The Curse of Tenth Grave

And yet when I’d met him, he’d seemed so normal. But he was clearly a man continuously living beyond his means. Or was there something more? A bad business investment was one thing, but to do the same thing over and over for years—decades, even—would suggest a deeper problem. Though I had no idea what that might be.

“Having an irresponsible parent could explain Emery’s strong need to project a perfect image.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. She’s overcorrecting.”

“I did that once,” Cookie said. “You know that huge dent on the side of Olive Garden?”

“No,” I said, aghast.

“Yep.”

“It’s like I don’t know you at all.”

“Oh, I checked out the Harbor House,” she continued, unfazed. “Charley, she’s right. Heather is right. Nine residents have died there over the last seven years, but not all of them died on the grounds, and they all seemed to die of completely different causes. It doesn’t seem malicious, and yet the sheer numbers would suggest otherwise.”

“I agree. Keep digging. I’ll head back to town in about twenty.”

“Will do. Be careful.”

“Careful’s my middle name.”

I stepped out of Misery and onto dry pastureland. Crooked trees surrounded me, bare and hauntingly beautiful against the landscape. Many vehicles had been in the area recently. The ground was covered in tracks, so it must’ve been raining the night Emery’s car was found.

I walked the area, not sure what I was looking for, until I’d crested a ravine about a hundred yards away and saw it. More tracks, but these were separate from the others. The vehicle had been stuck. Deep ruts had dried. The vehicle had been sitting in the rain awhile before the driver tried to rock it out. It looked like the tires spun for quite some time before catching.

It could’ve been guys out having fun, four-wheeling their way across the area, but there were better places to go four-wheeling.

Could this have been the vehicle that took Emery’s body? If so, why would they kill her, leave her blood-soaked car to be found by anyone, and take off with her body? She had to have been killed somewhere else, her body dumped in one place and her car dumped in another.

Just in case, I texted Parker and told him to check out the tracks if they hadn’t already.

* * *

On my way back to town, I received a call from another of Emery’s coworkers. From all accounts, he was her closest friend. They went to lunch often, and I’d wondered how Lyle Fiske handled their close relationship. Until I heard him on the phone.

“You’re gay,” I said, stating the obvious.

“As a blue jay on a sunny day.” I imagined he normally delivered that line with a great deal of enthusiasm and gusto. But today it lacked energy.

“And you’re a poet,” I said sadly. Diageo’s sexual orientation would certainly explain why Lyle didn’t have a problem with their relationship.

“I try.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve heard from a couple of people now that Emery had been upset for about two weeks before her … disappearance.” I almost said death, but I couldn’t imagine someone like Diageo would accept such a sentence without physical proof.

“She was, but she wouldn’t tell me why. I do know it involved her father.”

“You’re certain?”

“Ninety percent of the time she was upset, which wasn’t often, it involved her father. But this was different. She wasn’t mad at him. Or anyone, for that matter. She was hurt. Hurt like I’d never seen her.”

“Hurt? Not worried? Or scared?”

“Not that I could tell. The girl told me everything, but not this time. She tried to hide it, but she was upset.”

“And you don’t have a guess as to why?”

“Not without making shit up.”

“I appreciate the honesty. You have my number. Call me if you remember anything else?”

“Of course. I want this guy caught as much as anyone. Probably more so.”

“You mean Lyle? Emery’s boyfriend?”

He laughed softly. “Lyle Fiske doesn’t have a violent bone in his body. Trust me. I’ve studied it at great length. From afar, naturally. I know good, and I know bad, and that boy is one hundred percent good.”

“I’m glad you think so, too.”

“And I thought this one was the one.”

“The one? Lyle and you?”

“Oh, no, honey, Lyle and Emery. She liked him. She really, really liked him. For a while, I even thought she was pregnant.”

My pulse jumped in reaction. “Why?”

“She’d almost passed out during lunch one day. I had to grab her bag and help her to her car where she promised to sit and wait for Lyle to come get her. But I saw iron supplements in her purse. You know, like pregnant women take. At least I think they do.”

“It depends,” I told him, mulling over that last bit. As far as I knew, she wasn’t pregnant when she died. “Thank you so much, Diageo.”

“No problem, sweets. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

* * *

I walked into ADA Nick Parker’s office determined to find out two things from him: Why did he withhold pertinent information about Lyle Fiske’s conviction, and what exactly was his stake in all this?

Getting the answer to the first should be fairly easy. I could guess, actually. He left that out so I wouldn’t see it and would be more likely to take the case. It was the second one I was most interested in.

“Excuse me,” his receptionist said as I stormed past her and into his office. I’d wanted to do that since the first time I saw it in a movie.

“I want answers,” I said to him. Only it wasn’t him. It was an elderly gentleman in a sharp suit with a woman on her knees in front of him. “Oh, gosh, I am so sorry.”

I started to back out. The woman raised her head. She was holding a measuring tape and had pins sticking out of her mouth. He was being fitted for said sharp suit.

“It’s lovely,” I said to him before closing the door and trying the next office.

“You’ll have to set up an appointment,” the receptionist said, hurrying behind me.

I shoved open the next door. Broom closet.

“I’m calling Security,” she said just as I reached the right door. I totally needed to stop and read a sign here and there.