“No! Leave Katie alone. We’ll...” I swallowed my fear. “We’ll get you some help.”
“You wait here,” he told me. “And you let me deal with this nasty business. Stay put, no matter what.”
He’d put the gun down in his waistband and was dragging Katie by her wrists down toward the creek. In his back pocket I could see the black outline of a Taser.
Quicksand thoughts swam in my head. A memory came into focus. Gramps telling me to stay put no matter what. No-o-o! Don’t think about it.
Me getting bored sitting on a rock holding my broken wrist and carefully following him through the woods. Watching him drag something in a large plastic bag out of a shed in the woods, then huffing as he dragged it through the woods. The bag tore as he dragged it. Something pale and white and fleshy inside.
Stop it! Don’t think about it!
Gramps was sweating as he dragged the bag onto the deck of an old bridge and heaved the bag over the railing. As he did, something that looked like a hand slipped out of the bag. I ran back to the rock where he’d told me to sit. I ran and ran, and at one point my shoe got stuck in sticky mud. Quicksand.
Quick! Hurry! He’ll find you!
It took me forever to free my foot from the sticky mud and, once I did, I tripped only a few feet from the rock and I banged my arm hard as I went down. When Gramps reappeared a few minutes later he thought my sweating and tears were because of my sore wrist that was obviously broken.
It’s okay. It was nothing. He was littering. Just throwing out trash. It’s okay. No quicksand to get you now.
I wanted to curl up in a ball because that memory threatened to swallow me but, instead, I struggled to my feet. Katie needed me. I took a step and saw one of my dowsing rods on the dirt nearby. I got down and scooted in the dirt toward it, got it in my hands that were bound in front of me and then got back to my feet. I began to hop which was ridiculous because I’d never be able to outrun Gramps while hopping but I had to at least try and convince him not to kill Katie. As I took a couple hops toward them my right foot lifted out of my runner and I was able to immediately wriggle both feet out of the ropes. Then I was running toward Gramps and Katie.
When I reached them, Gramps was on his knees and had his hands around Katie’s throat. He was squeezing so hard her face turned purple and eyes bugged out. Before I could change my mind, I raised my bound hands in the air with the dowsing rod and brought it down full force into Gramps’s back.
He turned to look up at me and blood spread quickly across his back. Even though he clawed at the rod and removed it, he couldn’t stop the bleeding. Blood was flowing quickly and soaked the T-shirt I’d bought him last Christmas. As Katie and I looked on, he got to his feet then stumbled a few feet before finally falling facedown in the dirt.
“Let’s go!”
I helped Katie to her feet and we began to run back to the shed.
“We’ll get in the ATV and drive it back to the house and call for help.”
Once we reached the ATV, though, we couldn’t find the keys. Gramps had them. We both collapsed on the dirt and lay there on the ground staring up at the stars. My hand reached for hers and squeezed.
“Thank you,” Katie said, and the words came out on a choked, raspy cough.
I didn’t reply right away because my head had no words. The wind was whistling through the grass and the rustling sound was loud in my ears.
“We’ve got to head back,” I told her.
We got to our feet and there was Gramps.
Katie screamed and began to run as he reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out the handgun.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
“I’m tired, Delma. I shouldn’t’ve let your grandma hold it over my head just so she could torment you. I shoulda turned myself in and got you help and—”
“Put the gun down,” I said.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” Gramps said.
He brought the gun to his chin and pulled the trigger.
I dropped to my knees and couldn’t stop screaming.
* * *
At one point there were shouts and flashlights and Katie screaming in Garrett’s arms. Then I realized it wasn’t Katie screaming, it was me.
“Quicksand,” I whispered in Garrett’s ear.
“No more quicksand,” he replied, hugging me so tight it hurt my ribs.
It was a good hurt.
Chapter Thirteen
By the time they let me out of the psych ward, the blond in my hair had grown out three inches from my scalp. I didn’t go back to the trailer. Wookie and I moved right in with Garrett. I thought it would be awkward but it wasn’t. Except maybe for Wookie, who missed Gramps and rabbits and having hundreds of acres for his toilet.
Katie wrote me nearly every day when I was locked up but I didn’t reply and I didn’t see her. I just couldn’t. The psychiatrist told me it was okay to cut those ties. He also taught me that there was no reason I should’ve known about Gramps’s predilection as a serial killer.
The doc told me that but, of course, the guilt had wormed its way into my heart.
Doc also said that it was okay that I hadn’t remembered about Gramps killing someone way back when because I’d been protecting my own self until it became suddenly important to remember. After weeks the doc said my world was full of potential and I was ready to live my life moving forward instead of back.
What he didn’t know was that not everyone is ready for the full potential of their own future. Some would rather cocoon themselves in the maybes than move forward, and there’s heated comfort in the devil you know. But I knew I was never going back to my old life. I needed to set fire to everything about that life.
But I did see Jonas when he came by even though I cried nonstop for two days after hearing he’d been found in a fishing shack very close to the one where I’d been stashed. They’d found three other similar shelters in the area and one in the Clackamas River area of Oregon, Gramps’s favorite fishing spot, from where he’d mailed letters to the FBI. They said Gramps used the Taser on Jonas. He’d borrowed a car and followed Jonas when he went to get me, and got him when he pulled the Jeep over. He’d also used the Taser on Jill and the girls to overpower them. I thought back to when Gramps had suggested I get a Taser. He told me, they’re easy to use. I never once thought to ask how he’d know that. So much I didn’t figure out before it was too late.
Mostly I spent my days watching television and taking Wookie for long walks in downtown Seattle. Garrett would come home and tell me about his day and would sometimes bring pizza.
It was a nice life.
A simple life.
And boring as hell.
When I tired of licking my wounds and figured I’d done enough navel gazing to last a lifetime, I cracked open my old laptop and ordered myself a new set of dowsing rods and some proper divining crystals. Then I opened my emails. There were hundreds of new ones. Maybe even thousands. I didn’t look at any of those but went straight to the email folder labeled Jobs.
I clicked on an email I’d received a while back. The one where a man said he wanted help finding the body of his dad who was an Alzheimer’s patient who’d wandered into a Colorado forest the year before and was presumed dead. He wanted help finding his dad’s body. I sent a simple reply:
Thank you for your email and I apologize for my delay in replying. I’m so sorry for your loss. I have recently started a new business to help people find their deceased loved ones. If you still wish to hire me to find your father, I’d be pleased to assist you.
I signed the email with my new company name:
Divine Reunions
I had a feeling, deep down in my bones, it was going to be a hit.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
<
br /> Thank you to Sarah, Daniel, Donovan and Devin, who love and support their crazy mother.
I am grateful for the tireless support of super-agent Melissa Jeglinski.
Big smooshy hugs to my editor, Deborah Nemeth, as well as Stephanie Doig, Tasneem Dasoo, Stephanie Van de Vooren, Melissa Anthony and the countless others on the Carina Team who helped with this book.
Also available from Wendy Roberts
and Carina Press
Grounds to Kill
Also available from Wendy Roberts
and Harlequin
Dating Can Be Deadly
Also available from Wendy Roberts
Remains of the Dead
Devil May Ride
Dead and Kicking
Dead Suite
Drop Dead Beauty
Coming soon from Wendy Roberts
and Carina Press
A Grave Search
About the Author
Wendy Roberts is an armchair sleuth, fan of all things mysterious but a huge chicken at heart. Her mind is often in a secretive cloak-and-dagger world of intrigue while her physical presence is usually at home feeding feral cats and a demanding guinea pig. Wendy resides in Vancouver, Canada, where she happily writes about murder and is always at work on her next novel.
You can find Wendy on the web here:
Website: www.WendyRoberts.com
Twitter: www.Twitter.com/AuthorWendy
Instagram: @WendyRoberts_Author
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/WendyRobertsAuthor
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ISBN-13: 9781488030574
A Grave Calling
Copyright © 2017 by Wendy Roberts
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