Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (Charley Davidson) cd-1

by Даринда Джонс

  A crisp wind whipped around me when I exited my building, but I ignored it. My father was renting out my offices. Of all the gall.

  I strode past two men struggling to offload a desk and ducked into the bar through the back door.

  “Dad!” I yelled, stalking past my startled stepmother, who’d just come in from the front. She’d apparently brought the traitor breakfast. I could only hope he’d choke on it. And past Sienna, the gorgeous new bartender who’d hit on Pari. She wore an appreciative grin when she noticed my boxers.

  Gemma stepped out of Dad’s office just as I got there, her face a picture of surprise. “Charley, you’re not dressed.”

  “Where is he?” I asked, stepping past her.

  “Dad? He’s upstairs, I think.”

  If I’d been in my right mind, I might have paid heed when the tiniest hint of a smirk flitted across her face, I might have caught on to the fact that all was not as it seemed, but I was on a mission. I turned and took the stairs two at a time. Not the easiest thing to do in bunny slippers. And the long leaps caused my boxers to wedge into unmentionable places, but a quick readjustment once I reached the landing set things right.

  I stormed into the first office, the one that had been mine for over two years, and found Dad looking out the window with the raised blinds. His tall lean form had been draped in a plaid button-down and wrinkled khakis that looked two sizes too big, and his normally tan, healthy skin had the pale matte texture of blanched flour that just matched his dark blond hair.

  No one else was inside. Everything I’d left was exactly where I’d left it. Not a file cabinet or bookshelf out of place.

  I stopped behind him and jammed my hands on my hips. “Really?” I asked.

  He bowed his head, and I blocked his emotions the minute the sorrow that had consumed him hit me. I breathed deep and shook it off. He’d had me arrested as I lay in a hospital bed. He didn’t deserve my sympathy. But he did deserve the brunt of my anger.

  “You’re renting out my offices? Just like that?” I snapped my fingers to emphasize the hastiness of his actions. I’d been out of them two months, but for some reason, that didn’t seem to be the point.

  He turned to me at last, looking more haggard than usual. His Popsicle-stick frame seemed bent with fatigue. His clothes sat askew.

  I didn’t care. I did. Not. Care.

  “No, sweetheart, I’m not.”

  I pointed a finger toward the window. “Then what is that?”

  “A ploy,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact, it took a moment for his words to sink in. “A ruse,” he continued.

  I looked out the window and realized the moving van was completely empty except for the desk. The men below gave my dad an official salute before reloading the desk and sliding the door closed.

  Turning back to him, I asked, “What are you talking about? A ploy for what?”

  “For you,” he said, stepping closer.

  I stepped back, suddenly wary.

  He took another step but stopped when I offered him my infamous death stare. “You won’t take my calls,” he said, raising his palms in surrender. “You won’t answer your door when I go over.”

  “Gosh, I wonder why.” I turned to leave, but his next statement stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “I didn’t know how much time I had.”

  “What?” I asked, suspicion evident in the sharp tone of my voice.

  “When I had you arrested, I didn’t know how much time I had. I just wanted you out, and I had to do it quick.”

  With annoyance and zero patience guiding me, I opened my arms in helplessness then dropped them again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I just wanted to do right by you. I just wanted to make up for what I’d done. I got you into this life. I wanted to get you out of it before it was too late.”

  “So you had me arrested? That was your solution?”

  “You can’t be a private investigator with a record. Your license would have been revoked.” He shrugged. “Mission accomplished.”

  The smile that slid across my face held anything but humor. “Thanks for having my back, Dad. Appreciate it.”

  “You left me no choice.”

  “What?” My voice rose to just below screaming level. “I left you no choice? Are you psychotic?”

  “I tried to get you to open up to me, but you don’t trust me. You never have. And I didn’t know what else to do. I was trying to right a wrong. It’s my fault you do what you do. I got you into this, and I just wanted you out of it. Out of danger. When bad guys come after you because of me … I’d been pretending up to that point. But I couldn’t pretend any longer.”

  “Well, you picked a fine time to grow a conscience, Dad. As I lay in a hospital bed after being tortured almost to death, you have me arrested.” I gave him two thumbs up. “Good call.”

  He dropped his gaze. “I had no other choice.”

  “You know what?” I said, stepping toward him. I poked a finger into his chest. “I’ve thought a lot about how I’ve always seen you. You were my rock. The only one who believed in me, in my abilities. I always thought you were on my side. But then it hit me. All those years you put up with Denise, with the way she treated me, and instead of defending me, you looked the other way. You never stood up for me. You just reaped the benefits of my ability, but you stood by and let that witch run me into the ground every chance she got.”

  He looked past me, and I turned to see said witch standing in the doorway, her mouth open in surprise.

  I pointed to her and nodded at him. “Yes, that one.” When he refrained from comment, I asked, “Did you ever really care about me?”

  He snapped to attention in surprise. “Of course, I did. I always have. I just thought—” His voice broke, and he covered his mouth with a fist.

  “Make it good,” I said, my tone more warning than suggestion.

  “You girls needed a mother.”

  “And you gave us that?” I stepped closer—so close, my image shimmered in the tears pooling between his lashes. “You didn’t have my back. You had yours. Go ahead. Rent out my office. I don’t care.”

  Since Denise stood blocking my escape route, I decided to go through the next office and out the front door.

  But just as I turned the knob, he said, “I need to know you’ll be okay when I’m gone.”

  In one last valiant effort, I turned back to him, a very clever and timely comeback sitting on the tip of my razor-sharp tongue, but it stayed there, because in the next instant, Dad raised a gun and shot me.

  14

  Used Tombstone for Sale:

  Perfect for someone named Charlotte Davidson.

  —AD

  Or, well, shot at me.

  I ducked. Not sure why. But ducking when being shot at seemed like the right thing to do. Used to be, I could slow time, I could literally see the bullet hanging in midair, but since being tortured, I seemed to have lost that ability, because Dad fired and I ducked without even trying.

  I fell to my knees and covered my head, then turned to look at Dad from underneath my arms.

  He was still holding the gun, a stunned expression on his face.

  “Leland!” Denise shouted seconds before plastering her hands over her mouth in shock. Had to give her kudos for the effort.

  After taking inventory of my vital parts and feeling no pain, I jumped to my feet. Gemma ran up then and squeezed behind Denise to get into the room. She was quickly followed by Sienna, who was holding a pot of coffee in her hands.

  I realized the world was spinning. The sound had sent adrenaline rocketing through my system.

  After patting myself down for injuries with shaking hands, I screamed at my dad. “What the hell was that?” But he was still holding the gun on me. He seemed to have slipped into a mild state of shock. “Dad!” I said, trying to get his attention. “It is so official. You are a bad father. Good fathers do not shoot their daughters!” I crossed my arms and brought
out the big guns. “I am so telling Mom when I die.”

  “What happened?” Gemma asked, looking from me to Dad.

  I pointed to him. “He tried to kill me. That’s what happened.”

  “Dad!” she said, scolding him like one would a child who’d just eaten a bug.

  “No, you don’t understand.” He focused on her just as Uncle Bob rushed in, shoving past Denise. Great. The whole gang was here to witness my murder.

  Dad looked back at me, his jaw open. “Watch this.”

  He fired again.

  I ducked again. And fought the dizzying effects of an adrenaline rush that sent me to the brink of unconsciousness. According to evolution, that was not what adrenaline was supposed to do. It was supposed to make me wet my pants, then run really fast as though a bear were attacking. Passing out was so un-Darwinian.

  Uncle Bob had his pistol out and pointed at Dad’s head before I could say, “What the fuck?”

  I’d fallen onto my knees again. The crack of thunder from the gun jolted through me so hard and fast, I felt like the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. I stumbled to my feet as the spin of the world blurred my vision and turned my stomach. I was going to be sick. My body quaked from the inside out. I swallowed hard, trying to keep down the small amount of coffee I’d had earlier.

  I felt a heat rush across my skin and looked to my left. Reyes materialized beside me, his massive black robe undulating and making the world sway even more. I felt like a boat on high seas.

  He looked from beneath his hood toward Dad, then back at me. “Why is your father trying to kill you?”

  I swallowed again and braced myself against the wall at my back. “I have no idea.” When he started toward him, I hurried forward to cut him off, stepping in between them. “Oh, no, you don’t. He is off-limits, do you understand?”

  He took my arm and pulled me into his robes. The scalding heat soothed despite my anger. “Get a handle on this, or I’ll kill him where he stands.”

  I pushed away from him and pointed toward the window. “Out. Now.”

  With a low growl, he dematerialized, but I could feel him close. He hadn’t gone far, and he could materialize and sever Dad’s spine before I could cry foul. I had to defuse this situation and do it fast, or my dad would never be able to walk again. Or quite possibly breathe.

  After gathering myself, I realized everyone was looking at me. Most likely because I was talking to air. They could just deal with it. We had bigger fish to fry. But the look on their faces stopped me in my tracks. They’d seen me talk to air before. Well, everyone but Sienna. I couldn’t imagine that causing the level of shock they were displaying.

  Sienna dropped the carafe. It landed with a thud on the floor, and coffee slushed over the sides, but not a single gaze wavered away from me.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I looked down to make sure my boxers were in place. They seemed fine to me. I scanned the faces again. Even though Uncle Bob was holding a gun to my father’s head, he was looking at me. Just like everyone else.

  Dad lowered the gun. The movement caught Ubie’s attention. He turned back to him. “Drop it, Leland.”

  He did. The gun fell to the floor, but nobody seemed to care. All eyes stayed locked on me. Slowly, and with deliberate care, Uncle Bob kneeled down and picked up the gun, but he looked away for only the split second it took him to grab it.

  This was getting weird.

  “How did you do that?” Gemma asked.

  “What?” I asked, completely confused. “Almost get shot by my own father?” When everyone continued to gape, I decided now was a good time for a rant. “It really wasn’t that hard. I just kind of stood here while a crazy man pointed a gun at me—”

  “They were blanks.”

  I refocused on him. “You tried to kill me with blanks?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, then caught himself and shook his head. “No, I mean—”

  “Isn’t that counterproductive?”

  “The way you moved,” he continued, his voice thick with disbelief. “It wasn’t real. Nobody can move like that.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, growing angry. Did nobody care that my own father just tried to kill me?

  He walked up to me and tried to touch my face, but I blocked his hand and stepped out of his reach. He didn’t pursue it. Instead he asked, “What are you?”

  “Besides pissed?”

  “Charley,” Gemma said, her voice taking on that gentle therapist tone she was so fond of, “look where you are.”

  I glanced around and realized she was right. I had been at the door, and now I was at the windows facing the alley. I shrugged. “So I lunged out of the way. So what? I was being shot at.”

  “But you didn’t,” Gemma said. “You were here, then you were there. You—” She paused as though unable to come up with the right words. “You moved so fast. It’s like you disappeared, then reappeared. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I had to know,” Dad said. “I had to know you’d be okay. I knew you were different, but I had no idea just how different. Then when Caruso tied me up and went after you with that knife … the way you moved. It was like nothing I’d ever seen.” Caruso had been one of Dad’s collars. He’d sent the man to prison for a very long time. The minute he was parolled, he came after Dad, and in periphery, me. “That’s when I realized how special you really are.”

  I was still fighting the effects of adrenaline rushing through my nervous system, and trying not to seize. “I cannot imagine how you thought that shooting me would be a good idea.” I turned to leave, but Uncle Bob stopped me.

  “Charley, hon, I need to know if you want to press charges.”

  A malicious smile spread over my face before I said, “No. Not today. I don’t want to have anything else to do with him.”

  I shoved my way past Denise and plowed down the stairs.

  “Charley, wait,” Gemma said behind me.

  I kept walking. “I am writing a letter to Mom about this.”

  “Good,” she said, trying to catch up. “That’s perfect, but there’s something you need to know before you get too carried away.”

  I’d made it all the way to the front door of my building before she caught up with me. “I know,” I said, my throat closing in on itself. “I felt it the minute I walked up there.”

  She took deep, even breaths and said, “He doesn’t know how much longer he has.”

  I turned away from her, refusing to acknowledge the sting in my eyes. “How long have you known?”

  “Couple of months. He wouldn’t let anyone tell you. He wanted to do it himself, but you wouldn’t take his calls.”

  I crossed my arms, still unable to face her. “I’m still telling Mom.”

  She stepped behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Tell her hi for me, too.”

  After leaning my head on her bony elbow, I said, “Okay, but I don’t think she likes you as much as she likes me.”

  Gemma laughed and squeezed me tighter.

  Up at the penthouse, Cookie came barreling in as I stood pouring myself a cup of coffee, her eyes wide with worry. When she spotted me, relief washed over her. She walked up, panting with one hand on her chest. “I couldn’t find you,” she said between pants. “And all your stuff was here. I thought you got killed. Or abducted again.”

  “Sorry. Here I am.”

  She held up a finger, swallowed hard, then said, “Charley, I swear you’re going to be the death of me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I kill you? You work for next to nothing.”

  She nodded. “That’s a good point.”

  “I was just over at the office. Dad tried to shoot me. Twice. So Uncle Bob pulled a gun. That man is way faster than he looks.”

  Her eyes widened again. Then they narrowed in disbelief. Then widened yet again. Then narrowed. Then they did this little mushy thing as she tried to wrap her head around what I’d said. Then they widened some more.
Then narrowed. And as entertaining as her eye movements were, I was in my boxers.

  “Okay, so I’m going to take a shower. You let that sink in.”

  “How did the offices look?” she finally asked, and I knew she missed them.

  “They are really nice since Bobby Joe refinished them. I like the soft taupe he chose.”

  “It’s so weird that he thought his girlfriend was trying to kill him with peanuts.”

  “I know, right?” I took my coffee cup and headed that way. “It would have made more sense if he’d had a peanut allergy.”

  After I got rid of Angel, telling him his shift was up, I took a quick shower and went over my agenda for the day. We weren’t any closer to finding out who Harper’s stalker was, and that saddened me, but I still had several leads to check out. Cook had already obtained the list of nonresident visitors at the Tanoan Estates, and none of them coincided with anyone from Harper’s past that we could deduce.

  She also hit me with an address on the Lowells’ long-term housekeeper who’d recently retired. I figured I’d start there, then go to the abandoned mental asylum and check on my friend Rocket. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

  “I also have a list of everyone who worked for the Lowells when they were married,” Cookie said as I munched on the breakfast of champions, leftover brownies, “but not many of them worked there for more than a couple of years. Their driver still works for them, and their live-in housekeeper worked for them up until a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Right, their new housekeeper told me that much.”

  “Took me a while to track her down. She worked for the Lowells for almost thirty years. You’d think they would know where she lived. I had to ask Donald.”

  “Donald?” I asked, injecting a purr of interest into my voice. “You’re on a first-name basis with Donald?”

  “Pffft. He’s the Lowells’ driver, he’s the only one who would give me a microsecond of his time, and he sounds ninety if he’s a day.”