Fugue Macabre: Ghost Dance (Fugue Macabre Trilogy Book 1)

by C. J. Parker

  Exactly what she had seen in the dream the night she’d seen him in the cemetery. Seeing it in a dream was horrific enough, she couldn’t imagine the horror Derek must have experienced. “What did you do?”

  He snorted. “They tell me I went nuts, but the best I can remember, it was Frank that went crazy. Before Elizabeth’s father could cross twenty feet, Frank was across the park and trying to put her back together. He was drenched with her blood by the time the cops got him off her.” Derek’s breath caught in his chest. “Frank appeared out of no where.”

  She wanted to get him off that point and move on. “The police questioned everyone, I’m sure.”

  “It was after midnight before anyone was allowed to leave.” He closed his eyes again. “No one saw a damn thing. She was there one minute, the next she was butchered without a sound.” He looked down at her by his side. “Who do you think did it, Tabatha?”

  Tabatha felt like a coward. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him yet. “Can you visualize the scene? I mean before you went to look for her. Where was everyone?”

  He sighed and looked away. “Who?”

  “Start with her father.”

  “He was right beside me.” He held his silence for a moment. “I think her mother was rearranging flowers by the altar.”

  “Just rerun it in your head. I don’t know everyone. Where were they?” She leaned her elbow on the bed and rested her hand in her hand, laying her hand on his stomach. “You don’t have to tell me, just think about it. Was someone there, then wasn’t? Or were they one place then all of a sudden close to the scene?”

  “I can’t remember everyone. There were caterers, off-duty officers, and a lot of people I didn’t know.” He placed his hand on hers and toyed with her fingers. “Homicide said it could have been a homeless man who’d been begging for food earlier, but I don’t believe it. Who killed her, Tabatha?” The anger in his voice told Tabatha he’d reached his limit of patience with her.

  She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She wished she had the answer to that. But saying who she thought had killed Elizabeth didn’t seem right. “I don’t know who killed her, Derek. I’m doing the same thing you did back then. Trying to think of anything that would add up to a good answer.” She opened her mouth, and the next words flew out before she could stop them. “Elizabeth doesn’t want you to know.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Derek’s mind rearranged Tabatha’s words like a jigsaw puzzle, trying to make sense of them. He dissected the sentences, his brain rejecting all the possibilities. So many emotions stirred just below the surface—a heap of anger, a pinch of fear, and a full measure of jealousy—into a soup too bitter to swallow.

  Elizabeth was talking to her? No. That wasn’t what she said. Derek sucked in deep greedy breaths, nearly hyperventilating himself. He didn’t care. Why wouldn’t his psyche allow him to think?

  Okay. Stop. What exactly had Tabatha said? “Elizabeth doesn’t want you to know.”

  His faced numbed and his scalp tingled. Derek rubbed his cheeks with his hands before running his fingers through his hair. He reached for Tabatha. She wasn’t next to him. His gaze swept the room, finding her in the corner close to the door. When had she moved away from him? He’d been so involved with his own thoughts he’d not noticed.

  “Run that by me again, Tabatha. I’m sure I didn’t understand you.” Derek forced the words past his throat. His voice sounded gravely, grizzly almost. He came across as dangerous, even to his own ears. Surely she hadn’t spoken to his Elizabeth and not included him. The very idea caused a rush of anger-fueled adrenaline to fog his reasoning.

  When Tabatha spoke again, her words were quiet, plain and to the point.

  “She’s with Missy. Maybe that’s why she can still talk to me.” She swallowed hard before looking away.

  Derek’s stomach twisted painfully. His head ached. The need to hear Elizabeth’s voice was overpowering. “How? How can this be?”

  Tabatha shrugged.

  “That isn’t an answer, woman,” he spat.

  Tabatha squared her shoulders and raised her chin higher. Her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  Derek seized one of the bed pillows in a death grip. “What are you saying, exactly? Spell it out for me. I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around it.”

  “How do you think I feel? I was talking to Missy, and she up and tells me she’s not afraid anymore because she has a friend with her. I thought maybe it was the Angel of Death coming for her. Then she tells me her friend’s name. I still didn’t want to believe it was your Elizabeth.”

  Derek heard the accent on “your” and knew he’d hurt Tabatha. That hadn’t been his intent, but she had to know this would hit him hard. Had to know he’d want to hear Elizabeth’s voice one last time.

  Tabatha shoved away from the wall and strode to the window, turning her back to Derek. “I went to the living room to be alone while you and Frank talked. I came right out and asked Elizabeth if she would talk to me. She did. It’s her, Derek.” His heart skipped a beat. Tabatha faced him, tilted her chin and glared at him with a defiant stare. “Simple enough for you?”

  Derek jumped to his feet, gasping with pain when the foot of his bad leg hit the floor.

  Tabatha started toward him, but he gritted his teeth and thrust his hands in front of him. “Stay away from me.”

  Hurt filled Tabatha’s eyes, but it wasn’t enough to squelch the anger burning inside his soul. “Why didn’t you call me? Why wouldn’t you let me talk to Elizabeth? Are you so jealous of her that you’d deprive me of that one pleasure?”

  She winced at his words, but came right back at him with the same angry tone. “Yeah, I was going to run right out there and tell you in front of Frank, that Elizabeth would like to have a word with you. And let me set you straight, jackass.” Tabatha picked up a decorative pillow and threw it at him. “You want Elizabeth, fine. I’ll not stand in your way. Go lie with her. You try to find out who killed her. I’m finished.”

  She reached for the doorknob, but Derek slammed his hand against the door blocking her exit. “I’m not finished. I want to talk to her. Now.”

  She looked him in the eyes. “Derek, it doesn’t always work like that.” Her voice shook. Whether it was from fear or anger, he wasn’t sure. “You want to talk to Elizabeth, I’d like to talk to Dub. Find out the leader of the Guardians. For reasons beyond me, some of the dead choose not to talk. Maybe they’re being stubborn. Maybe they’re finished. Maybe they’re glad it’s over. Maybe some of them go straight to where we go when we leave here. I don’t know.” Tabatha drew a deep breath. With its release she seemed to deflate, as if all the anger, or whatever she was feeling, left her. “All I know is I’ve never had a twenty-year-gone soul talk to me before. This is as new to me as it is to you. And whether you like it or not, I can’t make her talk on command.”

  “What’s the difference in raising the body and asking questions?”

  Tabatha sighed raggedly then walked away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. “No soul. They can tell you what the memory stored, nothing more. A soul can tell you what they know.”

  He refused to accept that. Elizabeth would want to talk to him. Derek hobbled over to stand in front of her. “I want to talk to her.”

  She stood to leave. “Well, good luck.”

  He grasped her by her upper arms and drew her so close her nose touched his. “Now.”

  A blow like a solid wall striking him, forced him away from Tabatha and flat on his back in the center of the bed. His injured leg exploded in pain as it bent at the knee over the edge of the bed. His head spun from lack of oxygen. “What the hell was that?”

  “Anger,” she said between clenched teeth. She stepped away from the bed and stared off into the distance. “Elizabeth, will you talk to Derek?”

  “Well?” Derek didn’t know which hurt worse, his heart or his leg. The silence dragged out to a torturous length of time.

 
; Tabatha shook her head. “Nothing.”

  His mind recoiled away from that answer. “Nothing? She won’t even talk to you?”

  “Missy, can you hear me?” Tabatha looked into Derek’s eyes when he closed his hand around hers. He knew to hear Missy or Elizabeth he’d have to have some kind of contact with Tabatha. He feared it was the only reason Tabatha didn’t deny his touch.

  Yes, I can hear you. Derek’s body jerked at the sound of the child’s voice. He didn’t know how Tabatha could stand it.

  Tabatha cleared her throat. “Is your friend, Elizabeth, still there?”

  Yes, but she said she’s mad at you for telling Mr. Derek that she’s here. She won’t talk to him. She says she doesn’t want to be inter…interrogate…

  Derek grunted. Indignation rushed his thoughts. “Interrogated? When did I ever interrogate her? I only want to find the man who killed her. I need that satisfaction.”

  He wants revenge, Elizabeth whispered.

  Derek froze. It had been twenty years but he knew that voice. His eyes darted to Tabatha’s. “That wasn’t Missy.”

  He heard me? Elizabeth screeched.

  “When we touch he can hear what I hear.” Tabatha jumped and glanced at Derek. “She just slammed the door in my face. She’s got a bit of a temper.”

  Derek’s insides shook. Excitement and fear mingled in a macabre dance. “I need a drink, and I don’t mean tea.” He limped to the door and threw it open.

  Tabatha rushed to his side, and pulled at his arm. “You shouldn’t be going up and down those stairs. I’ll bring you something.” She’ll fling me on the bed in a fit of rage, but walking down the stairs is a no-no?

  “No.” He narrowed his eyes and stared at Tabatha. “You women aren’t going to coddle me to death. I’m fine. I need to work the soreness out. It’s just a bullet hole. I’ve had them before. I’ll probably have them again. I’ll get my own damned drink.”

  “How old did you say you were, Derek?”

  That stopped him in his tracks. “Forty.”

  She smiled sweetly and Derek braced for a smart remark. She moved ahead of him out the door. “Oh, I thought maybe it was four.”

  Derek grumbled under his breath as he made his way to the staircase. He leaned his full weight on the polished mahogany banister and threw his good leg over the top, lifted his injured leg, and slid down to the first floor. Tabatha stood at the top of the stairs watching. “Where there’s a will there’s a banister. Now, if you’ll help me get off this thing, I’ll go get my drink.”

  Tabatha held her hand out in front of her and examined her nails. “You mean you need my help with something? Imagine that.” She took her time coming down the stairs leaving him to straddle the wood for as long as she possibly could. He probably looked ridiculous.

  As she walked silently beside him toward the kitchen Derek smiled. “I loved doing that when I was four, too. But our banister wasn’t as long as yours.”

  She smiled, but Derek saw the fatigue in her eyes. “You know Bertha isn’t going to let you go back up those stairs, don’t you? She’s going to fuss about you being down here again as it is.”

  Derek growled. He was too old to be mothered, too old to be told what to do, and when to do it. “Bertha and I need to have a long talk. I’m not going to put up with being babied.”

  She laughed lightly. “Lord, I wouldn’t want to be around when you tell her that. Bertha’s already laid claim to you. What her baby girl wants, she makes damned sure baby girl gets. And she knows I want you. Or at least I thought I did.” Derek stumbled. Did want me? But not now? “So you are now part of her family. She will kill to keep you safe. Might as well accept that.”

  Bertha sat at the kitchen table, staring into her empty teacup. Her lips moved in a slow chant, her eyes were fixed and glazed over.

  Derek stopped in his tracks. “What the hell is she doing? Talking to her tea?”

  Tabatha cleared her throat.

  Bertha sat up suddenly, dropping the cup to the table with a clatter. “Mercy, baby girl, you caught me daydreamin’.” She shifted her attention to Derek. “Boy, what am I going to do with you? I told you to stay put. You gonna tear that leg open again, and it’s gonna get all festered.”

  Derek hoped none of the other detectives got wind of this. He’d never live it down. “I came down to get a drink.” When the old woman opened her mouth to comment, he raised his hands in front of her face. “I don’t need anyone waiting on me. I’m a big boy now.”

  Bertha rose from her chair and planted her fists on her hips. “But the doctor said you’re to rest, and I intend for you to do just that.”

  Derek narrowed his eyes at Bertha and leaned into her space. “He meant not to go to work for two days. He didn’t mean to stay in bed for two days, old woman.”

  “Old woman, is it?” Bertha’s eyebrows darted up. Her mouth thinned to a fine line. “I’ll show you old woman. You ain’t drinkin’ no alcohol. There are pain pills on the counter over there. Take one of them. But I ain’t lettin’ you have no booze. I done called the doctor, and he said no. Not a drop. So get that idea out of your fool head.” She picked up her teacup, refilled it and replaced it on the table.

  Derek’s jaw dropped. Fool, am I? “I’m not taking pain pills. They knock me out.”

  Bertha clapped her hands. “Bingo, baby boy. Just what the doctor ordered. Rest.”

  He glanced at Tabatha and frowned at her smug expression. “Go ahead and say it.”

  She smiled. “I told you so.”

  Derek raked his hair away from his forehead and pulled. A few more days in this house and he’d be bald. “Okay. You win. I’ll take one pill. Take a nap. Then Tabatha and I have a job to do tonight. After that, I’ll rest for two days. Deal?”

  Bertha shook her head. “Where do you think you’re going tonight?”

  He looked at Tabatha. “The cemetery.”

  Chapter Forty

  The flash of lightning and the sounds of thunder and rain hitting the windows woke Derek. His brain, still in a fog from the effects of the Demerol, left him lethargic and confused. Something played with his subconscious, wanting to come to the forefront of his thoughts, but it jerked away each time he tried to grasp it. He needed to be someplace, but where?

  He glared at the clock on the night table. Seven minutes after five. He turned his gaze to the window, trying to decide if it was morning or evening, but with the storm brewing outside it was impossible to tell.

  Drawing several deep breaths, Derek fought to clear his head, then rolled over and snuggled his face into the pillow and drifted between wakefulness and sleep. Bertha handing him that damned pill and a glass of iced tea flittered across his dreams. Tabatha and Bertha were arguing. About... what? He groaned and rolled over onto his back again, blinking several times to clear his vision. The dull ache in his injured leg reminded him to be more careful about his movements.

  “You okay?” Derek jerked his hand to where his shoulder holster usually sat only to find an empty armpit. He released his breath. He hated pain pills. They clogged his thinking, made him jumpy. Slowly, Tabatha came into view, a cup of steaming coffee in her hand.

  “Am I alive?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She set the coffee on the nightstand and strolled over to the window. “The Weather Channel says the rain will be out of the area by six. We can leave then, but I don’t know how we’ll get into the cemetery. They lock that cemetery up at three.”

  A startled jolt shot up his spine. The cemetery. That was what they were arguing about.

  The memory of Elizabeth’s voice returned and with it a moment of indecision. She didn’t want him to know who killed her. Didn’t want Tabatha to raise her. Something about a puppet. The room began to spin, and his stomach lurched. Derek shot out of bed and crumpled to the floor when his leg gave out. “Sick. Going to be...”

  Tabatha grabbed a nearby trashcan and reached him just in time. Derek snatched the can away and turned his back to her, sure
his stomach was trying to tear itself from his insides. His whole body seized with each gut- wrenching expulsion. After a few moments of calm he felt a tap on his shoulder and looked around.

  Tabatha held out a glass of water. “Rinse.”

  Derek’s face flushed, but he did as ordered, pulled himself back onto the bed and breathed deeply. His head began to clear. He grasped the cup of coffee from the nightstand with shaking hands and swallowed one large gulp, waiting several seconds to see how his stomach would react to this new intrusion. It rumbled, but held what was offered. So far, so good. He took another gulp. The coffee’s warmth soothed his throat then made a hot trail all the way down to his gut. Things were looking up.

  He ran a gaze over the room to figure out where he was. The servant’s room, he decided. “Where’s the nearest bathroom?”

  She pointed to his right. “It’s only a half bath. If you want a shower, I’ll help you up the stairs and wrap the leg so you don’t get the wound wet.”

  He didn’t need any damned help. Derek stood slowly. The world remained on its axis but he rethought the refusal of help. “Damned pill. Yeah. Good idea. A shower will wake me up.” He nodded, letting Tabatha place his arm across her shoulders to support some of his weight. Step by step they made it to the second floor and to the large bathroom down the hall from the bedrooms.

  “Pull your shirt off.” Tabatha unbuttoned his jeans and slid them carefully down his legs.