Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (26 page)

“What happened?” Gemma asked, looking from me to Dad.

I pointed to him. “He tried to kill me. That’s what happened.”

“Dad!” she said, scolding him like one would a child who’d just eaten a bug.

“No, you don’t understand.” He focused on her just as Uncle Bob rushed in, shoving
past Denise. Great. The whole gang was here to witness my murder.

Dad looked back at me, his jaw open. “Watch this.”

He fired again.

I ducked again. And fought the dizzying effects of an adrenaline rush that sent me
to the brink of unconsciousness. According to evolution, that was not what adrenaline
was supposed to do. It was supposed to make me wet my pants, then run really fast
as though a bear were attacking. Passing out was so un-Darwinian.

Uncle Bob had his pistol out and pointed at Dad’s head before I could say, “What the
fuck?”

I’d fallen onto my knees again. The crack of thunder from the gun jolted through me
so hard and fast, I felt like the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. I stumbled
to my feet as the spin of the world blurred my vision and turned my stomach. I was
going to be sick. My body quaked from the inside out. I swallowed hard, trying to
keep down the small amount of coffee I’d had earlier.

I felt a heat rush across my skin and looked to my left. Reyes materialized beside
me, his massive black robe undulating and making the world sway even more. I felt
like a boat on high seas.

He looked from beneath his hood toward Dad, then back at me. “Why is your father trying
to kill you?”

I swallowed again and braced myself against the wall at my back. “I have no idea.”
When he started toward him, I hurried forward to cut him off, stepping in between
them. “Oh, no, you don’t. He is off-limits, do you understand?”

He took my arm and pulled me into his robes. The scalding heat soothed despite my
anger. “Get a handle on this, or I’ll kill him where he stands.”

I pushed away from him and pointed toward the window. “Out. Now.”

With a low growl, he dematerialized, but I could feel him close. He hadn’t gone far,
and he could materialize and sever Dad’s spine before I could cry foul. I had to defuse
this situation and do it fast, or my dad would never be able to walk again. Or quite
possibly breathe.

After gathering myself, I realized everyone was looking at me. Most likely because
I was talking to air. They could just deal with it. We had bigger fish to fry. But
the look on their faces stopped me in my tracks. They’d seen me talk to air before.
Well, everyone but Sienna. I couldn’t imagine that causing the level of shock they
were displaying.

Sienna dropped the carafe. It landed with a thud on the floor, and coffee slushed
over the sides, but not a single gaze wavered away from me.

“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious. I looked down to make sure my boxers were
in place. They seemed fine to me. I scanned the faces again. Even though Uncle Bob
was holding a gun to my father’s head, he was looking at me. Just like everyone else.

Dad lowered the gun. The movement caught Ubie’s attention. He turned back to him.
“Drop it, Leland.”

He did. The gun fell to the floor, but nobody seemed to care. All eyes stayed locked
on me. Slowly, and with deliberate care, Uncle Bob kneeled down and picked up the
gun, but he looked away for only the split second it took him to grab it.

This was getting weird.

“How did you do that?” Gemma asked.

“What?” I asked, completely confused. “Almost get shot by my own father?” When everyone
continued to gape, I decided now was a good time for a rant. “It really wasn’t that
hard. I just kind of stood here while a crazy man pointed a gun at me—”

“They were blanks.”

I refocused on him. “You tried to kill me with blanks?”

“Yes.” He nodded, then caught himself and shook his head. “No, I mean—”

“Isn’t that counterproductive?”

“The way you moved,” he continued, his voice thick with disbelief. “It wasn’t real.
Nobody can move like that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, growing angry. Did nobody care that my own father just
tried to kill me?

He walked up to me and tried to touch my face, but I blocked his hand and stepped
out of his reach. He didn’t pursue it. Instead he asked, “What are you?”

“Besides pissed?”

“Charley,” Gemma said, her voice taking on that gentle therapist tone she was so fond
of, “look where you are.”

I glanced around and realized she was right. I had been at the door, and now I was
at the windows facing the alley. I shrugged. “So I lunged out of the way. So what?
I was being shot at.”

“But you didn’t,” Gemma said. “You were here, then you were there. You—” She paused
as though unable to come up with the right words. “You moved so fast. It’s like you
disappeared, then reappeared. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I had to know,” Dad said. “I had to know you’d be okay. I knew you were different,
but I had no idea just how different. Then when Caruso tied me up and went after you
with that knife … the way you moved. It was like nothing I’d ever seen.” Caruso had
been one of Dad’s collars. He’d sent the man to prison for a very long time. The minute
he was parolled, he came after Dad, and in periphery, me. “That’s when I realized
how special you really are.”

I was still fighting the effects of adrenaline rushing through my nervous system,
and trying not to seize. “I cannot imagine how you thought that shooting me would
be a good idea.” I turned to leave, but Uncle Bob stopped me.

“Charley, hon, I need to know if you want to press charges.”

A malicious smile spread over my face before I said, “No. Not today. I don’t want
to have anything else to do with him.”

I shoved my way past Denise and plowed down the stairs.

“Charley, wait,” Gemma said behind me.

I kept walking. “I am writing a letter to Mom about this.”

“Good,” she said, trying to catch up. “That’s perfect, but there’s something you need
to know before you get too carried away.”

I’d made it all the way to the front door of my building before she caught up with
me. “I know,” I said, my throat closing in on itself. “I felt it the minute I walked
up there.”

She took deep, even breaths and said, “He doesn’t know how much longer he has.”

I turned away from her, refusing to acknowledge the sting in my eyes. “How long have
you known?”

“Couple of months. He wouldn’t let anyone tell you. He wanted to do it himself, but
you wouldn’t take his calls.”

I crossed my arms, still unable to face her. “I’m still telling Mom.”

She stepped behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “Tell her hi for me, too.”

After leaning my head on her bony elbow, I said, “Okay, but I don’t think she likes
you as much as she likes me.”

Gemma laughed and squeezed me tighter.

*   *   *

Up at the penthouse, Cookie came barreling in as I stood pouring myself a cup of coffee,
her eyes wide with worry. When she spotted me, relief washed over her. She walked
up, panting with one hand on her chest. “I couldn’t find you,” she said between pants.
“And all your stuff was here. I thought you got killed. Or abducted again.”

“Sorry. Here I am.”

She held up a finger, swallowed hard, then said, “Charley, I swear you’re going to
be the death of me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I kill you? You work for next to nothing.”

She nodded. “That’s a good point.”

“I was just over at the office. Dad tried to shoot me. Twice. So Uncle Bob pulled
a gun. That man is way faster than he looks.”

Her eyes widened again. Then they narrowed in disbelief. Then widened yet again. Then
narrowed. Then they did this little mushy thing as she tried to wrap her head around
what I’d said. Then they widened some more. Then narrowed. And as entertaining as
her eye movements were, I was in my boxers.

“Okay, so I’m going to take a shower. You let that sink in.”

“How did the offices look?” she finally asked, and I knew she missed them.

“They are really nice since Bobby Joe refinished them. I like the soft taupe he chose.”

“It’s so weird that he thought his girlfriend was trying to kill him with peanuts.”

“I know, right?” I took my coffee cup and headed that way. “It would have made more
sense if he’d had a peanut allergy.”

*   *   *

After I got rid of Angel, telling him his shift was up, I took a quick shower and
went over my agenda for the day. We weren’t any closer to finding out who Harper’s
stalker was, and that saddened me, but I still had several leads to check out. Cook
had already obtained the list of nonresident visitors at the Tanoan Estates, and none
of them coincided with anyone from Harper’s past that we could deduce.

She also hit me with an address on the Lowells’ long-term housekeeper who’d recently
retired. I figured I’d start there, then go to the abandoned mental asylum and check
on my friend Rocket. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

“I also have a list of everyone who worked for the Lowells when they were married,”
Cookie said as I munched on the breakfast of champions, leftover brownies, “but not
many of them worked there for more than a couple of years. Their driver still works
for them, and their live-in housekeeper worked for them up until a couple of weeks
ago.”

“Right, their new housekeeper told me that much.”

“Took me a while to track her down. She worked for the Lowells for almost thirty years.
You’d think they would know where she lived. I had to ask Donald.”

“Donald?” I asked, injecting a purr of interest into my voice. “You’re on a first-name
basis with Donald?”

“Pffft. He’s the Lowells’ driver, he’s the only one who would give me a microsecond
of his time, and he sounds ninety if he’s a day.”

“Maybe he’s a smoker. If he’s still their driver—”

“Sorry.
Former
driver. Now he just takes care of their cars or something. He said they just keep
him around because they feel sorry for him.”

“Interesting. Did you find out anything else?”

She batted her lashes. “Well, he’s a Gemini, likes long walks on the beach, and is
very attracted to men in kilts.”

I swallowed the last bite of brownie and chased it with a shot of lukewarm java juice.
“That’s so weird. I’m attracted to men in kilts, too.” I elbowed her. “Can I get Donald’s
number in case I have any questions?”

“You wouldn’t move in on my territory, would you?”

I gasped and put an innocent hand on my even innocenter chest. “I would never.”

She ignored me. “So, after you interview the housekeeper, you’re going to check on
Rocket?” she asked, a knowing grin lighting her face.

Rocket was an invaluable resource when it came to finding out who had passed and who
was still kicking. A departed savant who knew the names of every person who ever lived
on Earth, Rocket could give me their status updates in seconds flat. And he was big
and adorable and loved to hug. Hard.

But Cook wasn’t talking about Rocket, if that mischievous twinkle in her eye was any
indication.

“Yes,” I said, memorizing the address of the housekeeper she gave me.

“And what about Rocket’s neighbors? Going to check on them, too?”

I crooked a brow. “I do have a weakness for guys on Harleys.”

She wagged an index finger at me, teasing. “Just say no.”

“You don’t understand,” I said before heading that way. “It’s a really strong weakness.”

*   *   *

I drove to the housekeeper’s residence on the south side, trying not to obsess about
the fact that my father had tried to shoot me. Twice. The housekeeper lived in an
older part of town. Many of the houses were considered almost historical and they
were well kept, as was Mrs. Beecher’s.

After I knocked on the door, I took a moment to appreciate the beautiful flowers on
her front porch. They were purple. That was about as categorical as I got. A squat
elderly woman with light gray hair and soft gray eyes opened the wooden door but stayed
put behind the screen of the storm door. The top of her head barely reached my chin,
and she had to look up at me.

“Hi, Mrs. Beecher?”

“Yes?” she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She wore a floral dress that looked
like it’d had more than its fair share of washings.

“I’m so sorry to bother you. My name is Charley Davidson.” I held up my ID. “I’m a
private investigator, and I was hired to look into a case involving your former employer,
the Lowells?”

Her heartbeat skyrocketed and her mouth did this little twitch thing where it thinned
for just a microsecond before she caught herself. Then she plastered on her best poker
face.

“Look, I understand it’s frowned upon to be talking about the Lowells. You were in
their employ for many years. But I have their express permission to question their
staff,” I said, lying through my whitening-stripped teeth. The Lowells had a strong
hold on their staff. Mrs. Lowell was a tyrant if I ever saw one.

“Oh, all right, then,” she said, seeming to calm. “What can help you with?”

She continued to talk to me through the screen, clearly not wanting me to enter. Poor
thing.

“I understand you worked for the Lowells for almost thirty years. Can you tell me
anything about their daughter, Harper?”

Her heartbeat skyrocketed again, and she glanced around as though wondering if she
were being watched. Just as her replacement had when I tried to question her at the
Lowells’ mansion.

“I really can’t say much. She was very disturbed and they had a lot of problems with
her, but that’s all I can tell you.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Do you remember when it all started?”

She glanced at the dish towel in her hands. Fear radiated off her in waves. “It seemed
to start right after Mr. and Mrs. Lowell got married.”

I nodded. “Did you notice anything suspicious at that time?” I couldn’t help but wonder
if Harper’s stalker wasn’t an employee, maybe even a disgruntled one. “Did the Lowells
hire anyone new around that time? Or maybe someone quit?”