Rose from the Grave

by Candace Murrow

  She stirred, and he retracted his hand. She yawned, then raised her head and cast a disoriented glance around the room. "Where am I?" She looked at Chance, panic in her eyes, then at his clothed body on top of the covers. "Oh." She lay back and sighed. "How long have I been sleeping?"

  "It's six now. I'd say a good five hours."

  "Oh, no, I'll never sleep tonight."

  "I bet you will. You were exhausted, still are."

  "I haven't slept well in months."

  He propped on his elbow to look at her. Her hair was tangled and messy, but she was never more enticing. He wished he could act on his desire, but it wasn't the right time. "Tell me why you haven't slept well. Has there been something else bothering you, besides Brianna? Looming debts, an old flame?"

  She smiled a sleepy smile, rousing the dimples on the sides of her mouth. "Debts, no. Old flames? I have lots of them, but they all burned out a long time ago." Her smile dimmed. "Brianna's death is my principal worry." She scooted up against the headboard and so did he.

  "Tell me your concerns."

  "I don't know, Chance. I seem to be getting these strange feelings, ideas, really. For me, things just don't add up. I'm starting to question whether Brianna actually took her own life."

  "Explain."

  "Okay, but you'll probably think I'm crazy," she said. "I know I was told she committed suicide by turning on her car's engine in her garage. Asphyxiation by carbon monoxide poisoning. But the garage door doesn't even close all the way. The metal is buckled. I've pulled it as hard as I can, and it won't budge. It gets stuck halfway. Wouldn't that let too much oxygen in? Did you know that about the garage door?"

  "I can't say that I did. Whenever I stopped by, the door was always open. I didn't have a reason to question it. But the sheriff investigated."

  "What about all those crazy calls she was getting before she died. Maybe it's connected. And I found dried blood under the rug near her bed. It looked smeared, like someone tried to wipe it up."

  "I'll give you the crank calls, but after her death, I never heard anything about blood in her house. Maybe she had an accident or cut herself."

  "No, Chance. She was fastidious. She would never have left blood on the floor like that. And Tilly told me she saw Tim Holmes rough Brianna up behind Bertie's, and Tilly's grandmother told me she heard his motorcycle late that night going to Brianna's house."

  "Are you thinking Tim Holmes had something to do with it? He's an S.O.B., but I don't think he's capable of murder."

  "He beats his wife, and he beat up Brianna."

  "I just don't know, Kat. Like I said, her death was investigated."

  "You said yourself the sheriff would protect his son."

  "Maybe from being accused of harassing phone calls, but not murder. The sheriff said they found her early in the morning. Maybe she was upset after he left."

  Kat shifted the pillow into a more comfortable position. "I've been thinking a lot about this, and the bottom line is Brianna had no reason to commit suicide. I know she was troubled at times, but everyone I've talked to here says she was happy before she died. You said so yourself. You said she was the one who broke up the relationship. So why would she kill herself over him?"

  "That's a good point," Chance said. "She seemed very happy, especially after she rid herself of him."

  "Then what about this? If he kept pestering her to go back to him and she wouldn't, maybe he got so mad he lost control. A man who's as abusive as he is could do anything if provoked far enough."

  "True."

  "I didn't tell you this, but he came to the house last night because he wanted to know why I was looking for him. I'll tell you what. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge."

  "Kat, you should be careful."

  "I can handle it."

  "Still, you need to be cautious, especially when you're alone in that house. Why don't you move into my guest room for the rest of your stay here?"

  Kat leaned away from Chance. "You sure know how to bring the conversation back to what you want."

  "I only want you to be safe."

  "Safe in your bed."

  "That's not what I meant. I think staying here is the logical thing to do."

  "Yeah, well, there's no logic in any of this. Do you know I'm seeing Brianna's ghost now, and hearing her voice?" Kat's own voice wavered.

  "Kat . . ."

  "I am, Chance. Last night the door slammed and woke me up. There was no one in the house. Later her ghost was at the foot of my bed, and her desperate voice cried out to me." Kat turned away from him.

  He hated to see her tortured this way. He linked arms with her and gave her a nudge closer, but she threw off his arm and inched away toward the edge of the bed. The old Kat was returning, aloof and defensive.

  She stood with the blanket around her waist. "I'm going back to Brianna's."

  "Now?" He didn't want her to leave.

  "Tiger's outside."

  "Did you leave food for her?"

  "Yes, but--"

  "She'll survive one night." He rounded the corner of the bed and stationed himself between her and the door. "I wish you'd stay."

  "I'm not that tired, and I'll probably be up most of the night anyway," she said matter-of-factly. "You were nice enough to listen to my outrageous theory, but I don't think you're taking me seriously."

  "I am taking you seriously. It's just that it took me by surprise. I hadn't considered her death to be anything other than what I was told. Give me time to think it through."

  "Excuse me, but I have to go. I have work to do. Besides, what would I do here?"

  "Hmm . . . I could think of something," he said in jest.

  "I'm sure you could. Where are my jeans?" She sidestepped him and headed into the living room.

  "Whatever you want to do," he called after her in exasperation, "but aren't you hungry? Can I fix you a meal, take you out?"

  With the blanket over her lap, she squeezed into her jeans, careful of her bruised knee. "Do you have any lunchmeat? A sandwich will do."

  "If you'll give me thirty minutes, I can make you a hot meal."

  She zipped up her boots without answering him and stalked into the kitchen. Chance gave in and made them both a turkey sandwich. While she ate, he brought Zeke inside, dragging him through the doorway and across the linoleum. Zeke slid and scraped his nails, trying to keep from being banished to the garage. He whimpered and pawed the closed door.

  Kat asked to have her sandwich wrapped to go, giving Chance the impression she really couldn't stand spending one more minute with him. The woman was both hot and cold, a description, if he remembered right, she'd given him.

  She edged toward the door, and he grabbed his keys and left his sandwich uneaten. "Can you at least give me a ride to my truck?"

  "Fair enough."

  But he didn't think her going home at all was fair.

  They'd lain in bed discussing Brianna's death well into the evening. It was already after nine. Outside, the moonlight shimmered through the trees, deepening the shadows.

  CHAPTER 22

  If it weren't for the SUV's headlights, the cemetery would have gone unnoticed. Tucked away in a hillside of sprawling maples and ancient pines that thickened at the rim, the graveyard was dark and shadowy. The eldest headstones, tall and stalwart, caught the light just right, appearing like phantoms in the night.

  Kat edged her car closer to Chance's truck, the lone vehicle parked across the road. She waited for him to unbuckle his seatbelt.

  "I don't think you should be alone, Kat. Are you sure you won't reconsider and stay at my house?"

  Too many thoughts were roiling, too many questions about her sister's death, her need to close up the house, and now Chance's confession of how he felt about her. His asking had too many implications.

  Maybe he was the type who knew exactly what he wanted, but for Kat one week was too soon, too fast to begin a relationship, or an affair, or whatever he was asking of her. As attracte
d as she was to him, in the past she'd allowed herself to be swept into the bliss of new love with disastrous results. She needed time to think things through. "Not tonight," she murmured.

  He exited the car and leaned inside. "I'll follow you to make sure you get home all right."

  "That's not necessary."

  As she chugged through town--deserted except for a few cars parked outside Bertie's--and turned left onto Maple Lane, his truck followed. Though she'd objected to it earlier, this chivalrous act comforted her.

  But her comfort was short-lived. In the driveway her headlights revealed the door to the house was wide open. She tried to recall if she'd forgotten to lock up. Thinking back, she was certain she let Tiger out. She'd told Chance as much. But had she actually locked the door?

  By now Chance was tapping on her car's window. She'd been so fixated on the house she hadn't paid attention to the lights looming behind her.

  "Didn't you lock up when you left?" He opened the car door for her.

  She hurried ahead. On the front step she accidentally flipped over Tiger's dish, scattering the kibble. She switched on the overhead light and gasped at the room's condition. The lamp lay on the floor. A chair was cast on its side.

  Chance pushed her back, then disappeared into the bedroom. Coming back into the living area, he said, "No one's here. You can come in now."

  She set the lamp on the end table and took stock of the room. Brianna's afghan was heaped on the floor next to a shattered coffee cup. When she bent to right the chair, he instructed her to leave the rest alone for the sheriff to see.

  She crossed the room, avoiding a broken chunk of ceramic. The shaft of light, shining into the bedroom, revealed jumbled bedcovers strewn with Kat's clothes. "Who would do this?"

  "Is there anything missing?"

  She righted the bedroom lamp. On the closet shelf the blanket was shoved to the side and dangled precariously on the edge. The laptop was still in its place as was the box. "Nothing."

  "Let's leave things be. In the morning we'll contact the sheriff. For tonight, you're staying with me."

  It was too late to find another place to sleep. She had to stay with Chance. Given the situation, she wanted to stay with him, at least stay in his guest room. "All right, but first there's something I need to check out." She dislodged the box from under the bed, thereby disturbing the throw rug and reminding her of the bloodstain. "Chance, I want you to look at this." He knelt beside her, and she raised the rug for him to see. "This is what I was telling you about."

  He touched a finger to the swirled stain. He looked at Kat, concerned.

  She removed the box and the laptop from the closet shelf and stacked all of Brianna's papers into one box. "I'm not leaving these here." She gathered everything and left the room.

  "You shouldn't remove anything," he said, pursuing her.

  "I'm not leaving this for anyone else to see."

  "What was in the box under the bed?"

  "Wait till we're back at your house." She checked in the kitchen. Everything looked normal, nothing moved or broken. Her gaze fell on the bag of kibble. "Tiger. Where is she? I can't leave her."

  "Whoever broke in probably scared her off. She'll be back."

  "I can't leave her, Chance. What if she comes back, and I'm not here?"

  "Put a bowl of food by the garage. Believe me, she'll come around. She's got a good thing going here. We'll stop by early in the morning and check on her." While Kat took care of Tiger's dish, he examined the door. "Doesn't look like anyone broke in. You must have left it unlocked."

  "I know I locked it. I always . . ." She thought about the door slamming shut in the middle of the night, too spooked to bring it up again. "I usually do."

  "I checked the window in the bedroom. It was cracked open a little. Maybe whoever did this came in that way."

  "I'm sure I locked that, too. I mean, I think I did. I just don't know. What about calling the sheriff now?"

  "We could, but knowing Holmes, since nothing is missing, he'd tell us to lock the door and call him in the morning."

  She gave the room one last look before he locked up. "He's that lax?"

  Chance shrugged, then walked to the garage and gave the door a tug. It wouldn't budge past the halfway point.

  On the drive to Chance's place, Kat realized she only had the clothes on her back, the clothes she'd worn all day—her jeans, shirt, and boots. She hadn't thought to grab her makeup kit or a change of undies, which, she suddenly recalled, seemed strategically placed in a row on top of her jumbled clothes. She shuddered at the thought of some weirdo handling her intimate apparel. Anger bubbled up, displacing the fear.

  Chance's house was warm and cozy, exactly as they'd left it. Zeke barked from inside the garage, and Chance squeezed through the doorway while soothing him with tender words. Kat heard a ball hit the garage wall. Chance walked in from the kitchen area and offered her a glass of ice water.

  She set the box on the coffee table and slouched on the sofa. She felt limp from the stress of the situation, but her mind was honed on tossing theories around. "Do you think Tim Holmes did it? He was that mad."

  "I don't know, Kat, but obviously, someone's trying to scare you."

  "Tim Holmes. He's the one with the temper and the motive. I've been challenging him, and he doesn't like it. Maybe I'm getting too close to the truth. I've made him pretty angry."

  "If you're measuring it by whom you've angered, there are other people to consider. What about Nate Wheeler?"

  Her body stiffened. "You're right. I pissed him off, too, but . . ." Kat sucked a quick breath in. "Oh, my gosh, what if Brianna was having an affair with Wheeler and she was threatening to tell his wife? Think about it, Chance. He'd have a motive for killing Brianna." She paused. "No, it has to be Tim Holmes. He was with Brianna the night she died."

  "Aren't you jumping to conclusions? You don't even know if this murder theory of yours is true. There was an investigation."

  Slumping again, Kat reconsidered. "I don't know anything for sure, Chance, except for the fact that I can't believe she'd commit suicide, just like I can't believe what she was writing about." She searched the box and tossed him one of Brianna's manuscripts. "Take a look at this."

  After reading a little, he blew out a whistled breath, but continued to read on. Kat skimmed one of the other stories. She squeezed his arm, causing him to look up.

  "What is it, Kat?"

  "Here, look at this." She pointed to the middle of a page. "See the word 'pussycat'? That's what the pervert on the phone calls me. He did it in Seattle, and he's doing it here. That means whoever's been harassing me must know about these stories. How else would he have known to use that word?"

  "What's the story about? Maybe there's a clue to the identity of this guy."

  "It's called 'Sister Love,' and it's about a man who fantasizes about two women." She scanned the first two pages and dropped the manuscript as if it were broken glass. "How could she write this garbage?"

  Chance collected the pages and skimmed what Kat had read. "Do you get that the man in this story is nuts and goes after both these women? Think about it, Kat. What if the man who harassed Brianna read this story and is now harassing you?"

  "But the man acted on his fantasies." Kat suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

  "Your murder theory might not be a theory at all. I'll tell you one thing, theory or no theory, you're staying here for the duration."

  Any other time she would have protested, but not now. "What about the sheriff? Shouldn't we get him involved?"

  Chance checked the calendar on the kitchen wall. "I've got an appointment early tomorrow morning in Benton. But as soon as I get back, we'll call the sheriff and meet him at Brianna's. We can explain your theory to him then, although I don't know if it will do any good."

  "When will you be back?"

  "By eleven at the latest."

  She nodded, knowing full well she wouldn't wait for him. She was perfectly capable of handling
the situation herself.

  * * *

  The braying burros woke Kat. Her neck hurt from being kinked sideways and drool had dripped from her mouth onto Chance's shirt. For clues to the identity of the caller, they'd continued reading the stories. Sometime during the night she'd rested against the warmth of his body and had fallen asleep. Now it was light outside.

  He stirred when she pushed away from him and slid his arm out from behind her shoulder. He shook the kinks out.

  "What time is it? How long have we been sleeping?" She groaned in the process of stretching her legs from a curled-up position.

  Zeke whimpered at the kitchen door.

  "It's after seven." Chance rose, arched his back. "I've got to clean up and get to Benton. Do you want to come along?"

  "I think I'll stay here."

  "Why don't you go into the guest room and get some sleep? I'll wake you when I get back."

  "I'll just stay here." She stretched out on the sofa and grabbed a scatter pillow for her head.

  He placed a blanket over her and brushed a stray hair from her face, his expression warm and affectionate. "I'll be back soon. Rusty is out at the barn if you need anything. He'll keep a watch on the house."

  "Hmm . . . mmm," she muttered, closing her eyes. She heard the clip of Zeke's nails across the kitchen floor, a door close, and a shower running. She dozed but heard Chance leave by way of the front door and his truck's engine sputter to life. The rich smell of coffee hung in the air. Sometime while she'd slept, he'd made a pot.

  As soon as he was gone, she flung the blanket aside and went into the bathroom to wash up. Her hair looked a fright. Another ponytail day.

  Coming out of the bathroom, she had the urge to snoop around, discover more about this mysterious man who, by chance, had come into her life. She peered into his study. As tempting as it was, she'd have to let this opportunity slide. More important now, she needed to contact the sheriff before Chance returned.