“You’re probably right, but I’m worried all the same.” I glanced out the window into the darkness beyond. “It’s going to be cold out there tonight.” As I poured the spaghetti sauce into a container and snapped the lid on, Joe and Jimbo came back into the kitchen.
Jimbo was carrying Mur’s jacket. “I hate to leave with the kids so upset,” he said. “But Anna and I have a few errands to run before the evening’s over.” He gave me a peck on the cheek, a habit he’d recently adopted. I could see the worried twist to his mouth peeking out from the brush that he called a mustache.
At least he’d gotten rid of the fashion faux pas I’d recommended earlier in the year. His cornrowed biker’s beard had definitely not transformed him into a “ten.” Thanks to Murray’s influence, Jimbo had recently shaved off the Deadhead-Rasta look, and now his beard was neatly clipped near his chin and his hair smoothed back into a long ponytail. He still looked rough and tumble, but hey—he looked good rough and tumble. I reached up and patted his cheek.
“You’re a sweetheart. And so are you,” I said, turning to Mur.
She sighed. “Damn it, I wish we could stay and lend a hand, but I have to stop at the station and make sure the men haven’t done something stupid again.” Murray glanced at Jimbo, obviously torn, then turned back to me. “I didn’t tell you this because it’s just so demeaning, but on Thursday, somebody—I still don’t know who—got into my computer and E-mailed an X-rated picture to the chief from my account. Supposedly from me!”
I winced. “Holy hell, that sucks rocks. How X-rated?” You just didn’t E-mail the chief of police porn.
She grimaced. “More than you want to know. Think overly endowed young man, with a big-breasted woman on her knees in front of him, and you get the idea. The woman was wearing a skimpy Pocahontas costume and I have the sneaking suspicion that whoever sent it was trying to suggest to Bonner that I wanted to reenact the scene.”
I stared at her, unable to comprehend that someone on the police force would actually go to such lengths just because they didn’t like Murray’s boyfriend. Unless it was one of the men passed over for promotion who was bucking for her job. Either way, it was lowdown, dirty, and stupid to boot. Anybody willing to take a chance on incurring Murray’s anger had to be either insane or . . . no, just insane. Murray could be a dangerous enemy; everybody knew she had a temper.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
She frowned. “I was hoping to find out who did it, but I don’t think I’m going to. I’ve changed my password, but it’s become obvious that I’m no longer just fighting for an equal chance on the force. I have enemies there.”
Jimbo grunted. “If I ever catch the S.O.B. there won’t be anything left of him. Nobody treats a woman like that and gets away with it.”
I stifled a snort and thought about reminding him that earlier in the year he’d made an obnoxiously rude pass at me while drunk. And then had gone on to throw a crudely inscribed brick through my living room window. But I decided not to bother. Jimbo had changed, all for the better. I turned back to Murray.
“Keep me informed. This is just sick.”
“Oh yeah. I’m not giving up. If I can find the asshole who did it, he’ll pay. Trust me on that.” As she shrugged into her jacket, a brown suede affair with fringe on the sleeves, she added, “Call me later and let me know if Sammy’s shown up, okay?”
Joe and I walked them to the door. I stared out into the night. “Sure thing. Say, would you please take a look beneath your trucks and their hoods before you leave? Cats like to hang out in the stupidest places.”
“Chin up, O’Brien, you’ll find her,” Jimbo said, waving as they clattered down the porch steps to the driveway.
I turned back to find Joe digging through the closet. “Where do you keep the extra flashlights again? We should help the kids look for the cat.”
As I started to speak, his cell phone rang. He answered it while I headed back to the pantry where I kept a half-dozen flashlights. I was making sure the batteries were fresh as Joe came running in.
“Em, there’s a fire over on Hamilton Drive. People are hurt and they need the medic unit. The entire station’s been called out—this is a big one and it doesn’t look good.” He grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to be late. I might be gone all night.”
I handed him his backpack, fear puddling in my stomach. “How bad?”
He rubbed his head, pushing back the strawberry blond curls that tendriled down over his brow. “Big Bad. We may need volunteers. Every truck in Chiqetaw is on the way. Apparently the Delta Mae apartment building has been engulfed by flames. There are fifty units in that building, five floors’ worth, and the fire’s out of control.”
I leaned back against the wall, closing my eyes. “Those poor people.” Then, realizing that every minute he stayed here kept him safe but put others at risk, I yanked open the door. “Go! And be careful, please. Call me when you get a chance.”
He gave me a grateful smile. “You know how much I love you, don’t you?”
Fighting back tears, I nodded. “I love you too. Just take care of yourself, Joseph Files.” I hastily planted a kiss on his cheek and he raced toward his truck. My heart skipped a beat when he stopped long enough to take a quick peek beneath it, then shot out of the driveway on his way to the station. There were so many reasons I loved this man.
As I stood on the front porch, shivering, the kids came running up the street, both pale and with deer-in-the-headlights looks in their eyes.
“What? What is it?” I hurried them inside and shut the door, latching it firmly. “What happened?”
“M-m-m-mom . . . in the lot next d-d-door . . .” Kip only stuttered when he was frightened or terribly upset.
I leaned down and put my hands on his shoulders, bracing him firmly. “Kipling, honey? Take a deep breath—shush. Breathe.” Randa was glancing back at the door. “What happened?” I asked quietly, hoping to hell that some pervert hadn’t moved into the neighborhood. Or maybe, they’d found Samantha dead on the road.
Her voice quivering, Randa slid down onto the bench in the foyer. “Kip saw something next door. In the lot.”
“You saw something? Something as in what?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t see it, but Kip did.”
“Lights,” Kip broke in. “I saw lights. Round balls of light in the air.”
I was taken aback, I hadn’t expected to hear anything in that vein. Slipping on my jacket, I said, “Maybe somebody’s prowling around over there with a flashlight.”
Randa shook her head. “Not somebody, mom. Something.”
I gave him a long look. “You didn’t see anybody?”
“No, just the lights. They’re all different colors.”
Bewildered—we didn’t have fireflies in the area and it wasn’t the season for them anyway—I took a deep breath. “Okay, stay here. I’m going to go have a look. By the way, Joe had to go out on a fire. If something happens, call Murray.”
I grabbed one of the flashlights and headed next door. Most likely somebody was just out walking his dog for the night, and had startled the kids, but I wanted to make sure that nobody was mucking around the foundation. I could easily see someone deciding to ignore the warning ropes. All it would take was one misstep and bingo—a broken neck from a nasty fall.
The night was crisp, but judging from the clouds, the mist would rise before morning. In Chiqetaw, the streetlights were reminiscent of the gas lanterns that adorned street corners years ago before electricity and mercury vapor hit the mainstream. Modern in use, but vintage in looks, they gave the town a homey, cozy feel.
As I neared the lot, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck began to bristle. Something was out there all right. I turned off my flashlight and slowed. As I rounded the fence that separated my house from Joe’s new land, the clouds parted briefly, letting a bare glimmer of star-shine through. The moon was near dark, of no use in lighting my way.
I squinted, searching the vag
ue shapes and shadows, when a flicker of light caught my attention. Faint—so faint I could barely keep it in sight. One step at a time, I closed in, taking care not to go careening into the basement myself. The lights were a good twenty yards beyond the foundation, still out of reach, hovering in the last tangle of brambles we hadn’t managed to clear yet. As I moved closer, they came into focus. Whoa, Nelly. Kip had nailed it. Dancing lights, all right.
The glowing orbs were about the size of a large grapefruit and they darted through the air, shimmering shades of pink and greens, pale yellow, and blue so bright it was almost white. Enchanted, I watched as they swooped and dove around the lot.
One of the orbs suddenly approached me, hovering at arm’s length. It was almost a perfect sphere, and energy crackled from it. I reached out again, probing for a sense of what it was, but the orb darted away. Then, almost imperceptibly, it began to move forward again until it was hovering right in front of my face. My eyes ached from the light as I held my breath, waiting to see what it would do.
It circled me slowly, radiating behind my head, and then settled back in front of me. As we stood there in a comfortable standoff, I reached out again with my thoughts and asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”
Almost instantaneously, every light in the lot flickered and vanished, and a low wail rose from the basement, chilling me to the core. Holy hell, what was down there?
Shaking, I nervously approached the edge of the foundation and peered beyond the ropes, over the edge. There, against the layers of mulch in the basement, a thick pillar of fog had risen. Perhaps it was the autumn mists that came with the damp, chill nights in western Washington. Or maybe, my mind whispered, maybe it was something else, something trapped down there.
Whatever it was, I decided I’d had enough. Time to head home while I was still in one piece. I’d deal with this mystery in the morning, during the daylight. As I opened the front door, a distant wail of fire engines reminded me that Joe was out on duty, in danger, and once again, I had to acknowledge that this world could be a most unsettling place in which to live.
The kids were waiting. I slipped off my jacket and handed it to Miranda, asking if she’d hang it in the closet, then set the flashlight on the table. Both Kip and Randa looked at me expectantly.
“Did you see them?” Kip asked, and I had the feeling he was both afraid I’d say yes, and afraid I’d say no.
I nodded. “Yeah, I saw them. You weren’t imagining anything.”
“Why didn’t I see them, then? And what are they?” Randa asked. She stopped, swallowed, and added, “Mom, are they ghosts?”
I considered my wording carefully. Randa was better about the supernatural than she’d been a year ago, but she still spooked easily, and while I knew she’d inherited some of my abilities, she had chosen another route in life, even at her young age. Kip, on the other hand, was so open that he shone like a beacon, and it was all I could do to protect him and teach him to ward off anything big and nasty.
“I don’t think so, honey. I don’t know what they are, but until I can find out, you guys stay away from there. Okay? I don’t want you hurt.”
They nodded, Randa a little quicker than Kip. “All right. Tomorrow morning, you can run over to some of our neighbors and ask them if they’ve seen Samantha. I’ll bet you anything that she’s hiding. She’ll come waltzing in before you know it.”
Even as I said it, my gut churned. I was kidding them, as well as myself. We’d been all over the house and she was nowhere to be seen. I swallowed back my tears for the kids’ sake and watched as they trooped up the stairs, faces glum.
DURING THE RESTLESS night, I got one break, or at least it seemed that way on the surface. Joe phoned to let me know that he was okay and the fire was out. He’d be staying at the station the rest of the night to finish up reports.
”Was anybody hurt bad?”
He kept his voice low. “Eight. Four serious burns and four minor. Randa knows the son of the couple that are in critical condition, actually—Gunner Lindemeyer’s parents.”
Oh God. Gunner? I leaned back against the bed, pressing my eyes closed. “Please tell me that the boy wasn’t hurt too bad.”
Joe sighed. “He was lucky. He woke up in time to get out but couldn’t reach his parents’ bedroom to wake them. The flames were too thick and the fire started in their apartment. We managed to rescue them, but they’re in pretty bad shape. To make matters worse, the family didn’t have any working smoke alarms—the batteries were all dead. I hate it when people don’t bother to check their alarms to see if they’re working.”
I swallowed a rising swell of panic. “That’s horrible. Do you think they’ll live?” Somebody was going to have to break the news to Randa and I knew it would be best coming from me.
“Maybe. They’re pretty bad off. If they do live, they’ll need numerous surgeries to deal with the scars. Gunner’s mother’s better off than his father; I’d say she’s got the best chance. Gunner suffered from some smoke inhalation, but he’s going to be okay. The kid’s just lucky he woke up and called 911. He could have slept through it.”
Joe’s voice cracked. I wanted to take him in my arms, and soothe him. This part of the job was hard on him, I knew that from watching firsthand. Working on the medic unit brought him in contact with so much pain.
“So when are you going to break the news to Randa?” he asked.
I blew my nose. “Probably first thing in the morning. They were supposed to go out to the movies together but that’s not going to happen now. It would have been her first date.” I glanced at the clock. 2:00 A.M. I sighed. “I just keep thinking of that poor boy. Does he have a place to stay?”
“Yeah, his aunt picked him up. He’s pretty shaken up.”
“I imagine. Man, this is shaping up to be a lousy week.” We talked a little more and then I hung up and went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea. As I heated the water, I heard a rustling on the stairs and turned to see Randa, peeking into the kitchen.
“Mom? What are you doing up? Is something wrong?”
My heart fell. I could still send her back to bed and tell her in the morning, but forestalling the news wouldn’t make it any easier.
“Making tea. I just talked to Joe. Why are you up?”
She frowned at the table. “I woke up and thought somebody was standing next to my bed. But when I sat up, there was nobody there.”
Great, so the astral world was alive and kicking.
“Well, come sit down. I want to talk to you for a minute.”
I poured water over the bags in my pumpkin-shaped teapot. A delicate whiff of lemon rose up. My favorite tea had, at one time, been Moroccan Mint, but this summer it had been usurped by a new love—the London Fruit & Herb Company’s Lemon-Lime Zest tea. The flavor was delicate, comforting. And within a few minutes, Randa would need all the comfort she could get. As reserved as she could seem, my little girl had a soft heart for her friends and family. I arranged a handful of gingersnaps on a plate and carried the tea tray over to the table. As I slid in beside her, she leaned her head on my shoulder and I kissed her hair.
“So you had a visitor?” Though I planned on telling her about Gunner’s parents, I wanted to take care of matters at home first. “Did you see who it was? Were you scared?”
She glanced at me. “You aren’t going to tell me it was just a dream?”
I gave her a gentle smile. “I could, but I don’t think it was. There’s a lot going on right now on the astral and we’re nearing All Hallows Eve. The spirits are a lot more active this time of year.”
“All Hallows Eve. Halloween. Your birthday,” she said, grabbing a cookie and nibbling on it.
“Yes, my birthday.” I shared my birthday with Nanna, my maternal grandmother, whose spirit still showed up every now and then to reassure me or help me get out of one scrape or another.
Nanna had taught me the family traditions. I learned them at her knee, and one of my most beloved rituals stemmed fro
m an ancient western European celebration that had counterparts in many cultures throughout the world. Samhain, pronounced “Sow-ween,” was the festival of the dead—a time during which people honored their ancestors. Halloween was a direct, though secular, descendant of that celebration.
When I was young, after the Halloween parties were over, Nanna would take me to her room. My mother would come along sometimes, though she never showed much of an interest in what Nanna wanted to teach her. There, we would set up a small altar with candles and family photographs, and on the table in front of the pictures, we placed plates of food for the dead and wished them good journeys, wherever they might be headed. Then Nanna would read the tarot to divine what was going to happen during the coming year. As I grew older, I joined her in the practice.
Once I married Roy, I had to make sure he was asleep before I’d sneak outside and sit on the porch. Bundled up in a thick jacket, I’d read the cards and talk to my ancestors. Nanna often showed up on these nights, patting my knee to let me know that I was doing the best that I could under the circumstances, and that my best was good enough.
But the year that Roy and I split, I dragged out Nanna’s box, set up the altar, and began to teach the children their family heritage. Randa participated, though at first she’d been vaguely uncomfortable. But Kip loved the traditions, and they had become his favorite parts of Halloween.
Randa played with her cookie, finally setting it down to pick up her tea. She stared solemnly at the cup. “Mom, can we add pictures of friends to the ancestor altar during Halloween? Or strangers? Maybe something we drew instead of a photograph?”
Where had that come from? I thought about it, then nodded. “Well, if they’re dead and you want to remember them, I don’t see why not. Who were you thinking of?” I couldn’t imagine who she’d want to add.
Randa’s gaze flickered up to meet mine and I saw a few tears staining her lashes. “The lady who was standing by my bed. I feel really sorry for her. She didn’t scare me. She just seemed lonely. Like nobody remembers her.”
A Harvest of Bones Page 5
