Desires of the Dead
Page 30
He was the sheriff, yes, but he was also her father’s brother. And because of her, he now carried the imprint of murder, justified or not.
Hadn’t she caused her family enough grief already?
Her smile was shaky. “I wanted to see if I could pick up some of those sticker badges you give out to kids. I like to give Jay a hard time about his little man-crush on you.”
Her uncle’s laugh filled his cramped office. “You’re terrible, Vi. You act more like your aunt Kat every day. Has she been giving you lessons?” But he was already reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a stack of the foil stickers. He slid them across the desk. “How’s he ever gonna stop being so jumpy around me if you don’t stop teasing him?”
This time Violet’s smile was genuine. “Give him time, Uncle Stephen; he’ll relax. He’s just grateful, that’s all.” She slid the stickers into her jacket pocket, feeling like a coward.
She didn’t bother telling her uncle—again—that she was just as grateful as Jay was, because he already knew. She could never repay him.
He held her gaze for a moment, studying her.
“Well, thanks for these.” She pointed to her pocket, trying to think of something more to say, something to stop her from feeling so awkward. “I guess I’ll let you get back to work.”
He walked her out and, once on the sidewalk in front of the station, he hugged her. She winced against the bitter taste that saturated her mouth when he did.
He pressed a hard kiss on top of her head. “I love you, kiddo. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
Violet looked up at him, knowing he suspected she’d come for something more than just the stickers. And feeling bad that she hadn’t been able to confide in him.
“Thanks, Uncle Stephen. I love you too.”
She closed the door of her car and started the engine before pulling out her cell phone. She scrolled through the missed calls in her call log and hit Enter.
After two rings, the call was answered, and Violet spoke, her voice sounding shaky but resigned. “This is Violet Ambrose,” she told the person on the other end. “I guess we need to talk.”
Violet stood outside her private graveyard as the first stars pierced the sable sky. The woods beyond had become a collection of shadows, a collage in charcoals and grays. She shivered, but not from the cold. Her coat was plenty warm; it was doubt that wracked her now.
She studied the handmade markers, headstones that littered the ground before her. Why did some bodies—like these, like the girls from last year and the boy from the waterfront—call to her while others let her be? Why did some bodies need to be discovered so badly that they caused her physical pain?
Violet had her suspicions—speculation, really—that it had something to do with the brutality of their deaths. About lives unfinished. And it seemed, so far anyway, that human bodies pulled more than animals.
But she had no way to know for sure; there didn’t seem to be any hard-and-fast rules. So far all she had were guesses and theories.
She hugged herself, listening to the backdrop of static that the reburied bodies of her cemetery created, the satisfying hum of peace as the echoes blended together. It settled over her as she remained silent, motionless.
She was still angry that she hadn’t had the guts to talk to her uncle today. She should have told him everything; she hated keeping so many secrets. But she’d hate it more if her family—and Jay—had to worry for her the way they had before, when a killer had hunted her. She couldn’t bear to cause that sort of pain again.
No, she decided. She would handle this on her own, at least while it was still manageable.
The boy’s body had been recovered; there was nothing more she could do for him.
The dead cat was disturbing and threatening, but so far that was the only message she’d received. Maybe it was just some twisted prank.
And Sara Priest was just a woman from the FBI who wanted to talk to Violet. Talk. She could do that without her parents holding her hand, couldn’t she?
So why did she feel so guilty about not telling them? Why did her secrets feel more like lies?
Then there was Rafe. She knew Jay was still upset with her for not explaining who he was after he’d shown up at the theater the night before; why else wouldn’t he have called her while he was at work today? He always called.
She blew on her frozen fingers as she turned away from her graveyard, her feet crunching through the ice-crusted grass.
She hoped that, after tomorrow, she’d have some of the answers she was searching for.
Chapter 13
Violet’s stomach was twisted in knots as she got on the elevator in the parking garage. This was the sort of place that could give a girl nightmares. At least, the kind of girl who could sense the imprints of those who had killed.
This was exactly the kind of place Violet normally avoided—hospitals, morgues, and police stations. Even stores that specifically catered to hunters.
And FBI field offices.
Not that she’d been given much choice in the matter. Violet got the impression that FBI Sara wasn’t planning to drop it.
The elevator ride upset her already queasy stomach, and she fought a new wave of nausea. She leaned her head back against the cool steel wall and took several long, deep breaths, bracing herself against the onslaught of sensory inputs she assumed awaited her, the ones that only she could decipher.
When the doors opened, she was released into a small lobby, complete with metal detectors and armed security.
Hadn’t she caused her family enough grief already?
Her smile was shaky. “I wanted to see if I could pick up some of those sticker badges you give out to kids. I like to give Jay a hard time about his little man-crush on you.”
Her uncle’s laugh filled his cramped office. “You’re terrible, Vi. You act more like your aunt Kat every day. Has she been giving you lessons?” But he was already reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a stack of the foil stickers. He slid them across the desk. “How’s he ever gonna stop being so jumpy around me if you don’t stop teasing him?”
This time Violet’s smile was genuine. “Give him time, Uncle Stephen; he’ll relax. He’s just grateful, that’s all.” She slid the stickers into her jacket pocket, feeling like a coward.
She didn’t bother telling her uncle—again—that she was just as grateful as Jay was, because he already knew. She could never repay him.
He held her gaze for a moment, studying her.
“Well, thanks for these.” She pointed to her pocket, trying to think of something more to say, something to stop her from feeling so awkward. “I guess I’ll let you get back to work.”
He walked her out and, once on the sidewalk in front of the station, he hugged her. She winced against the bitter taste that saturated her mouth when he did.
He pressed a hard kiss on top of her head. “I love you, kiddo. If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”
Violet looked up at him, knowing he suspected she’d come for something more than just the stickers. And feeling bad that she hadn’t been able to confide in him.
“Thanks, Uncle Stephen. I love you too.”
She closed the door of her car and started the engine before pulling out her cell phone. She scrolled through the missed calls in her call log and hit Enter.
After two rings, the call was answered, and Violet spoke, her voice sounding shaky but resigned. “This is Violet Ambrose,” she told the person on the other end. “I guess we need to talk.”
Violet stood outside her private graveyard as the first stars pierced the sable sky. The woods beyond had become a collection of shadows, a collage in charcoals and grays. She shivered, but not from the cold. Her coat was plenty warm; it was doubt that wracked her now.
She studied the handmade markers, headstones that littered the ground before her. Why did some bodies—like these, like the girls from last year and the boy from the waterfront—call to her while others let her be? Why did some bodies need to be discovered so badly that they caused her physical pain?
Violet had her suspicions—speculation, really—that it had something to do with the brutality of their deaths. About lives unfinished. And it seemed, so far anyway, that human bodies pulled more than animals.
But she had no way to know for sure; there didn’t seem to be any hard-and-fast rules. So far all she had were guesses and theories.
She hugged herself, listening to the backdrop of static that the reburied bodies of her cemetery created, the satisfying hum of peace as the echoes blended together. It settled over her as she remained silent, motionless.
She was still angry that she hadn’t had the guts to talk to her uncle today. She should have told him everything; she hated keeping so many secrets. But she’d hate it more if her family—and Jay—had to worry for her the way they had before, when a killer had hunted her. She couldn’t bear to cause that sort of pain again.
No, she decided. She would handle this on her own, at least while it was still manageable.
The boy’s body had been recovered; there was nothing more she could do for him.
The dead cat was disturbing and threatening, but so far that was the only message she’d received. Maybe it was just some twisted prank.
And Sara Priest was just a woman from the FBI who wanted to talk to Violet. Talk. She could do that without her parents holding her hand, couldn’t she?
So why did she feel so guilty about not telling them? Why did her secrets feel more like lies?
Then there was Rafe. She knew Jay was still upset with her for not explaining who he was after he’d shown up at the theater the night before; why else wouldn’t he have called her while he was at work today? He always called.
She blew on her frozen fingers as she turned away from her graveyard, her feet crunching through the ice-crusted grass.
She hoped that, after tomorrow, she’d have some of the answers she was searching for.
Chapter 13
Violet’s stomach was twisted in knots as she got on the elevator in the parking garage. This was the sort of place that could give a girl nightmares. At least, the kind of girl who could sense the imprints of those who had killed.
This was exactly the kind of place Violet normally avoided—hospitals, morgues, and police stations. Even stores that specifically catered to hunters.
And FBI field offices.
Not that she’d been given much choice in the matter. Violet got the impression that FBI Sara wasn’t planning to drop it.
The elevator ride upset her already queasy stomach, and she fought a new wave of nausea. She leaned her head back against the cool steel wall and took several long, deep breaths, bracing herself against the onslaught of sensory inputs she assumed awaited her, the ones that only she could decipher.
When the doors opened, she was released into a small lobby, complete with metal detectors and armed security.
