Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers

by Diane Capri

  “Go on.” Seriously, Harry Potter had nothing on this. “Where is the portal here?”

  “It usually only happens when a person dies suddenly, violently. I loved this place. I was staying here because Blake let me rent it until I found my own place. He’s never here. Guy has so much cash and so many homes, who knows when he’ll be back. Anyway, when I was killed here, a portal was created, and now I can come and go as I please. It’s actually in the family room behind the kitchen. That’s where I was shot.”

  “Not everyone can do that? Go through the portal, I mean?”

  He shook his head. “No. There are many who are ready to move on when they die, and they go elsewhere. They don’t need to come back here. They are content and at peace.”

  “Where do they go?” I had to ask.

  “It depends,” he said.

  “On what?”

  “Various things. Like the tiers. The tier you and I are on now is grey.”

  “Huh?” I was totally confused.

  He ran a hand through his dark hair. “There are many levels of existence. We call them tiers. The human, or Earthbound tier, is grey due to the mixture of energies that exist here.”

  “So where do you go when you leave here? Another tier?”

  “I can visit the Bodha if absolutely necessary.”

  “Oh now it’s clear. As mud.”

  He ignored me. “Or I can turn my energy down to rest.”

  “You mean you sleep?”

  “Sort of. I get drained on this tier, just like you get drained at the end of a trying day. I turn down my vibration and rest until I’m recharged.”

  “Do you go anywhere else?”

  “I can go through the portals of spirits who have the same or very similar vibration as myself.”

  “Like Bob and Janis?” Finally, I understood why I was seeing more than just Lucas in the house.

  “Yes. I can go to Nine Miles where Bob passed and sit in his living room where he grew up. I can go to The Landmark on Sunset and hang out with Janis. But that isn’t really a place anyone likes to go.”

  “Wow. Can bad people—evil people—leave behind a portal?”

  He lowered his voice to a soft whisper. “They can. And they do. They do it more often than the others.”

  A deep chill went through me. I stared at him. He reached out again and took my hand.

  “It’s one of the reasons I am here and why you are here. It’s also why I was not here tonight when you came home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Black Tier and the Asat.”

  “The Black Tier? The Asat?” Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

  “Yes. The reason the Earthbound tier is grey has to do with the mixture of vibrations here, good—white—and bad—black. The black tier is home to the darkest of all the vibrations—the Asat. They are lost souls, the kind which can never move out of the black. As individual spirits, they are referred to as Asuras, as a collective whole, they are called the Asat. The Asat is opposite of the Bodha.”

  “Like heaven and hell? God and Satan?”

  “Yes. I suppose you could say that if you want.”

  “But what does it have to do with you and me?”

  “Because there is an Asura in the Black Tier who wants your vibration. You are special, and if the Black Tier can capture your vibration, it’s a victory for them and a loss for the white. For each vibration such as yours who gets captured, the Black Tier gains strength on every level, meaning eventually there will be far more black than shades of grey or white, and the possibility of no other tiers exists. You are what is referred to as a Govinda, someone who gives joy in the whole universe because of your gift.”

  “Oh come on. What gift? The only joy I give is to Cass … and Mac, and that’s only because I feed him.”

  “No. Not true. I’m here to make sure your vibration is not stolen. And you know what your gift is. The Bodha shared with me.”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know you can heal people to a point. I know you can take their most painful experiences and place some light in them where there was once only darkness.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “As you can imagine, those on the Black Tier don’t like any vibration that can restore light in dark places, and that is what you do.”

  I swallowed hard.

  He reached out and touched my hand. “Tell me. Tell me how you discovered the gift. It’s important for me to know so I can help you. The Bodha only revealed you have the gift.”

  “Gift?!” I laughed.

  “It is. Trust me. And it could save your soul.”

  I took another deep breath and tried hard to focus. He waited patiently. Finally, I unloaded the entire sad story about my sister.

  Lucas never interrupted. He let me talk and feel the complex range of emotions the topic of Hannah always evoked. At home, we didn’t talk about her. Ever. So there was something incredibly freeing to finally, authentically, share the feelings I’d kept buried for so many years.

  “After Hannah disappeared, um, I had this Uncle … Uncle Wilson. He was kind of strange or, at the very least, quirky. According to my father, he had a demon in him. He was very into New Age stuff. He was my mother’s brother and, unfortunately, not welcome in our home. My mama said Uncle Wilson had done a lot of studying with Native Americans of Cherokee descent. I think she would have liked to delve further into what he learned, but she would never go against my dad’s wishes.”

  Lucas nodded sympathetically.

  “You know, I liked my uncle, and of course my mother loved him. But there were just some things my dad wouldn’t budge on. Anyway, Uncle Wilson came to comfort my mom and me after Hannah disappeared. He and I walked along the path we think she took, and we stopped at the place the police said it all went down.” The memory of that day weaved through my mind.

  “My uncle stopped, took a deep breath, and began walking in circles. He didn’t say anything. He walked like that for at least fifteen minutes. My eyes followed him, and then I began to scan the ground as if I, too, could find the answers to Hannah’s disappearance. And that’s when I spotted the feathers.”

  “The feathers?” Lucas asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. I think they are the key to my, uh, gift. I picked them up. My uncle stopped walking. He took my hands in his and we both stared at the feathers for what seemed like ages. And then he spoke. ‘Eagle,’ he said. ‘These are eagle feathers, Evie.’

  “Then, he folded my hands carefully around the soft feathers and leaned in close, whispering, ‘Keep these, okay? Don’t lose them. Ever. I think they are meant for you.’

  “I was shocked and, of course, I wanted to know more about what he meant, but then my mom came over to us and he stopped talking. And ever since then, I’ve been able to … to have visions about people. That was the last time I saw my uncle. He had a heart attack and died two years later. In any case, I kept the feathers and I have no plans to let them out of my possession.”

  Lucas nodded solemnly. “So how did you learn you had this gift?” He asked. He squeezed my hand again, reassuringly.

  “I remember going back to school, and my teacher, Ms. Underwood, took my hand and told me how sorry she was about my sister’s disappearance. In those few seconds, I saw a flash of Ms. Underwood and she was, she was … being raped and beaten, and she was pretty young. At first I didn’t understand what was going on. But she had always been such a sad person. After that day, though, she seemed to have new energy. She was happier and lighter. She seemed to enjoy teaching.

  “I still didn’t know if what I had seen had been real, but then I heard some of the ladies at my mother’s beauty shop talking about her and how much better she had become in recent weeks. They mentioned the ‘unfortunate incident’ she had endured fifteen years earlier, and how they thought she’d never be happy again, and I knew. I mean I didn’t know if I had healed her, but then more things like this started happening. I could touch s
omeone, see horrible things, and then that person would either become easier for others to deal with, or happier and more confident. They changed somehow, and usually for the better. I still don’t know what, if anything, the feathers have to do with it. But I keep them in my room on my desk, close to me like my uncle asked.”

  I glanced over at Lucas, feeling curious. “Do you know what the feathers mean?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But I am sure your uncle was correct, especially since after you found those feathers, your gift appeared. Let me see what I can find out on this side of the tier. Maybe I can get some answers for you.”

  “Really?”

  “I will do what I can, but I have to tell you, I’m worried.”

  I scooted away from him just enough to look into his face. His expression was troubled. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know how else to put this, but your sister was taken from you. Hannah did not disappear. She was taken.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LUCAS AND I TALKED until almost sunup. Once he dropped the bombshell of the dark side wanting a piece of me, it was hard to focus on anything else. I didn’t want to think about my sister, the feathers, my gift, or anything else I didn’t understand, except, of course, Lucas himself—who I definitely didn’t understand, but could not stop thinking about even if I tried.

  After a little while and lots of subject changes, he made sure I was distracted. We talked about L.A., music, Cass (apparently my dog likes to quote the Buddha. Who knew?).

  I looked at Cass, now at my feet. Lucas was gone. I don’t know what time he left. I fell asleep with his hand in mine. When I woke with the sun blaring in through the large bay window off the family room, I was alone and somewhat dismayed. But there was Mac, who had finally gotten off my chest. He was sitting up at the end of the couch, staring at me intently. When he saw I was awake, he let out a truly annoyed meow.

  “Hungry, are you?”

  Cass did a twirl, and Mac leapt from the sofa, slowly jogging towards the kitchen, his large belly swaying. I couldn’t help but laugh. I got up and followed the animals. Glancing at the oven clock, I was surprised to see it was almost eleven. I couldn’t remember the last time I had woken up so late. Granted, I’d been up all night, but still.

  I fed the “kids,” showered, and found myself at a bit of a loss as to what to do with my day off. I had been on the go ever since getting both jobs.

  No matter how hard I tried, I kept thinking about what Lucas said about the Black Tier, the Asuras, and the Asat, who seemed to think I was extra special. Murder was pretty dark and evil, right? Was that how the Black Tier got to people? Through horrible events? Loss of a loved one? I gulped. I couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been after me since I was a kid … since Hannah’s disappearance? I’d have to ask Lucas when I saw him again, whenever that might be. I hoped it was soon. I thought about staying in the house all day and just relaxing with Cass and Mac, seeing who might show up through the portal, but I am not one to sit still. Mama used to tell people I had ADHD. But I doubt that’s my issue. I just like to keep busy.

  I decided there had been plenty of Black Tier stuff around me as of late, and I planned to tackle it head on. That George Hernandez guy was pretty nasty and had a big bone to pick with Nick, and now me. Becky had mentioned George had a Mexican restaurant down in Venice Beach, called Jorge’s.

  I liked Mexican food. So did Cass and Mac. I also enjoyed watching the nut jobs walk along the boardwalk. After Googling the restaurant, I rounded up the dog and the cat. I figured it was time for Mac to start doing ridealongs as well, and we headed out to have a little lunch and see if I couldn’t get to the bottom of a few things.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MAC WASN’T SO SURE about the car ride and he let Cass and me know it, but by the time we got to Venice Beach, he’d mellowed out and was curled up next to Cass on a blanket in the back.

  “All right, you two, I’ll be back. Be good, and I promise I’ll bring treats.” Cass opened one eye, probably thinking something profound. I still couldn’t fathom where she’d picked up the Buddhist stuff considering she spent most of her life in a strict Christian household. I gave her a quick pat on the head, and stepped out of the van into the Santa Monica sunshine.

  I didn’t have to walk too far before I located Jorge’s Mexican Café. The place was small and quaint, brightly painted in oranges and blues. It looked pretty authentic, and the smells wafting throughout the fifteen-table place were amazing. The restaurant was nearly empty, though, and I wondered why.

  A young, dark-haired hostess offered to seat me, and I followed her into the main dining area. There was a beautiful view of the beach and ocean, again … the place seemed like it should be packed with customers. But I soon discovered why there weren’t many people there: The service was really slow. I waited a good ten minutes for a glass of water although there were only five other customers at three different tables. I was waiting patiently for the obligatory chips and salsa to arrive, my back to the front entrance, when I heard a familiar voice.

  “George here?”

  I did not want the speaker to see me, but I needed to confirm my suspicions. I turned my chair slightly, looking as discretely as possible towards the hostess stand. As suspected, there stood Pietro SanGiacomo, the guy who’d been at the bar screaming at Nick not so long ago. What was he doing here?

  “He’s upstairs in his office,” the hostess replied.

  I waited until Pietro went upstairs, and then I got up and left. The hostess called out after me, but I told her I had an emergency. Fortunately, Simone had left her disguise in my van after our most recent Denny’s run. Cass flapped her tail when I opened the back door, and Mac gave a half-hearted meow.

  “Sorry, guys. Just making a quick pit stop.” I put on the wig and a pair of sunglasses, quickly changed into the t-shirt, and headed back to the restaurant. I needed to figure out how to get close to George’s office. I walked inside and, thankfully, the hostess had her back to me and was walking towards the kitchen. I scanned the area, spotting the stairs to the second floor, close to the hostess stand, next to the restrooms. Pretending to search for the bathroom, I made my way up the steps.

  The stairs creaked, and I cringed. There were only about two dozen steps. At the top were two doors, both closed—one to the left and one to the right. I heard men’s voices coming from the door on the left. I snuck close and crouched down, figuring I could claim to be fixing my shoe if anyone stumbled across me, and listened in. Within just a few seconds, I heard Nick’s name.

  “Look, I didn’t kill Nick!” It was George speaking. I could tell by his accent and booming voice.

  “Maybe not, George. But you haven’t exactly been keeping a low profile. You’ve been going around making a stink about that stupid fish taco recipe you said he stole and the money he owed you. I would shut the hell up if I were you.”

  “He did steal the recipe!” The sound of something slapping wood reverberated through the wall. I pictured George at his desk, banging it in frustration with his big hands. “And he and I had a deal! I loaned him a shitload of money to get things rolling with these restaurants because I didn’t have the time to do it and he said he did. We agreed I’d be the silent partner, but then the asshole goes and gambles it away. I am entitled to getting my money back at the very least!”

  “Oh come on, George. He didn’t steal the recipe and you and I both know it. You’re a damn drama queen, and if you’re not careful, you could land yourself in jail. Let it go—the money, the recipe, the restaurants. All of it. We don’t need the cops sniffing around. “

  “But I didn’t kill Nick! I have an alibi. I was with my wife, working from my home office. I’m only making noise to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” Pietro said. He sounded as perplexed as I felt.

  “Yeah, man. I mean, we’re partners and all. I think it’s pretty obvious you killed that loser. I want to make sure my investment is protected. If
that girl running the place doesn’t give me my money back, and something happens to you, I am totally screwed. I’ll lose this place and be back frying rolled tacos in some roach coach on the street.”

  “That’s what I mean about the drama, George. And why do you think I killed Nick?”

  “‘Cause I figured you knew about him and Sofia. That he was screwing her.”

  The silence was thick and heavy on the other side of the door.

  “What?” Pietro said, his voice cracking in surprise and anger.

  “C’mon man, you must have known,” George replied … even though it was pretty clear to me Pietro hadn’t. “He was screwing around with your little sister for months, and then he dumped her like a hot potato. I mean, I know if I found out some guy was doing my little sister and then broke her heart, I’d probably want to kill him, too!”

  “I didn’t kill him.” Pietro’s voice was lower now, more subdued. “Stop worrying about what Nick owed us. He’s gone. Like I said, let it go. We got ourselves a decent side business. We don’t need any trouble. Keep it on the down low, George. Down. Low.”

  George lowered his voice to a loud whisper, “Yeah, an illegal side business, and it scares me. I think we should get out while we can.”

  Oh boy. An illegal business? No wonder George sounded nervous. These two thugs were clearly up to more than making tacos and loan sharking. I wondered if their little side business could be connected to Nick’s death.

  Then again, it didn’t matter what I believed, because suddenly, I heard someone coming up the stairs behind me. Before I had a chance to slip into the door on the right, the hostess spotted me and yelled, “Hey, this part of the restaurant is off limits! What are you doing?”

  I realized I didn’t have time to claim I’d lost my way to the bathroom. Time for Plan B! I bolted down the stairs as the door behind me opened. The hostess tried to block my way. Both George and Pietro yelled out. I could hear their heavy footsteps breaking into a run. I pushed at the hostess. who fell back against the wall, and leapt down the few remaining steps, losing the black wig in the process. Lucky for me, I had been on the track team in high school and I was still pretty fast. I was out the front door in seconds, glancing behind me once to see Pietro hot on my trail. He may have recognized me, but at that point, there was nothing I could do about it. I had to get to my van. I darted into a surf shop, running straight through the racks of wet suits and boards and out a back door, nearly knocking down a very tan store employee. I was on the boardwalk, and as far as I could tell, no one had followed.