.”

  “Oh.” I laughed a little because her mom hated to travel and Tracey had a connective tissue disorder that made working out nearly impossible. “I guess your psychic was a flake.”

  “You could say that.” Tracey bit into another cookie. “But my mom did go to Hawaii with my aunt at Christmas and I guess you could call that a long trip. Also I go to physical therapy a couple times a week and you could call that a gym.” She shrugged. “So who knows? Maybe it’s all in how you hear it.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck and frowned as I thought about Ray and his knowledge of my binge at the Wayland Canteen.

  “If you’re thinking of going to see a psychic, then take me with you.” She got up from the table and began putting most of the cookies from the cooling rack into a large paper sack. “I’d love to get a reading where I’m told I’m gonna meet someone tall, dark and handsome. Or even someone short, blond and average.”

  Tracey had broken up with her boyfriend a few weeks ago and was feeling the sting of loneliness.

  “You’ll meet someone. You don’t need a psychic to tell you that.”

  “Maybe.” Tracey yawned and stretched. “I’m going to drop these cookies off to Preston on my way out. I left a dozen for you and Garrett.”

  “Aren’t you taking some for yourself?”

  “I’ve still got a bunch in my freezer.” She cringed and patted her stomach. “But I’ve eaten enough now that I’m not even tempted by those.” We hugged at the door and she rubbed my back. “If you need someone to go with you when you drive to Blaine, just say the word.”

  I thanked her and after Tracey left I opened my laptop and googled Raymond Hughes psychic medium. He had some good reviews and a somewhat active social media account. His website was simple, giving contact information for readings. I clicked on his bio and a large picture of him popped on the screen and his brown eyes seemed to bore right into me. The hairs on my arms prickled and I quickly closed the screen.