Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

“I’m sorry.” Family was so important. If I’d learned nothing more these last three days, it was that.

Harper walked toward me, purpose in her eyes, and with one last glance toward Art, she crossed. I didn’t see the pain and fear she’d suffered through all those years. I didn’t see her being terrorized or the nightmare she suffered through from her time in the mental asylum. What I did see was her father picking her up and carrying her on his shoulders as she pointed out his route through the trees behind the house. I saw her dog, a golden retriever named Sport, who would lick her toes until she couldn’t stand the tickling any longer. And I saw the first time Art kissed her. She was in high school, watching him at a basketball game. He’d been hurt and was in the locker room. She hurried to check on him. Gasped when she saw him being strapped onto a stretcher. Almost fainted when she saw the odd bump of the arm secured at his side, the bone straining to break through the flesh.

He’d covered his eyes with his other arm, hiding his anguish. She rushed forward, and before she knew what was happening, he wrapped his hand around her head and pulled her down until her lips were on his.

And then she was through.

Ever the romantic, the agony of lost love was my undoing. I let a series of sobs quake through me, and when I felt I could face the world despite the obvious swollen eyes to match my swollen jaw, I stepped out of the bathroom and asked an officer to drive me home. The Lowells would have a lot to deal with in the coming weeks, and I could only hope Art would be okay. According to Harper’s memories, he hated chocolate, but I chose not to hold that against him. No one was perfect.

But really? Chocolate?

As I was getting into the officer’s car, I heard a familiar female voice. “Charley Davidson.”

I straightened and turned to Agent Carson as she walked across the driveway toward me. It figured the FBI would be here. It was a missing persons case, after all. “Hey, Agent Carson.”

Before she could respond, Uncle Bob walked over to us. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah, Uncle Bob, you remember Special Agent Carson.”

She took his hand. “Detective. Your niece has a knack for solving cold cases.”

He smiled proudly. “Yes, she does.”

“I’m impressed, as usual. Someday you’ll have to share your secrets,” she said to me.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Fair enough. I was wondering if you’d look over a couple of cases for me. One is very old and is as yet unsolved and one is my own personal one-that-got-away.”

I shrugged. “Sure, as long as you don’t get your hopes up.”

“My hopes never get out of hand, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then you can bring them by—” I was about to say my office, but realized I no longer had one. “You can bring them by my apartment.”

“Or her office.”

I turned to see Dad walking over to us. He stopped to stand beside Uncle Bob, his expression sheepish but hopeful. Ubie must’ve called him when he realized I’d been injured, but I wasn’t sure I could handle Dad’s presence at that moment. My heart hurt bad enough. And my head hurt. And my eyes were icky and swollen.

He put his hands in his pockets. “Are you okay?” he asked, and I wondered what Ubie had told him.

“Good as gold.”

“I’m glad. And I’m moving you back into your offices. Pretending I can keep an eye on you, no matter how ridiculous the notion, will give me peace of mind. And you can glare at me and make faces behind my back and hate me forever, but when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be there. Without judgment and without a hidden agenda.”

I looked out over the Lowells’ vast estate. “If I make faces at you, Dad, it won’t be behind your back.”

He nodded. “I’ll come for your stuff this weekend.”

Agent Carson’s brows rose in interest. “Perfect. I’ll drop the files by next week, if that’s okay?”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, ducking into the patrol car. Dad wanted to give me a ride home. I could feel his intentions thick in the air, his eagerness to be with me, but that was a cake I’d have to take in small bites. Still, I thought of Harper. The memories of her dad despite her stepmother’s seeming indifference. I had a feeling Dad and I would be best friends again someday.

I looked back at Carson. “How goes the bank job?”

Uncle Bob grinned at her. “You’re pulling bank jobs? Isn’t that a little against the FBI code of conduct?”

She grinned. “What? There’s a code of conduct? Nobody told me.” She handed me her card. “And this case is turning out stickier than I’d hoped, but you were definitely right about the inside guy. Now to prove it.” She nodded toward the card. “Use that if you hear anything else.”

I winked at her, then closed the door before anyone else could walk up unexpectedly and wrench my heart into pieces.

* * *

Cookie called on the way home. I picked up and said, “No cast iron in the house. Ever.”

“Got it. Making a note now. How was it?”

“Exhausting. And Mrs. Lowell isn’t quite the monster I imagined her to be.”

“Maybe Denise isn’t either.”

“Seriously?”

“Okay, I’m putting these feet to bed. Let me know if you need anything. Like an ice pack.”