The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (3 page)

“So, three years what?” Jackie moved in closer again, his hand on her side.

She shooed him away. She whispered into his ear, “Later.”

“Later you’ll tell me, or later you’ll…”

She shook her head. “Oh, it was nothing. Me being a silly woman is all.” She moved to the pot in the sink to attend to the spaghetti. The water was jumping now, so she turned down the heat.

“You’re not getting out of it that easily,” Jackie said. He reached around and held her tight, nibbling on her ear.

“Stop, that tickles.”

“Tell me and I’ll stop.”

“If you don’t stop, you’re not getting lucky later.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“You better stop,” she said, but she was giggling.

“Tell me.”             

“Stop—”

The phone hanging on the wall by the fridge rang and Talia jumped.

Jackie stopped what he was doing.

Talia watched the phone. It rang twice and stopped.

She watched Jackie walk over to check the caller ID.

“Well?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

Ti
m
drove them to Breen’s, one of the more recent big chain restaurants to appear in town. It was an upscale sports bar, every wall filled with enormous flat-screen TVs. The place was split in two, a restaurant to one side and a huge bar on the other. Past the bar, there was a patio area where the smokers had been quarantined.

Tim spotted Michelle immediately on the far side of the bar. She was wearing a black top and looking sexy. As Tim snaked his way through the burgeoning crowd, he could see the rest of her outfit: black stretch pants that were tight but not too tight against her tiny figure. She stood in her typical pose, one forearm shooting straight into the air, a mixed drink in hand. Probably a whiskey sour. When she saw him, she put her drink on the bar next to an untouched pint of Guinness.

Michelle gave him a lusty smile and stepped away from the bar to give him a hug.

“Hey there,” Tim gave her a quick kiss on the lips. He didn’t much like public displays of affection. She kept one arm around him, squeezing his side.

“Hey, Eddie,” she said.

“Hey, Michelle.”

Tim watched as she disengaged herself and went over to Eddie. Eddie reached his hand out, but Michelle had gone in for the hug, so the two shared an awkward moment. They quickly embraced, and Michelle gave Eddie a kiss on the cheek.

“I got you your favorite, Tim.” She pointed to the Guinness.

“Thanks, babe.” Though it was awkward because she hadn’t ordered anything for Eddie.

Michelle picked up on it. “I’m sorry, Ed. You’ve never told me what your favorite drink is, so I didn’t know what to get.”

“No big.” Eddie put one foot on the rail and faced the bar.

“How did it go today?” Michelle asked.

“Good. We were over there for almost two hours.”

Eddie half-turned his head. “We got a lot of juice.”

Michelle smiled. “I was asking about the cemetery.”

“Oh,” Tim said. “Good.”

Eddie said nothing. He seemed to be more interested in the skirts across the bar.

“How was it for you, Eddie?” Michelle asked.

He shrugged again, not looking at her.

The three of them shared an uncomfortable silence. Tim wanted to take a sip of his drink, but not before Eddie got his.

“Did you talk to Mrs … what’s her name?” Michelle asked Tim.

“Dilworth,” Tim said. “I called her this afternoon.”

“Oh good. I wish I could meet her.” Michelle was smiling innocently, but Tim knew she was really asking if she could join the investigation. She’d hinted around that before, early in the relationship, and Tim had told her that he would bring her along when it was the right time.

“You’ll meet her. Everybody in town does.”

“How about tomorrow?” she asked.

Eddie stepped away from the bar, holding a pint. They clinked glasses and took long swigs. Tim hoped the break in conversation would kill Michelle’s question.

“So …” Michelle said.

“Huh?” Tim asked.

“About tomorrow …”

She was pushy when she wanted something. But then again, he liked that about her.

“Michelle, this isn’t the job to bring somebody new in. There’s a lot of activity and the Rossellis want this done quick. I’m sorry.”

“I see,” she said, in a way denoting that she did not see and there would be further discussion later.

“You’re better off staying away from Mrs. Dilworth.” Eddie watched the bartender put a shot glass in front of him. “You don’t want her in all your business.”

“She’s harmless,” Tim said.

“My ass,” Eddie said. He took another gulp. “She’s probably blackmailed half the people in this town.”

Tim said, “She’ll save Moira a lot of preliminary work by pointing us in the right direction for research.” He put his free arm around Michelle and squeezed. She leaned into him.

Eddie gulped down the rest of his drink and examined the shot.

Michelle put a hand on her stomach. “Be right back.”

“You okay there?” Tim said.

“I’ve been holding it for awhile because I didn’t want to give up our place at the bar.”

Out of character, Tim pinched her ass as she strutted away. He loved watching her move. She was by far the most attractive woman he’d ever dated. Perky, athletically trim, great hair, and gravity-defying breasts that he’d discovered early on were not all natural.

Not that he minded.

Tim felt Eddie’s pint nudge his forearm.

“Cheers, bro.” Eddie held up his second beer.

“Cheers.” They clinked glasses again and chugged the rest of their drinks down.

The bartender came over, and they ordered another round and a bunch of appetizers.

“Eighteen fucking years,” Eddie said.

“Eighteen fucking years.”

“Do you ever wonder how life would be different?”

“Sure.”

“I wonder what Mom and Dad would be like and what they’d think of us.”

Maybe if they were around, Eddie would have his act together. “They were great parents. Mom was tougher on us than Dad but they really loved us.”

“All parents love their kids. Bin Laden’s mom loved him. But what would they think?”

What would they think about all the money you owe me, Tim thought. Eddie was a financial burden, getting into trouble every few months, off and on drugs—nothing too bad, usually just pot—never sticking it out with any jobs, but Tim had always taken it upon himself to make sure Eddie was okay. Having him on the team was a good way to keep tabs and to give Eddie some kind of structure and purpose. And, as much as Eddie caused problems occasionally, Tim had to admit he was very good with people and intuitive. The only thing that separated them was discipline. If Eddie had that, he could be successful.

* * * *

Mom and Dad would love you but think you were anal
, Eddie thought in response to his own hypothetical question.

“Lucky and Moira are here,” Eddie said.

Stan and Moira were making their way through the happy hour crowd. Moving like a couple, too.

Stan was short, the butt of many jokes for it. He dressed well, sporting a polo shirt with a popped collar and designer jeans. They called Stan “Lucky” because he had won the lottery at the ripe old age of twenty-six. The payout was fuck-you money. He’d never need to work a day in his life. He’d bought a large house they called a McMansion, and spent his days doing whatever took his fancy. He worked out religiously, not an ounce of fat on him. He loved working with them and he loved tinkering with gadgets.

Moira was tall and lanky, with fair skin and dark hair. She was dressed all in black. The sight of her still excited Eddie, even though they’d broken up almost a year ago. He hadn’t seen her in awhile, since the last time she helped the team. Just watching her self-conscious strut made him horny.

“Since when did they let middle schoolers in here?” Eddie said, referring to Stan’s height.

“Why, you looking for a date?” Stan winked at him.

They did the man hug.

“Hey, M,” Eddie said.

She looked him up and down like he was diseased. He went in for the hug, but she held out her hand instead.

I
told you, I don’t make the phone ring.

“Whatev.” Billy played catch with himself in his room, tossing the ball up to the ceiling without hitting it.

I’m not lying.

Billy’s posters were a few years old, mostly of cartoons he didn’t watch anymore. If he was ever allowed to have a girl in his room he’d have to take them down beforehand.

“You lie all the time. Just like you did about your name.” Billy had gotten used to talking to an empty room. It almost felt natural now.

That is my name.

Billy didn’t mind the lying. It was the cost of being a kid. People lied to you all the time, kids because they wanted to seem cooler than they were, adults because they just knew better.

“Your name’s not Billy, too. You just don’t want me to know what it is.”

You think you’re the only kid named Billy?             

There was an edge to Its voice. Billy had pushed a button. He decided to keep on pushing it. “You call me the pussy, but you’re too scared to tell me your name.”

And you’re acting really tough for someone who got his ass kicked.

“Yeah, yeah. Kenner has six inches on me.”

Billy tossed the baseball at the ceiling a few times.

“Tell me who you are, then.”

It said nothing.

“We’re supposed to be friends.”

It said nothing.

“Come on. Who are you? Did you live here before me?”

Yeah
.

“So what happened?”

What do you mean?

“Well … why are you still here?” Billy had always been nervous about asking questions like this, for fear of enraging It.

I don’t know, dude. I just am.

“Are you … dead?”

I don’t know. I don’t feel like I am.

“Weird. Do you remember anything?”

Not much.

“Do you remember … buying it?”

Long pause.
No. But this house feels like home
.

“Where are your parents?”

Not with me.

“Okay … So where, then?” He threw the ball at the ceiling again.

Probably in hell.

Billy missed the ball as it came down.

They were all evil and they should be in hell.

Okay … time to change the subject. “Who else lived here?”

My brother.

“Cool.”

No, not cool. He was an asshole.

“Take it easy, dude. I didn’t know.”

It was quiet for a long time. Billy sat up and put his feet on the floor.

I’ll see if I can get the phone to stop ringing if you draw it again.

Liar. “I thought you said you didn’t make the phone ring.”

I don’t. But I’ll see if I can make it stop.

“I don’t feel like drawing.” He got off his bed and plopped down on his game chair in the middle of the room. He lifted the controller off the floor and hit a button, starting up his game.

If you show Mary how good you can draw, though…

“Dude, I don’t even like her.”

Dude
.

“I don’t like her.”

You sweat her.

“I said I liked her boobs. That’s not the same thing.”

You want to nail her.

“Gross.” Billy was tired of this. He didn’t feel like drawing. And he didn’t feel like listening to It ridicule his attempts. He felt like he never got any better.

Come on, dude. Let me show you how.

“This is getting older than the internet.”

Come on.

“Dude, I don’t feel like it.”

Come on. For me.

“Quit bothering me.”

I don’t have anybody else to talk to! You get it?

Billy paused his video game.

I have nothing else to do except talk to you. But it’s cool if you don’t want to hang. I’ll just…figure something else out.

“Dude …” Billy said. “I didn’t know.”

Well, now you fucking know.

It sounded hurt. Billy didn’t want to draw but at the same time he felt bad.

“Promise the phone will stop ringing if I try drawing more tonight.”

I’ll see what I can do.

“You have to promise.”

I can’t.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Mom opened the door. “How are we doing?”

He kept playing. “Why did you say we?” He always tried to act like he hadn’t been talking to It.

“It’s an expression, I didn’t mean anything.” She sat on his bed. “So how’s the eye?”

He shrugged.

“How’s your friend?” she asked.

Billy felt weird talking to his parents when he knew It was probably listening to everything they said.

“Don’t say it like that,” Billy said.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

“I do believe you.”

“No, you don’t.” He put the controller on the floor.

“So make me believe, then. What’s his name?”

“Just forget it.”

“What’s his name?”

“He says his name’s Billy also.”

“Billy Also—that’s a strange name.” She smiled.

“Mo-om. You’re such a weirdo.”

“Come on, kid. That was pretty funny,” she said. “What do you talk about? Guy stuff?”

Billy shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Girls?”

Billy’s face got hot. “No.”

“Is there a girl you like at school?”

“No way. Girls are gross, Mom.” Which was mostly true. But some of them had boobs and he couldn’t help but stare.

“What else do you talk about?”

“Ryan Kenner.”

“What does he say?”

Billy didn’t want to answer.

“What does he tell you?”

“Nothing.”

“Billy.”

“He tells me I should kill him.”

“What?”

“You know, not like kill kill him.” Billy didn’t know why he was keeping the whole truth from her.

Mom grew thoughtful.

“He’s just my friend,” Billy said.

“What did he say exactly?”

That I should bring a knife from home, hide it in my school bag, and jump Kenner in the locker room.

“Nothing, you know, just guy talk.”

“Are you sure?”

Billy realized why he was lying. He wasn’t sure this wasn’t all in his head. He didn’t want Mom to know he was going crazy. He didn’t want anybody to know a voice in his head was telling him to kill somebody.

She reached for his hand. “As much as you hate this boy, as much as he’s done you wrong, that’s not the solution. You know that, right?”

“But it’s okay for Dad to show me how to hurt him?”

“Dad’s showing you how to defend yourself. Not how to kill someone. The two are different.”

“I know.”

She didn’t let go of his hand. “Has your friend ever told you to do anything like that to anyone else?”

“No.”

There was a knock on the door. Billy turned to see Dad standing there, wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

“Hey, champ,” he said. “You ready?”

Mom asked, “You two headed to the basement?”

Jackie nodded.

Mom turned back to Billy and ran a hand through his hair. He squirmed when she did it.

“Take it easy on the old man,” she said. “He’s no spring chicken anymore.”

“Better than being forty-seven,” Jackie said and quickly ducked out of the room.

Billy looked back at Mom. “Wow, you’re old.”

“Thanks a lot!”

* * * *

Stan took another sip of his gin and tonic. He was feeling good.

“So what are we looking at?” he asked Tim. The bar was crowded, and he and Tim had relocated to the side room where the pool tables and dart boards were. There was a lot of talent out tonight. But Stan was more interested in Moira.

“Onsite Saturday,” Tim said. “M does the research concurrently, three or four days for data review.”

“Tight schedule.”

Tim smirked. “I could always find somebody a little taller. Me and Eddie get tired of having to hang all the high cameras.”

“Yeah, and the team IQ goes down about a hundred points.”

“That just means you’re of average intelligence.”

“Right. I meant a hundred and fifty.”

Tim laughed.

Stan said, “Who else are we getting to help?”

Tim said nothing.

“There’s only four of us with Moira doing the research.” Usually they had five or six, but there’d been a falling out on the last job. Tim had sent two newbies packing.

“We have to turn this around quick.” Tim folded his arms. “It’s just us.”

“How about Giles Tyson?” Tyson lived about six hours away in upstate New York. They hadn’t worked with him in a year—since he and Tim had disagreed on protocol. Stan got the occasional email from the guy. Tyson had landed an agent and was about to have his first of purportedly many books on the paranormal published.

Tim shook his head. “He’s completely off the process now. Last I heard, he’s gone mystic.”

“No shit.” Mystic was their expression for a paranormal investigator that didn’t follow any strict methodology when investigating—one who went with his gut at every turn and eschewed any scientific principles.

Tim affected his best Yoda accent. “Shitting people I do not.”

“Good impressions you do not.”

Stan took another sip of his drink and looked over at Moira. He’d been attracted to her in high school but could never work up the nerve. After graduation, they hadn’t crossed paths again till she joined Tim’s team and was dating Eddie. But now she was single as far as he knew and he could make a pass. She’d broken up with Eddie awhile back, so the mandatory waiting period was over.

Problem was, Eddie still flirted with her all the time. Moira didn’t reciprocate but all the same, it put a damper on Stan making a move. He didn’t want to hurt Eddie’s feelings. They’d been good friends ever since tenth grade when he and Eddie had escaped a high school kegger broken up by the cops.

Moira caught his eye and smiled. She was a little shy in person. In his unrealistic male fantasies, she was an animal in the bedroom.

She looked him up and down, the alcohol making her a little more forward than usual. Stan had to look away before he pitched a tent.

Stan said, “Tell me about the Rossellis.”

“The phone is ringing. Randomly. Then cutting itself off mid-ring.”

“Caller ID?” Stan asked.

“It registers as no number.”

Stan frowned. “There’s no way to fake caller ID that I know of. I think there are ways you can make data unavailable.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I like to crank exes.”

“All of them?”

“Only the bitches.”

“So all of them.”

Stan laughed.

Tim said, “If you made your data unavailable though, would you register on the ID as withheld, or would it say something else?”

“That I don’t know.”

Tim took a sip of his beer. “Speaking of ladies, what’s going on in that department?”

Stan pointed to his groin. “The Department of the Interior is in a bit of a slump.”

“I don’t believe it. You, the heartbreaker?”

Stan shrugged. He knew he was an okay-looking guy. Recently though, his looks had apparently gotten a lot better. “It’s amazing how much more attractive you get when you have money.”

“See, I had you pegged for a romantic. But in reality you’re a cynic.”

“Realist,” Stan said.

“So can you look into the caller ID for me?” Tim asked.

“Sure. Any particular times it happens?”

“I’ll see what the wife and kid say about it tomorrow.”

“Women are in the details,” Stan said, chuckling at his play on words.

“Table’s open.” Tim got off his stool and walked over to a now vacant pool table. He put a dollar bill into the machine, and the table released the balls. Stan put his drink down and went to the foot of the table and started racking with the triangle.

Tim selected a cue, and Stan made sure the rack was tight.

“Your table.” Stan moved away.

He watched Tim hunch over and line up his break, making several practice strokes before striking the cue ball and scattering the rack.

“What time you going tomorrow?” Stan asked.