by Catie Rhodes
Hooty and Dean exchanged a long look, one I couldn’t interpret. Hooty finally nodded and stood. He gave me a rough pat on the shoulder and wandered over to Memaw. The two talked, their gazes wandering to me every few seconds. I had to pull myself together but the lethargy in my bones weighed a ton. Going back to bed sounded like a great idea.
“I need to make sure I parked the car in the right place.” Dean, still kneeling in front of me, took my hand. “I’ll be back.”
“I’m okay.” I leaned forward, ignoring the stab in my back from a cracked rib. Putting my arms around Dean caused more screams of pain from my bruised body, but I did it. I gave him a squeeze and wondered for the millionth time how things would end up between us. For once in my life, I decided to enjoy the ride and not worry about controlling things. I brushed a kiss on Dean’s cheek, enjoying the thrill of pleasure. “I appreciate everything you’re doing right now.”
Dean’s lips curved into a smile, one that touched his eyes. “That’s all I need to hear.” He got up, brushed off his pants, and wandered toward his ratty old Trans Am.
I sat back on the hard metal folding chair with a grunt. My body still ached from the beating Michael Gage and Veronica Spinelli gave me. Gage had fared much worse. He languished in a coma at Mother Francis Hospital in Tyler. The doctor said he couldn’t understand what caused the coma since the skull was not fractured. Armed law enforcement guarded Gage twenty-four hours a day.
According to Dean, Veronica Spinelli lay unclaimed at the Smith County Coroner’s office. Dean offered to pay for a pauper’s burial. His guilt over the shooting surprised me. His killing her saved me, and Veronica was a horror of human being. I didn’t feel bad about her demise.
Benny Longstreet used his millions to make bail. He faced a long list of charges for offenses ranging from failure to notify authorities after he found Rae dying to assault and kidnapping. Dean speculated Benny would escape a little poorer but relatively unscathed. I withheld comment. Benny and I had unfinished business. I’d make sure he knew he picked a fight with the wrong Mace.
“Hey.” A hand closed on my shoulder. I tipped my chin and found myself looking right into the bright sun. The person touching my shoulder was lost in silhouette. Then, Wade Hill moved and sat down next to me. He pulled me into a one-armed hug and squeezed until I uttered a pained squeak. He let go.
“I’m surprised you came.” And I was. After the smoke cleared, Dean and Wade had some scathing exchanges. Dean suspected Wade had known exactly who killed Rae and where to find them and had followed me around town, trying to keep me out of danger, instead of calling the police. Wade told Dean he suffered from short man syndrome.
“I’ve been feeling a million kinds of guilty since that night at Mace House.” I noticed he omitted any mention of the horrid events. Maybe for the best. The nightmares from that night would haunt me for the foreseeable future.
“Don’t. You saved my bacon.” I squeezed his arm to let him know I meant it.
“At least let me explain.” Wade kept his eyes focused on a distant point. “I worked at Long Time Gone because I needed money, but also as a favor to a friend who has a vested interest in what goes on there. I knew exactly who Billy Ryder was the whole time.”
I went still, and then turned my body so Wade got the full force of my glare. His eyes widened, and he developed a case of verbal diarrhea.
“At first, see, my job was to figure out the scam he had going with Olivia. Then I was to either make him pay tribute to the right people or figure out where to find him away from Long Time Gone so he could be…dispatched.” Wade stopped, closed his eyes, and slumped.
I twitched, remembering the rumors of the outlaw biker gang associated with Long Time Gone. I didn’t want to think about how Wade knew them or why he helped them. Some other time.
“Then Rae got killed. Once we figured Billy Ryder did it, my employer changed my job description to leading the cops to Ryder. But I never figured out Billy Ryder and Michael Gage were one and the same. Then you showed up with that drawing, looking for Billy Ryder. I didn’t want to see you end up like Rae. So I quit focusing on leading the cops to Billy Ryder and tried to watch over you.”
“I don’t need anybody to watch over me.” If it wouldn’t have hurt, I’d have put my hands on my hips.
“Peri, please. If anybody ever needed a keeper, it’s you. Believe me on this.” He snorted and shook his head. “And I did a good job. But the night of the street dance, I lost you when you went to Hannah’s apartment. One minute you two were chatting with your grandmother, and, the next, you disappeared. I went out to your grandmother’s house, figured out you weren’t there, and went back to town. Couldn’t find you anywhere. Finally, I went to talk to Hannah—scared the hell out of her—and we figured out who Billy Ryder was and where to find you. You know the rest.”
I wanted to be irritated with Wade Hill, but he’d risked annoying a dangerous someone to help me. I didn’t even have the energy to think about the rest of what he’d told me. His honorable intent overrode his lack of success. I touched his arm. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “Just another day in the life of a modern day knight in shining armor. Plus,” he dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned close, “I have an ulterior motive.”
“Oh?” I thought I knew, but his delivery amused me.
“Let’s say it like this: if it doesn’t work out with Mr. Short and Surly over there,” he gestured at Dean, “give me a chance. I’ll show you my tattoos. All of them.”
Wade and I locked eyes for a moment. Again, I wondered what it would have been like to be more than friends. A mischievous smile spread over his face as though he knew my thoughts.
“And I knew it would piss him off if I came.” Wade’s smile widened even more, and his dark eyes twinkled. A shadow fell over us and we both raised our eyes to find Dean standing over us, scowling. His good mood from a few minutes ago had vanished.
***
“Get up.” Dean narrowed his eyes and turned down his lips when he spoke to Wade.
“No. You might be a cop, but you’re not king of the world.” Wade crossed his arms over his chest.
“I didn’t arrest you for obstruction of justice because Peri begged me not to—” Dean’s voice rose and people turned to watch the three of us.
“Y’all, please stop this…” I trailed off when I realized they were ignoring me.
“And because you knew you couldn’t make anything stick. If I hadn’t walked into that house a few nights ago—”
“We’d have done just fine, you big baboon.” Dean had his hands near his hips like an old west gunslinger.
“What’s going on here?” Darren Fischer leaned into our conversation. His red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks gave both Wade and Dean pause.
“There’s not enough room for him to sit here.” Dean gestured at Wade. “He’s taking up space reserved for the family.”
“You’re right.” Darren nodded. “Why don’t you two men sit over there?”
Dean, Wade, and I looked in the direction Darren pointed. The back row. Dean flushed and cracked his knuckles. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. For the first time since Chase died, I wanted to laugh. One glance at Dean’s shocked scowl and I dropped my head so he wouldn’t see my amusement. Wade took the rebuke with a smile.
Hannah rose from where she’d been sitting next to Memaw in the row behind us. “Come on, gentlemen. I’ll join you. Make more room for family and people who knew Chase well.”
“After you, Officer Turgeau.” Wade stood and swept his arm out for Dean to pass.
“It’s not Officer,” Dean groused. “It’s Deputy.”
As the two men walked away, Wade said, “I don’t give a shit.”
To my utter shock, Wade and Dean sat next to each other in the back row. Their stiff postures suggested they were not finished sparring. Cords stood out in Dean’s neck, and Wade’s smile was predatory. Hannah sat down beside Dean. She rolled her eyes a
t me. I smiled at her in thanks, and she winked.
As my eyes swept over the crowd, I noticed Felicia Holze and Chase’s son, Kansas. The boy looked uncomfortable and confused. He’d barely known Chase, I realized. And now he never really would. That brought the grief crashing back, its tide rising until I could have howled. Tears dripped off my chin as I lamented the way life can suck.
That’s when Darren and Jolene sat down on both sides of me. Jolene reached over and grabbed my hand in a death grip. The buzz of conversation trickled into silence as Hooty took his place at the pulpit and fussed with his Bible. When the morning air was still except for the squawk of a few birds, Hooty looked out over the crowd with a solemn expression on his face.
“I knew Chase Lawrence Fischer from the time he was about a week old. He grew to be a sensitive boy with a tender heart who couldn’t quite stand the sadness in the world around him. His sensitivity helped him become an accomplished musician…”
Something moved at the corner of my vision. I took my eyes off Hooty and squinted into the outcropping of tombstones. The air wavered like a heat mirage, and a figure came into view. The lanky body moved with fluid grace. The sun blazed down on blonde hair, creating an impossibly white sparkle. My heart caught in my throat, and the sting of tears burned my eyes. Chase Fisher, younger and healthier than I’d seen him in a long while, stepped to the periphery of his own funeral. Hot tears tracked down my face as we watched one another. The sun damage was gone from Chase’s skin, and he looked the way he had the year he broke my heart—back when he still thought he’d be a rock star. He smiled at me, and a sob jerked out of me. Jolene squeezed my hand even tighter.
“They’re ready for you,” Darren whispered in my ear. I struggled to my feet, my abused muscles protesting. Darren stood to help me to my feet. Hooty shot out from behind the pulpit and escorted me to it. He adjusted the microphone, gave me a pat on the back and stepped away.
Everyone watched me expectantly. Everyone, that is, except for Wade and Dean who glared at each other in the back row. I turned around to see if Chase’s ghost had left, and the crowd followed my gaze. Chase still stood near a tombstone, watching me. A rustle went through the crowd, and I turned back to them. I opened my mouth to speak, not knowing what I needed to say. The words seemed to come on their own.
“Chase Fischer was the best friend I ever had. I loved him more than I’ve loved anybody…except my Memaw. He wasn’t perfect, but none of us are…” I turned to look at Chase’s ghost again. The glow I saw before Rae winked out blanketed Chase. He raised one hand to wave at me and faded from sight, traveling down his forever road. I choked back a sob and waved goodbye to the best friend I ever had. Confused whispers rippled through the audience. For once, I just didn’t care.
THE END
Keep an eye out in September 2013 for Black Opal, the next story in the Peri Jean Mace Paranormal Mysteries.
Look for Allegories of the Tarot on October 31, 2013. This anthology of will feature a Peri Jean Mace Short Story titled “Justice.”
Acknowledgements
As I sat down to write this page, I realized I owe a great debt to almost everyone with whom I’ve crossed paths on this long, strange journey. Attempting to name all of you would only result in failure. If I don’t name you here, please know I appreciate your friendship and help.
My family—Mom, Dad, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins—I love you all for acting like publishing a novel was a perfectly attainable and reasonable goal. Special thanks to my husband who loves me even though I’m absentminded, talk about weird things, and don’t wash my hands often enough.
My teachers. Holly Lisle taught me to make my writing my own. Kristen Lamb taught me to spin myself online so people will think I’m cool. Annetta Ribken taught me how to get the words I wanted onto the page, and Jennifer Wingard taught me how to say it with style. Julie Glover taught me how to say it correctly. I could not have formatted this novel without the patient tutelage of Melinda VanLone. Thank you all so much.
My friends. Stacy Green has been my cheerleader and critic through every step of this journey. Rhonda Hopkins deserves a purple heart for sharing her honest opinion about my writing. William Simon missed his calling as a cheerleader. Both the WANAs and the W2GEs are the best support groups anybody could ever ask for.
I’m sure I’m missing a ton of people, but this has to end somewhere. So I’ll end it with one last word of thanks to my dog, Cosmo, for being my very best friend and for loving me.
About the Author
Catie Rhodes grew up in the piney woods of East Texas. It was a dark and shadowy world, rife with folklore and spooky tales, some of which had pretty grim endings. There wasn’t much to do underneath those tall, tall trees other than daydream and make up stories.
Naturally, Catie became a purveyor of lies and legends. Drawing on her East Texas roots, her love of true crime, and her love of the paranormal, she began writing the Peri Jean Mace Paranormal Mysteries. She writes horror shorts on those dark days and moonless nights when the shadows beckon.
Catie is also that kid your mother warned you about. She lies. She cusses. She never washes her hands after petting the dog. And she still wears checkered Vans. She lives with her husband and little dog in the overcrowded and overly noisy Houston, Texas suburbs.
Extras
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Karma's A Bitch (A Pet Psychic Mystery) by Shannon Esposito
Multiple Motives (A Kate Huntington Mystery) by Kassandra Lamb
Maui Widow Waltz (Islands of Aloha Mystery) by JoAnn Bassett
The Metaphysical Detective (Riga Hayworth) by Kirsten Weiss
Dangerous and Unseemly (A Concordia Wells Mystery) by K.B. Owen
plus other novels in these series.
