Bound

by Kirsten Weiss

  “Oh. Too bad.” I turned, disappointed.

  “But only because I don’t have the information. She was the editor. I’m a lowly… Well, I report on events. High school football games, senior center fundraisers, that sort of thing.”

  “Who could I talk to?”

  “The new managing editor, I guess. But he’s in a meeting right now.”

  “Hm.” Managing editor. That sounded experienced, too experienced to fall for my proposed information swap. But this was a small town, and folks were easygoing. What did I have to lose? “I’ll wait.”

  He pointed to a chair behind one of the desks. “You can sit there. Beryl’s at the parole hearing.”

  “Parole hearing?”

  “Sheriff McCourt’s husband is up for early release.” He leaned closer. “Beryl called. The sheriff’s not there to speak on his behalf.”

  “Ouch.” I couldn’t blame the sheriff. Her husband must have been a real piece of work. “That was a big story for the paper, wasn’t it?”

  “Before I was on board, but yeah. There isn’t a whole lot of scandal in a town the size of Doyle.”

  “That must make reporting a little dull.”

  He smiled. “Doyle has its perks.”

  “I suppose as a reporter, you must step on some toes.”

  “In Doyle? Not with my beat.”

  “But this paper has broken some big stories. Exposing the sheriff’s husband as a criminal can’t make dealing with her department easy.”

  “Things can get tense.” He straightened a stack of papers on the desk.

  “How did Alicia manage to work with them?”

  One corner of his mouth slanted upward. “No idea. I’d guess blackmail, if I hadn’t known Alicia better.”

  Steps clattered on the stairs.

  “That must be the editor’s appointment now.” The reporter pointed to the entryway with his pen. “And I was joking about the blackmail.”

  I rose.

  Box in his arms, Brayden Duarte stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Thanks,” he said to someone at the top of the stairs. “Tell me if you hear anything.”

  “Will do,” a man’s voice said from above him.

  “Brayden?” I asked.

  The widower did a double take. Brayden hadn’t shaved in days, the stubble coming in thick and dark. His green eyes were dull, his shoulders slumped beneath his plaid shirt. “Karin. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted…” I couldn’t tell him the truth. What could I tell him? Change the subject. “Are you all right?”

  He looked into the open box in his arms. “It’s Alicia. The murder. It doesn’t end.”

  “Are those her things?” Approaching him, I squeezed my hands at my sides to keep from grabbing the box.

  “Yeah. They’re cleaning out her desk. The paper asked if I wanted her things.”

  “Have the police gone through them?”

  He shrugged, the box whispering against the light fabric of his shirt. “I guess. I don’t know what I’m going to do with this stuff. There’s so much in the house, but it didn’t seem right to leave her things here.” He swallowed. “Alicia is everywhere.”

  “Do you want me to help you?” Had the police missed her work materials? It didn’t seem possible, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to go through that box. “Figure out what to keep and what to get rid of?”

  He sighed. “Would you?”

  “Yes, of course. We can go through it together, if you want. When do you want me to come over?”

  “How about now? Get this over with?”

  “Oh.” This was a bad idea. Nick had asked me to stay away from Brayden for a reason. And I should return to my aunt.

  A flush crept across his roughened cheeks. “If you can’t—”

  “No.” The opportunity was too good to ignore. “I can. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I ignored the warnings clamoring in my brain as Brayden’s pickup bumped over a pothole. The police must have gone through the box of Alicia’s things. What did I expect to find?

  He glided into the driveway of his green, ranch-style house and walked around to the truck bed, retrieved the cardboard box.

  I dropped from my seat to the pavement.

  A crow gazed down at me from an electric wire, the oak tree cut down the center to accommodate the power line. I looked away, guilt pinging in my gut. Crows were common in the Sierras, but they seemed to be haunting me since I’d called one to its death. Some people are ghost whisperers. I’m a crow murderer.

  Balancing the box on his hip, Brayden unlocked the front door and shoved it open.

  I followed him inside and stopped short in the entry. The house smelled stagnant, moldy. Wrinkled clothing lay crumpled across the green living room couch. Boxes of take-out food littered the coffee table. A yellow wrapper lay on the geometric carpet. How had things become such a mess so quickly?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Where do you want to go through this?” I motioned toward the box in his arms.

  “The dining room. We never used it for actual dining, so the table’s clear.”

  He led me through the living room to a formal dining area. A hutch stood against one wall. A fern atop it drooped, wilting. Six chairs sat around a polished wood table. Open boxes sat atop it.

  Brayden shoved them aside, stacking them on the white-carpeted floor. “Let’s do this.”

  I opened Alicia’s box and pulled out a yellow rubber ducky wearing a Sam Spade hat. I squeezed the duck, and it squeaked. “Cute.”

  “She had a collection.” Brayden took it from me, turning it in his hands. “You should see the bathroom. You know how it is. Once people learn you collect something, that’s all you get for Christmas and birthdays.” He frowned. “I never got the point of the rubber ducks. They always capsize.”

  “And you know this because…”

  An embarrassed smile flashed across his face, subsided.

  “No worries, I’ve got your back,” I said. “I’ll tell everyone you’re switching to unicorns.”

  “Thanks.” His mouth quirked.

  I held up the Sam Spade duck. “Do you want to keep him?”

  He nodded and pulled a potted spider plant from the box. “This won’t last long. I’ve got a black thumb. Think Jayce wants it?”

  “Sure. But FYI, spider plants are tough to kill. I’m also greenery challenged, but those do okay in my place.”

  “I don’t believe that. Not with that great lavender labyrinth in your backyard.”

  “Jayce did that.” Uneasy, I ran my fingers along the green and white striped leaves. How did Brayden know about my yard? Had Jayce told him, or had he seen it himself?

  “I’m hopeless,” he said. “Give it to Jayce. Half the plants in my kitchen are already dead.”

  “I’ve got a friend who runs a housekeeping service. She’s got reasonable prices. Would it help if you had a cleaner come by once a week or so?”

  He winced. “Is the house that bad?”

  “No,” I lied, “but you’ve got a lot to deal with right now. Why not pay someone else to take care of the small stuff until you’re ready?”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  We pawed through the box. Office supplies. Awards. Photos.

  Brayden lifted out a framed picture of himself and Alicia, and his face crumpled. “I’ve already got a copy of this.” He put down the frame, flipped through the other photos of Alicia and her colleagues. “I never got to know her co-workers at the paper. I should get rid of these.” But he rifled through the photos.

  “Why don’t we put them in the ‘maybe’ pile? You don’t need to make these decisions now. Last year I was cleaning and threw out my favorite childhood stuffed toy. I still regret it.”

  “What was it?”

  “A lamb.”

  “Did it have a name?”

  “Lamby.” I grimaced. “Not very original, but I was only three.” I pulled
out a manila file, opened it. A print-out of an online article slid to the floor. I bent and picked it up, my brow wrinkling.

  “What is it?” Brayden asked.

  “An interview with a real-life vampire.” I kept reading. “Well, a guy in England who claims to be a vampire. It’s all about the vampire lifestyle.” I pulled out another article on vampirism in Africa. “Was this her Halloween file?”

  “Doubt it. She hated Halloween.”

  I scanned through the papers — printouts of blogs and websites about vampires. Signs of vampire attacks, modern vampirism, vampiric powers… “She was definitely interested in vampires.” I handed him a page of handwritten bullet notes:

  Powers

  - Ability to drain the vitality of those around them;

  - Possession/control of victims;

  - Pining sickness;

  - Trances.

  “Could she have been working on an article?” Could vampires be real too? A shiver rippled my skin. According to the stories, vampires were immortal. That would explain how the curse was kept alive.

  “Alicia wouldn’t do this much research for a puff piece. Hey,” he touched my arm. “Are you all right?”

  I forced my breathing to steady. Vampires. Ha. “She didn’t say anything about it to you?”

  “No,” he said. “Mustn’t have been too important.”

  “Did she talk about her other pieces with you?”

  “Yeah. She did. She was proud of her work, even if it was only for a small town paper.” He pulled out another manila file and opened it. “Like this article on Doctor Toeller. It was just a feature, but Alicia was jazzed.”

  “May I?”

  Brayden handed me the file, and I thumbed through it.

  “It was about the doctor’s life in Doyle,” Brayden said. “Toeller’s an institution. If you were born here, she probably saw you into the world. She was responsible for the new hospital — managed to scare up all sorts of funding. Now it’s one of the most modern in the Sierras.”

  “The doctor’s an impressive woman,” I said, but the file was thin. Some scrawled notes on the doctor’s bio. A photograph of Toeller at the groundbreaking of the new hospital. The beginnings of a genealogy — Toeller’s name and date of birth, and the names of her two parents beneath.

  I frowned at the genealogy. That seemed beyond thorough. The Toeller article hadn’t gotten the editor killed. But if her research on a feature about a town doctor ran this deep, no wonder Alicia had managed to turn up so many scandals.

  I pulled out a piece of lined, yellow paper with a list of two dozen names. Most I recognized, people from the town.

  My breath caught. My name was on the list. Lenore and Jayce’s were too.

  Brayden leaned over my shoulder, too close. “Patients of Toeller’s?”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “Alicia’s interests were certainly varied. Vampires, luck…”

  “Luck?”

  “Your wife was working on an article on luck. She interviewed someone at Ground.”

  “I guess we didn’t talk about her work as much as I thought.” Furrows appeared between his brows.

  We rummaged through the rest of the box, turning up a glass pencil holder, a paperweight, and blank yellow pads.

  “I’ll keep the supplies,” Brayden said. “The work files can be tossed. The newspaper didn’t want them. Nobody will be writing those articles now.”

  No. The voice seemed to shout in my left ear.

  I hugged the files to my chest. “Do you mind if I keep these?”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Why?” Brayden asked.

  “I’m curious about Alicia’s research process.”

  “Be my guest. I’ll be right back.” He strode from the room.

  I tucked the files into my bag and followed him to the entry.

  “I feel I should return this necklace.” Darla stood on the doorstep, her pale arm outstretched. Her hand dropped to her side, and she shoved it into the pocket of her olive-colored cargo pants. “Karin. What are you doing here?”

  Brayden puzzled over something in his palm.

  “Going through some stuff with Brayden. What’s up?”

  “I’m on break.” Darla looped her blond ponytail into a bun. “But the coffee shop is fine. Reagan is managing it while I’m away, and there are no deliveries, and it’s kind of a slow time—”

  “I wasn’t worried,” I said.

  “You don’t need to give this to me.” He returned the thin, silver chain to Darla. “If my wife wanted you to have it, you should keep it.”

  “Oh. Are you sure?” Darla looked to me and took the slim necklace. “Alicia gave me a charm for good luck when she was interviewing me for the article.”

  “Thoughtful,” I said. “May I see it?”

  Darla gave it to me. A silvery horseshoe.

  “Is this silver?” I asked, returning the charm.

  “No, it’s iron. Alicia said it was better for luck, and iron jewelry is all the rage.”

  “Keep it.” Brayden cleared his throat. “Alicia doesn’t have anyone else, and I’m not going to wear it. You should. To remember her.”

  “I won’t forget her.” Darla blew out her breath. “I didn’t know Alicia well, but she really listened.”

  “Yeah.” Brayden stared at his boots. “She had a knack for that.”

  My lips pursed. When I’d spoken to Darla about Alicia, I’d gotten the impression Darla hadn’t much liked the newspaper editor. Had my instincts been off, or was Darla being polite? And the gift of the charm had been thoughtful. Why hadn’t Darla liked Alicia?

  Darla dropped the charm into the pocket of her cargo pants. “Thanks, Brayden. If there’s anything I can do…” She turned to leave, then whirled to face him. “Oh! I forgot to ask. When will the service be?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t planned that far. The police haven’t even released the body.”

  “Well, please let me know. I’d like to come.” Darla’s brown eyes glinted.

  “Thanks,” Brayden said. “I will.”

  “I should go,” I said. “Would you mind company, Darla? I need to head back into town too.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind.”

  “Karin,” Brayden said, “thanks for coming by. Things have gotten a little out of control around here. I probably should talk to that friend of yours about the cleaning.”

  I rummaged in my wallet and pulled out a card. “Telling her you’re my friend might not get you a discount, but tell her anyway.”

  “Thanks.”

  We left him on the doorstep, staring at the card.

  “He doesn’t look too good,” Darla said. She edged into the street, skirting a rosemary bush that had encroached on the dirt track along the side of the road. “I haven’t seen him in Ground since…”

  “His wife died there,” I finished. “I can’t imagine he’ll return anytime soon.” I scuffed a loose pebble with my sandal. “How are you doing?”

  “My car broke down, and I lost a filling.” Darla passed beneath an oak, the shade mottling her face.

  “A filling?”

  “My tooth.”

  “Oh. Ow.”

  Darla sighed. “Not even a lucky horseshoe can help me.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it,” I said.

  Darla rolled her eyes. “They’re just superstition.”

  “But you believe you’re unlucky. Isn’t that superstition too?”

  She pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “I’ve got evidence of my bad luck. It’s no superstition. I can see the curse in action.”

  My muscles jumped at the word, curse. “Did Alicia say when your newspaper article was supposed to be published?”

  “No. And I guess it won’t now.”

  “She didn’t say anything to you about vampires, did she?”

  “Vampires?” Darla’s eyes widened. “No. What do they have to do with luck?”
r />   “Nothing, I guess.” My imagination was running amuck. I needed to get off the vampire kick.

  We parted at the park. Children, watched by their parents, ran and tumbled, laughing, across the lawn. A young couple, tourists, sat close to each other on a picnic blanket, a basket beside them. I watched Darla trudge past the gazebo, her shoulders slumped.

  On impulse, I relaxed my gaze and thought about those lines of energy I’d seen before. They leapt into view, white lines tinted in a rainbow of hues. My lips parted, a fizzing sort of happiness filling me. They hadn’t gone anywhere. Glowing, golden cords linked the parents to their children. A gold and pink chain spiraled between the young tourists. But a cord extended from the young man’s back to a sad looking, older woman. Where the cord entered her chest, she seemed solid, of this world. But then her body dissolved to black and white until it became sheer, insubstantial. I looked hard and she vanished. Relaxed my gaze, and she returned. The older woman was a ghost, I realized, startled. The young man’s mother?

  Now I could see ghosts like Lenore. I was unbound. And maybe I wasn’t the family’s magical misfit after all.

  Glowing lines radiated from my chest and from Darla’s. I blinked. A faint white line connected me to Darla, walking up a winding hillside path. I touched the line of energy that bound us. The cord vibrated, shivering up my arm, a not-unpleasant tingle.

  Darla had almost disappeared into the trees, but I could still see the multitude of lines radiating from her. They shifted as Darla changed position.

  One cord stood out, seeming to dim the others. Black as pitch, it aimed northward. It passed through the corner of an old, brick building, crossing the road and disappearing through a bank. A second, thicker black line joined it inside the building.

  I followed the second black line backwards.

  It ended in my own chest.

  Repulsed, I forced myself to reach up, touch it. The cord, sticky and cold, coiled around my hand. A wave of sick fear roiled my stomach.

  The world tilted.

  Shuddering, I gagged, fell to my knees. My purse slid off my shoulder to the ground. Bits of gravel pressed into my palms. I drew in gulps of air and sat on my heels, staggered to my feet.

  What the hell was that blackness?

  The curse.

  I whipped my head to the left, certain the words had been spoken aloud.