Gabby watched her father. His eyes shimmered, but his jaw was set hard—he wasn’t a man who cried in front of others.
She put a hand on his shoulder, though he flinched.
“Nurse Phillips told me that you had forgotten what they said.”
“Nah, I still remember. God knows I wish I didn’t, but I do. It’s one of the conditions of the curse.”
Her father wasn’t making much sense, but that was the way it was sometimes. She wasn’t supposed to encourage such ramblings, but she was curious. “What curse, Dad? What do you mean?”
He looked to her with wide eyes. He still held the jack of spades in his hand. His eyes moved to her pocket, and he leaned forward. “Aside from a camera, the feds can turn on your microphone without you knowing it, any time they want. Put the phone in the other room, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
Gabby studied him, watching his eyes. In them, she saw the man she had once known. A shiver passed down her spine.
“All right, I’ll be right back.” Gabby got up and left the room. Outside, she saw that the hallway was empty, and she put her phone in her purse and hung it on the outer doorknob.
When she sat down once more, her father was waiting for her, still holding the jack.
“Now will you tell me about the curse?” she asked.
“Shh,” he hissed, eyeing the room. “Keep your voice down when you speak of such things.”
“The phone is outside. They can’t hear us from there,” said Gabby.
Her father had always been paranoid and often spoke of Area 51, government surveillance, secret societies, and satanic politician pedophiles. Gabby respected her father and knew not to blow him off like so many others did. She often looked into the things he spoke of and, to her surprise, found that much of it was true.
“There are other ways for things to hear,” said her father.
“Things?”
“I remember everything right now, Gabby. So listen up and listen good. I don’t know how long it will last. There are things that you need to know. Now that your sister is gone, and I’m stuck in this shit hole, you’re going to have to fend for yourself.”
Gabby listened on the edge of her seat. He had never talked this way before.
“We tried to hide you from it, tried to keep you out of it . . .”
“Dad, what are you talking about?”
He suddenly bent at the waist and gave a moan of discomfort. His hands shot to his head, and he cried out.
“Dad!”
“Two plus two is four, wolves, wolves at the door. One slips by the fire, ahh!”
Gabby got up to get help, but her father grabbed her arm with an iron grip. “You’ve got to be careful,” he said, panting. “You’ve got to find your strength.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, giving him a fierce hug.
“I’ll be all right until I ain’t. How is your sister doing?”
Gabby slowly moved out of the hug and regarded her father.
He was smiling pleasantly.
“Dad? I just told you about Maggy.”
He furled his brow in thought. “Did you?” He looked concerned. “Damn it, but that medication isn’t worth a shit. Bunch of drug pushers, they are. You know who brings most of the drugs into this country?”
Gabby sat in her chair once more and sighed. “The CIA.”
“No, the C—that’s right, Gabs,” he said with a grin. “How’s your sister? I haven’t seen her since Carter had liver pills.”
“No one knows who Carter is anymore, Dad.”
“Of course not. Have you seen the TV lately? Bunch of horse shit. No one wants to know nothing.”
“Do you remember what I said about Maggy, Dad?”
“Maggy?” he said, looking perplexed. “Are you a nurse? Do you work here? I need my dinner.”
“It’s me, Gabriella.”
“This is awkward,” he said. “I’ve a feeling I should know you.”
“You do know me, Dad. I’m your youngest daughter. Your eldest daughter, Maggy, died recently. The funeral is tomorrow. Would you like to come?”
“Maggy?” he said, looking to the jack of spades on the table. He blinked back tears. “Poor Maggy.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
Her father sniffled and scooped up the playing cards. He shuffled without saying a word and began to deal the game once more.
“Do you want to go to the funeral?” Gabby asked again.
“I don’t like funerals. I don’t even plan on going to my own,” said her father.
“This one is for Maggy, your daughter.”
He stopped dealing out the cards and looked to her. “But you’re Maggy.”
“I’m Gabby . . .” She couldn’t take it anymore. Tears blurred her vision, and she quietly excused herself and went out into the hall.
Chapter 13
Gabby picked up her father for the funeral the next day at eleven in the morning. Nurse Phillips went with them, partially to look after General Cross, but also because she had known and loved Maggy as well.
The day turned out to be sunny rather than overcast—a testament, Gabby decided, to her sister’s cheery disposition. Even on the day that Maggy was laid to rest, she refused to let it darken the world. The birds chirped, and heat bugs sang. A faint breeze left black dresses flowing in the sunshine.
Gabby was there to pay respects to her sister, but she was also there to sniff out any of the “clients” from the strip joint who might be there as well. The police didn’t have any leads on Maggy’s possible killer, so Gabby figured she might as well keep her eyes open.
General Nicholas Cross was there in his best blues. He even wore a sidearm, though Jamya had ensured Gabby that it wasn’t loaded. A few of his old pals were there as well, friends of the family whom Gabby had known her entire life. Her aunt Emily from her mother’s side was there, and so too was her cousin Martin. A half-dozen strippers had showed up as well. They had, however, come dressed for the occasion. All but one, the most flamboyant of the bunch, Jemma Stone. She showed a little too much cleavage and wore a black skirt hiked up so far that her ass end popped out the bottom whenever she moved.
And then there was Derek.
He stood across the grave from Gabby and her father. Never once did he look her in the eye. Instead, he stood, head bowed, acting as though he had come not for Gabby’s sake, but for that of Maggy. It was a crock of shit, and Gabby knew it. He was playing the situation to his own benefit. He would assume Gabby to be weak and would think that he could slither his way into her life once more.
He had another thing coming.
Gabby ignored him, focusing instead on the task at hand and the speech she would soon have to give. The paper in her hand was damp with sweat, and she tensed with every passing minute. When the time arrived for her to make her speech, she calmed herself with a steadying breath, fought back the growing lump in her throat, and reminded herself that this wasn’t about her. She stood before the others, staring down at the piece of paper in her quivering hand, and began to read the scribbled words.
“Maggy was my big sister in every sense of the word. She was born many years before me, and by the time I arrived, she was already a strong, strong woman. She was not only a big sister to me, but, I think, to everyone else she loved as well. Even to strangers and animals, she was always kind, caring, and viciously protective. Some would say even to a fault.
“My mother died when I was young, and Maggy was there to fill the void. She was patient with me, tender, loving, and always tried to remind me to love myself . . .”
Gabby thought for a moment that she would not be able to go on. Her throat closed up, and an ocean of tears threatened to burst forth. She allowed only one and stubbornly wiped it from her cheek. Remembering Maggy’s smile, she went on, putting the paper down and speaking to the casket laid out before her.
“Maggy was also my friend. She could brighten the darkest of days, infect a crowd with her laughter, and
charm men and women alike with her smile. I go on after her, unable to imagine a world without her in it. I bring with me her memory, and hope that there is some of her inside of me. If there is, it will only make me a better person.”
Before she lost control, she scooped up a shovel full of dirt with the small spade and tossed it on top of the coffin.
Her sorrow swelled, and she turned abruptly from the gathering with a half-spoken apology and wave of her hand.
Gabby walked away from the ceremony and rested herself against a thick elm tree. Tears flowed freely, yet she sobbed in silence. As she stood there, angrily wiping her tears and chastising herself for being so weak, she saw something toward the center of the cemetery. A black Escalade and a lone man standing beside it, looking toward the grave site.
Without thinking, she started toward it. The SUV was parked along the wide cul-de-sac a hundred yards away.
“Hey!” said Gabby, rushing to reach the mysterious man.
He noticed her, continued to stand there for a moment, then nonchalantly opened one of the back doors and disappeared inside. The Escalade didn’t pull away immediately, giving Gabby enough time to catch up. She reached it and banged on the window. It remained closed, and though she couldn’t see anything through the dark tint of the windows, she knew the strange man was watching her just on the other side. She stared at where she thought his eyes might be and scowled at him, banging on the window again.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
The car finally moved, leaving her staring after it, both frustrated and confused.
“Hey, Gabs.”
It was Derek. She whirled around on him. He was standing there with his hands in his pockets, pouting pitifully and putting on a caring facade. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
“How dare you?” said Gabby. “How dare you come here?”
“Gabs, why would you say such a thi—”
“You hated Maggy, and she hated you. So what business do you have at her burial?”
He opened his arms wide, looking shocked. “I’m your husband,” he said, all sweet-like.
“A husband who raped his wife.”
He was aghast, and he looked around to see if anyone might have heard. “Jesus, Gabby. A husband can’t rape his wife. What’s gotten into you? We got in a fight and had makeup sex like we always do.”
“Is that what you remember? Or are you just completely full of shit?”
Derek seemed to be as surprised by her words as she was. But she was fueled by the memory of her sister and determined to make good on her promise to be more like Maggy. Gabriella reveled in Derek’s shocked expression, in how his jaw dropped and his eyes widened, and all she had done was speak the truth.
“You know what?” she said. “After you raped me in your drunken haze, I couldn’t wait to get your stink off me. I found a hot, young guy, and I let him fuck me in ways you can’t even imagine.”
Derek’s jaw muscles flexed and bulged. His eyes became hard, and she could just see him fighting his impulse to smack her mouth.
“Unlike you, he doesn’t hit women,” she said, unable and not wanting to stop herself. “And unlike you, he doesn’t need to have a six-pack in him to perform like a rock star.”
“Gabs . . . stop.”
“What’s wrong, Derek? You had your fun with Jolene. You must not have a problem with me screwing other people.”
He sighed and tried another route in his desperate attempt. “If you want to hurt me with your lies, go ahead. I’ll be the bigger man—”
Gabby cut him off with a mocking laugh. “You are definitely not the bigger man.” She looked him up and down, showing him how utterly unimpressed she was with him.
Then she turned to leave.
Derek grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back.
“Now you fucking listen to me!” he began.
“Boy!”
Gabby turned to find her father, dressed in his best blues, resting a hand on his sidearm and staring cold-eyed at Derek.
“We are standing on sacred ground. This is my Maggy’s funeral. So I’m going to use my words for now. But if you don’t let go of my daughter and get your sorry ass out of my sight, I’ll take this gun and pistol-whip the shit out of you. I imagine the Lord won’t mind, and I know my Maggy wouldn’t either.”
Derek gulped and slowly released Gabby. His eyes didn’t leave the general’s. He sidestepped the man without a word and hurried to his car.
“Did he hurt you?” Gabby’s father asked, watching him go.
She could only smile at her father and give him a big hug. “I love you, Daddy.”
Chapter 14
After a long day of speaking with people she didn’t want to talk to and holding back emotions she needed to set free, Gabby returned to her sister’s house alone and fell upon the bed, sobbing.
When she awoke early the next morning, she made herself a coffee the way Maggy had made it and smoked a cigarette, determined to get to work. She couldn’t spend her days wallowing in sorrow.
“What would Maggy do?” she asked herself out loud.
What would Maggy do if I died under such strange circumstances?
She didn’t have to think long on it—if their roles were reversed, Maggy wouldn’t wait for the police. She would hunt down the killer and pin his ass to the wall.
Gabby got to work.
Maggy was found at the base of Steele Tower, so that is where the search began. Gabby googled the tower and found that it was owned by one Michael Steele. His company, Lunaris, bought up endangered forests so that they could be preserved.
On the surface, the company looked like a legitimate nonprofit, however, the more she looked into Michael Steele, the more suspect he became. The man was by all estimates one of the richest men in Chicago. Indeed, he was one of the richest men in the country. He had a personal jet, a penthouse on the top floor of Steele Tower, owned more than fifty million acres of land all over the world, and was said to be worth over $20 billion.
Had he been the man at the cemetery? Was he Maggy’s mysterious “John”? Gabby became more excited by the moment. She made herself a double espresso and cozied up with the laptop for the rest of the day, obsessed with the small lead.
Then something occurred to her, and she shot up from the computer chair and rushed to the kitchen. She grabbed the flower vase and fumbled for the note attached. The initials stood out to her in living color—M.S. Michael Steele. Could it be?
It was a good lead, but she needed more. If she had learned anything as a reporter, it was to not let what she wanted to see blind her from what was actually there. Gabby needed to be diligent; she needed to be thorough.
With newfound life coursing through her veins, she went to her sister’s bedroom and began methodically checking the place. She started with the nightstand and quickly wished she hadn’t. There was all manner of sex toys stuffed in the drawers. She found as much in the closet. There was even a leather sex swing hanging there, and on closer inspection, she found the bolts to fasten it to the ceiling over the bed.
Moving on, she searched the other drawers and side tables, but found nothing. Lastly, she checked under the bed. It was surprisingly clean. Beneath it, she found a fireproof box with old documents, insurance papers, a birth certificate, and other essentials. Deeper still, she found a small oak chest. Reverently pulling it from under the bed, she laid the chest on her lap and opened it up with excitement.
She stopped dead.
Inside were dozens and dozens of the same florist cards with the initials M.S.
“I’m on to you, Michael Steele,” she said. “I’m on to you, you son of a bitch.”
Chapter 15
Gabby awoke the next morning with her face on the computer desk among a small mountain of notes and printouts. A picture of Michael Steele stared back at her. It was one of the tall, dark, and handsome billionaire getting off his private jet. His suit was impeccable, and his winning smile was perfect.
> She got up and made coffee, trying to piece together what she knew.
Someone named M.S. had been sending Maggy flowers for a long time. Therefore, it was likely that they knew each other well. Maggy was also found at the base of Steele Tower, and the police had determined it to have been the place of the murder, though Maggy hadn’t fallen from the rooftop, and none of the windows on the lower floors even opened, nor were they broken. Being that Michael Steele was the owner of the building and the notes bore his initials, Gabby thought that it wasn’t much of a leap of faith to put the two together.
In her mind, Michael Steele was the mysterious John that Maggy had been out with, and he was likely also her murderer. Who knew what kind of freaky stuff Maggy’s clients were into? Perhaps he had fallen in love with her, and for whatever reason, Maggy hadn’t loved him back. It was true that he was a billionaire, but Gabby knew her sister. Money didn’t mean much to the carefree woman. Sure, she liked some of the finer things, but she had no illusions or princess delusions. And the fact that Maggy had never mentioned Michael Steele to Gabby was suspect—further proof that he wasn’t a big deal in her life. Or was he a secret?
Either way, he was suspect number one.
Gabby showered and dressed, had a small breakfast of Special K—the kind that was supposed to make you skinny—and set out to gear herself up. If she were going to perform a proper stakeout, she would need some things. Most of what she needed was at her house, but Gabby wasn’t prepared to return there anytime soon.
At the local Walmart, she picked up a pair of high-powered binoculars, a device for listening at far distances, and a high-def camera with a zoom lens. On second thought—and feeling slightly goofy—she bought a pair of black capris and a black hoodie, just to top off the look. She might need the outfit should she find herself doing any late-night recon.
***
Sitting in her sister’s cherry-red 1972 Nova SS, Gabby felt every part the badass. She had parked across the road next to a bank where she could get a good look at the front of the building.
Steele Tower loomed overhead like a monolithic phallus. Its first floor leading to the lobby was constructed entirely with glass. The many windows of the one-hundred-story building shone like mirrors in the afternoon sun.
A Cross to Bear Page 5
