“I didn’t say that. I can’t say that.” He lowered his voice. “But we do have a break in the case. We’re close to getting this guy, which is why I have to go to North Las Vegas.”
“The kidnapper lives there? That’s a long way from the Luxor.”
“I can’t talk about open cases to civilians even if that civilian is my girlfriend.”
“Who’s your girlfriend?” I demanded.
“You are.”
“Oh. Do you really think we’re at the girlfriend / boyfriend stage?”
“Too soon?”
“I haven’t decided. It depends on the quality of the steak you eventually buy for me.”
“You want to judge my meat?”
I snickered.
“By the way, the dead guy you found died of an aneurysm caused by a brain tumor. Since he has no family and no close friends, I say it’s a good thing he passed away on his lawn. Otherwise, it could have been a while before anyone found him. You did him a service, Violetta.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Matt cleared his throat. “I gotta go. I hate that I’m not going to see you tonight. I bet you look gorgeous.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You could wear sweats and a hockey jersey and look gorgeous.”
Aw. His compliment warmed me to my toes. “You are missing out on some awesome cleavage and tight jeans.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me woman. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
I finished my mascara then re-dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a pink sweatshirt. I found my sister in the office, typing away on her computer.
“Matt cancelled.”
“I’m sorry,” said Dee. “I know you were looking forward to that steak. And lip-locking with Matt.”
“I’ll live. He said it’s all hands on deck for the Thomas Whitby case.”
“That makes sense. Did he say anything interesting about the kidnapped boy?”
“He said they got a break and they’re headed toward North Las Vegas. If Henry Mason is haunting the house here, I don’t think it’s related to Thomas Whitby’s abduction, especially if they’ve tracked the kidnapper to somewhere in North Vegas.”
“I don’t know, Vie. I think you might be on to something. I found an article about Jeremiah’s disappearance. It happened at Binion’s down on Fremont Street. After everything I’ve read about the Thomas Whitby case, and Henry Mason’s, who disappeared in Barstow, California, there was no trace of them found. It’s like they all fell off the planet. Still, I don’t have any real details. I wish I had some bad-ass tech skills.” She eyed me. “Do you know any hackers?”
“If you’re talking about smokers with terrible coughs, I know plenty.”
“We need to expand our contacts in the criminal world.”
“Uh, no, we don’t. Why don’t you rent a college student or something?”
“You can do that?”
I studied her expression to see if she was being serious or not. I couldn’t tell. “We can’t pay some random kid to commit cybercrimes.”
“I know, I know. Hmm. I’m still a district attorney’s wife,” she mused. “I could probably lie my way through a switchboard to get some information from the police.”
“That is super illegal. I’m sure your kid doesn’t want to have to visit his mom behind bars.”
“If I end up in jail it’ll be because I maimed Darren.”
Dee looked as though she’d plotted several ways to maim him already. Time to get her mind of her cheating hubby. “Why don’t we stop looking for ways to get thrown in jail and go eat at a buffet?”
“I vote MGM Grand.”
“The Strip? Really?”
“They have the best buffet. I’ll drive and buy.”
I wasn’t going to get a better offer. “Sold.”
After we returned from dinner and rolled our bloated selves into the house, we both collapsed onto the couch.
“I’ve never eaten so much in my life,” groaned my sister. “My food baby isn’t going away ever.” She rubbed her belly. “Damn you, MGM Grand buffet.”
“What time is it?”
“Time to get a gym membership.” Dee laughed. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock.”
“I’m gonna go upstairs and die.”
“Don’t do that. I kinda like having you around.” Dee got unsteadily to her feet. “Ugh.”
I laughed even though the very motion of it made my stomach hurt. I saw movement just past my sister, and I sat up, alarmed.
“What?” asked Dee.
Henry flickered into the living room. His expression was terrified. He pointed at the TV. I grabbed the remote and turned on the television. It was already on the local news channel.
“Six-year-old Thomas Whitby is still missing, but authorities still hope to find the boy alive. Our crime reporter, Megan Lewis, has more news.”
The view switched from the anchor desk to a perfectly coiffed woman standing on the steps of the Las Vegas Metropolitan police station. “No official word yet, but I do have a source that says both federal and local agencies have received a viable lead from the tip line and are scrambling to move on it. I’ll keep you updated. Here’s hoping Thomas Whitby comes home safe and sound.”
I hit the power button on the remote, and the TV went off.
Henry touched his throat. He tried to say a word, but he couldn’t speak. Tears rolled down his cheeks. I watched his lips move. Over and over. Finally, I understood what he was trying to tell me.
Help.
Chapter 8
Dee and I followed Henry to 615 March Street. He went around the side yard and ghosted through the fence. I grabbed the gate handle and yanked, but it was locked.
“Shit.” Panic consumed me. I rattled the gate.
“Stop,” whispered Dee. “Too much noise will get us caught. Here, help me get over the fence. I’ll unlock it from the other side.”
I fastened my fingers together and bent down. Dee put her hands on the top of the fence and then used me for leverage as she crawled over.
She landed with a thud. “Oof.”
“You all right?”
Dee swung the gate open. “Yeah. C’mon.”
We hurried through the backyard and to the back porch. The place was dark as fuck, but my brilliant sister pulled a penlight out of her pants pocket. She turned it on and the tiny beam revealed that the sliding glass doors were slightly open.
“Did someone break in?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.” I turned around, looking for Henry, and stilled.
Oh, my God. The blood drained from my face.
“Vie? What is it?”
My heart raced as cold horror filled me. I stumbled to the edge of the porch feeling nauseous. No, no, no. Four boys. Each one stood next to a spiral branch. Henry’s limb was at the top of the tree. I looked at each of the other boys’ faces—and I recognized Jeremiah’s face from the photo Mrs. Keller had shown us earlier. Oh, God. Him, too? I pressed a hand against my roiling stomach. The other two boys I couldn’t identify, but they were young with blonde hair and an air of wounded innocence. Each boy’s neck was wrapped in gauze. I didn’t know what that meant. Were they strangled? Did it matter?
I understood now.
This wasn’t a tree of life.
This was a graveyard.
He sits on the rock and talks to him. To all of them. They are his garden. His secret, beautiful garden.
Robert.
Robert Keller.
Henry pointed at the limb directly across from his. A small rectangular hole had been dug. I cried out and that’s when I felt the tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt so utterly devastated that I couldn’t breathe.
“Vie? Vie!” My sister shook my arm. “Why are you crying? What do you see?”
“Death,” I whispered. “Four boys are buried here. And he’s preparing a new grave.”
Dee flashed the penlight across
the backyard. “I don’t see it.” I grabbed the tiny flashlight and shone the beam toward the right side. Dee was right, there wasn’t an actual hole.
Not yet.
Henry brought us here to save the next victim. Thomas Whitby.
Dee put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Violetta? You said he?”
“Robert Keller. He’s the kidnapper. He’s the killer.”
“Oh, shit.”
Henry put a finger to his lips in an “shhhh” gesture and then, all at once, the boys disappeared.
“Thomas is here. We have to find him.”
“Is that what Henry said?”
“Henry doesn’t talk. None of the boys do. There’s something wrong with their throats.”
Dee gasped. “Oh, my God. How many?”
“Four dead.” I swallowed the knot in my throat. “Jeremiah’s there, too.”
“Keller murdered his own grandson?”
“Yeah. And he’ll kill Thomas, too,” I said, wiping away the tears. “There’s gotta be something we missed in the house. That boy is here.”
“Keller must be, too,” said Dee. “That’s why the door is open.” She huffed out a breath. “We should call the police.”
“And tell them what, exactly?” The sense of urgency holding me hostage curled tighter and tighter. “This guy killed four boys and a fifth one is in the house?”
“They have no reason to believe us. And we don’t have evidence. Fuck it. Let’s go.” Dee pushed back on the door and slipped through, and I followed her.
“I didn’t check the attic,” I whispered. “I didn’t have time.”
“Well, we know there isn’t a basement.” Dee was right; Las Vegas homes didn’t have those.
We crept through the kitchen, Dee’s tiny beam of light leading the way.
Thump!
My gaze riveted to my sister’s. We both slowly looked up. For a long moment, while my heart stopped beating and the breath lodged in my throat, we stared at the ceiling.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
“Upstairs,” I whispered. Another thud echoed. “What if it’s Mrs. Keller?”
“Then we’re screwed. Look, it doesn’t sound like anyone’s in the attic. Those noises are coming from the second floor. If it’s Mr. Keller, we need to stop him, no matter what.”
My sister put the penlight into her jacket pocket then he slid a chef’s knife out of the wood block sitting on the counter. I pulled one out, too.
“That’s for bread,” she said, taking it out of my hand.
“What’s wrong with that? It’s pointy.”
“Actually, it’s not. You need something sharp that will cut more easily.” She grabbed the carving knife and gave it to me.
“You scare me sometimes, you know that?”
We started toward the staircase. There, we heard the distinct sounds of footsteps against the hardwood floors above us, and the squeak of someone stepping on the stairs.
“Shit,” I hissed. I ducked to the floor and crouched down.
Dee stared at me, her brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Trying not to get killed.” I didn’t want to stand up, so I got on my knees and awkwardly scurried to the walk-in pantry. It was empty and I was surprised that nothing was in there. It was as if the house hadn’t recently been occupied by a tenant. I felt one quick sad moment that there was nothing of Carson left. As if he never really existed.
Dee strode to the pantry and opened the door. I shot forward as fast as my aching knees would move. My sister joined me in the pantry. “Phew. Do you smell that?” she asked.
“It smells like a hospital,” I said. “Like everything’s been washed in antiseptic.”
We heard more noises, and Dee crouched down next to me. I put the carving knife on a shelf then grabbed doorknob, holding it tightly. If Keller, Mr. or Mrs., somehow detected our presence and tried to open the door, I would hold on like I was clutching Prada heels at a half-off sale.
“Every episode of I’ve ever watched of Who the (Bleep) Did I Marry? is flashing through my mind.”
“This isn’t your house.”
“Oh. Right.”
“We’re in way over our heads. We need to call the police.” I continued clutching the doorknob with one hand. “Please tell me you brought a cell phone.”
“Yes.” Dee withdrew the iPhone from her jacket packet. Her fingers were shaking but she managed to double-tap the home button.
“Hello, Deirdre,” said the electronic female voice. “How may I assist you?”
“Call the police!”
“Dialing.”
“Hello? Dee Dee?”
“Not my mother!” She whisper-yelled at the phone. “I said the police!”
“Why did you need the police? Are you in trouble?” Mom huffed. “Is your sister with you?”
“Why do you always assume I’m around when Dee’s in trouble?” I asked.
“You’re there, aren’t you?”
“Mom, we’ll have to call you back.” Dee ended the call. “Ignore her. She’s bitter.” Dee blew out a breath. “We’re probably going to jail. But maybe we can get someone to listen.” She brought up the keypad, dialed 9-1-1, and put the call on speaker.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“We’re trapped in a pantry,” I whispered.
Dee smacked my shoulder. “That’s not helpful, Vie.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’re where?”
“615 March Street,” said Dee.
I heard the clacking of a keyboard. “Are you in a safe location?”
“Sorta.”
“I’m holding the door shut,” I added. “It doesn’t have a lock.” I really wanted to ask the operator to call Matt, but I didn’t know if I should. I couldn’t assume I was actually considered his girlfriend. Then again, what was the point of contemplating sex with a cop if I couldn’t ask him to show up with his gun and badge when I was in trouble?
“Do you know how many intruders are in the home?”
“Um…” I covered the phone. “Do we count ourselves?”
“Remain in your current location, ma’am,” said the operator. “And don’t hang up. Help will be there soon.”
I heard shuffling sounds, then a loud click, and light flooded under the pantry door. My heart lodged in my throat.
“Ohmygodohmygod,” I hissed. “He’s here!”
“Be quiet,” my sister whispered in a no-nonsense tone.
“Police will be on scene in less than five minutes,” said the operator. “Don’t hang up,” she repeated. “Stay on the line with me until an officer reaches you.”
I heard another click of the light switch, and the kitchen went dark.
We heard the sliding glass door open and then shut.
Dee and I let out twin sighs of relief.
Henry appeared, his ghostly body jammed between us. He pointed up.
“Dee, aim your flashy thingie at the ceiling.”
She did as I asked, and we immediately spotted the pull-down cord.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It can’t be for the attic,” I said. “We’re on the first floor.”
Since I had a death grip on the knob, Dee got on her tippy-toes and reached for the cord.
“Shit. I can’t get it.”
“Let’s switch places.” Dee put down her blade and grabbed the doorknob as she took over guard duty. I stretched up and my fingertips barely brushed the twine. “Crap. I can’t get to it, either.”
Henry’s eyes went wide and his expression filled with terror.
He disappeared.
“It’s Robert,” I said. “Henry’s too scared for it to be anyone else.”
The knob twisted hard, and Dee’s hand slipped off.
The door flew open.
Dee emitted a blood-curdling screech worthy of a Viking warrior. She launched herself forward, throwing her full weight against the shadowy figure standing there.
My heart jumped into my throat.
The man grunted and stumbled backward. I flipped on the pantry light, which momentarily blinded me.
“Dee!” I yelled.
“I got him!” she cried.
“Aaaaah!” added the intruder. “Get off me! Ouch, damn it!”
I blinked away the stars floating in front of my eyeballs, got to my feet, and exited the pantry. I managed to find the kitchen light and flicked it on.
My sister sat on top of Mr. Keller. He had his arms crossed over his face, and whined like a sick dog while Dee pummeled him with a spatula. How had she gotten that?
I leaned down and grabbed my sister under the armpits. Then I dragged her off the older man. Dee put her arm around my waist, and together we glared at Mr. Keller. He stood up slowly, gripping the granite countertop.
“What the hell are you two doing in here?”
Mr. Keller looked sweaty and pale. His eyes darted around the kitchen.
“We heard a child cry,” I lied. I watched a lot of police procedurals. Probable cause, bitches. No warrant needed. Granted, I wasn’t a cop. This wasn’t a television show. And this night would most likely end in tears and handcuffs.
Keller’s reaction was instant. His expression went flat and his eyes—they were empty of emotion. Shark’s eyes. He pulled a gun out of the back of his pants and aimed it at us. “You should’ve never come in here.”
“The police are on the way,” said Dee. “You shoot us and you’ll go to jail.”
“Not for killing intruders who threatened my life.”
In the distance, we heard a police siren. Robert’s eyes widened. Before Robert could even think about pulling the trigger, I pushed Dee out of the way and dove onto the old man. The gun went flying and skittered across the tile floor.
Keller wasn’t going down a second time without a fight. He started rolling around with me and grabbed my hair. I screeched. “Get the gun!”
“I can’t,” said my sister. “It’s evidence.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Dee whirled around and grabbed the kid-murderer’s flailing legs.
The front door busted open. Two uniformed officers came in, guns drawn. They saw us in the middle of the kitchen pinning down what might appear to some, a helpless older man.
A Spirited Defense (Violetta Graves Mysteries Book 2) Page 6
