Grave Robber for Hire (27 page)

Baiden strolled to the passenger side.

Vig flashed in, took one look at Luke, pulled his pants down and mooned him.

Perfect. Vig’s hatred of Luke hadn’t waned since I stopped seeing him.

Luke took my good arm and helped me stand. I swung my foot out and kicked Vig on the shin. I wasn’t the only person who could see his ass anymore. He pulled his pants up and grinned.

Luke tucked my hair behind my ear. “I heard about Sasha escaping while I was away, thought I’d come see if you’re alright. Have they caught him yet?” His eyes gleamed as if the thought excited him.

“I doubt they’ll catch Sasha anytime soon. He’s like mist.” Sometimes frigging literally.

Tyreal came to stand next to me and grinned at Vig and scowled at Luke.

I pointed to Luke, then to Tyreal. “Tyreal, Luke, Luke, Tyreal. I hired Tyreal to help me with my research.” Luke think’s I hunt antiques for other people. No point in sharing what I do with people who would never believe me.

Luke looked Tyreal up and down and his mouth firmed. “This is who you hired?”

What? “Yeah. He’s good too. Thorough.”

“Had you met him before you hired him?”

“Sort of. I um helped an old lady cross the road and got hurt. Tyreal came to our aid.”

“Right. He looks at you like you’re tasty.”

I gave a tiny please don’t hurt shrug to indicate nonchalance, and felt guilty for the, goody, goody, flutter that comment gave me. “We’re working partners, nothing more. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“One day, Babe, you will realize I know more and am more than you think I am.” He gave Tyreal a hard assessing stare.

“Sure.” Not likely, men were men. Friends were friends. Sex was Sex. That was it. We’d done it. I was ready to put my hand up and call next. No point in Luke getting huffy over Tyreal. It wasn’t like I was bumping yummies with Tyreal. I’d
mostly
resisted. A few feel ups didn’t count, did they?

I understood boundaries.

Luke gave Tyreal his best death-stare. Tyreal returned the loathing. I waited for some grunting, pawing the ground, or maybe one of them could piss on me to mark their territory.

Vig scratched his jaw and watched the two men. He turned to me and thumped his chest, Tarzan style. “They like monkeys.”

Tyreal glared at him. I snorted and bit my tongue. Ouch that hurt.

Baiden swung around and stared at the two men, and something like, holy-shit amazement spread over his face. “Okay brother, time to go, this isn’t the time. You’re staying with me until you get back on your leg. Come on you dark bastard, let’s head home.”

At Baiden’s car, Tyreal leaned over and kissed me on the mouth and gave Luke his best, eat a bucket of maggots grin. “I’ll call you tomorrow so we can start on our other project. Stay safe.” He looked at Luke. “If you’re being bothered in any way, use the gun I gave you.”

After Baiden’s car left my drive, Luke took my small tr
avel bag. “We need to talk.” His voice held a note of implacable demand.

Great,
woohoo
. I wanted a change of clothes, a hot soak in my bath, and to kiss all my animals hello. I didn’t need to argue about how I had never been able to do relationships.

Answering why is just too hard.

Chapter 25

The next day, largest coffee mug I owned in my good hand, I tucked Tyreal’s tampon sized pistol under my arm, in case my brother came calling, let the dogs and cats outside and followed. Vig, I left in his CSI shed to finish dismantling some poor deceased electronic device.

Cushioned on the veranda’s couch, I gazed over my little world. A world I wouldn’t let Sasha destroy. I hoped he turned up this morning. I was in a shitty mood. A mood that would improve, after a good shooting.

Yesterday I got rid of Luke, but knew he would be back. He loved me. What a mess. At this time of my life I didn’t need Luke problems, I had enough other complications.

I’d never failed a case the way we’d failed with the Rembrandt.

Failure via un-named monster interference seriously sucked. My mind seethed with dozens of superhero ideas with ways of finding and retrieving the painting. Fact is, I can’t see the future, scry, fly, go invisible, or make my own spider web—wouldn’t that be fun, so I was completely without hope.

Tina trotted into the house yard. Tail and head high, she was frisky and fresh for such an old girl. Softly murmuring, she greeted me in horsey language.

“Hey, Tina, doing a bit of break and enter on the yard gate?” She flicked her tail a notch higher and trotted to where I keep the dog bowls. With a horsey grin, she slurped up a few left over kibble bits and mouthed the large screw on lid bucket I kept the spare kibble in.

Worried doggy scowl on her face, Asha scrabbled to her feet and rushed to her bowl. She nosed it around then looked at me with moist cataract cloudy brown eyes. She’d left one piece of kibble. It’s loss a fat dog’s disaster.

I waved my finger at Tina. “That’s dog food, not for horses.” She looked up and put her ears back, gave the bucket a kick, turned in a flouncy move suitable for spoilt girls, lifted her tail and farted. Why’d I get the horse with ‘tude?

“Not only do you break in, you fart at me? That’s not a good way to score an apple old girl.” A deep rumbling burbled in her chest, and she trotted out the gate.

She probably told me to stick the apple somewhere unpleasant.

#

Mid-morning two days later, I sat in the front parlor of the St. Lucia house with Tyreal. We were alone, as Vig had found it all too boring and poofed back out. I love saying front parlor, and when I did, I rolled my r’s to make it sound plummy and posh. So far we’d spoken to four tradespersons who’d provided quotes for repairs, and I’d accepted an offer on the dining suite that would leave us flush with some renovation cash.

At least one part of my life and business was working to plan.

I ordered a small excavator to dig where Clyde buried the boys. Waiting for the police were letters Amelia had written that spoke of her concerns regarding the boys. With the letters sat copies of newspaper clippings and a journal mapping the vegetable garden Clyde had planned and dug around the date the boys went missing.

The excavator guy pulled his small truck into our drive.

I stood. “Hope some bones remain. It would be nice if we could have what’s left of the boys buried with their parents. I’ve been wanting to do that since I witnessed their death.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, the bones could be long gone.”

We met the excavator driver in the front yard. In his forties, Con was short and built like a beer keg, heavy on the beer. His smile revealed a missing front tooth. The remaining ones were nicotine stained, gray silvered the temples of his black hair, and lines etched deep around light hazel eyes.

He looked me up and down and grinned. “Where do you want me?”

My face was still black and blue, and he was hitting on me? Of course I looked hot in my Gypsy outfit.

Tyreal dropped his arm around my bare shoulders, pulled me close.

I pointed to the backyard and the patch of lawn I’d spray painted a yellow rectangle around. “Dig out that patch to about six feet deep.”

Con nodded, headed back to his small excavator and reversed it off the truck, then drove it down the side of the house. When the front forks first dug into the soil, I gripped Tyreal’s arm. He covered it with hi
s, and we waited.

The excavator made quick work of the soft soil. Con maneuvered the machine to dump the removed dirt in a neat pile to one side. Two feet deep. I played with my large gold hoop earrings while my orange scarf fluttered in a small breeze.

Three feet deep.

Four feet deep.

The machine stopped halfway in its swing to dump soil. Con, Tyreal on crutches, and I still holding my earring, all leaned forward.

A small thin boned skull, eye sockets and nose hollow, no jaw, was impaled by one of the bucket’s tines.

I closed my eyes. Yes, pay dirt. I could move the boys and prove they’d been murdered by Clyde.

Con cut the engine, nearly fell out of the excavator’s seat, ran around for a better look, and peered into the hole. Tyreal and I stepped forward, stared at the skull then into the pit.

Tyreal looked at me. “You were right.”

“Did you doubt me?”

“Yes. No. Hell, Princess, I didn’t know what to think.”

Con looked up at us. “There’s more bones.”

“Looks that way.” Tyreal pulled out his phone. “I’ll call the cops.”

He made the call. “Con, come inside for a beer, it’s going to be a long day.”

Con walked into the house ahead of us, I turned to Tyreal. “You knew this would be a big drama when I ordered the excavator?”

“If we found bones, yes.”

“Why didn’t you try and stop me?”

“I could see having the boys’ remains reunited with their family was important to you.”

“It is. I also want to see Clyde at least named as a long dead maybe murderer.” Petty yes. But I wanted that slur against his name.

#

The police arrived and quickly taped off the potential crime scene. Photographers, a news team, and a whole herd of officials arrived.

Inside the house, we were questioned. I explained I’d come across old printed and written material in the house that led me to believe that the boys may be buried in the yard. The letter and newspaper clippings were taken away and would be returned in time. I showed a detective the journal Clyde had listed and mapped the gardens in. I also explained how I used the date the boys had gone missing to start my search.

The detective talking to us noted down everything we said as a journalist from the local news station and a man lugging a huge camera walked into the front parlor.

I touched the detective’s arm. “If the bones belong to the boys like I think, will they be buried with their parents?”

“Sorry, I honestly don’t know. There would have to be a lot of hoop jumping for that.”

“Oh.” I could feel my face fall, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted that family reunited. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I’d never had much family.

The journalist stepped closer and gave me a curious look. “You think these bones belong to two boys who went missing nearly a hundred and fifty years ago?”

“Yes.” I picked up a clipping and showed the man.

He read the headlines, quickly scanned the rest of the article. “That would make a good human interest story. Boys re-united with parents after a century and a half. We’ll run with it. ”

The journo asked a few questions of Tyreal, Con, and me, and the detective who looked like he’d rather be skinned than answer questions.

#

Hours later t
he officials were in the backyard, the bones were being dug out, removed, tagged, and bagged. Con had left, and Tyreal and I were alone. We sipped frosty cokes to ease some of the sweltering humidity and waited for the plumber to arrive to give us a quote.

“Busy day.” Tyreal lifted his broken leg to rest on another chair. “Shit, that’s better.”

“Yeah. Mad, not what I expected.”

“Human remains get the authorities excited. I bet that journo who’s interested in the boys’ human interest story will end up plugging for the boys to be buried with their parents.”

“I hope so. I’ll need back up to have that done.”

His gaze remained on me. “We’ll push for it—together. How’d it go with Luke the other night?”

I looked down at the decrepit gray with pink roses Axminster carpet and bit my bottom lip. “Stressful. He pushed for exclusive I told him no but I have a feeling he’ll be back.” Especially since he said he would be. “I’m crap at relationships with men.”

“We get along. Try me.”

I fixated on Tyreal’s hunky body.
Girl, do you see that man?
Whispered my naughty inner voice.

“We gel, sexually when we aren’t car
wreck remains, we’d rock Mars.”

Well at least it wasn’t Uranus. “I don’t, I can’t…no.”

Tyreal thumped the little table I’d polished to super-sheen beside him so hard I thought its spindle legs would snap. Worth over five grand, it would make one expensive tantrum.

“You can’t deny chemistry. I knew we belonged together the second I saw you in Sydney at the station house … damn.” His mouth clamped shut, lips tight and pale, he slumped back.

“Saw me in Sydney?” I hadn’t been in Sydney for two years before Claudia’s case. I gave him best what the hey squint.

“Forget I said anything.”

“Oh no, you don’t. Cough up.” An itchy tingle started at the base of my neck, a sure sign I wasn’t going to like this conversation.

“Fine you want the truth, I’ll give you the truth. Four years ago I was a detective in the Kings Cross police station.”

“Annnnd.” Already knew this, move on.

He rubbed his hand over his face. “You came in to hand over a pistol you found in the street. Matt, the guy at the counter gave out the code for,
hot chick at desk
, so all of us males in the station found a reason to check you out. I decided I wanted a closer scrutiny. While you stood at the counter filling out the forms, I walked past you.”

He caught my wide eyed glare and gave me a nervous grin. “The closer I got the more I felt like I had to know you. When we were one step apart, a jolt went through my whole body. A jolt that
said you needed my help, and I
had
to get to know you—that we had some sort of a connection. Destiny, Princess. Somehow you and I are destined for each other.”

He’d walked past for a better look—at me.
How awesome?

Whoa, what? Nausea and icy fear combined for a big batch of yikes. “Didn’t you move to the Sunshine Coast four years ago?”

“My inner voice demanded I find and help you. So after a couple of months, I gave in, looked up the file and found your address. It was an easy enough decision to move. I grew up on the coast, and most of my family and friends are here.”

An internal blizzard immobilized my blood. He quit his job and moved.

To follow me.

S
chschschschschsch
. Christ it was that static buzzing again. I gripped my chair to steady myself and looked at the door. How fast could I run? Surely faster than a man on crutches.

“Holy crap,
you are a stalker
.”

“Think of me more as someone who watched you when the opportunity arose while trying to work out a way to meet you.”

I fanned my face with my hands, gulped. “Ever thought of walking up to a girl and saying,
hey, my name’s Tyreal, you’re cute, want to go out?”
I would have said yes. Hormones would have answered for me.

“It crossed my mind. A lot, but well I kept thinking that in some way you needed my help, and I kept trying to work out the what’s, why’s, and how’s of that notion. My save this girl concept, screwed with my head and ethics.”

Stalkers had ethics? “So you quit your job, got a P.I. license, moved to Cooroy and ….”

“Waited for the appropriate opportunity to meet you.”

“
For four years?”
Geez, that’s a lot of feces to ladle on a girl. “Cemetery?” Please deny it, please deny, please ….

“Saw you fueling up in Cooroy in your Girl Gone Goth outfit, and had to follow to see what you were up to. Streak’s easy to follow.”

Crap. “Curiosity’s dangerous. Think how close we came to death the other night, maybe you should rethink your choice of stalking victim.”

“Never. Getting to know you has been worth every minute. I’m positive we’re connected in some way. That connection is how I knew you’d encountered something frightening the first time you flew to Sydney and when you read those journals while I talked to Tony in the bar at the hotel.”

The Conan apparition. It had to be linked to him. Didn’t it? Nah, that shit and destiny, were too supa-nova weird for further consideration. After the last month my head simply could not absorb or contemplate any more weirdness.

I had a real true-blue stalker as my business partner. As much as we’d gone through hunting the Rembrandt, that knowledge didn’t sit in my gut happily. Too much extraordinary shit had occurred lately. The odd events and people may be interrelated. Sure I couldn’t bundle Tyreal, Josey, Clyde, and Sasha into the same weird shit file, but something about Tyreal made me look at him carefully, and not just at his great butt.