by Beth Yarnall
That’s why Cerie had rushed out of Graham’s office. She must have wanted to get out of there before she had a collapse like Erin’s. What did it mean? Had her father been affected, too?
“You can see the past and future.” Not a question. There was no judgment or censure in his tone. He wasn’t mocking her. Did that mean he believed in psychic abilities?
She’d learned at an early age that the novelty factor of her ability quickly wore off once the reality of what she could do set in. No one liked having the element of surprise taken away from them. No one wanted their past examined. And no one wanted to know how and when a loved one would die. She’d learned that last lesson the hard way.
What would happen if she told Graham about her visions? What would he do with the information? The truth was, she wanted someone besides her family to trust. She was tired of hiding, tired of pretending. She was worn thin from the pretending.
So when he gently said tell me again, she fell headfirst into the illusion of intimacy in his darkened car. It was just the two of them, not looking at each other with miles of pitch-black road ahead of them.
Starting out unsteadily, then gradually finding her pace, she told him about her initial vision and how it had differed from what had happened at the house.
“Has that ever happened before?” His question was matter of fact, as though he dealt with people with psychic abilities every day.
“Why aren’t you freaked out by what I just told you?”
“Who says I’m not?”
She shouldn’t have told him. This was a mistake.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe you,” he added. “Or that I’ll betray your trust.”
“Why?”
“That’s not who I am.”
Tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding drained out of her. That’s not who he was. He certainly hadn’t reacted the way her mother had when Erin’s ability had first started to manifest. Not yet anyway.
“No,” she answered his previous question. “My visions have never wavered like that before.”
“So it only started when you first touched the file on the Lasiter property.”
“Yes.”
“Cerie seems to think the storm and the moon and mercury being in retrograde is messing with her ability.”
“You’re making fun of her.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. She’s…different, that’s all I meant. She isn’t shy about who she is or using her ability. She trades off of it.”
“Different. Right.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Do you know what it’s like to grow up in my family? Those crazy Decembers. They’re witches, they’re fakes, they think they’re special when all they really want is attention. But mostly, people just think we’re nuts.”
“Cerie doesn’t help your case, I’ll give you that.”
“When I was a kid I hated that she made her living off giving fortunes.”
“And now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” But it did. More than she wanted to admit. She still hated it, but it was a part of who Cerie was and what she was to the community.
She felt him watching her as they sat at a stoplight, sure he wouldn’t let her get away with that answer. She’d confided more in Graham than anyone else, including her family. She’d never told Cerie how she felt about her fortune-telling or any of the rest of it. There was something about Graham that made her want to tell him things. Or maybe it was the exhaustion. Her secret was a heavy and tiresome burden to carry for so long.
“What else did you see about what happened at the Lasiter house?”
Grateful for the subject change, she grabbed at the reprieve he gave her. “In the kitchen with Greg before he… died, I saw Deidre answer the door to her killer.”
He gave her a startled glance. “Male or female?”
“Definitely male.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He liked it when Deidre was on top when they had sex so he could watch her boobs bounce up and down.”
“Who doesn’t?”
She glared at him, her mouth dropping open in disgust.
“What?” he teased. “It’s true. Ask any guy.”
Fighting an answering smile, she rolled her eyes at him. The much-needed moment of levity lingered briefly before Graham had to turn back to the road.
“So Deidre was having an affair with the man who killed her,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Deidre’s killer shot her because she got pregnant. He was annoyed with her for that.”
“Damn. Did you see who he was? Anything about him that you can identify?”
“No, he wore gloves and a dark coat.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
“He really got off on being with her. Deidre was in love with him, but she was nothing more than an ego boost for him. While she was divorcing Greg to be with him, hoping he’d divorce his wife, too—he was plotting to get rid of her to protect his marriage and social standing. I didn’t like him. At all. It’s more than almost being in his skin in my vision when he killed Deidre. He’s…sick. His mind isn’t right.”
“So we’re looking for a married man who wanted to stay married. There aren’t very many of those.” When Erin let the silence stretch, he said, “Sorry. Can’t help it.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No—”
“You haven’t changed since high school. You’re still the same jerk who made fun of my family and me with your friends.”
“I never—”
“Yes you did. I heard you. I’m such an idiot for telling you all that, for trusting you.” She nearly gagged on her stupidity. This was why she had kept her secret so long, this attitude toward anyone in this town who was different.
“Erin, I swear I never made fun of you.”
“I heard you, Graham. You and Greg and Mike Deitz and Chris Worley in the library. Mike found a book on circus people.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t. But I do. You thought one of the freaks in the book looked like my aunt. That set the rest of them off.” Thinking about it now brought back the humiliation as though it was happening all over again. She fought against it. She wasn’t that girl anymore. Or at least she was trying really hard not to be.
“I honestly don’t remember. We were probably just acting like a bunch of assholes.”
“Somebody tore that picture out of the book and glued it to my locker.” She wasn’t letting him off the hook. Was he really that blithe to what he and his friends had done to her? Was it just a harmless, victimless prank to them?
“You don’t think—”
“On the outside. Where everyone saw it. Everyone. They wrote ‘Come to the December Freak Show’ on it. The custodian had to take the door off my locker and replace it with a new one that was a different color from the rest.”
“Jesus.”
“That was in February. I had that locker until the end of the year. It made me a target. People shoved nasty notes through the slots almost daily.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “Thanks to you and your friends, I was free game.”
“Erin, I’m sorry. I don’t know which one of my asshole friends did that to you. I’d kick the shit out of him right now if I could.”
“You can’t.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to dislodge the ache that had settled behind her eyes. She sighed. Her anger drained away in the face of their current reality. “It was Greg.”
He stopped the car in front of Greg’s house and stared at it for a moment. She wished she could read his thoughts. Was he really sorry or only saying it because he’d been forced to face his past actions? How did the new Graham compare to the old? Could she trust him as much as she wanted to? As much as she already had? Or had she made a huge, irreversible mistake here?
Putting his arm across the back of the bench seat, he turned to her. The look in his eyes was full of
regret. And shame. The shame surprised her.
“I really am sorry. I had no idea. I swear. I hope you can forgive me.” He glanced at the house again, then back at her. “And Greg.”
“I don’t know. I’m going to have to wait and see what you do with what I just told you.”
“Fair enough, but can I make a suggestion? Please don’t repeat what you just said. Someone might think you’d gotten your revenge by killing Greg.”
“But I didn’t.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know. I know, but someone else might take it differently.”
“You know you’re a prince when you’re not acting like a cop or a smart ass. Unfortunately, that’s almost never.” She reached for the door handle. “Let’s get this over with so I can get away from you.” She opened the door and stepped out into the rain, slamming the door behind her.
* * *
Graham would’ve kicked his own ass if it were possible. Why was he pushing her buttons? Just when he’d finally made some progress with her, he ruined it by being a complete fucking idiot. He honestly didn’t remember that incident from high school. Was he really that much of an ass back then?
He remembered her very well in high school. She was the only girl who wouldn’t give him the time of day. That made her much more interesting than the ones who threw themselves at him. The more he tried to get her attention, the less interested she seemed. Then he graduated and moved away and he had only ever seen her briefly in the years since. She continued to have no regard for him whatsoever. Even now he wasn’t sure what she thought of him, past being a constant annoyance.
He stormed out of the car after her and knocked into Keith coming up the walk. Just what he needed.
“Stay out of the way,” he snarled at Keith.
“I never did like you,” Keith said. “I can see now that my opinion was well founded. Tell Erin I’ll be waiting for her in the car.” He spun on his heel and walked off.
Graham went up the steps to where Erin stood on the porch. He got as close to her as he dared. “What you told me will stay between us. I give you my word.”
“If you say so.” He had a lot to overcome where she was concerned.
The inexplicable need to be near her had him inching closer. “You frustrate the hell out of me, you know that?”
“You aren’t doing much more for me either.”
He could smell his shower gel on her skin and it brought back the images of her he’d had in his office. He leaned in. “I’m on your side.”
“Are you?” She seemed a little out of breath or angry. He couldn’t tell.
“I—” One of the tech guys came out of the house and bumped his shoulder, making him realize where he was. He backed away from her. “Stay here. I’ll go find your cell phone.” He went into the house, concentrating on keeping his steps even and unhurried.
The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to put his hands on her. Either in an embrace or around her neck, he wasn’t sure which. She’d somehow gotten in his head and messed with it. He had to find a way to get her out of it before he forgot why getting involved with her in any way was a bad idea.
The techs had set up their lights, illuminating every corner of the house. Graham found Erin’s phone on the floor against the wall outside the kitchen door. He grabbed one of the techs to photograph and catalog it, then took it out to Erin waiting on the porch.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Be at the station by eight tomorrow morning to give your statement.”
She went down the steps of the house to Keith without a backwards glance. He thought about calling out a goodbye to her, but figured he’d hit his sarcastic limit with her and would only dig himself in deeper.
So he stood there and watched as Keith came around to open the car door for her. Keith, the high school track star. Keith, the hometown boy who’d stayed. Keith, who didn’t say stupid shit to piss her off. Keith, who offered her comfort instead of aggravation. Keith, with the smug look as he got back into his car and drove away with Erin.
Graham wished there was a law against being a self-righteous prick just so he could throw Keith in a cell. He had to remind himself that it was a good thing she had a boyfriend. She was also a witness in this case, the only witness. And he had no business starting something with her when what had happened in L.A. wasn’t completely over.
He watched their taillights until the night swallowed them. A few hearty souls were still camped across the street. The coroner would be bringing the bodies out soon. Graham was sure that’s what they were waiting for. He recognized his cousin Willie and lifted a hand in reluctant acknowledgement.
God, he couldn’t wait to get out of this town.
He walked into the false florescent nightmare created by the lights the tech guys had set up. Night crime scenes were the worst. Everything was lit up like a movie sound stage, giving it an eerie dreamlike quality. The butcher shop stench of death, mingled with the coppery tang of blood, anchored the scene, ensuring no one present would mistake this for anything other than the horror it was.
He found Pax talking to the coroner in the kitchen. He walked in just as Greg’s body bag was being zipped closed. The sudden tightness in his chest caught him off guard. He rubbed at it with the palm of his hand. When he’d left San Rey he’d left everything and everyone behind. Including friends like Greg. Good friends. Somehow taking those friendships with him had seemed impossible at the time. Now it seemed stupid and childish.
He wondered who was left to make Greg’s funeral arrangements before turning his attention to what the coroner was saying to Pax.
“—to the lab, but I can tell you that Na-tabs are prenatal vitamins. My wife took them. If Mrs. Lasiter was prescribed them, she was most likely pregnant. We’ll know for sure after the autopsy.”
“Can you check paternity against the husband?” Graham asked.
Pax swiveled his head in Graham’s direction. “You don’t think Greg’s the father? Why?”
“I don’t know anything for sure,” Graham said. “Just covering all the bases.”
“We’ll check paternity against the husband,” the coroner said. “I’ll let you know our findings.”
“Thanks.”
Graham watched them wheel out Greg’s, then Deidre’s body. He knew well the path his friend’s body would take, what the autopsy photos would show, how he’d look pale and waxy on the table, a Y incision carved and stitched into his flesh. Greg should’ve grown old, died old. If anyone had asked Graham which one of them would be the first to stand over a grave, Graham would’ve said it would be Greg standing over Graham’s. He’d taken risks—too many risks—and survived when more deserving others hadn’t. As usual his thoughts drifted to Patricia. Another person who should’ve grown old and died old. Another grave Graham had to stand over. Another person he’d let down.
Graham shook those thoughts off. That was a bad road to go down, especially now when there was so much work to do.
He turned to Pax. “Did you get the name of Deidre’s doctor from the prescription bottle?”
“I did. I Googled him. His office is in San Luis Obispo.”
“Where she lives now.” Something nagged at Graham, but he couldn’t put his finger on what he was missing. “What’s your take on this, Pax?”
Pax puffed up a little, adjusting the weight of his belt. “From the witness’s statement and appearances, Greg’s death was self-inflicted. Deidre’s… it’s too soon to tell yet, but my gut says murder/suicide. I’d sure like to know more about why they were getting a divorce. You know, other than what my wife tells me she overheard at the beauty shop.”
“What’d your wife hear at the beauty shop?”
“You aren’t serious. That’s just a bunch of gossiping wives and girlfriends.”
“Sometimes there’s truth in gossip.”
“Well…” Pax began. “Not that I listened or anything, but the talk was that
Deidre had plans, was bragging about coming up in the world. And if you tell anybody I passed on rumors from the Clippity-Do-Da, I’ll sock you in the teeth.”
That jived with what Erin had told him about her vision of the killer.
Graham chuckled. “Hey, man, sometimes police work is dirty work.” He clapped Pax on the shoulder. “Keep your ear to the parlor door. I’m counting on you.”
“Yeah, right. Next thing, you’ll want me to go down and get a permanent wave so I can record the gossip for you.”
Graham pretended to consider it.
“No way I’m stepping foot in that cackle house.”
He winked at Pax. “We’ll keep that option open just in case. Did the crime scene techs get all the samples I asked for?”
“Yeah. There was one thing they noticed when they moved Deidre’s body.” He motioned for Graham to come closer. “Deidre had a tattoo right here.” He pointed to a spot over his heart. “They said it looked new, still scabby. It was two hands holding a heart.” Pax pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I took a picture of it. Thought you’d want to have a look.”
He brought up the photo and handed the phone to Graham. The tattooed design was of a red heart with a crown on top held on either side by hands.
“The Claddagh,” Graham said. “Good work.”
“The what?”
“An Irish symbol of love, friendship and loyalty. Guys often propose to their girlfriends with a Claddagh ring. My mom has one. How big was the tattoo?”
“About as big as a quarter or half-dollar, why?”
“Just want to put things in perspective. Text me the photo, will you? We’ll want to find the shop that did the work. Maybe someone there will remember her and why she got the tattoo.”
“Sure.”
While Pax worked on sending the text, Graham took another look around the kitchen. The stack of papers on the table and Deidre’s purse were gone. “When you bagged Deidre’s purse and the papers on the table, did you move the furniture?” he asked Pax.
Pax looked up from his phone at Graham and then at the table and chair set. He frowned. “No. I only touched the things I bagged. Why?”
