Read Online Rocks & Gravel (Peri Jean Mace Ghost Thrillers Book 3) by Catie Rhodes - Free Book Online
Authors: Catie Rhodes
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and all the crazies who got their jollies hunting for it. I blamed Priscilla Herrera’s horrible death on the Mace Treasure as much as I did the ignorance of a bunch of greedy jerks. Rainey might have her point, but I had mine, too, dammit.
“Whoever has the journals and the folk medicine book wants them because of the Mace Treasure. I know firsthand about the havoc the Mace Treasure can cause.” I clenched my hands in my lap. “I’ve lost family and friends to it, and I don’t want to lose myself in it.”
Rainey started to speak.
“No. I listened to you. Now it’s your turn to listen to me.” I took a deep, fortifying breath. “There is a lot of risk involved. If things get out of hand, I face both Priscilla Herrera’s fate and the curse of the Mace Treasure.”
“And you face whatever’s going on with you and Dean.” Rainey’s lips curved, and it wasn’t the smile she used to win the title of Miss Texas.
I jumped as though someone had goosed me and got ready to demand what she knew and how she found out.
“Before you get too upset about someone gossiping, remember I read people for a living—juries, law enforcement, clients, you name it. I’ve seen the tension between the two of you and wondered what it was about. Now I know for sure.” She sat back on the couch and crossed one long leg over the other. “I’ll rephrase what I said earlier. Do not, under any circumstances, let other people tell you what to be. Embrace what you are and let the rest follow.”
“But aren’t you trying to tell me what to be?” I leaned forward and met her gaze as steadily as I could. “Don’t you want the services of a medium?”
“Okay.” She shrugged. The expression on her face suggested I was lucky to get even that. “You got me. Only you can decide what matters to you, and what you need to do to matter to yourself.” She unzipped the messenger bag and took out the padded envelope I saw her fiddling with in the video from the museum board meeting. “I’d like to show you something we found with the folk medicine book. Aside from the book’s contents, this picture backs up my theory Priscilla Herrera penned the book.” From the envelope, she pulled the rectangular card I’d glimpsed and set it in front of me.
What I saw stunned the arguments I wanted to present to Rainey right out of my head. I looked at a very old picture printed on what amounted to card stock. It featured a full-length shot of a woman wearing a dress I thought looked like a wedding cake. Blazing, defiant dark eyes topped by eyebrows Joan Crawford would have envied dominated the woman’s oval face. Full lips compressed into not quite a pout and not quite a scowl, she thrust out her chin as though to say, “Here I am.” The picture would have been the same as every other cabinet card I’ve ever seen except for one thing: every visible area of this body was tattooed.
“I think this might have been Priscilla Herrera.” Rainey’s voice lost its courtroom force, and I raised my head to look at her. A wistful sadness replaced the determination and near anger from a few minutes earlier. “She was a woman just like us, maybe more like you than me, but she knew all the fears and pressures we face.”
I returned my gaze to the picture, staring into the tattooed woman’s determined eyes. Something about her drew me in. I felt a pull every time I looked at her. The black opal zinged to life on my chest, the way it often did when ghosts were near, and I felt a little breeze from nowhere pass over my skin. Time seemed to grind to a halt as I lost myself in the picture. One of her tattoos caught my attention. I glanced up at Rainey.
“Do you own a magnifying glass?”
She went into the kitchen, came back with a cheap plastic one, and gave it to me. I held the glass over the picture and squinted at the tattoo. I couldn’t see all of it, but it looked like a bird, not dissimilar to the one tattooed on my bicep, which I got under
“Whoever has the journals and the folk medicine book wants them because of the Mace Treasure. I know firsthand about the havoc the Mace Treasure can cause.” I clenched my hands in my lap. “I’ve lost family and friends to it, and I don’t want to lose myself in it.”
Rainey started to speak.
“No. I listened to you. Now it’s your turn to listen to me.” I took a deep, fortifying breath. “There is a lot of risk involved. If things get out of hand, I face both Priscilla Herrera’s fate and the curse of the Mace Treasure.”
“And you face whatever’s going on with you and Dean.” Rainey’s lips curved, and it wasn’t the smile she used to win the title of Miss Texas.
I jumped as though someone had goosed me and got ready to demand what she knew and how she found out.
“Before you get too upset about someone gossiping, remember I read people for a living—juries, law enforcement, clients, you name it. I’ve seen the tension between the two of you and wondered what it was about. Now I know for sure.” She sat back on the couch and crossed one long leg over the other. “I’ll rephrase what I said earlier. Do not, under any circumstances, let other people tell you what to be. Embrace what you are and let the rest follow.”
“But aren’t you trying to tell me what to be?” I leaned forward and met her gaze as steadily as I could. “Don’t you want the services of a medium?”
“Okay.” She shrugged. The expression on her face suggested I was lucky to get even that. “You got me. Only you can decide what matters to you, and what you need to do to matter to yourself.” She unzipped the messenger bag and took out the padded envelope I saw her fiddling with in the video from the museum board meeting. “I’d like to show you something we found with the folk medicine book. Aside from the book’s contents, this picture backs up my theory Priscilla Herrera penned the book.” From the envelope, she pulled the rectangular card I’d glimpsed and set it in front of me.
What I saw stunned the arguments I wanted to present to Rainey right out of my head. I looked at a very old picture printed on what amounted to card stock. It featured a full-length shot of a woman wearing a dress I thought looked like a wedding cake. Blazing, defiant dark eyes topped by eyebrows Joan Crawford would have envied dominated the woman’s oval face. Full lips compressed into not quite a pout and not quite a scowl, she thrust out her chin as though to say, “Here I am.” The picture would have been the same as every other cabinet card I’ve ever seen except for one thing: every visible area of this body was tattooed.
“I think this might have been Priscilla Herrera.” Rainey’s voice lost its courtroom force, and I raised my head to look at her. A wistful sadness replaced the determination and near anger from a few minutes earlier. “She was a woman just like us, maybe more like you than me, but she knew all the fears and pressures we face.”
I returned my gaze to the picture, staring into the tattooed woman’s determined eyes. Something about her drew me in. I felt a pull every time I looked at her. The black opal zinged to life on my chest, the way it often did when ghosts were near, and I felt a little breeze from nowhere pass over my skin. Time seemed to grind to a halt as I lost myself in the picture. One of her tattoos caught my attention. I glanced up at Rainey.
“Do you own a magnifying glass?”
She went into the kitchen, came back with a cheap plastic one, and gave it to me. I held the glass over the picture and squinted at the tattoo. I couldn’t see all of it, but it looked like a bird, not dissimilar to the one tattooed on my bicep, which I got under
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