At precisely one minute and twenty-nine seconds past midnight, Doris pulled up outside my house, the Impala idling, headlights out.
“Why the subterfuge?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat. Doris was dressed all in black. Black pants, a black blouse buttoned up to her chin—she even had a black beanie pulled over her silver locks. She had to be hot in the cat burglar outfit, and I don’t mean hot as in phwoar. I mean hot as in temperature.
“I don’t want anyone to see us,” she whispered.
“You don’t think your red car might stand out?”
“Not in the dark.” She pulled away from the curb at a reasonably sedate pace.
“You can turn the headlights on, Doris,” I said, keeping a firm hold of the door. “Please.”
“But—”
“You’ll attract more attention driving with the lights off,” I pointed out, sensing she was about to argue the point. Doris shot me a look that was impossible to decipher in the darkness of the cab. “You’re good at this.”
“What, sneaking around in the middle of the night?” I scoffed. “I was a teenager too. Once.”
“You snuck out a lot?” Doris asked, flicking the headlights on to my eternal relief.
“You could say that.” The truth was, I snuck out constantly. My foster home journey hadn’t been smooth. My last home, from sixteen to when I turned eighteen and was finally in charge of my own life, I’d snuck out most nights to keep out of the clutches of my handsy, totally inappropriate foster father. Even the memory of it, so many years later, was enough to make my skin crawl.
Keen to divert attention away from myself, I blurted, “Tell me about John Smith.”
“Hmm. Let me see. He was a bit of a grumpy, cantankerous old man, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was an excellent carpenter, yet incredibly humble. He did not like to be the center of attention. Probably why he built his house out on Berryman Street. Most everyone else in town is vying for a sea view, but not John. He wanted peace and quiet and privacy.”
“Why do you think he killed himself?” I was curious why no one had brought up my fictitious uncle’s suicide. If Deputy Biden hadn’t spilled the beans, I would never have known.
“I don’t think he did,” Doris said.
I turned to face her, her features lit by the dashboard lights. “You don’t? How come?”
“That man had nothing to die for. He had absolutely no reason to take his own life. He was in reasonable shape health-wise for a man in his seventies. He was not in financial difficulties. He was a loner, he’d always enjoyed his own company, so I don’t believe he was lonely either.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think someone staged it to look that way.” She shot me a look out of the corner of her eye before turning her attention back to the road. “But I’m thinking you already know that.”
“Like I said, I didn’t know the man. He’s a total stranger to me, so I couldn’t say one way or another if he was in a fragile state of mind.” But she was right. As soon as the deputy had told me he’d taken his own life, I’d struggled to believe that was the truth. And what of Steve, the stranger who’d come calling, expecting some sort of rendezvous with John on Friday? What did that mean, if anything?
“Do you think he’d climb up into that tree, tie a rope around his neck, and swan dive off?” Doris asked.
“I would have said no until I saw the way you climbed that tree today.”
She snorted. “Pilates. Of which John Smith did not partake. He was reasonably healthy, yes, but I doubt very much he was capable of climbing a tree. Not with that bum knee of his.”
“Is that what they say happened? That he climbed the tree and then jumped off a branch?”
“Yup, and I agree. It’s a farfetched tale if ever I heard one. Far easier and much less strenuous to simply loop the rope over a branch, climb a ladder and then kick the ladder away.”
Doris had clearly given this some thought. “I’m guessing there was no ladder?” I asked.
“Nope. And the funny thing? John’s ladder was missing. Still is. Usually keeps it tied to the back of his truck.”
“On that metal frame thing?”
Doris nodded. “He used that to carry wood, drywall, that type of thing. And he always had his ladder up there. Even when he wasn’t working a job.”
I mulled over what she’d said while Doris lapsed into silence, thankfully remaining focused on driving. Rather than her usual breakneck speeds, she crawled along at a snail’s pace, but I knew better than to complain. I think I actually preferred the snail’s pace version.
Eventually, we reached the road out of town. Doris slowed to a stop, the engine idling.
“This is it,” she said.
I peered out the side window. “No, it’s not. Pretty sure the workmen said it was at least one mile in and marked with a tree shaped like a Y.”
“I meant it metaphorically,” Doris said, slamming her foot down on the accelerator and planting it. The Impala fishtailed, the rear tires unable to find purchase on the gravel surface of the road.
“Doris!” I shrieked, hands slapping on the dash to stabilize myself. “Take it easy. What happened to stealth mode?”
“Oh, shoot, sorry, I forgot!” She immediately eased her foot off the throttle, and we proceeded down the road at a much more sedate, but still too fast, pace. The Impala managed to find every single pothole, and one particularly nasty crater had my head slamming into the roof of the car.
“Ouch!” I rubbed my head and glared at Doris. “Have you considered avoiding the potholes?” I grumbled.
“What’s that, dear?” She cupped a hand to her ear as if she hadn’t heard me when I knew darn well she had. Her smirk gave her away.
“Slow down!” I pointed at the tree up ahead, caught in the headlights. “I think that’s it.”
The Impala rolled to a stop. Sure enough, there was a tree shaped like a Y. The weeds around the base had been trampled, probably from where the workmen had explored. They’d said there was a hidden road, and I squinted at the dead bushes to the right of the tree.
“They look staged to you?” I asked but didn’t wait for an answer. Opening the door, I hopped out of the car and made my way across the recently graded portion of the road, over the mound of dirt that had been pushed up the side from the grader to the tree. Using the trunk as balance, I maneuvered around to the dead bushes. I could just make out boot prints.
“This has to be it,” I said under my breath. Reaching out, I grabbed hold of one of the bushes with both hands and pulled. To my surprise, it pulled right out of the ground, and I staggered back, nearly landing on my butt. Tossing the bush to the side, I went back for another and another. Within thirty seconds, I’d thrown them all to one side, and sure enough, there was an overgrown track.
“A hidden road,” I said, then remembered Doris was still in the car. I turned to give her the thumbs up when I heard the revving of the Impala and the sudden swing of headlights alerting me that Doris was done waiting. The vehicle shot backward, there was a crunch and a grind as she changed gears, and that’s when I realized she fully intended to drive the Impala down the secret track we’d just discovered. Only one problem. The bank of dirt piled up alongside the road. If the Impala had four-wheel drive, we might be able to do it if the vehicle were high enough. But the Impala? There was no way she’d have the clearance.
“No, Doris, wait!” I cupped my hands around my mouth to be heard over the roar of the engine, but either she couldn’t hear me, or she chose to ignore me, for the Impala shot forward, heading straight for me. There was an odd crunching noise and a puff of dust as the front wheels mounted the bank of dirt in an upward trajectory and then stayed there as the vehicle bottomed out. Doris’s solution was to press her foot harder on the accelerator, which only resulted in the back tires spinning harder and gravel shooting out behind the car.
“Stop!” I yelled. She finally listened, eased her foot off the accelerator, and leaned out the driver's window.
“Am I stuck?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes.” She was stuck and stuck fast. Nothing but a tow truck would get the Impala out of its current predicament.
Doris turned off the engine and climbed out, surveying her car. “Well, shoot,” she said, hands on hips.
“I don’t think you bent the axle,” I said. “The dirt is soft, recently graded. Unless, of course, you hit a rock under all that.”
Doris patted the hood of the Impala. “You’ll be right, girl; we’ll get you out. After we’ve explored this track.” She walked around the back of the car to the passenger side, reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out a flashlight before returning to the driver’s side, turning off the headlights, and removing the keys from the ignition.
“Isn’t it dangerous, leaving it in the dark like that? Shouldn’t you put your hazards on?”
“Good idea.” Next thing, the darkness of the night was lit up with the orange flicker of the indicators as they blinked off and on. “We’d better get moving. While we don’t get a lot of traffic along this road at this time of night, Calder has been doing extra patrols due to the state of the road.”
All the more reason to move fast. “Let’s go,” I said, waiting for her to scramble over the dirt verge and join me, the beam of the flashlight swinging wildly.
“What do you think is out here?” Doris asked as we made our way past the pile of dead shrubs, following the track that had been carved out. The two ruts indicated whoever had been out here had been driving, but the level of weed and grass encroachment said they hadn’t been here in quite some time.
“You probably have a better idea than I do.” My walking boot thumped as we walked, and I knew I’d pay for this later. As it was, I’d dosed myself with painkillers before leaving home. “Is there a drug problem in Gravestone?”
“There’s a high trade in arthritis meds,” Doris said.
Not exactly what I was thinking. In my experience, a hidden road tended to mean that whatever was at the end was something no one wanted found. My last secret road had taken me to an underground operation selling fairy dust. Dozens of fairies had been captured and held captive, a coven of witches harvesting their magic dust and selling it on the black market. It didn’t sound so terrible, but stealing the fairy dust left the fairies permanently injured, unable to fly. And without being able to fly? They tended to die shortly after. All in all, a horrible situation.
“I had an interesting visitor last night,” I said, my mind circling back to John and the circumstances of his death.
“Oh?” Doris easily kept pace by my side; she wasn’t even winded, whereas I seemed to be puffing rather heavily. So much for being an elite agent. Out of action for a few days and already unfit. As soon as this walking boot was off, I’d have to hit the training circuit hard.
“Yeah, some guy named Steve. Didn’t seem to understand that John was dead. Wanted to know if the thing was still on for Friday night.”
“What thing?”
“Exactly. He wouldn’t say. He was very cagey. When I told him who I was, he said John had spoken of me.”
Doris guffawed. “That’s rich. John didn’t know you even existed.” She stopped walking and looked at me in the moonlight. “Did he?”
I shrugged. “Not as far as I know. Like I said, he and my mom were estranged. They hadn’t spoken in years—longer than my lifetime.” I wondered if I’d ever feel guilty about the number of lies that flowed off my tongue. Then I wondered why I was even wondering such a thing. Telling lies to protect my undercover status had been part of my life for so long it was second nature, and I never questioned it. Until now. A scant thirty-six hours into my stay at Gravestone, I was not only losing my touch but also questioning myself on the ethics of lying.
We continued walking, lost in our own thoughts. Mine had drifted from John to Seth Saltzman. Assuming the bones were Seth’s, were their deaths related? And if John’s death was suspicious, as Doris suggested, why had the police ruled it a suicide?
“Was Seth ever reported missing?” I asked.
“Not by anyone in Gravestone. I think there’s an arrest warrant out for him because he failed to show for the court hearing into the fraud charge.”
“For his so-called cancer?”
“Yeah. The townsfolk put together a class action, and he was scheduled to appear before the magistrate in Corpus Christi. Only he never showed. And that automatically earned him an arrest warrant.”
“And no one’s seen him since.” But the guy may have done a runner, gone into hiding. America was a big country. He could be lying low anywhere. If it were me, I’d sure as heck get my butt out of Texas at the very least.
Doris grabbed my arm in a steely grip, dragging me to a halt. “There!” She pointed with the flashlight, and through the shadows and the trees, I could just make out a wooden structure. It was situated off the makeshift road, but a rough path led to it.
“Is it a barn?” I asked, taking in the weathered boards.
“Could be.” A cloud passed over the moon. The only light was Doris’s flashlight that trembled ever so slightly as she pointed it at the barn.
“Are you scared?” I teased.
“Of a spooky old barn in the middle of nowhere?” she asked. “Hardly.” She stomped toward the barn as if to prove her point. I followed, my boot thumping on the ground. The air was still, the hum of insects and the odd screech from a night bird—most likely an owl—were the only noises aside from our less than stealthy approach. Humidity hung over us like a hot, wet blanket, and despite the lack of sun, I was soaked with sweat.
We reached the door to find it locked with a chain and padlock. Doris tugged at it. “Locked.”
“You have a hair clip?” I asked.
Doris pointed to the beanie covering her white locks. “Do I look like I have a hair clip?”
I shrugged. “You seem the kind of person who is always prepared.”
She slid her fingers under one side of the beanie, wriggled them around, then triumphantly held out a hair clip. “Ta da.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks.” Taking it from her, I pried the clip apart, then slid it into the lock. Two seconds and the padlock clicked open.
“Neat. Learn that in a book too?” Doris asked.
Darn, I’d totally forgotten that the average person did not know how to pick locks. “Of course.” Yet another lie. They were stacking up. If the day ever came when I’d be forced to face up to the mountain of lies I’d told in my lifetime, I’d be doomed.
Doris sniffed. “Well. It’s not rocket surgery.”
I chuckled, unhooked the chain, and pulled the door open, stepping back to let Doris precede me. I followed closely behind. As soon as the door opened, I’d felt the change in the air, and a shiver danced up my spine, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I looked back over my shoulder. Nothing but darkness, the moon peeking out behind the clouds every now and then, obscuring what little light there was.
“Holy sh—” Doris began, her flashlight trained in the middle of the barn.
I followed the beam of light and saw what she’d seen. A body sprawled on the floor. A long since dead body, more a skeleton wearing clothes.
I nudged Doris. “Move closer. Is the left arm missing?”
We skirted closer, the flashlight bobbing with our movements. The beam of light hit the shoulders and trailed down one arm. The other arm? Missing, from the elbow down.
“Eureka,” I whispered. We’d found the rest of the body.
Pulling out my phone, I was about to dial when I realized the only number I had on my phone was Doris’s. “What’s the sheriff’s number?” I asked her.
“Huh?” She seemed in a daze, her eyes glued to the skeleton on the floor.
“We have to call the sheriff,” I said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Do we, though?”
Her answer shocked me. “Doris! Yes. We do. We’ve just discovered the remains of who we assume is Seth Saltzman. There comes a time when we do, in fact, have to call in the authorities.” And I needed to stay out of it, for if the sheriff dug too hard, he’d discover my true identity, and that meant not only trouble for me, but for Gravestone too.
I crouched next to the bones, searching for anything that would tell me the cause of death. The plaid shirt had no tears or rips, no bullet holes or blood stains. What remained of his left arm was tucked close to his side, but his right arm was outstretched, the fingers curled into a fist.
“Look.” Doris unfurled the fingers, revealing a black stone with a rune drawn on it. “This is magic.”
My eyes bugged out on stalks. “What do you know of magic?” I blurted, rattled that she’d even mention such a thing.
Doris drew her gaze from the rune to me, raising the flashlight to shine it in my face.
“Hey!” I protested, bringing an arm up to shield my eyes. “Quit it.”
“I know what you are, Holly Day,” she declared. “You’re a witch.”
Her words echoed around the barn, and I stared at her, shocked to the core. How could she know? Unless…
“Doris Shutt,” I shot back. “Are you a witch?” It would explain so much, like her insane strength and agility. She was using magic, but she hid it well. I hadn’t detected it at all.
We engaged in a staring match, neither prepared to back down despite my eyeballs being on fire and drying out. Eventually, Doris blinked and said, “Takes one to know one.”