Rocks & Gravel (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3) (15 page)

Who was I lying to? Her car wasn’t in the driveway, so she likely wasn’t home. I got out of my car and went up to the front door and knocked and waited. No footsteps inside the house. I went around back, letting myself into the fenced backyard, walked up the concrete steps to the stoop, and looked underneath the ceramic frog. Sure enough, the key was still there.

The Sugar Shack’s owner rented the little cottage out to tourists or short-term residents. She hired me to clean up after guests when her regular cleaning lady was booked and always said, “Use the key under the ceramic frog but be sure to put it back.”

The six-room house rented for $1000 a night—not much less than the cost of the original materials to build the house. Nobody could afford to stay too long. I stuck the key in the backdoor’s lock, turned it, and twisted the knob. The door’s hinges whined as I swung it open.

“Hello? Barbie? Mom?”

The sound of the TV was the only answer I got, so I went on inside, not sure what I expected to find in my mother’s rental. Why was I breaking and entering for the second time in one week? Because I had a hard time believing a woman who’d dump her kid and throw out her recently deceased husband’s belongings for the trash to pick up would show up twenty-some years later searching for redemption. People like Barbie didn’t change. They got slicker at playing their games.

Her showing up in town right when this whole mess started hadn’t escaped my notice. She sure as hell didn’t have the magical umph to make a ghost steal for her. Hell, she acted like I scared the stuffing out of her every time she got around me. I couldn’t picture her hiring a witch the way Tubby had, but something Hannah said about her uncle Joey kept coming back to me. Hannah said, in not so many words, her uncle and his family would do anything to achieve their means, even if it meant being a hypocrite. The thing Barbie cared about was money. She’d do anything to have a steady supply of it, and the Mace Treasure promised untold riches.

I crept through the recently redone kitchen. A full cup of coffee sat next to the coffee maker. Both were still warm. She hadn’t even drank any of her coffee before she left. Had she left in a hurry? No way to know. A flyer advertising a Dottie’s Burgers and Rings sat on the tiny wrought-iron breakfast set. Barbie had scribbled some notes on the back of it.

Istanbul $1350

Rarotonga $1341

Buenos Aires $1270

Luxembourg $1457

She’d listed several more cities and put prices right after them. If I had to guess, I’d have said they were flight prices.
She doesn’t plan to stay after all. She’s here for something. Like the Mace Treasure.
I put the piece of paper back where I found it and went deeper into the house.

Barbie’s suitcases lay all over the floor of the bedroom closest to the house’s one bathroom. She hadn’t even bothered to put her clothes into the antique dresser with its cut glass pulls. I touched the silky fabric of a blouse lying across the bed. Nicer than anything I could afford. I knelt on the floor and ran my fingers along the edges of her suitcase and underneath her clothes. Other than a dainty pink vibrator, I didn’t find anything of interest.

I went out to the living room, staying close to the walls and avoiding the sheer curtained windows. A laptop sat on the coffee table in front of the TV. I grabbed it and took it back into the kitchen so I could get away from those windows. I set the laptop down on the breakfast table and didn’t do anything for several minutes. I wasn’t a computer whiz and knew how easy it would be for me to push the wrong button and leave proof someone had been in here snooping. Finally, I pressed the space key.

The laptop woke up. I expected to see an internet browser page for flight booking or maybe passport renewal, since Barbie seemed ready to leave the country. Instead, I found her word processing program open and a half-written letter.

Jesse,

I wish you’d reconsider letting me come see you. I’m back in Gaslight City, trying to reconnect with Peri Jean. She is such a hard young woman to talk to, so distant. I keep thinking she might open up more if I could tell her something positive about herself. Not long before Paul died, I heard you and Paul discussing her. Paul said she was the key

The key to what?
Barbie hadn’t finished the letter. I wondered if there was a way I could get back in here another time and look again. The answer was probably no.

Headlights flashed over the kitchen wall. I jerked away from the laptop as though scalded. I needed to get out of here and do it fast. I returned the laptop to sleep mode and took it back into the living room. Through the window, I saw a car next to mine. The dome light came on as the driver opened the door, illuminating Barbie.

My legs went light and wobbly, and I fought the sudden urge to pee. I hunch walked to the coffee table, put the laptop back where I found it, and hurried through the kitchen and out the back door. I made sure to lock the door and hide the key under the frog. I sat down on the concrete stoop and lit a cigarette.

There was no way Barbie didn’t see my car. She parked right next to it. My one way out of this was to pretend I’d come by for a visit and hope I could be convincing enough for her not to suspect.

The back door opened behind me. My mother said, “Peri Jean, honey? What are you doing here at this hour?”

I turned, hoping I didn’t look as guilty as I felt, and tried to smile. “I heard you’d rented this place. I drove by, saw the lights on, and stopped. Saw you weren’t here and decided to sit out back and look at the stars. Thought you might be back pretty soon.”

“And here I am.” She came out and sat on the steps with me. “It is a pretty night. I love the moon when there’s just a little fingernail of it.”

I nodded and kept smoking. What on earth could I say to this awful woman?

“I’m really surprised to see you here. Frankly, if I were in your shoes, I’d be somewhere alone with that gorgeous man of yours.” She nudged me, and I had to work hard not to scoot away from her. “Y’all fighting?”

“I’ve been flakey since Eddie died, and he’s tired of it.”
Crap.
Why did I tell her my business? I could have kicked myself for opening up to her, even a little bit.

“I sure was sorry to hear about Eddie. He loved your father. Would’ve done anything for him.”

I wanted to ask Barbie about her letter to Jesse but knew there was no way to even casually work it into our conversation. Maybe I could get there by asking about my daddy.

“I don’t remember much about my daddy.”

“I guess you don’t. You were so young when he died.” She sat gazing into the night with her arms splayed over her legs, using one hand to prop up her head. Realizing I was sitting exactly the same way, I shifted positions.

“What do you remember about him?”

“Those black gypsy eyes and hair.” The answer came faster than I thought it could have. “How excited he was when we found I was pregnant.”

“How old were you then?”

“Eighteen. If I had been any older, known any better, I’d have…well, never mind.” She patted my back. Her touch burned my skin, and this time I did flinch away. She didn’t seem to notice. “Hold on a minute.” She got to her feet and ran into the house. A few minutes later, she came back holding a wallet and her cellphone. She opened the wallet on her lap and set the phone to flashlight mode. “See? There’s a picture of you and your father on your birthday.”

Sure enough, the picture showed my daddy, impossibly handsome with his olive skin and five o’clock shadow, hugging me to him. Both of us were laughing. Feeling Barbie’s gaze on me, I turned to her and found her staring at me with no expression whatsoever on her face. She quickly rearranged her face into a smile and hugged me to her.

“You take this.” She took it out of the plastic and handed it to me. “It’s a good picture of you with your daddy, and you ought to have it.”

“Do you know what happened to my daddy’s things? His personal items? They’re not at Memaw’s.” I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see what she’d say.

“We lived in the duplex your daddy and I rented for a couple more months after he died. Cheap as it was, I couldn’t afford it. I know I packed his things up and took them with us, but I sure don’t know what became of them after I left town.”

She was a good liar. I’d have believed her had Tubby Tubman not told me different. I faked a yawn and stretched my arms wide. The yawn became real about halfway through. How long had it been since I’d slept all night? Or even had more than five hours of sleep? I stood.

“Thanks for talking to me, Bar—Mom. I mean Mom.”

She beamed and pushed herself to a standing position. She held her arms open, and I went to her, letting her hug me.

“Come back sometime soon. I’ll tell you all kinds of stuff about your father. Like the time he turned over his boat in Piney Lake and almost drowned. Or how mad Leticia was when I got pregnant and what he said to her.”

I sort of wanted to hear those stories but knew I couldn’t trust Barbie. I promised I’d come back and got out of there as fast as I could. This time, I headed straight for Memaw’s house. All the lights were off, and I cut my headlights before they shined into the house. I sat in my car after I turned it off, thinking over the night’s events.

Barbie was a consummate liar. I couldn’t take anything she said seriously. All I could trust for sure were the things I saw with my own eyes. There was no denying her letter to my uncle Jesse. It was right there on her laptop, plain as day.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to go see my uncle Jesse in prison. Hooty Bruce told me numerous times he’d arrange a visit any time I wanted to see my uncle. I texted Hooty. He always told me his mind wouldn’t quit thinking new thoughts even when it was bedtime. It was time to see if he was telling the truth.

You awake?

The reply came back almost immediately.
You know I am. What’s up?

What if I wanted to go see my uncle Jesse?

A pause.
Warden’s an old college buddy. I’d pull some strings with him and get you a visit as fast as possible. You’re on Jesse’s visitor list anyway. Is this about the stolen books?

In a roundabout way.
I wasn’t sure it was at all, but I had to try to figure out what mischief Barbie had planned.

“I’ll call you when I get it set up.”

“Thanks.”

W
orried Hooty would want
me to leave at a moment’s notice, I got dressed and ready to leave before daybreak. Turned out to be a good thing.

As the first light of dawn pinkened the sky, when a shadow of fog still clung to the dew sparkling grass, Mysti’s car turned into the driveway. I stubbed out my cigarette in the plastic dollar store ashtray I kept on the porch and stood.

The car came to a stop near the chain-link fence surrounding the house, turning on the dome light. Mysti held up one hand to Brad and shook her head. He said something back, wagging his head side to side. She pushed open the car door, fingers hung over the top to pull herself up off the car seat. I hurried out to help her. Brad got out of the driver’s side and rushed to his sister’s aid.

“I’m so glad I caught you awake,” Mysti said. “Brad told me to call first, but I thought maybe you’d want to sleep late.”

“You sure didn’t sleep late.” I took one arm and Brad grabbed the other. We helped Mysti down the brick path leading to the porch, and Brad lifted her over the steps. She sat heavily in one of the metal chairs.

“Brad can’t wait to get back to the city. He wanted an early start.” Mysti gave her brother the eye. “Of course, we had time to drive past the museum to see if Hannah Kessler had it open yet.”

“Brad, you’re such a fangirl,” I said.

He curled his lip at me and walked to the edge of the porch to look out at the fog swirling in Memaw’s pasture.

“Don’t see how y’all stand it here,” he muttered.

“Yep, I’m really missing the smell of car exhaust and hot pavement.” Mysti waved off her brother and leaned close to me. “I woke up at three o’clock this morning and realized something.”

“Hit me with it,” I said.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

Her words sent a shock through my foggy brain, and I sat up straighter.

“Oh, really? I thought you couldn’t tell me any more than you did because you were working for Tubby.”

“I don’t see how it’s unfair to Tubby for me to tell you this stuff.” Mysti stopped speaking and studied my face. “You do want to know, don’t you? You’ve got the air of someone about to face the unknown, someone taking a journey. You might be able to use this stuff.”

Or it might drive me crazy, or make me feel rotten, or something else bad. I weighed the possible good against the possible bad. It all sounded awful and scary. I needed a different measuring stick. What if whatever Mysti had to tell me got me what I wanted?

“I want to hear it,” I said.

“When I contacted your father’s spirit—and it took a lot to do it—I ended up in this colorless, windowless, and doorless room. Sort of a prison.” Mysti’s face paled as she remembered, and a fine gloss of sweat appeared at her neck. “I surprised whoever has Paul trapped. I felt it. They thought nobody could get in, I think.” She shuddered and rubbed her arms. “Your father showed me a butterfly he had in his hand. One of the black ones with blue markings on the bottoms of its wings. But then all he did was try to get me to leave. Does the butterfly mean anything to you?”

A sharp, stabbing feeling, worse than any ice cream headache ever, worked its way through my brain. I clapped my hand to my forehead and writhed in the seat.

“Oh no. Your nose is bleeding.” Mysti leaned toward me, getting into my face. She took a tissue out of her pocket and shoved it at me.

“Not the bleeds again.” I leaned my head back, pushing the tissues into my nostrils.

“This has happened before?”

“Happened last time I messed with the Mace Treasure.” My voice came out in a weird honk.

Brad’s footsteps clunked across the porch. “She all right?”

“I’m okay.” I opened my eyes to glare at him. “Maybe Priscilla Herrera changed her mind and wants me to stay away from it.”

Priscilla Herrera’s name no sooner left my lips than several ravens landed in the front yard, making their weird, creaky caw and pecking at the dead grass. From behind us came the sound of someone beating on the window. We all turned to see Memaw shaking her fist at the birds. She realized we were watching, gave us a phony grin, and disappeared from the window. Mysti glanced between me and the birds, a line appearing between her eyes.

“Maybe, but I have a different theory,” she said.

I waited for her to tell me what it was, but she didn’t speak. Did she want permission to speak? Reassurance I wanted to know? She had me hooked. I couldn’t not know. “Well, what is it?”

Mysti bowed her head for a second and then raised her gaze to mine. “Have you ever read much about your uncle’s trial? About why he couldn’t defend himself against the charges? Why he accepted a plea bargain?”

“Why are we talking about this?” My initial shock faded, and the usual anger I felt when people got too deeply personal took its place.

“Did you see your father the day he died?” Mysti leaned forward in her seat and grabbed my wrist.

Had I? We lived in the same house. Surely I saw him over breakfast before he left for the day. What day of the week had he died? A weekday? A weekend? Nothing came. It was blank.

“I don’t remember,” I told Mysti. “The last clear memory I have of him is from my birthday, a few days earlier. He took me to ride a pony. What does all this have to do with my uncle’s conviction?”

“Your uncle said he had no memory of the day his brother was murdered. None whatsoever.” She started to say more but shook her head. “Do you feel an aversion to reading about your father’s—what happened to your father?”

I thought about it. Why had I never searched online for articles about the murder? Or dug up old issues of newspapers? I always thought I just didn’t want to know, but maybe Mysti had a point.

“I’ve got a theory,” Mysti said. “I think whoever murdered your father somehow stole both your uncle’s and your memory of the day because the two of you know who did it.”

“Same as they stole my father’s ghost.”

“Maybe. Here’s something to think about.” She clasped her hands together, and the first rays of true sun hit her, highlighting her hair and making her appear to glow. “Your father’s ghost is kept somewhere. What if your memories are, too? I’ve heard vague stories—the witchcraft equivalent of old wives’ tales really—about spells to suck memories into a hidden place in the mind. You just have to find a way to unlock the door.”

I remembered the little room in my mind Priscilla Herrera took me to when I tried to contact my father’s ghost. Had the memories been there? Even if they were, I didn’t know how to get back there.

“Furthermore,” Mysti gave my shoulder a little shake to make sure I hadn’t drifted off in my thoughts, “I think the butterfly might have something to do with it.”

“How come?” The mere thought of the butterfly sent another stab of pain into my head, but my nose didn’t gush this time. One of the ravens flew up to sit on the porch railing. The bird cocked its head at me.

“Want me to run it off?” Brad asked. “I don’t think Memaw liked it.”

“She’s not your memaw, fartwinkle, and leave the bird alone,” I told him.

“You are absolutely disgusting.” Brad wrinkled his nose.

“Shut up,” Mysti and I told him at the same time.

I turned back to Mysti. “Tell me about the butterfly.”

“Nothing to tell.” She shrugged. “Just got a gut feeling. Sometimes they’re wrong, but when they wake me up at three in the morning, I gotta share ‘em.” She pushed herself off the metal chair, and Brad rushed over to help her stand. He kept hold of her arm, steadying her, and I again glimpsed the love he felt for his sibling. It made something inside me ache.

“We need to get going before Bradley has a hissy fit.” Mysti stood on tiptoe and stretched until she could peck her brother’s stubbly cheek. “But I’ve got one last thing to ask you.”

“What is it?” I took her other arm as she descended the steps.

“You still got my business card? Or did you trash it?” She winked at me.

“Nope.” I let go of Mysti’s arm and took the little metal business card case I always carried from my pocket and showed her the card she’d given me.

“You call me, girl. I’m serious. Even if all you want to do is jaw.” Her gaze probed me until I nodded my assent.

I hurried ahead and opened the car door for her and held it open until Brad got her settled inside. The two of us exchanged a glance.

“I can call Hannah, see if she’s up. She might agree to an early tour of the museum.” I wanted to erase the tension between us. We didn’t have to be friends, but I didn’t want to part on less than favorable terms.

“Thanks for the offer.” Brad actually smiled at me. “But I look slept in. In fact, these are the clothes I wore yesterday.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

Brad got into the car, started it, and drove back down the driveway. I waved as they left, half feeling like I ought to run after them and beg them to stay. I was in over my head, and Mysti was the first breath of anything like sanity I’d had since this whole thing started. The car pulled onto the highway and disappeared from my sight.

My cellphone rang. I snapped to attention and grabbed it.
Oh, please let it be Mysti telling me she’d stay and help me through this.
No such luck. It was Hooty. He started talking as soon as I picked up, not even giving me a chance to say hello.

“I called the warden at home this morning. He agreed to set up the visit if we get there by ten. The drive’s a couple of hours, and we’re going to have to hurry. When can you be ready?”

“Fifteen minutes.” We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I went inside to tell Memaw where I was going and to have our usual argument over getting one of her friends in to spend the day with her.

* * *

I
paced back
and forth on the porch while I waited for Hooty to pick me up, feeling more unprepared than I ever had in my life. This man who I didn’t remember at all might not even want to answer my questions. He might hate me for getting his daughter killed. All I could do was hope for the best.

Several minutes later, I lounged on the soft leather seat of Hooty’s silver Cadillac, listening to flute music on the stereo system. Hooty reached over and flicked off the sound.

“What, exactly, do you think Jesse might know to help you figure out who took the journals?” He flashed me a grin. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

I stared at Hooty’s round face, searching for an assurance he wouldn’t call me crazy. I saw the gray hair at his temples, and the deep lines taking up permanent residence underneath his brown eyes. Nothing more. I had to trust him, and that was a tall order. But this man had always taken time for me. He deserved a few answers.

“I think whoever’s behind the theft of the journals killed my father.”

Hooty sucked in a deep breath, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “How?”

I told him, and the telling took a good part of the trip to the prison. Hooty asked a few questions here and there. Mostly he listened. When I got to the part about my daddy’s ghost driving Mysti crazy, Hooty began to sweat. His reaction worried me. Hooty had never been thin, and middle age had spread him even thicker. I concluded the tale before he worked up a stroke.

“Well, I’m going to give you my advice, even though you didn’t ask for it.” Hooty took one hand off the wheel to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Your uncle probably won’t have much to say about the day of the murder. Have some back-up questions.”

Oh, I had a back-up question, all right. I wanted to know what my father thought I was the key to and why.

The guard at the prison searched Hooty’s car. The act initiated a quick bolt of panic and paranoia. It was like a flashing sign reminding me I was crossing the threshold between the free world and the world of the incarcerated. My experience in the mental hospital taught me to fear any kind of lockup. Once there, I was at the mercy of those in charge. I twisted in my seat to stare longingly at the road on which we drove into the prison complex. Hooty parked the car and led me into a building I’d have never found on my own.

There began a test to my moral and legal character. I removed my shoes, turned out my pockets, and allowed a prison official to wand my clothed body and pat me down. I showed my ID to prove who I was, filled out a paper, and waited quietly.

Finally, a female correctional officer led me into a sad room where a row of industrial-style chairs facing a clear window awaited me. Each station had an old school phone through which I assumed I’d talk to my uncle because there was no way we’d be able to hear each other through the thick window. The room was empty except for me. Hooty’s connection to the warden managed to get me in for a visit even though regular visiting days were on the weekend. For a few seconds, I stood still, completely shell shocked. I’d expected an open room with tables, had even planned what I’d do if Uncle Jesse wanted to hug me. People fostered relationships in this room?

The correctional officer directed me to one of the stations. I sat in the chair and stared at the empty space across from me, exposed and spooked by all the official procedures. Visiting an offender in prison was nothing like bailing Chase Fischer out of jail for public intoxication. A hopeless heaviness hung over this place, cold with fear of the unknown and desperation.