Eighth Grave After Dark

The last time we played hide-and-seek, I’d scoured the forest just to the left of the trail where it dead-ended. This time I went right. I stumbled over the uneven ground then got in some cardio when I passed through a spiderweb, flailing my arms and shuddering a lot. I heard growls in the distance. I stopped and the scent of lavender hit me. Very faint, but there nonetheless. Why would I smell lavender out here? After gaining my bearings, I realized I was getting closer to the border, but I still had a few yards yet. Or I did until I felt a sharp push from behind.

I toppled forward as the land slanted beneath me. Barely able to catch myself on a branch, I held on, but my feet had gone out from under me, the branch broke, and I was sliding down the side of the mountain. The trees around me blurred. They scraped and cut until I was able to grab hold of a root. The sudden stop jerked at my shoulder painfully. I had no idea the mountain was so steep on that side of the house. I fought to get my footing and was startled when someone reached out and grabbed me.

I looked up into the huge frightened eyes of the nun. She pulled and I struggled until I had crawled onto even ground. At first, I wondered if she’d pushed me. If so, then she wouldn’t have helped me.

“Thank you,” I said, dusting myself off. She didn’t answer. “Did you see who pushed me?”

She just stared. I was getting that a lot lately. No matter. I had a very good idea I knew who had done the deed.

After scanning the area, I walked as close to the edge of the drop-off as I dared, keeping a death grip on a tree, because something had caught my attention moments before I went over.

There was one point I could see out over a clearing with a stream running through it. I’d never traveled down there, because it was beyond the border, but neither could Reyes travel that far. Yet there he was, standing pretty as you please by a group of bushes, talking to Angel. My Angel. My sidekick and lead—aka only—investigator.

First off, that was far past the border that Osh had staked out. Reyes should have been mincemeat. Second, what on earth would Reyes and Angel have to discuss?

I eased closer and squinted. The clearing was beautiful. It was one of those places perfect for a picnic. The sun hung low on the horizon, glistening across the field, elongating Reyes’s shadow. He looked pensive, angry even, as he spoke to Angel. He no longer wore the tux jacket, and the top buttons of the starched white shirt had been undone, the sleeves rolled up.

He scrubbed his face with his fingers and turned sharply from Angel. He and Angel had never gotten along. Why would they be talking secretively now? Did he know about the Loehrs? Had Angel been spying on me earlier? Fear seized my lungs for a solid ten seconds before reality sank in. I looked awful with a blue face.

I filled my lungs and turned back to the young nun, but she was gone. And being left alone in the woods with someone who was clearly trying to kill me made me a tad uncomfortable, so I hurried back to the convent, doing my best to shake off the dread I felt. Was Duff trying to kill me? He’d said something earlier about pushing me, and I’d definitely been pushed. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

After sneaking back into the house, I rushed upstairs to change again since I was now covered in dirt and grass; then I headed back to the stairs that led to the attic. If the nun showed up again, I was not going to chase her. It was getting dark out, and there was a homicidal pusher roaming the countryside.

I took the steep stairs slowly. I’d been having a pain in my abdomen since my fall, and it was getting sharper with every step I took. I didn’t think it was labor. It was too sharp and too concentrated in one area. I’d simply bruised myself on my trip down. Taking in a deep breath, I opened the door to the attic. Rocket was there, scratching a name into the Sheetrock.

He turned and brightened. “Miss Charlotte!” After lifting me into a hug that magnified the pain in my side, he set me down, turned back to his work, and started scratching again.

That was a short conversation. I leaned back against a column and said, “Rocket, I have a name for you.”

“I have too many.”

“Too many names?”

“Yes. Too too many.”

“I’m sorry. Can you check on one for me?”

“I don’t think so, Miss Charlotte.”

“Why ever not?” I asked, massaging the pain.

“I have too many.”

“That was a beautiful wedding.” Strawberry stood beside me, holding her bald Barbie doll. “Cookie was so pretty. I wish I could have done her hair.”

A sharp stab of horror washed over me at the thought. “Is Blue here, too?” I had yet to see Rocket’s little sister. That girl was the best at hide-and-seek I’d ever seen.

“Yes, she’s in the round room.”

I frowned in thought. “What round room?”

“The tiny one.”

“What tiny one?”

“The one downstairs nobody knows about.”

This could go on for days. “Okay,” I said, acquiescing. “Well, I just hope she’s having fun.”

“She likes it in there. It’s quiet.”

“Wonderful.” I suddenly wondered if she was talking about the closet we couldn’t get open. There was a door to a closet or a room or pantry in the laundry room off the kitchen. A door that was stuck. Or locked. Or both. Even Reyes couldn’t open it. It became quite the challenge for a while; then we moved on to other, more interesting things.

What no one understood was that nothing, nothing, is more interesting than a locked door nobody could open. I had every intention of getting inside that room. I just didn’t know how yet.