by TJ O'Connor
“My police gear bag is in the garage. I have a spare weapon in it. Get my keys.”
“Where are they?”
“In the big cup on the shelf.” The shelf, of course, was among the destruction on the floor and the oversized coffee mug was shattered. She dug around in the debris on the floor and found my keys.
“Tuck, I have them.”
“Get the gun, Angel. Then, use your car phone charger and call Bear. Wait in the car until he gets here. But get the gun first.”
I followed her to the back door. Hercule braced himself in front of her legs, refusing to allow her to go outside. He moaned and tried pushing her back into the kitchen.
“No boy, you stay here. Don’t let anyone in the house. I’ll be right back.” Hercule didn’t look happy, but he relented and let her through the door.
I followed her to the garage and we slipped inside and shut the door behind us. It was dark, but with the little ambient light from the window, the garage appeared unscathed from the razing the house received.
Angel tried the light switch. “No lights in here, either. I’m scared.”
“I’ll keep watch. You get the gun.”
Angel unlocked the rear hatch of my SUV and grabbed the black nylon gear bag. When she pulled the bag forward, she noticed something else tucked behind it in the rear cargo.
“Tuck, what’s this?” She held up a large, manila shipping envelope two inches thick.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s from the local medical examiner. When did this arrive?”
I thought back, but nothing surfaced. “I’m not sure.”
“Think, Tuck.”
I looked at the package. A memory started to form in my dead brain cells—a memory I didn’t know I had. The package was delivered the day I was killed. It was for Angel and I’d signed for it that morning.
“Yeah, I remember now—a special courier.”
The courier’s recipient copy was still taped to the front of the envelope. Angel read it. “It came the day …”
“Right—I got it when I was leaving for work. You were already gone so I tossed it in the back.”
“André and Ernie have been asking me about this—the M.E. sent several items from Kelly’s Dig to me. After they cleared the site as a crime scene, he didn’t want to keep this stuff. He assumed it would be part of my court research.”
“Okay, but we can worry about that later.”
Angel ignored me and ripped open the end of the package, dumping the contents onto the SUV’s cargo bed.
A thin, white report folder and a clear plastic evidence bag fell out. The report folder was titled, “Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, Northern Virginia District Office” and the citation referenced Kelly Orchard Farms. The bag was still intact and the evidence seal unbroken. Inside was a tarnished, well-worn silver necklace.
“Tuck, why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“I didn’t remember it until now.” I barely remembered the skinny college kid standing on the front porch that morning. I thought he was selling scout cookies or something. “I’m dead—my memory was the second thing to go.”
Angel ripped open the evidence bag and took out the necklace. When she turned it over and held it up in the dim light, we both knew exactly how important it was. Grimy and tarnished, a three-inch G-cleft hung on the end of a silver chain. In the center of the “G” was a dull, clay-crusted emerald.
“Tuck, do you know what this means?” Angel wiped some of the grit from the necklace. “This matches Nicholas’s bracelet. It means …”
“Yes,” I said, watching the emerald begin to glitter in the window light. “It means whoever killed me came here that night to get this back.”
sixty
“I’ll be taking that,” a man’s voice—strangely familiar—said from the garage door. “Now.”
Angel and I had forgotten why we came to the garage—to retrieve my spare handgun. Hercule didn’t want us leaving the house. He knew. He knew that someone was still close by. That someone was now standing with a gun waist high, pointing at Angel.
When she turned toward the garage door, we came face to face with Lucca Tuscani.
“Put the necklace down and step back.” Tuscani took two steps into the garage and prodded her backward with his gun. “Don’t try anything or, well, I’m sure you know how this goes.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she said in a low voice, laying the necklace on top of the evidence bag. “Take the necklace and go.”
“Where’s the bracelet?” Tuscani asked. “And who’s in here with you?”
“No one.”
“You’re lying. I heard you talking to someone.” He stepped sideways and worked his way around the rear of the SUV, peeking inside the vehicle. When he came around the other side, his eyes narrowed on Angel. “Where’d they go?”
“There’s no one. I was talking to myself. Ever since you killed Tuck—you bastard—I talk to him. That’s all.”
“Me? You have it all wrong, lady.” Tuscani forced a laugh. “Now, where’s the bracelet? I came for the set.”
“In the house.”
“You’re lying. Don’t make me take it.”
I moved beside Tuscani and said, “Give it to him.”
“No.”
“No?” Tuscani scanned the garage again. “What do you mean, no? Give it to me.”
I lunged for the killer but grabbed emptiness. I swung at the gun but hit nothing. Dammit. I couldn’t find the strength—couldn’t make any connection—I couldn’t reach the bastard. My bond to this world needed energy—power—and it was off. Even Angel’s cell phone was dead. I was helpless to save her. He could do what he wished and all I could do was watch.
“Angel, I can’t help you right now. You have to get him out of here and get me a chance to find a way to help.”
Her eyes darted toward my voice. She nodded, and the move startled Tuscani.
He stepped toward her, thrusting the gun into her chest. “Knock it off, lady. Where’s the bracelet?”
“Give it to him, Angel—just do it.”
She dug the G-cleft bracelet from her jeans pocket and dropped it on the cargo bed beside the necklace. The pieces lay side by side, and I looked at them. This was all about the tarnished silver and earth-caked gems—the killings, the attacks, dead girls, bones, and premonitions. Lying there, they seemed too innocent to have caused all they had. Yet, these two pieces of silver and gems had reigned terror since they were unearthed. Raymundo Salazar and Iggi Suarez found them by lamplight, and that started their killing spree.
“Ah, very good.” Tuscani stepped forward and scooped up the pieces. He never took his eyes off Angel. “Now it’s time to go for a little ride.”
“What? Where?”
“To my aunt, of course.”
“Aunt?” Angel’s voice was thick with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“No?” Tuscani forced another laugh. “You don’t understand what you’ve found, do you?”
“Why don’t you tell me.”
“No. Better yet, we’ll show you.”
“We?”
He laughed again. He dangled the necklace and bracelet through his fingers, taunting her with it. “These belong to her—to Amy.”
“Who is Amy?”
Tuscani’s face darkened and he stepped toward her, lifting the gun up, and touching it to her chin. “It’s time we went to see her—her bones anyway. As soon as we get those, I’m going to set this right. I’m going to set everyone right.”
“And me?”
“Yes, Professor Tucker, especially you.”
sixty-one
“He’s taking you to Kelly’s Dig,” I said. Everything began there. Everything would end there, too. “Try to stay calm.”
“
Kelly’s Dig?” Angel was driving and fighting back the terror. “Right?”
Tuscani grinned. “Yes, good guess.”
“I’ll find a way out of this.” I touched her cheek from the backseat and she peeked at the rearview mirror. “I promise.”
Everything surrounded Kelly’s Dig, and yet, obviously now, it was more than gold coins and Civil War bones. There were so many unanswered questions. But the “who” part of the equation suddenly seemed too obvious; especially when he continued to poke Angel with his gun.
“What do you want with me?” Angel asked. “I don’t know you. What have I done to deserve this?”
“Relax, lady.” He traced her arm with the barrel of his gun, laughing in a sadistic, harsh way. She recoiled and sent the car veering
toward the median. “Easy. No point getting killed yet. There is so much we have to talk about first.”
“Don’t touch me again.”
“Oh, you can bet I will.”
“Lucca, Lucca …” Anger welled inside me and I slid behind him, blowing into his left ear. “Touch her again and you’ll be joining me in the dead lane, pal.”
“Huh?” His head whipped around and he looked into the back seat. When he turned back, he retracted his arm from Angel’s side and rested the gun on his thigh, staring straight ahead.
I do believe Mr. Tuscani is afraid of ghosts.
We entered Kelly Orchard Farm through the construction entrance not far from Kelly’s Dig. As we passed the site, the yellow crime scene tape flapped in the breeze and the smell of burnt wire and plastic still hung in the air. She slowed but he motioned for her to continue up the dirt road. Several minutes later, Angel rolled the SUV to a stop in front of the main farmhouse.
“Now listen, no silly shit, okay?” Tuscani tapped her leg with his gun. “There’s no one around. And that means no one will hear a loud bang.”
“Please, let me go.” His answer was a wave of his gun. Angel opened her door and slid out onto wobbly legs. “Save me” was etched across her face—but I was helpless. I needed time and luck, and both were running very short.
“Inside. You brought this on yourself.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“You will. Move.”
Angel folded her arms in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me …”
Tuscani lashed out and struck her across the face, sending her crashing into the SUV’s fender and onto the ground. As she started to rise, he descended on her. He grabbed her hair and dragged her to her feet—shaking her in a vicious and violent display of control.
“Move.”
“Leave her alone.” I swung at him but struck nothing. “Doc, help me—please, Doc!”
Nothing.
“Okay, I’m going.” A trickle of blood blossomed on her lip and her voice was stronger than I could have imagined. “You’re a bastard.”
He laughed and propelled her forward.
Inside the house, Tuscani navigated as though he knew every inch of the six thousand square feet of hardwood and stone. Even with the covered windows shedding little light, he moved confidently through the house. He prodded Angel through a high-ceilinged dining room and into a great room where another hall opened off the rear. He pushed her toward the southern wing of the house—twice she fell onto the dusty hardwood—both times he yanked her to her feet and shoved her on.
“Through here.” He opened a door beneath the stairwell I hadn’t noticed from the hall. There were crude wooden stairs leading down into darkness. “After you.”
Angel balked and peered into the darkness. “What’s down there?”
“Amy.”
sixty-two
There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. No way out.
We descended the creaky plank stairs down into total darkness. A dozen steps down, Tuscani shoved Angel forward and she fell to her knees at the bottom. Behind us, I heard him flip a switch and two bare-wire lights hanging from the ceiling glowed. Their light was barely enough to illuminate the room, and when they did, my hopes of escape dwindled.
The nineteenth-century cellar was cold and damp. The floor and walls were stone and the ceiling was made of hand-hewn timbers that were easily four feet over my head. There was a rear cellar room ahead of us, but it was dark and uninviting. We stood in a cleared area between empty wine racks and wooden shelves lining one side of the room, and wooden boxes and packing crates stacked on the other side. The room smelled of damp earth and musty air.
It smelled of a dungeon—dismal, hopeless, and lifeless.
Angel stood up and Tuscani shoved her forward into a pile of broken crates. She almost fell but caught herself. She turned toward him as anger and fear fought for control of her voice.
“Don’t touch me again.”
“Shut up and move back.”
“Angel, I need more time.” I searched around the room for a plan—any plan—that might get her to safety. “But be ready to run. The second I see an opening, go. Don’t hesitate. Don’t think. Just run like hell when I say.”
“Okay, Tuck.” Her head dipped in a slight, terrified nod.
“What? Shut up, lady.” Tuscani stood blocking the stairs and pointed toward the dark room off the rear of the cellar. “In there—that room. Go on. Go in there.”
That’s when I felt them.
They were there, beyond the light, wrapped in burlap and secreted behind old wood planks of a broken wine rack. There was loneliness and sorrow simmering just inside the darkness, and as Angel stepped forward, anticipation waited for her. I went ahead of her and stopped in the doorway. I could feel them reaching out to me. They were there—unsure of their surroundings—disturbed from their rest at Kelly’s Dig. Now, they were here, waiting.
And they wanted to end it all.
“Angel, Amy and Caroline are the two young girls appearing to me. I didn’t understand before. I think I do now.”
“Caroline?” Angel stopped, listened, and turned to Tuscani. “Amy and Caroline are with Tuck. They’re all here, Lucca. And they’ve come back to stop you. Don’t make them hurt you, Lucca. Let me go. Let me go and they’ll let you go.”
“What?” Tuscani peered past her into the room. He prodded her with his gun, but his voice was unsteady. “Your husband’s dead, lady. So are Amy and Caroline. They can’t hurt me and they can’t help you. So move.”
“No, Lucca. You’re wrong. They’re here, right …”
“Stop. You know it was Nicholas.” Tuscani shoved her aside and went to the doorway. He still didn’t venture in. “Stop your shit and get in there.”
“Nicholas?” Angel didn’t hide her confusion. “Poor Nic?”
“He killed them. You know that. The bastard killed them both.”
“Angel, keep him talking.” Time was precious.
She did. “Why did he kill them? Why did you kill Tuck?”
“Shut up.” Tuscani whirled around in the doorway. “Just shut up. Get in there.”
“What happened to them?” Angel’s voice was soft, flavored with understanding—trying to calm and draw him in. “Tell me, please. I want to understand. I want to help.”
“No.” He shifted his weight and stepped back from the doorway, but still stared inside, wavering as though he wanted to go in, but couldn’t make his feet obey. When he turned to Angel, his face lightened and his eyes were not as dark—not as dangerous. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about killing her. Perhaps he was beyond that and choosing how to.
“You loved Amy,” Angel said. “Didn’t you?”
Then, as though he and Angel were chatting over tea, he said, “Yes, of course, she was wonderful. She took care of me when I was young—right here at this house. She was beautiful—and so good to me. No one else cared. She did.”
She said, “And she loved you, too.”
&nbs
p; “Yes, Amy was my aunt.” Tuscani took a deep breath that seemed to cool him. “He found out. Only Caroline and I knew. He found out about her boyfriend. But I didn’t tell.”
“He was jealous?”
“Yes.”
Angel tried soothing him. “I understand. I do. Nicholas is a hard man. Did you see him?”
Mr. Hyde returned. “You don’t understand shit.” He slid the G-cleft bracelet out of his pocket and held it out in the dim light. “He gave it to her and no one knew that—just him.”
I saw it all in my vision. It was late at night in the orchard—right at Kelly’s Dig. A young, pretty Amy was arguing with someone—a man. He struck her down and Caroline tried to intervene. They tried to tell me, to warn me about him. Stop him. You have to stop him.
“Lucca, maybe I can help you.”
“Shut up.” Tuscani stuffed the bracelet back into his pants pocket. Then, a sickening feeling ebbed into me when Lucca’s face hardened. His eyes seemed lifeless and he smiled at Angel. I knew that others had seen that smile—none ever lived to tell about its meaning. “Let’s go.”
“Please, tell me …”
Tuscani leapt across the room, grabbed Angel’s arm, and shoved her through the doorway. “Get them.” He followed her to the doorway, propelling her deeper inside. He fumbled with a switch on the wall and turned on the light at the far end of the room.
I could feel them stronger now. They were here, confused and scared—just like Angel and me. The difference was the girls and I could not be hurt any more. Angel could.
The room was littered with old boxes and broken, wooden shelving—a scary and lonely place for the girls. Hidden among the debris was the bulky burlap bag, and I told Angel where to find it. She freed the sack, carried it to the outer cellar, and stood beneath the hanging light. There, she stood holding it, her face showing the conflict between sorrow and fear.
We both knew what was in the burlap—bones.
A shudder ran through me. Whispering, fleeting voices jingled in my head and I heard Amy’s voice. I understood.
