Snooping, but for a good cause, I opened one of the boxes. “Carissa’s Tarot cards.”
I took the deck out, tossed it on the bed. Bound for the trash. They could sue me if they didn’t like it. I dug through the box and found another deck and a paperback on communication with the dead. Great. Then I found the Ouija board. I threw it on top of the Tarot decks and the book.
“We need a trash bag,” I said, opening the other boxes. “This garbage goes into the first dumpster we find on our way to breakfast tomorrow, I don’t care what the Petersons say.”
“Carissa did agree to that,” Berg said, wandering over to the bed.
The next few boxes held old infant clothes and family mementos, but in the last box I found a swath of emerald green linen fringed in gold. On it was a cross embroidered with gold thread. I took it out and shook it open. “An altar cloth.” I glanced at Berg. “We were going to ask them what they did with the altar. At least we know they kept the cloth. I suppose it makes a fancy Christmas table runner.”
Berg wasn’t amused. All these things were mere objects, yes, but what you did with those objects affected your thoughts, and your thoughts affected your behavior and your relationship with God. It was why Christians weren’t to do certain things, like consult mediums or draw a goat’s head devouring a child.
On a secular, biological level, it was that plasticity thing, but Berg also had a deep love for God, deeper than most, and pagan objects and misused Christian objects pained him. His love, loyalty, and gratitude would not countenance them.
“I’ll take that with us to Boyle’s tomorrow,” he said, “and I’ll inform the Petersons that it’s going to another church.”
Looking down at that small and fairly banal pile on the bed, at the cards, the board, and book, my skin crawled.
I told myself I was overly tired and three hours’ sleep, provided I didn’t dream, would repair my sound judgment, but beyond my prickly skin I felt a creeping sense of disquiet.
We were missing something, Berg and I, and we didn’t have long to figure out what that was.
CHAPTER 30
Berg woke the next morning in more arthritic pain than I’d seen in months. Another night on the pew had really done a number on him, and soon after swinging his long legs to the floor, before he even stood, he took one of his pills. A couple minutes later he rose and slowly began to walk up and down the aisle, oiling his chassis.
On the plus side, in the absence of noises and foul smells, both of us had managed to sleep several uninterrupted hours. I dared to hope that Berg had rid the church of its infestation simply by bravely confronting it, but that hope was fragile.
Then there was the matter of the Petersons. We were to have breakfast with them in half an hour, but first I needed to stop at 1043 Oliver Street and talk to the Nickles’ neighbor. At seven-thirty in the morning. He would not be happy with us.
I carried my pile of utter rubbish, as I now called of it, out to my car. The Ouija board, cards, and book. Bound for the first dumpster I saw. Berg carried the folded altar cloth.
The frosty November air smelled of woodsmoke, even at that early hour. It felt good to leave the church, to have plans to eat out in a public place with other human beings. The skies were mostly cloudy again, but the thin, patchy clouds I saw weren’t a precursor to snow.
I buckled up and let the Explorer warm up before I turned on the heat, and while we waited, Berg told me what he’d been thinking just before falling asleep.
“It occurred to me that if you’re renovating a building, trying to turn it into a bed and breakfast, you’re not going to put a lot of effort into tearing down a wall in the basement. Not early on. The Petersons haven’t removed most of the pews from the sanctuary, or leveled the podium, or decided which rooms will be guest bedrooms. They haven’t painted their son’s bedroom walls. But they brought in a contractor to tear down drywall and studs in a basement, just to open it up. How does that strike you?”
I leaned on the headrest and slid both hands into my coat pockets. “It strikes me as very odd, now that I think of it. Most parents would make their children’s rooms more comfortable first. All they did was paint Sophie’s room pink, and they did a hurried job of that. And I just realized something about that Ouija board, Berg. It looked a few years old.”
He turned his eyes to mine. “Carissa didn’t buy it a month ago.”
“Nope. And then there’s Rusty the dog. We saw Walnut Street. The most careful of dogs would have a hard time not getting run over.”
“I’ll admit it was strange Matt and the Nickles found him on that stretch of road, so far from his house.”
“As it was getting dark. Besides, why would he go there? The neighbor two doors up from the Nickles said Rusty likes to dig into his yard and play with his dog, so why wander down Walnut?”
Berg worked his jaw, a muscle rippling in his cheek. He didn’t like where my suppositions were leading.
“This takes us to Matt,” I said.
“It does.”
Good. He hadn’t told me I was letting my suspicious nature hijack my brain. “I think he lied to us about where they found Rusty.”
“If Rusty even left the Nickles’ house that night.”
“And if Matt lied, he lied in front of the Nickles, and that means—”
“They’re in it together.”
“Along with Carissa?”
“Let’s see what the neighbor says first.”
“Yup,” I said, putting the SUV in reverse and backing out.
I drove up Oliver Street, found 1043 in a jiffy, and parked at the curb.
“I hope he’s awake and in a charitable mood,” Berg said.
Shutting off the ignition, I said, “I don’t see any lights on, but he’s probably in the kitchen, and I’ll bet that’s at the back of the house.”
“Let me go in alone,” Berg said, putting his hand to the door handle. “My harmless appearance puts people at ease.”
“If people only knew.”
Berg rang the doorbell, leaned into his cane, and waited. In a matter of seconds the door opened. I couldn’t see the face of the person greeting him, but whoever it was let Berg in without much delay. Evidently the neighbor, or perhaps his wife, was in a charitable mood.
I sat back in my seat and turned my attention to the Nickle house. Then I lifted and lowered my shoulders in an attempt to massage the knots gained from another night on the floor and said a prayer of thanks that I’d been spared another nightmare, all the while knowing the nightmares would return.
In my somewhat short life I’d learned that grief comes in waves. The death of my parents four Novembers ago, the day the doctor told me I couldn’t have children, the day Ian told me, “You wouldn’t have been a good mother anyway,” or the day, six months later, I learned he was in love with someone else—these griefs were waves that came on me unexpectedly and at times threatened to drown me in sorrow.
But Bethany was different. When she came to mind, as she did every day, she came with a jolt, a swift gut punch, and my only defense was to immediately turn to something else. Like battling demons. Fighting evil alongside a man I admired and scaring the crud out of myself in the process. Taking action instead of sitting passively by while innocent people were at the mercy of evil.
Even donuts did the job sometimes, I wasn’t ashamed to admit to myself. Or a freshly popped can of Diet Coke or hot cup of coffee.
I laid hold of my coffee travel cup and shook it. No days-old coffee to tide me over. I checked my watch. If Dempster was true to his word, he’d arrive in five or six minutes.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait that long. Less than a minute later Dempster showed up at number 1051, driving a squad car rather than an unmarked sedan. A nice touch that would put some pressure on Ray and Hattie.
The detective looked tired and disheveled. No doubt he’d interviewed Nicole after leaving the church late last night. Question was, did he get anything out of her?
He ran
g the Nickles’ bell, and I slid down in my seat until I was partially hidden by the steering wheel. Wonder of wonders, the door opened. Ray stepped outside, said a few words, then invited Dempster into his home.
In a case of impeccable timing, Berg returned to the Explorer, and as soon as he shut the door, I took off for Boyle’s Burgers.
“Dempster just went inside the Nickles’ house,” I said. “Any luck with the neighbor?”
“He doesn’t care for the Nickles as much as he’d like strangers to think. Rusty dug through his fence Friday afternoon. He says the Nickles showed up to claim him not long afterward, along with a man he’d seen at their house before. His description fit Matt.”
I almost hit the brakes. We’d trusted the Petersons, done our best to help them, and they’d scammed us big time. Betrayed us. I searched for the right words, minus curses, and couldn’t find them.
“I asked if he’d ever seen this man with his wife or any other woman,” Berg went on, “and he said no, so we have to be open to the possibility that Carissa doesn’t know about Matt’s connection to the Nickles.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“So do I.”
“Matt pretended not to know about me or you when we first met, and he made it sound like Carissa called me on her own, without any input from him.”
“Remember, Lebec was instrumental in that.”
“But all that occult paraphernalia was Carissa’s.”
“Might have been an opportunity Matt seized. Or maybe he was drawn to the occult even more than Carissa but wanted to keep that from her, so he encouraged her interest. Owning Tarot cards runs the gamut from silly to dangerous, and I put Carissa on the silly end of the spectrum.”
“Like I said, I hope you’re right.”
We pulled into what was now my favorite burger joint in Colorado. I parked two rows back from the front door and turned off the engine. “I have to wonder if this plan came into being before the Petersons purchased the church.”
Berg took his phone out and started texting a message. A long one.
I leaned in sideways for a look. “You hope Dempster is having a lovely and informative morning?”
He smiled and kept typing. Thank goodness arthritis hadn’t reached his nimble fingers. We often struck gold as a result of his text messages.
“Ask him about Nicole. I’m dying to know if he arrested her.”
He finished and slipped the phone back in his pocket, but I stopped him before he could open the door.
“That’s Matt and Carissa,” I said, tipping my chin toward the parked cars one row up. “Next row up and two cars to our left. I just realized it was them, and they’ve been sitting there the whole time we’ve been here. Looks like they’re debating going inside, but I don’t think they’re talking to each other.”
Berg opened the door and swung his legs to the side. “Let’s not let them change their mind about breakfast. Ready?”
“I’ll take the frontal approach.”
Berg walked up behind them and I circled around the front of their car, startling them and at the same time blocking any path of escape, unless they were willing to mow me down. Hands on my hips, I glared at Matt and mouthed the word “liar.”
Judging by the look on his face, he knew we were now wise to him and his Nickle ways. Carissa’s expression, on the other hand, was hard to read.
Berg tried to open the back door of their car, but finding it locked, he rapped on Carissa’s passenger-side window. Matt hit the master lock switch and all four doors clicked. Berg got in behind Carissa and I took the seat behind Matt. Suppressing my natural desire to launch into a diatribe, I let Berg do the talking.
“Good morning,” he said. “We’re parked almost behind you.”
“Oh?” Matt said.
“We noticed you sitting here and wondered if you were still joining us for breakfast. I hope so.”
“Carissa and I were just talking.”
No, you weren’t.
“Let’s talk inside, why don’t we? Lots of ground to cover this morning, and we’re all hungry.”
Carissa glanced at Berg over her shoulder. Her long chestnut hair was tangled and uncombed. “How was last night?”
“Difficult,” Berg said.
Still staring through the windshield, Matt hadn’t yet turned in his seat.
“Shall we?” Berg said.
“Did you find out anything more?” Matt asked. “About the church.”
Berg always began kindly. But when someone lied or wasted his time, there came a point when even he demanded an end to the nonsense.
“We have your Ouija board and other accoutrements in the back of Teagan’s car. We’ll be throwing them out as soon as we find a place.”
Now Matt turned to Berg, his mouth set and angry. “You went through our things?”
“We agreed you’d throw them out, and there’s no time like the present.”
Matt pushed on the steering wheel, wrangled himself into a ninety-degree pivot, and glared at Berg. “That’s an unbelievable invasion of privacy.”
“A betrayal?” Berg suggested.
“Exactly. How the hell dare you? I don’t think we need your services anymore. And that Ouija board isn’t ours to throw out—it belongs to the Nickles.”
Carissa touched his shoulder. “Calm down, please.”
“No, I’m serious, honey. This is too much.”
“We did agree to throw it out,” she said, speaking with mild reproof.
“Well, I didn’t!” he thundered.
She dropped her hand and stared.
Did Matt realize he was confirming his treachery with every syllable? Nah. He thought his bluster was a cunning piece of misdirection. Berg and I were the treacherous ones. We’d gone through his closet and carried out what we’d all agreed upon, shame on us.
“Mr. Peterson,” Berg said. He waited.
“What?”
“We talked with one of the Nickles’ neighbors this morning. He says Rusty was in his yard late Friday afternoon, playing with his dog. He dug through his fence, as he often does. He never went wandering.”
Matt straightened and faced the windshield.
“Who’s Rusty?” Carissa asked.
“The Nickles’ dog,” I answered. “His name isn’t Jack. It never was. But Matt knows that.”
“Matt?” she said.
He didn’t answer.
“Matt, what’s going on?”
“Leave it alone, Carissa,” he said.
“Leave it alone?” she retorted. “I will not. Tell me what the hell’s going on, and right now.” She twisted back to me. “Someone tell me. I have a right to know.”
“I’d like it to come from your husband, if at all possible,” Berg said.
Matt lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, his eyes fixed and dark, the very illustration of If looks could kill.
“Matt, we can fix whatever this is, but you have to tell me,” Carissa pleaded.
“I did it for us,” he said, maintaining his rearview death stare.
“You’re scaring me,” she said, her voice quaking. “Tell me what’s happening. What did you do?”
Whatever had been troubling her minutes ago, as she’d sat silently in her car, had nothing to do with Matt and the Nickles. She hadn’t known they’d conspired. Holy cow, she really hadn’t.
CHAPTER 31
“You know the city reduced my hours,” Matt said, abandoning his rearview death stare and turning to his wife.
“We’re doing fine, Matt, and it’s only temporary.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Is it true what they’re saying about the Nickles’ dog? Does it have to do with money? I’m begging you to be honest. The Nickles have lied to me—don’t you lie too.”
“All I did was play along, pretend their dog was named Jack. That’s all.”
“No, that is not all,” Berg said.
Matt turned away from Carissa, his hands rubbing his te
mples. “You have no idea, you old man.”
“Matt!” Carissa cried. “What’s wrong with you? What’s happened to you lately? I apologize, Mr. Bergland.”
“No need. I am an old man,” Berg said.
“You’re no match for them,” he said. “None of us are.”
“Let me worry about that. Tell me something. Why did you begin renovations in your basement when there was so much work to do in your living quarters?”
Carissa angled in her seat for a better look at Berg. “That’s exactly what I wanted to know. I said we should work on Liam’s and Sophie’s rooms first. They’re kids and they need a homey place to live. Matt?”
“That’s our business, Carissa, not his.”
“So it was just by chance you started work on the basement before finishing the bedrooms or living room?” Berg asked.
“Call it what you want.”
Berg pressed on. “That leads me to my next question. Did you have any idea Edward Lloyd was buried in your basement wall?”
Matt threw a glance at Berg over his shoulder but remained silent.
“Oh, my God, Matt,” Carissa said, anguish in her voice. “Tell him. Tell me.”
“Honey, stop.”
“Tell him you didn’t know. Please.”
“Carissa, you need to stop now, and you two”—his chin rose to the rearview mirror—“need to get out of my car.”
“They stay where they are,” Carissa said. “Answer the question.”
“I’m not answering that man’s idiotic—”
“Then I’m the one asking the question. We argued about working down there before making the kids’ closets bigger or anything like that, so answer the question. Did you know that man was buried down there?”
“Honey, of course I didn’t know a body was there. Up until a month ago we lived in Fort Collins. Now, come on. Don’t let them twist you around.”
“But the Nickles knew about Lloyd, and I’m presuming they told you,” Berg said.
Detaching himself from the conversation, Matt began to search the parking lot, peering to his left and right, checking his watch, peering again, while Carissa continued to plead with him to open up.
Chasing Angels (Teagan Doyle Mysteries Book 1) Page 21
