Red Ochre Falls (23 page)

“Any leads?”

“We’re looking into
the first two, and now Chloe as a possible third victim.”

Garrett’s eyes were
on me as soon as he said it. My face showed everything—sadness, guilt,
anger and fear. I’d been pushing to get others to look at Chloe’s case as a
homicide. Here we stood with a member of Cincy’s finest telling us her case was
unofficially, official. Relieved, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. Garrett
propped me up, and I was able to manage a quiet, but heartfelt ‘thank you’ to
Cal before Garrett turned me toward home.

“You need to
sleep,” Garrett said to me, and then told Cal he’d be back. Garrett escorted me
upstairs and helped me inside. He left to finish up and head home.

I downed Millie’s
potion, crawled into bed and fell asleep. I don’t remember much after, except a
blip of a dream where the old native man dusted graves with something. It might
have made sense, except it was a flash. When I awoke the next morning, it felt
like a Mack truck had run over me, repeatedly.
So much for Millie’s Magic
Potions
.

Jocelyn had
convinced me I needed a day away from dead bodies. So, I drove up to her
cousin’s farm with the promise of treats, and a paycheck, to help set up a
Happy Haunted Harvest event at her cousin’s farm. It was an autumn festival
mashed up with a not-so-scary introduction to Halloween for kids and grown-ups,
like me, who never got that into heart-stopping stuff.

I enjoyed suspense,
but only if I knew I was coming out alive—these days, it was hard to
tell. Years ago, I’d had a run-in with a guy in high school who took his
night-of-the-living-dead role a little too seriously. After jumping out of a
dark corner of a Jaycees haunted house, he moaned and grabbed me. It felt so
real, I screamed like a baby and flapped my arms to get him off me. He thought
it was funny and kept taunting me. Jos got scared and had to literally yank me
out of his clutches. We freaked, ran out of the house, and never went back.

I guess the guy did
his job, but he deserved a kick in the nuts for scaring us so bad.

Jos’s cousin was
part of the Ashfield family—corn tycoons, or something. They had an old
farm between Cincy and Dayton, which they maintained and worked to this day.

The countryside
stretched out ahead. The car revved and I let it loose. Jos was right, I needed
a break.

A half hour later,
the Nav system instructed me to turn right. The car owned the road until the
dirt trail. Pockmarked and only about a lane and a half, the trail started low
on the property. It curved upward through trees and land until I saw a large
yellow and white farmhouse. An idyllic setting for a house with a generous
front porch, and two old-fashioned rockers out front.

I stepped out of
the car and inhaled grasses and woods. The switch had flipped from summer heat
to autumn cool. When I got to the house, Jos’s Aunt and Uncle debated Farmer’s
Almanac predictions of another harsh winter. The idea of a polar vortex was
unsettling, so I stopped listening and hugged Jos.

She gave me a brief
tour, and introduced her cousins. It happened so quickly—I remember
meeting her Aunt JoAnn, Uncle Lou and a bunch of kids. The farm buzzed with
activity, so we headed outside and got started.

“So what do you
want me to do with all these?” I indicated the enormous hay cylinders that
towered over us.

“Spray paint them
with pumpkins and goofy Halloween faces,” Jos said, as she crossed her eyes and
stuck out her tongue. “We want to keep it PG so little kids can enjoy it, and
their parents will want to bring them back. Stuff like this helps keep the family
business going after harvest. They even host a sleigh ride with Santa.”

“Why couldn’t I
have pulled that gig?”

“I know you aren’t
into creepy stuff, but you’ll enjoy this. Think of when we used to go
trick-or-treating at Crystal Creek. It was all about dressing up and getting
candy, not being scared by disemboweled freaks.”

“Okay, but I’m out
of here if even one person jumps out at me. That includes you.”

“I know, I know.”
Jocelyn handed me a cardboard box full of random paint cans, with and without
lids. “Just paint something. Painting hay bales is like tagging a wall, only
it’s legal.”

“I never painted
the school, Jimmy Peters made it look like I did.”

“I know, but I
already managed to help you forget someone wants you dead.”

My stomach knotted
up and I thought I’d throw up. My face must have shown it too.

“Too soon? Sorry.
Let’s get to work. We can have lunch, or at least some cider and donuts when
we’re finished with all these.”

“Yum. How many of
these things do we have to decorate?” You could see acres of harvested
landscape, and eight-foot or taller rolls of hay everywhere.

“We only have to
paint 50; half are yours. It’s doable. I have to head up to the house and get a
few things together for Aunt JoAnn. Will you be okay here?”

“Yeah. Even if I
wasn’t, I’d still do it to help Jos.” I recited the words she used to lure me
here, and she laughed.

“It won’t be bad.
Text if you need anything.” Jocelyn hopped on a small utility cart. The motor
buzzed as she drove toward the house.

I sat the paint box
near my first victim and picked up a can without a lid—much easier than
prying one off with a screwdriver. I shook the can and heard the metallic ball
clanking around before taking aim.

Paint droplets
misted the air. Some even hit the hay bale. I concentrated and hit the target
the second time. The gold and auburn countryside was picturesque. I’d say it
took my breath away, but it might have been the paint fumes.

Painting in this
setting reminded me of the time mom and I completed a baby-to-big kid bedroom
makeover. We painted an old dresser then she sketched lines on the walls. I had
sky, and clouds, and a rainbow in my room when we finished painting. The sun
burned away my tears so I could get back to the hay.

After the first
couple not-so-scary bale-faces, I felt like I’d gotten the hang of it. I got
more creative and ended up with a couple of purple-haired googly-eyed faces
that looked almost cute. I bent to find a canister of orange when I heard
something rustle in the field a few feet away.

This was it, I
thought. After confrontations and threats, someone was going to get me. My
heart pounded. I looked for a clear path to the house, but gigantic hay bales
were all over the place. I prayed the noise was just some birds, or field mice
running around the corn stover because my only weapon was spray paint. I wished
for a lighter to make a paint can flamethrower—but I had no experience,
and probably would have burned the hair off my arms and face if I’d tried.

The wind picked up.
Some leaves flew by and the rustling started again. I aimed a spray can with
one hand, and grabbed my phone to thumb text Jos for help with the other. Then
waited.

My hand cramped
around the paint can, and my knees locked up waiting.

And waiting.

Wondering if I’d
turn to stone, Jos came to my rescue just as a cat ran out of the field. Whew!

“Probably chasing
mice,” Jos said, and stepped out of the Gator. There were plenty of animals
running around here, but something didn’t seem right. “I can stay and help.”

Relieved, I thanked
Jos. We stuck together and painted hay bales until they were all decorated as
fun-not-frightening characters. The rest of our time at the farm, we talked
with her Aunt JoAnn and stuffed ourselves full of donuts and cider.

After an hour, I
checked my phone. Garrett and Ryder had been really flexible about phone
coverage the past couple days, and I didn’t want to take advantage of their
kindness. I signaled Jos. She knew I needed to head back. It was critical I
start my ‘shift’ on time. Saying thanks didn’t seem like enough, so I hugged
Jos and her aunt then headed back with cash and cider.

Country roads and
yellow lines lay before me. I turned on the radio, cracked the windows enough
to let in fresh air, then hit the road.
 

During the drive
home, I wrestled with the idea Chloe could somehow be linked to a gangster. It
began to appear as though everyone was tied to the mob. Chloe, Tess, and
Garrett—claiming a one time deal. It was Garrett’s only flaw, so far. I
was curious about a lot of things Garrett-related, especially, what he did for
Ruggiano. But first, I needed to figure out how Ruggiano fit into Chloe’s
world, or vice versa.

Ideas tumbled
around upstairs. But what stuck out was the Sigo case. According to information
from Tom Clark, a guy I’d met only yesterday, this was a big land deal, and
probably Chloe’s big case. Seeing Tom’s strange behavior, I knew it was
important to check out Chloe’s place. Last night was too late, Jos and I worked
this morning, and I was headed back to the funeral home to answer phones
through the night. Finding answers would have to wait until morning. My new
to-do list: work, sleep, snoop, and school.

CHAPTER 19

When I got home, clouds hung overhead. Ash grey saturated every detail of
the funeral home. The place looked dull compared to the vibrant landscape I’d
left.

My motivation
waned. But I thought of mom, and the job, and pushed onward.

Everything looked
secure from the outside. Everything will be fine, I tried to reassure myself.
Crisp air whipped at my skin and I had second thoughts about this place. Once
safely inside, I shut out the outside world.

“Hey there,”
Garrett said. I jumped a mile high. “Easy, I’m friendly.”

I heaved a sigh of
relief then giggled thinking of him as more than friendly. Getting close to him
posed a major risk, but it didn’t stop me from imagining it. A perk of doing
this sort of work was I got to see him nearly every day. More frequently, since
we had an influx of dead bodies. I cringed at the thought and pushed it to the
back of my brain.

Garrett took my
hand in his. “Nice paint,” he commented on my purple, orange and black hands.
He led me through the hallway, past the cookie tables, the coffee pot, and into
the office.

“Are we discussing
business?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. It’s
time you tell me what’s really going on with you.”

“With me? I have a
few questions for you, mister!”

“Okay. I’ll answer
yours, if you answer mine. But first, I’ve got plans.”

This sounded
promising. I wondered if he wanted to order Thai, hunker down, and figure this
mystery out, or if he planned something romantic.
A girl can dream. Right?
“What plans?”

Garrett stepped
closer, which made me warm in all the right places. When he leaned forward, I
got ready for a kiss.

“Training,” he
whispered across my lips then picked some hay out of my hair.

I huffed at him,
and he gave me a peck on the cheek.

“But first, there
is someone you need to meet.”

I eyed Garrett suspiciously.
He’d arranged for me to meet Mrs. Jacobson, the lady who lived down the street.
He told her I was looking for work and said she was more than happy to
interview me.

It sounded like a
nice gesture, but I wanted to get the job on my own merits. He figured as much
and offered to stay behind. He then pointed me toward the door.

“I have to clean
up.”

“Better make it
fast. She’s expecting you in fifteen minutes.”

“But, how did you
know I’d be here in time?”

“Jos. She called
when you left, so I could tell Mrs. J.”

First, Jos talks to
my mom, and now Garrett? “Are you guys double-teaming me?”

“Pretty much.”

“I can handle
myself, you know.”

“I know. Just
trying to help.”

“It would be nice
if one of these days someone would talk to me before making decisions about my
life.”

“Very well. You get
to pick what we do after practice.”

“It’s a
start.”
 

I hustled upstairs,
and did my best to scrub the paint off my hands and run a brush through my
hair. My jeans were dirty, so I pulled on a pair of black pants, added a grey
shirt, and stuffed my phone and ID in the pockets. Satisfied, I grabbed a
jacket and went back downstairs.

Garrett gave me the
address. Mrs. Jacobson lived across the street—three doors down from the
Davis Funeral Home.

Freshly painted, her
house stood as a revived Victorian among other less maintained homes.

When I got inside,
Mrs. Jacobson showed me around. She explained how she decorated it just the way
she liked. The house featured antique clocks and wood trim, Queen Anne chairs,
and a library of old books. I could have browsed the library all day, and not
read the same title twice. Everything appeared well maintained, and there
wasn’t a hint of must or mothballs. I could definitely hang out here.

Mrs. Jacobson used
a cane during the tour. She wobbled a bit, but shrugged off my attempts to
help—determined to prove her independence.

She directed me to
sit. The couch was covered in an expensive-looking brocade. She had a tea set
on the long, low table in front of us. Alongside it sat a three-tiered serving
tray. The top tier held fresh strawberries, raspberries, and pears. The second
tier had dessert bites that looked like pecan brownies. Beside those were mini
caramel apple tarts, and cranberry scones with a side of clotted cream. The bottom
tier held sliced cheese, and cucumber sandwiches.

When Mrs. Jacobson
finally sat, she smoothed out her dress and asked me to pour the tea. I was a
little nervous about spilling it, so I made sure to focus.

She added two sugar
cubes and milk to both cups then gracefully stirred and lifted her tea to sip.
I mimicked her. The tea was the perfect temperature and sweetness. When
finished, she placed the delicate cup back on the saucer. I did the same.

“So tell me, dear,”
she said in a slightly broken tone. “What are your skills?”

Even though I knew
it was an interview, the question sounded abrupt. The dainty foods, and sweet
tea led me to believe it might be more of a ‘get-to-know-you-chat’. Instead of
panicking, I took a breath and asked her what the job entailed, so I could best
answer her questions.

“You’d do a little
of this and that. I like the company, and it helps to have someone here in case
I run into trouble. You know, the ‘Help, I’ve fallen and can’t get up’
scenario.”

Mrs. Jacobson made
light of her condition, she wasn’t bitter. I liked her.

She explained that
the cook was expecting her third child and wanted to scale back on work. She’d
like to have me visit a once a week and occasionally run errands.

“I’d have my nephew
do it, but he’s not always available,” she sounded perturbed. “I love the boy,
but he needs to mature.”

In answer to her
question, I listed a half dozen skills and traits to fit her needs. Really, I
was overqualified, but the woman needed help. I assured her I’d be prompt and
dependable.

We snacked and
discussed the schedule and pay rate. She was more than generous, so it wasn’t
much of a discussion.

My phone alarm
buzzed. “Sorry. I promised to be home soon,” I told her. “Do you have anything
else you’d like to discuss?”

“Not today.”

“Feel free to call
if you have other questions, or need anything.”

“Thank you,
Mattie.”

We both rose. She
grabbed her cane, and even thought she didn’t need to, she walked me to the
door.

On the way out, I
noticed an unfinished painting in the solarium. The landscape was unlike
anything I’d ever seen. She caught me hypnotized by it. I blushed. “It’s
striking,” I told her.

“Thank you, dear. I
think so too. Needs some work, though.”

There was something
about the way she said it. “Is this your work?” I was astounded anyone in her
frail state could paint such a beautiful piece.

“Don’t look so
surprised. I may be old, but I’m not dead yet.” She eyed the painting then me.
“I look forward to seeing you again.” That was it. She offered no other
details, and let me out.

As if in a trance,
I thought about the painting all the way home. All seven minutes of it. I
crossed the street heading toward Mackenzie’s driveway. A blue van that I
thought was a quarter mile away gunned the engine. I had to run to avoid
getting hit.

I turned to curse
at the guy and saw brake lights. The van screeched around, doing an illegal
U-turn, and headed straight toward me.

I sprinted up the
drive. My body was moving, but outrunning the van was going to be a challenge.
I’d had a couple of angry threats this week, and I did not want to find out
what happened if the stalker caught me.

In my mind, I
started going through scenarios of how best to get inside. Coming straight up
the drive meant my side door key was useless. It wouldn’t unlock the outer
glass, or the cathedral doors behind it. If I went to my right, my key would
work, but I was totally exposed. People came through this place daily,
sometimes hourly, when we were busy. Where was everyone when I needed help?
Probably seeking shelter to avoid the rain, which had started.

If I ran left, I
might make it to the back delivery door. If my followers gained speed, I could
be trapped.

Front door, banging
to get inside=bad idea. Side door, exposed=bad idea. Delivery side, trapped=bad
idea. So, I chose the best of the bad ideas, and prayed. My legs burned as I
ran faster, slipping only once.

This competition
was about speed. I didn’t look back for fear it would slow me down, but I could
hear the van’s tire squeal to grip the asphalt. They were closing in on me.

The front of the
building flashed past, then the side portico—I didn’t know if my key
would work there, so I wasn’t going to chance it.

I got a few feet
further and heard brakes. A door slid open. Three more steps, and…Whump!
Someone took me down from behind. I braced myself for impact, but the massive
beast somehow turned as we fell, so I landed on him. Not the other way around.
I noticed a sword tattooed on his wrist as he rolled me over. Dazed and confused,
I looked over to see a dark-haired guy, dressed in black, wearing a Zorro mask.

“Where is it?” he
yelled.

“Where’s what?” I
had next to nothing. Why would some masked man be tackling me?

“They key! Give me
the key!”

“What key?” I said,
as the rain came down harder. It occurred to me they could be demented thieves
who wanted access to the funeral home. “You want my house key?”

“No!” He was
anxious more than angry. “The key you got yesterday.”

This was about the
key Tom gave me. This was about Chloe.

“I don’t have it on
me.”

“Where is it?”

What I said next
was either very smart, or very stupid. “It’s inside.” I wanted to take the
words back as soon as I’d said them. But if these guys wanted me dead, they’d have
hauled me away in that creepy van already. When this guy tackled me, he twisted
so I wouldn’t be crushed or crippled. They needed the key. And they needed me
to get it. My only chance was to buy time, and hope for a miracle.

Zorro picked me off
the ground and led me to the delivery door. The yellow lines were visible and
rain puddled on the blacktop, which made me think no one else was here.

I inserted my key
then twisted the handle. The masked man pushed me in first and followed. I
turned to head further into the building when Garrett jumped out and punched
the guy. He got another good shot in before the bad guy fired back and locked
his arms around Garrett’s neck.

I scanned the room
for a weapon, and noticed an urn and an umbrella. With his back turned, I
smacked fake Zorro upside the head with the umbrella. It was a nice hit, but it
only stunned the guy.

Garrett got free
and smiled at me. Fake Zorro came back and punched Garrett who stumbled, but
managed to grab the guy’s shirt. They struggled near the open door where
Garrett swung him around and slammed him into the door. The creep dropped to
the ground.

I ran over, pulled
off his mask, and smacked him. It surprised the guy. He put his hands up
defensively.

“Why are you doing
this?” I yelled. “What do you want from me?” I kept slapping at him even though
it wasn’t doing anything other than irritating him.

Garrett caught my
arms, and lifted me off Zorro, out of harm’s way. I started back toward the
guy, but Garrett stopped me then turned to deal with my assailant.

Garrett pulled the
guy off the ground, slammed him against the wall, and with an arm at his neck,
started firing off questions. “Who sent you?”

No response.

“Who sent you?!” He
pressed.

Still, no response.

“Do you need an
incentive to talk?” Garrett pressed harder.

No response, but I
heard some gurgling. Then the guy shook his head ‘no’.

“Then tell me,”
Garrett said. “Why are you here?”

“We were told to
find her. To get the key,” the guy struggled, but Garrett wasn’t letting go.

“What key?”

“Some key she got
yesterday.” It was obvious by his helium-pitched voice the guy was losing
oxygen the longer Garrett held him there.

“Go back to your
boss. Tell him the girl is off limits. So is the key.”

“Please. I’m just
doing a job,” the guy said, and I could swear there were tears in his eyes.

“No key. If it’s so
important, your boss should ask for it himself.” Garrett said, and threw him
out into the rain.