They didn’t.
The branch cracked loud enough that it echoed between my ears and vibrated across my jaw. When the pain radiated through my fingers, I realized it wasn’t a branch that cracked, it was my hand, and I had to force myself to swallow so the bile wouldn’t race up my throat and project into the hole, and onto the crime scene. I had already made a big enough mess of it. My face smacked the dead guy’s face, making a thud sound kept the bile floating at the base of my throat. I wanted to go home and start the day over again.
The ME was right. Rigor had set in. His face was hard as a rock. I’d learn later that I’d broken my left maxillary bone—the bone under the eye, and my left ring finger, but at that moment I was more concerned about the grossness of lying on top of a dead guy. My whole body stiffened, and my flight syndrome kicked in. If I could have, I would have flown out of the hole and straight back home to my shower where I’d have boiled the dead germs off of me for a minimum of six hours straight.
I lay still for a moment as everyone above asked if I was okay. “I’m fine,” I said, too embarrassed to mention the pain throbbing in my hand and face. I pushed myself up with my right hand, scooted over, and heaved off of the dead guy.
“So of a beach ball,” Aaron said. Even from six feet under I could see his face turning red. “We’ll get a stretcher and get you right out.” He shook his head. “Just…Just try not to touch anything.”
“Little late for that.”
Mel laughed.
The medical examiner snorted and walked away.
I knew I liked him.
“Juan Garcia.”
I glanced at the dead dude. “Was that you?”
His wide eyes didn’t budge.
“I’m over here.”
I flipped my head to the right, and the man’s ghost was floating on that side of me. So was Benny.
“I’m Juan Garcia.”
“Angela Panther. Nice to meet you.”
“Would be nicer under different circumstances.”
“For you, probably. Know how you got here?”
“I was killed.”
So many sarcastic comments, so inappropriate at that moment.
“What about the who, what, when, why, and how? Do you know any of those?”
“None of it made sense until after I died, when I could see the person that did it.”
The men with the stretcher showed up at the top of the hole. “Listen, we gotta make this quick because only a few of those people up there know I can talk to your kind, and they’re gonna get me outta here in a sec.”
“Okay. I came here for a lock box that Emma Marx told me Bill Marx left for me. I didn’t know she died. I got a letter from her. Now I’m not sure who wrote the letter. When I arrived, I was attacked, but I couldn’t see who did it until I was dead.”
“Who was it?”
“Bill Marx. He was dead. He did it to me. He killed me.”
“Why?”
“He gave me the code for the lockbox but it wouldn’t open.”
“What’s in the lockbox?”
“Money. And lots of it.”
“Why would he tell you about the lock box and the money? Did he owe you money?”
The stretcher dropped down, and I crawled onto it, keeping my injured areas as safe as possible from additional harm.
“Come up with me. I’ll have more questions but talking will kind of be hit or miss. Plus, I can help get you where you need to go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The crew pulled the stretcher up, and when my head popped over the top of the hole, Mel chucked. I shot her the stink eye and shut her up.
“You okay?” Aaron asked.
I said yes, but it was a lie. “Juan Garcia is the dead guy. Said Bill Marx killed him when he couldn’t open the lock box.”
“A dead guy killed him?”
“I knew something was up. Where’s the lock box?”
He pointed to the front of the house. “Had my guys put it in my car.”
“Bill wants in that lock box bad. Juan said there’s money in there, but I can’t figure out what Bill would want with money now that he’s dead.”
“Why can’t he just open the thing himself?” Aaron asked.
“I can’t figure that out either,” I said.
“Emma’s mother,” Mel said. “Didn’t she do some magic whatchamacallit that wouldn’t let him see his son? Maybe she did something so he couldn’t get into the box too?”
“But why?’
“Because the money was for Emma and Justin,” Mel said.
“And now Emma’s dead, and she’ll need the money for Justin. So why doesn’t she come and get it?”
“Because she doesn’t know where it is?” Mel asked.
“Wouldn’t Emma have told her?” I asked. I scratched my head with my left hand and howled from the pain.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asked.
“I think I cracked my finger on the dead guy.”
“You need a medic?” Aaron asked.
“No, it’ll be fine. I’ll wrap it when I get home. I wanna figure this out.”
“Jake’s never gonna let you help me again,” he said.
“Jake isn’t the boss of me, at least not all of the time. Mel, where’s your notebook?”
“Right here,” she said, whipping it out of her bag.
“Okay, so Bill Marx works for bad guys and testifies against them. He gets killed. Family is in WITSEC. Emma Marx gets killed. Before that happens, Justin Marx disappears but doesn’t really, because Emma sends him off after fearing for his life. We get a bunch of clues, well, not a bunch, but some, and they lead us to this lock box. My spidey sense told me Bill knew about the lock box already and knew where it was, but was just leading us on a wild goose chase.”
“Why?” Mel asked.
“Why was he leading us on a wild goose chase?”
“That, and why did your spidey sense tell you he knew about it?”
“The dog. He wasn’t happy to see Bill at all. I trust dogs and how they feel about people more than I trust people. As for the lock box, it’s not that I knew he knew about it as much as he knew she’d hid the money somewhere, so it had to be in something, and it was just a matter of what, and he likely assumed it was the lock box. Juan Garcia confirmed that for me. He said Bill told him about the lock box and he tried to get in it but didn’t have the right combination. When he couldn’t get in, Bill killed him.”
“So he needed us to help him get the combination?” Mel asked.
“Exactly.”
“But what does he need the money for?” Juan asked.
I’d completely forgotten I’d asked him to stick around. “Does he owe you money?”
Mel and Aaron both dipped their heads to the right like two dogs who’d just heard a high-pitched whistle.
“Talking to Juan,” I said.
“He owes a lot of people money,” he said. “And if he doesn’t pay them back, they’re going to kill his son.”
Just then a tall man dressed in a tight-fitting pair of faded Wranger jeans, a beat up pair of cowboy boots and a dark brown cowboy hat, straight off the cover of a western romance novel sauntered up. I wiped the drool oozing from the corner of my mouth and watched Mel do the same. My excitement petered out a bit at the sight of the short woman with long, spiral curled dark hair, the kind of movie stars, following behind him. I knew immediately she was a reporter by the recorder in her hand. I’m just smart like that.
Aaron shook hands with the cowboy romance novel cover model. I snuck a peek at Mel, who I swore was still drooling. “Reeder, how good to see you.”
“You too, Detective. What’ve you got?”
He introduced us to Reeder Cullen of the Mullins Crossing Police Department and Kelly Monroe, a reporter for the Mullins Crossing Herald. Mullins Crossing was two towns over, so I wasn’t sure what they were doing in our neck of the woods, but I didn’t like the fact that a reporter was there with a recorder in her h
and.
“Nice to meet you, “ I said, eyeing the recorder and then Aaron.
“Reeder and I went through the Academy together. I asked him to stop by to see if he had any thoughts on the case.”
I nodded, trying hard not to show my obvious concern about the reporter. Apparently it didn’t work.
“Ms. Monroe was with me on another case, so she came along for the ride,” Detective Cullen said. “She’s not here to report on anything.”
“Unless of course there’s something worth reporting,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” I said. I ran my good through my hair, and my fingers bumped up against tiny pieces of dirt. I desperately needed a shower but instead, stood trapped, wasting my time with small talk. At least the eye candy was worth it.
Another office stepped up and interrupted our conversation. “Aaron, can I talk to you for a minute? In private?”
His eyes darted to Reeder. “Give me a sec?”
Reeder dipped his head. “No problem.”
Kelly smiled at me. “I really need to get back to work. I’ve got an update due on a story about a teacher killed this week.”
I’d read about that. “Oh, yeah, the teacher of the year. That’s right, that was in MC. You’re covering that? It sounded horrible.”
“It is. She was a nice woman. I’d just interviewed her about her teacher of the year win.”
“Well I hope they find out what happened to her.”
“Reeder’s working the case, so I’m sure he will,” she said. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too.”
Reeder walked Kelly back around the house.
Aaron came back a few seconds later.
“What on God’s earth were you thinking, inviting a reporter here?” Mel asked. “You know how Angela feels about that kind of thing.”
“I didn’t invite a reporter. I invited a detective. He brought a reporter.”
“Guys, come on. We’ve got more important things to deal with. And besides, it’s all starting to make sense now,” I said.
“What?” Aaron asked.
“Juan said Bill Marx needs the money in the lock box to pay people he owes money to or they’re going to kill his son.”
“Whose he owe money?”
I glanced back at Juan.
He shrugged. “I only know of the people I worked for, but the list is long. You need to talk to Bill.”
“Who are the people you worked for?” I asked.
“What’s that light?” Juan asked. He gazed up at the sky. “It’s beautiful.”
I watched as he smiled upwards and threw myself at him as he slowly disappeared. “Juan—crap.” I fell to the ground and moaned because it hurt.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Mel asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he say who he worked for?” Aaron asked.
“Nope.”
“Son of a beach ball.”
“Now whadda we do?” Mel asked.
“We don’t do anything,” Aaron said. “You two need to get her to a doctor, and I have a case to handle.” He headed toward the corner of the house, where the good-looking cowboy was coming back around.
“That’s one hot cop,” Mel said.
“Number one, you’re taken. Number two, from the way he was looking at that reporter, he’s taken too.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“What about the lock box?” I yelled to Aaron.
“I told you, it’s in my car. I’ll have it processed and secured.”
“But Justin—“
He cut me off. “I’m getting someone out to take the kid and his grandmother into PC as we speak. Go get yourself looked at before your husband gets hold of me.”
“Yes,” I said, but I had the fingers on my good hand crossed in front of me.
Mel wrapped her arm around me. “We’re so gettin’ that lock box. Aren’t we?”
“Heck yeah, we are,” I said, and we shuffled as fast two injured, middle-aged women could over to Aaron’s car, snatched the lock box, and skedaddled. Our plan was to head out to Justin’s grandmother’s house, grab the kid, and take him into our own protective custody. Why, I wasn’t exactly sure, but we’d figure that all out later.
“What if he’s not there?” Mel asked.
“He’s got to be.” I hadn’t considered any other option. “Do you think his grandmother knows what’s going on?”
“She has to because she did that magic mojo stuff. Maybe we should send your mother out there first to check, just in case.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’.”
I called for my mother, and she popped into the backseat in seconds flat. “What? I’m followin’ that good for nothin’ Bill Marx. I knew from the start he was up to no good, and now I know for sure.”
“We know. He’s gotta get the money in the lock box to the people he owes it to, or they’re going to kill his son.”
“Ah Madone, that poor boy,” she said. “No wonder Emma was a mess. He still with his grandma?”
“That’s why I called you. Aaron’s sending someone there to get him into protective custody.”
“Then why you wanna get him outta there?”
“Because I just got a feeling something’s not right, and I don’t trust Bill. Even his dog doesn’t like him, Ma.”
“Bill’s not goin’ over there. He’s followin’ some hoodlums. I’m guessin’ he’s watchin’ them to make sure they don’t hurt his boy.”
“Unless the hoodlums are headed to that way.”
Mel nudged me. “What’s she saying?”
After giving me the info, we all decided Ma would keep her eye on the boy while we sniffed out Bill—through her directions of course—and do our best to find out who the hoodlums were, and get Aaron to them so he could do his detective work, and keep Justin safe. Ma went on her way, and we went ours.
“Do you have a weapon?” Mel asked.
I had exited the interstate and pulled onto a back road in a part of Atlanta I wasn’t familiar with, a part that didn’t appear all that friendly, either. “Seriously?” I wished the promise Jake made earlier to teach me to use a gun had already happened.
“Well, yeah.”
“Since when have I ever had a weapon?”
“Good point. But probably you should start carrying one.”
“I deal with the dead, and weapons don’t work with them.”
“Tell that to those gang members who almost shot us. They were far from dead.”
“That’s different.”
“Not any different than what we’re heading into at the moment. If you’re gonna keep draggin’ me into dangerous situations, you really ought to carry.”
“I’m not dragging you into anything. You come voluntarily.”
She flicked her chin up. “That’s not the point.”
“If you’re so worried, maybe you should carry then.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Pepper spray doesn’t really count.”
“I’m not carrying pepper spray. Trust me, it’s much stronger than that.”
The thought of Mel carrying a gun scared the bejesus outta me. “Mel with a deadly weapon, that’s the last thing the world needs. You can’t even keep a vibrator in your purse without it falling out. Lord knows what you’d do with a gun.”
“One time,” she said. “One time it fell out, and you just can’t let that go.”
“One time is all it takes to burn that memory into my brain forever,” I said, thinking back to the day when her vibrator fell out of her purse and slid across the table in the police department interrogation room. I haven’t laughed so hard since. Just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes. I shook the memory from my minds eye and focused on the task at hand.
I turned left into an old warehouse district on the south side of Atlanta and pulled my car behind the second building on the right side of the first road. My mother said Bill Marx was watching the men in a few buildings up, but I
didn’t want to get too close. “It’s up there.” I pointed to the building.
“We really need a weapon.”
I hated to admit it, but she was right. “Too late now.”
Two men walked out of the building with Bill floating behind them.
“There’s Bill,” I said.
“Wow, it’s like a scene from an old gangster movie. Look at those fedoras,” she said. “When did the Mexican Mafia start wearing fedoras?
“Maybe they’re not Mexican.” The fedoras flew off the men’s heads. “I think that was Bill’s doing.”
They got into a black sedan and headed out of the warehouse district.
“You gonna follow them?” Mel asked.
“Heck yeah.”
“We need Bill with us. Get him in here.”
Again with the conjuring spirit thing. “Bill, we know what’s going on. We’re here. We want to help, but we need you with us. Please.”
He appeared behind us, in the backseat.
“I didn’t mean to hurt Juan,” he said.
“We’ll talk about that later,” I told him. “How many people do you owe money to and how much?”
“It’s complicated.”
My blood pressure skyrocketed from normal to off the charts. “Your son doesn’t have time for this crap, and neither do I. You killed your ex-wife, your child’s mother, for crying out loud. Now you either tell me everything so I can help you or…or…” I didn’t have an or what, but I hoped the anger in my voice was enough to stress the urgency of the situation.
“If I tell anyone, they’ll kill him.”
“Bill, newsflash, you’re dead. They’re not gonna know what you do, and if we don’t do something, they’re going to kill him anyway. You gotta tell me so we can protect him.”
“Do you have the lock box?” he asked.
“Forget about the damn lock box, Bill!”
“I need that money. If I don’t get it they’ll—”
“I know what they’ll do, but we won’t let them. We’ve got the police on our side. We just need you to tell us who they are and what you know, and let us help you. Please, Bill.”
He didn’t respond, and when I turned around, he was gone. “Son of a beeswax.”
Unbinding Love Page 7
