Message in the Grave Read online

  MESSAGE in the

  GRAVE

  Message of Murder, Book 3

  In case you missed them,

  Book 1 – “MESSAGE in the BONES”

  Book 2- “MESSAGE in the FIRE”

  The darker the secret, the harder it is to keep buried

  I’m finally accepting that my psychic talents serve a purpose, that I can use them to help people. But two mysteries plague me. What happened to my good friend Lucas’ sister after she disappeared then years ago?

  And if my father was murdered when I was young, why do I keep seeing him?

  When I find the long-buried remains of Lucas’ sister, her murdered body only opens more questions. There is an evil lurking in my small town. An evil so close that I can’t trust anyone. An evil so well hidden that even my special abilities can’t see it.

  As more people are murdered, I must keep digging for the truth - The truth that might tear my family apart - The truth we all must face.

  The explosive finale to the Message of Murder Trilogy

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  Enjoy your story!

  Chapter 1

  Gabby

  If life is a roller coaster, I prefer the kiddy rides. The last few months have been a whirl of white-knuckle danger and sharp course changes. Hopefully, this consultation with my new client will be as easy as a trip on the merry-go-round.

  The covered porch of the modest house protects me from the worst of the December snow, but a blast of icy air slithers down the collar of my coat. I pull the collar tighter on my neck and knock for a second time on the front door of Victor and Charlene Moony’s home.

  A large ball of orange fur sits on the railing. A dusting of snow coats the cat's fur and his bright yellow eyes watch me warily. "Hi, Kitty," I say to the cat. "Are your parents home? We had an appointment.”

  The cat continues to stare as I reach out a tentative hand to rub behind his ears. He leans into the pressure, rubs his cheek against my gloved palm.

  “Looks like you’re waiting for them too,” I say, wondering what kind of people my new clients are that they leave their cat outside in this cold.

  A shadow falls across the cut class window of the Moony’s front door and the cat jumps off the railing. The door flies open and an irritated woman barks, "What do you want?"

  The cat slips inside the door and disappears.

  I glance at the house number on the wall to make sure I have the right address. It's the right house, but the woman's rough greeting rattles me. “Uh, Mrs. Moony?”

  “It’s my house,” the woman shrugs her heavy shoulders, “Now what do you want?”

  “I’m Gabby McAllister,” I say.

  "So?" My name means nothing to her. Is that good or bad? Most people in town know who I am, at least by name. A recent media blitz about a case I solved destroyed any anonymity I once enjoyed.

  “Your husband called and asked me to come look at an antique piano you own." I fish in my pocket for a business card and hold it out. She looks at the card in my hand but doesn't take it.

  “My husband called you?” her eyes narrow as she scrutinizes my face. “Wait, I know you. You’re that psychic lady everyone’s been talking about.”

  “That’s me. Is your husband home?” I pull the collar on my coat tighter.

  Charlene Moony finally lets me inside the home, bellowing, "Victor, did you hire some psychic to look at the piano?"

  After standing on the porch in the cold, the house feels over-warm and smothering. Shelves dominate the room, each space filled with vintage items, knick-knacks, and an impressive glassware collection. A lovely old piano sits on display near the front door. There’s no sign of the cat. I pull off my knit hat as a thin man enters the living room wiping his hands on a dishtowel. "Ms. McAllister, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time."

  Victor offers me his hand to shake. Even through the gloves I always wear, his hand feels damp and hot.

  “Is this not a good time?” I ask. “We can reschedule.”

  Victor shoots a look at his much taller wife and his eyes narrow a touch. “Tonight is perfect.”

  I'm new at this psychic-for-hire stuff, so I'm not completely sure how a house call should go, but this situation feels off. I plaster a smile on my face and use the voice I perfected as a phone order-taker for the catalog company I used to work for. Calm and professional with a touch of feigned interest. “Is this the piano you wanted me to look at?”

  “That’s my piano.” Charlene places a possessive hand on the polished wood of the instrument. “Victor gave it to me.”

  “I see,” I reply even though I don’t. “And you wanted me to try and find out some of its history?”

  Victor gives a long look to Charlene. She pulls her hand away from the piano and shoves it into her pocket.

  “The history of it,” Victor says, his eyes still locked on his wife. "Both the old and the recent.”

  Growing more uncomfortable, I’m ready to just get my reading done and leave. My chest grows damp from the overheated room. I unzip my coat but leave it on. "As I explained on the phone, I might not be able to see anything, but my fee is the same." I pull a paper out of my inside coat pocket and hand it to Victor. "Payment must be made before I do," I look for a proper word. “My reading.” I settle for the word most people are used to. I don’t like the word, but it’s hard to explain what I do.

  Victor snaps the paper from my hand. “I understand. You take checks?”

  "I prefer cash." I smile pleasantly to hide my irritation. I made it very plain on the phone, I only take cash. In this line of work, clients aren't always happy with the information I give them. Checks are too easy to cancel and credit cards can reverse charges.

  Charlene watches nervously as Victor pulls the bills from his wallet and hands them over. I've seen her expression before. Most people grow uncomfortable around me once they know what I do. “What exactly are you going to be looking for? How does this work?” she asks curiously, not a trace of bellow in her now.

  I pocket the cash and get to work. I’ve created an opening explanation to help clients understand what I can do and what I can’t. Usually, I do readings at my shop on the square in River Bend and they bring the objects to me. I only agreed to this house call because the piano is so large. Maybe I should re-think my policy on house calls.

  "When I was fourteen, I was hit in the head," I start my spiel, touching the scar on my eyebrow. "I was in a coma for three days. I woke up with the ability to sense things." I pause here, letting the information sink in. "I'm not psychic the way you probably understand the word. I can't see the future or guess lottery numbers." Normally this line draws a nervous chuckle from clients. Victor and Charlene just stare at me. “What I can do is sense the history of items or people when I touch them. I don’t know how it works or why I can do it. Sometimes I can’t sense anything. I don’t control the gift, but I try to use it to help people.”

  My explanation is meant to calm clients, but Charlene just grows more nervous. If I told her about the rest of my abilities, she’d really freak out. I don’t tell clients about my cross tattoo and the messages it gives me. Only Grandma Dot and one other person know about that special talent. Only Grandma Dot still cares about me.

  “I read all that on your website,” Victor says. “Can we just do this?”

  “Uh, sure.” I pull off my left glove and approach the piano. Sensing things takes all my attention and leaves me vulnerable, and I'm always a little nervous. This crowded living room and the odd couple don’t help. “Can you two stand over there while I do this?”

  They move across the room as I sit on the piano bench. Swe
at trickles down my chest, but the ivory keys are cool under my fingers. I close my eyes and open my mind. "Lord, let me see what I need to see," I pray so quietly the Moonys can't hear.

  It takes a few moments for my nerves to settle enough to let the message in.

  Passion, intimacy, sweat-slick skin.

  I snap my hand off the keys in shock. “Crap on a cracker,” I mutter. “What was that?”

  I look to Victor and Charlene in surprise. “What did you see?” Victor asks eagerly.

  Charlene seems to shrink.

  “I’m not sure,” I say, but the guilty look on Charlene’s face tells me all I need to know. “Let me try again.”

  The vision hits instantly.

  Lovers in embrace, lust, desire, betrayal.

  I slide my hand off the keys slowly this time. I came here to give my clients a lovely history of a treasured piano, not to destroy a marriage.

  “You saw them together, didn’t you?” Victor asks.

  I nod, keeping my head turned away from the couple.

  "I didn't do anything," Charlene tries to defend herself but gives her guilt away. She already knows, she was there.

  And Victor suspected. “I paid for those lessons!” This time Victor bellows. “I knew you were sleeping with him. All those lessons and you never got any better at playing.”

  I slide from the piano bench, more than ready to leave. “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I told you I can’t control what I see.”

  “You’re lying,” Charlene howls. My tattoo sends a sharp sting up my arm.

  Duck.

  I obey instantly and a ceramic statue zings past my ear and smashes against the front door. “Get out, you freak!” Charlene screams and a plate meets the same fate as the statue.

  “You’re the one who cheated,” Victor shouts.

  I pull the door open and dash into the cold night. The lovely glassware collection continues to shatter inside the house.

  My cell phone is in my hand and Detective Lucas Hartley answers before I even step off the porch.

  “You might want to send a unit over to Sycamore St.,” I say by way of greeting. “I just exposed a cheating wife and the husband’s not too happy.”

  “Good Lord, Gabby. You sure can cause trouble, can’t you?" Lucas chuckles good-naturedly. As my brother, Dustin's, partner and lately my close friend, Lucas is familiar with my many run-ins.

  “I don’t cause the trouble,” I protest. “It just finds me.” Another loud crash carries across the front yard. “You might want to hurry on that patrol car. They’re throwing things and I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

  "Are you okay?" Lucas' always-ready concern for me settles my nerves.

  “I’m fine,” I say as I climb into my old Charger and start the engine. “Do I have to wait here or can this just be an anonymous tip?”

  “You can leave. I’m only a few blocks away, I’ll just check on them myself.”

  “I hate to make you go out in this cold.”

  “Happy for something to do. Olivia went back to her mom's last night, so the house feels empty."

  “You’re still coming to the party tomorrow night, right?” Just thinking about the party brings a wave of nerves.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  I give Lucas the address to the Moony’s and end the call. I snap my seat belt and pull it tight across my hips and chest. This consultation was a far cry from the kiddy ride I'd hoped for. On the roller coaster my life has become, all I can do is buckle up, hold on, and go along for the ride.

  Chapter 2

  Gabby

  Icy air blasts against the floor-to-ceiling display windows at the front of my new shop, but sunlight pours into the room. The words stenciled on the window leave shadows on the polished but battered wood floor.

  MESSAGES in large block letters with Psychic Investigations in smaller letters below and Gabby McAllister below that. Grandma Dot paid to have the windows lettered in shiny gold a few days ago. The bright display of my abilities and my name for anyone in town to see still makes my stomach quake.

  With my gloves still on, I sit my coffee on the counter near the front windows and look around the room, making a plan for tonight. The counter, a remnant from when Grandma Dot had a beauty shop here years ago, is the only furniture besides a deep red couch and two yellow chairs that form a sitting area.

  Before tonight, I need to get this space ready for a grand opening party. I gulp coffee to calm the nerves rolling in my belly at the thought of a crowd of people with their prying eyes and curious questions.

  “Why did I let Grandma talk me into this?” I moan and lay my head on the counter. “I can’t do this.”

  The cross tattoo on my left forearm sends the slightest tingle along my skin. “Oh, be quiet,” I tell the tattoo.

  A knock intrudes on my private misery. Please don’t be a client already.

  A familiar form fills the glass of the front door, and a different kind of tingle shivers through me. I open the door and Detective Lucas Hartley breezes into the room. His smile calms my nerves and he says the three words every woman longs to hear.

  “I’ve got donuts.” He sets the bag on the counter where my head lay just a moment ago.

  "My hero," I exclaim, digging into the bag for my favorite cream-filled long john.

  “Fresh from the bakery on the corner. Figured you’d be here this morning and could use a little encouragement,” Lucas says.

  “You figured right,” I say, licking frosting from my upper lip. “I’m not sure I can go through with this whole thing.”

  My honesty surprises us both. “But you were excited about the grand opening before.”

  I swallow hard to clear my mouth of donut. “I know, it’s just…”

  “Now everyone will know about you?” He supplies.

  I nod, feeling foolish.

  “Everyone already knows, Gabby. At least this way you can control the message.” He chuckles suddenly. “No pun intended.” He points to the huge letters on the display window.

  I roll my eyes, “Cute.”

  “Seriously, everything’s going to work out. I have a good feeling about it.”

  “I don’t.” He focuses his dark eyes on my face.

  “Did you…?”

  I catch his meaning, "I'm just whining. I didn't have a vision or anything." I fill my mouth with donut to keep from saying more.

  “The place looks great, by the way. I love the exposed brick and wood floor. Very like you.”

  “Dustin was afraid there’d be crystal balls and beaded curtains with incense burning. You should have heard him going on about it at Thanksgiving. My brother’s such a tool.”

  This brings another smile from Lucas. “You’ve been through this with him before. He’ll come around, he always does. He’s coming to your party tonight right?”

  I nod. “Dustin and Alexis. Grandma Dot and Mrs. Mott. My friend Haley from my old job. You.”

  “No Preston?” he asks, too casually.

  I shake my head. “Pretty sure I scared him away. But half the town will be here.” I roll my eyes. “Grandma Dot really got the word out about it. Might as well have put an ad in the paper ‘Come see the freak in person. Tonight at 7:00’.”

  “It won’t be that bad. It’s only one night and you’ll probably get a bunch of clients,” he soothes.

  “Hopefully better ones than last night. Using me to prove your wife’s a cheater isn’t what I do this for. I want to help people.” I look at Lucas pointedly. “I’m sorry I haven’t started looking for your sister, Crystal, yet. I know it’s not professional to say, but I have no idea where to start. I’m not very good at this investigation thing.”

  Lucas touches my gloved hand. “I’m a detective and haven’t found a lead in almost ten years. You’ll find something, I have faith in you.”

  “You won’t hate me if I can’t find out what happened to her?”

  The heat from his hand penetrates the glove and war
ms my skin. “I could never hate you,” he says seriously. The moment stretches and the air sizzles between us. This tension’s become familiar in the last weeks. The confusion that follows is familiar as well.

  I’ve known Lucas nearly all my life. First as the older brother of my grade school friend, Crystal, later as my brother’s partner and friend on the police force. In the last several weeks, something in our relationship has shifted, indefinable. I pull my hand out from under his and sip my coffee.

  I guide the conversation onto safer ground. “The rental company will be here in a bit with the tables and chairs and the caterer’s coming this afternoon.”

  With his usual ease, he lets me change the subject. “I need to get to the station, but is there anything I can help with before I go?”

  I look around my shop for anything I can't handle alone. "Not really. I'm just going to straighten up, clean the bathrooms, that kind of thing. I think I can handle it."

  “There’s not much you can’t handle,” he says. “Guess I’ll leave you to it.” He pats my hand again, and it lingers a moment longer than necessary. “See you tonight.”

  The bell on the front door jingles as it closes. The musical notes fade away, leaving a void behind.

  “Grandma Dot, this dress only has three-quarter length sleeves,” I exclaim.

  Grandma smiles slyly and hands me the dark blue sweater dress. “It’s going to look great with your blue eyes,” she skirts my objection. “I’m not upset about the color,” I point out. “My tattoo’s going to show.”

  Grandma raises one shoulder, “So? Let everyone see it.”

  “I should have picked out my own dress,” I grumble and pull the soft fabric over my head. We're getting dressed for my party in the apartment above my shop that I use as a break room. I trusted Grandma to pick out my dress, and I have nothing else here to wear.

  “Too late now,” Grandma says gaily, obviously proud of herself.

  I look at my reflection and have to admit the dress fits perfectly and suits my eyes and dark curls. I tug self-consciously at the sleeve skimming just above my tattoo.

  “Stop fidgeting. You look wonderful,” Grandma soothes.