Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (34 page)

“Well, that would explain why he’s no longer their gardener. Anything suspicious about
his death?”

“No. His daughter told me he died of natural causes, nothing to investigate.”

“Well, then, he’s definitely not our guy. If he did have all those pictures of Harper
in his wallet, maybe he was just really fond of her.” I took a sip of coffee and sat
at my breakfast bar. The boxes in the apartment had dwindled down to almost nothing.
Cookie had made tons of headway in the last two days. The only boxes that remained
were the ones from Area 51.

“He was,” she said. “His daughter told me he carried pictures of all his kids, and
he considered both Harper and her stepbrother, Art, part of his family.”

“Oh, well, that’s sweet.”

“It is. Very. Though I can see why Mrs. Beecher would see it as suspicious, considering
everything that happened.”

“True.”

She flipped to the next page. “Oh, and your uncle Bob called. That guy torched another
building early this morning.”

“Same guy?”

“It would seem so. I wrote the address on the file.” She pointed to a file folder
lying on my kitchen table. “Apparently the arsonist pulled someone out of the building
kicking and screaming before he set fire to it.”

I sat my coffee cup down. “Well, at least he’s civic minded.”

She nodded and continued to stir her coffee as I went to grab my bag.

“Okay,” I said, “call me if you get anything else.”

“Will do.”

Just as I headed for the door, I glanced at the file folder. The recognition didn’t
hit me until I’d shouldered my bag and reached for the doorknob. I stopped, remembered
the address, and whirled around so fast, the world tilted off center. Hurrying back,
I tore the Post-it Note with the address of the latest fire off the folder. Then the
world tilted for another reason entirely.

*   *   *

When I pulled up to the scene of the fire, the smell of smoke billowed in through
Misery’s vents, acrid and irritating. Firefighters were still working on it, shooting
water in the air from huge red trucks. The whole area was taped off, and bystanders
stood off to one side, watching the firefighters do their job, filming the massive
wall of smoke on their phones.

I stepped out and looked up. No way was this an accident. No way was this a coincidence.
This was it—the very building I’d been talking to Reyes about not three hours earlier.
The one where I’d first seen him. The one where the picture was found.

I called Cookie. “Hey, hon. I need you to check something out for me.”

“You got it.”

“I want you to get that list of all the addresses the arsonist has hit. It’s in the
folder. Then crosscheck those with the known addresses Uncle Bob had on Reyes Farrow
when he was first arrested for Earl Walker’s murder. I have his file in the cabinet.”

“Right, I remember it.” Her words were drawn out and wary. “Do you think there’s a
connection?”

“That’s what I intend to find out. Or, you know, for you to find out.” I hung up and
strolled to an officer on duty. “Where’s the woman?” I asked him.

“Excuse me?” He started toward me with his palms up in warning. “You need to stay
one hundred feet back.”

“The woman the arsonist dragged out before he torched the place. Where is she?”

The guy glanced around. “How did you know that?”

“I’m working with APD on this case under the supervision of Detective Robert Davidson.”
When he didn’t budge, I showed him my PI license and my APD ID that identified me
as a consultant. “Would you like Detective Davidson’s number?”

Before he could answer, I heard Uncle Bob’s voice. “Charley,” he said, lumbering up
to me. His knee must’ve been bothering him again. “I didn’t expect you to come over.
As far as we can tell, the building was empty except for that one woman. She is not
happy to be out.”

I nodded. It had to be Ms. Faye—and, no, she would not be happy, but worry of a different
nature knotted my gut. It must’ve shown.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Uncle Bob asked.

I offered him a weak smile. “Maybe nothing. I just … I hope it’s nothing.”

“Hon, if you know something about this case—”

“I’m not sure I do. Cookie’s looking into it now. If I get anything, I’ll call.”

He nodded.

“So, could Ms. Faye identify the arsonist?”

“Nope. Said it was too dark, but he was tall and thin.”

I wouldn’t exactly call Reyes thin, but I could see where Ms. Faye might. She had
an odd way of seeing the world.

“Your Agent Carson has some pretty good leads on those bank robbers.”

“Yeah, sadly,” I said.

“Friends of yours?” he asked, his brows raised.

“Very good friends of mine. Well, except for one. He wants to take me out. And, no,
not on a date,” I said, before he could ask.

“Oh, you mean like
take you out
take you out.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, glad we got that clear. How’s your other case coming along?”

I gave him my defeated expression. The one where my lips looked very much like they
belonged in the duck family. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry, kid. Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bob. And be careful with Ms. Faye. She has an arm on her—”

“Oh, no, already learned that.” He rubbed his shoulder. That woman was a menace.

I climbed back into Misery, going over what I knew to be fact in my head. Reyes had
smelled like smoke. His shirt had been singed and he had scratches on his face, something
Ms. Faye was very capable of, even with him.

For once in my life, I prayed I was wrong.

*   *   *

Since I was close, I decided to check in on Harper before heading to my next stop.
I walked in the back to the sound of an ink gun buzzing away. One of them must’ve
been working on a friend, because they didn’t open for hours.

I found Pari at her desk. “Hey, you, how’s Harper?”

“What did you do?” she asked, fumbling to find her sunglasses.

“Nothing.” I felt it was better to play innocent now while I could still lay claim
to it. “Why? What’d I do?”

She slipped them on, then strode toward me. “Sienna is gone. She went back to New
Orleans.”

I backed out, holding up my hands. “We didn’t do anything. She was into you, not me.”

“She came over yesterday, shaking and freaking out, saying something about you not
being what you say you are.” She leveled a furious glare on me. “How did she find
out?”

I couldn’t help but notice a smile on Tre’s face as he inked an octopus on a college
kid’s back. The work was incredible. Behind the octopus was a labyrinth of steam-powered
mechanisms. Wheels and cogs working together to push the hands of a huge clock that
covered his left shoulder blade. But Tre was smiling for a different reason altogether.
I was so thick sometimes. The guy was totally into Pari. He was thrilled that Sienna
was gone.

I led Pari to a more private area. “My dad tried to shoot me. I ducked. That was it.”

“Your dad tried to shoot you?”

“Only twice.”

She lowered her head in defeat. “Sienna and I really connected. I thought she could
be the one.”

“You’ve been seeing her for a day.”

“And it was a great day,” she said, her defensive hackles rising.

“Have you ever thought about looking closer to home?” I asked, hedging.

“What do you mean? Like, in my family? Because that’s normally frowned upon.”

“No, like in your house.” I nodded toward Tre as he added shadow to a tentacle.

At first her face contorted with a jolt of revulsion; then she rethought her expression.
I could hear the cogs clicking as she peeked around the wall to take another look.
“He is hot.”

“Duh.”

“But he’s just so … I don’t know, slutty.”

“You’re one to talk. Wait a minute.” I cast her a knowing smile. “You’re worried about
the competition.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are—”

“Boss!” Tre called out, his voice full of mirth. “If you’re finished talking about
my awesomeness, your client has decided on a color.”

She straightened. “Oh, that’s me. Tell Harper hey for me.”

“You got it.”

I wound toward the back room, but Harper wasn’t there. I checked the whole area, including
the front of Pari’s parlor. No Harper. Darn. I was running out of time.

*   *   *

Since Mrs. Beecher had been so helpful the first time I spoke with her, I decided
to question her again, only this time I’d focus on what Harper was like when she’d
come back from her grandparents’ after the Lowells got married. I parked in front
of her house again, admired her purple flowers again, and knocked on her door, wondering
where Harper could have gotten off to.

Mrs. Beecher pulled open the solid wood door, but stayed behind the screen like last
time. However, unlike last time, she seemed annoyed at my being there. Couldn’t blame
her. I annoyed the best of them.

“Hi again,” I said, waving inanely. “It’s just me. I was wondering if I could ask
you a couple more questions.”

She glanced over her shoulder, then said, “I have dinner on.”

“Oh, it’ll just take a minute.”

After pressing her mouth together, she nodded. She wore a gray dress this time that
matched her hair and eyes, and a pale yellow apron.

“Awesome, thank you. I understand Harper stayed with her grandparents while the Lowells
went on their honeymoon. Do you remember anything odd about that trip? Did Harper
seem like she’d been abused in any way? Or bullied? Anything out of the ordinary?”
I took out my memo pad again, just in case she gave me some juicy tidbits, because
the best tidbits were juicy.

“Not especially.” She shrugged and thought back. “She’d come in every evening after
playing out in the sun with the neighbor kids all day. Got a horrible sunburn. Other
than that, she had the time of her life. She loved it out there on her grandparents’
estate.”

I paused, then ran my tongue over my bottom lip. “She’d come in?” I asked in surprise.
“You mean, you were there? You were at her grandparents’ house with her?”

Her smile stretched as false as a bad face-lift. Suddenly every movement she made
was calculated, every expression rehearsed. “I was, yes. I just assumed you knew that.”

“No. No one mentioned it.” Was it really so easy to dismiss the help like they didn’t
exist?

A ripple of unease radiated off the woman, and I realized I might have assigned the
wrong source to the fear I’d felt the first time I met her. I’d assumed she was afraid
of speaking to me because of Mrs. Lowell and what she might do. I’d never imagined …

No, I couldn’t jump to conclusions. Besides the fact that I wasn’t that strong a jumper,
this was a sweet old lady. Sweet old ladies didn’t stalk children. They didn’t terrorize
them or bully them without a reason, and what reason would anyone have to oppress
a five-year-old child?

I decided to play my ace, see if she’d show her hand. I waited a heartbeat, then said,
“Well, when I talked to Harper a couple of days ago, she didn’t mention you’d been
with her. But you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?”

The moment the words of left my mouth, Mrs. Beecher’s emotions went wild like I’d
hit the jackpot on a slot machine. But she was a pro. Her poker face was a thing of
beauty. The emotion roiling underneath her calm exterior was like a summer hurricane
as seen from the calm of space.

I stood there stunned. The housekeeper? Seriously? She was four feet tall and as round
as a muffin.

“I’m sorry I keep asking the same question,” I said after a quick shake to recover.
“We’re just really worried about Harper. Any information you have will help.”

She suddenly seemed more fragile than fine china as she craned open the screen door
and hobbled to the side. “Certainly, certainly. I’m sorry for being so rude. You come
on in.” Even her voice quivered more than it had when she first answered.

Oh, yeah. This was going to end badly.

I wondered who else she had inside. A burly beefcake who did all her dirty work for
her? A crazy daughter who followed her every order? She didn’t look like the type
who would kill a rabbit and put it on a little girl’s bed, but stranger things had
happened.

Forcing my feet forward, I stepped inside the spider’s web.

“Can I get you some tea, dear?” she asked.

So you can lace it with arsenic? I think not.
“Um, no, thank you, I’m good.”

We stood in the foyer, and I couldn’t help but notice the seventeen million photographs
she had of one man. They spanned his entire life from the time he was an infant until
he was probably in his early forties. Her son, perhaps? Grandson?

“Now, what else would you like to know?”

Well, what I wanted to know was how on Earth I was going to prove that this sweet
old lady had been threatening Harper practically her whole life. But I didn’t think
I should ask her that. I totally needed evidence. Or a full confession in high def.

She looked past the foyer, but I couldn’t tell at what. Sadly, I couldn’t turn and
look, too, without seeming suspicious, and I wanted this woman to trust in the fact
that she had me completely and utterly fooled.

“I know this is silly,” I said, rolling my eyes with a helpless smirk, “but Ms. Lowell
insists someone is trying to hurt her. Can you tell me what you remember from that
time at her grandparents? Do you remember when the
supposed
—” I added air quotes. “—threats started?”

Her smile softened with relief. As far as she was concerned, I was just as gullible
as her employers had been all those years. But I had to admit to more than my fair
share of bafflement. Why would this woman terrorize a five-year-old girl? Then continue
to do so her entire life? So much so that Harper had to be institutionalized? The
mere thought was horrific.

I looked at the pictures that surrounded us. Maybe she had some help. It didn’t take
a genius to realize there was something a tad left of kilter about the guy in the
pictures. His blue eyes seemed a little too bright. His brown hair a little too unkempt.
His expressions a little too feral. He reminded me of Gerald Roma from grade school,
who used to burn ants with a magnifying glass. He was never quite right. It was weird
that he spontaneously combusted during finals week our freshman year in college. Payback
was a bitch.