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Authors: Lisa Gardner
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appointments,
cover-up
— you got it all.”
“And it still burns, doesn't it, Marion?” J.T. said quietly. “Though Roger was hardly a shabby consolation prize.”
“Roger left me, J.T. But thanks for asking.”
“What?” J.T. sounded genuinely surprised, perhaps even stunned. “Marion, I'm sorry. I swear to you, I'm sorry—”
“I did not come here for your pity. You utter those words one more time and they'll need Super Glue to put your face together again. No, don't say anything more. I'm sick of this conversation — it never gets any better. I'm staying seven days, J.T. Seven days for you to see the light. Then I wash my hands of this whole mess.”
“Merry Berry—”
“Don't call me that! And tell your ‘guest' that if I catch either one of you doing anything remotely illegal, I'll arrest both your asses. Got it?”
“You don't have to scream for me to know how much you care.”
“Oh, go knit yourself a Hallmark card.”
Tess heard the sharp, ringing sound of heels against hardwood floors. The fast, furious footsteps grew closer and Tess held her breath. But the sound passed her by. Marion stormed to the end bedroom, where her arrival was punctuated by the sound of the door slamming shut.
Tess released her breath. Her body sagged against the door. Everything was okay. This Marion was an FBI agent, but she was also J.T.'s sister and was here for reasons that had nothing to do with Tess.
She was safe, no one knew who she was, and she was still in Arizona.
She couldn't take any more. It was still afternoon, but her exhausted body demanded rest. She crawled into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and welcomed slumber.
SIX
IT WAS COLD in the basement. She could feel a draft but couldn't identify the source. The light was feeble, just a bare overhead bulb that lengthened the shadows. Beneath her feet she felt hard-packed dirt
.
What was that leaning in the corner? A shovel, a saw, a hammer. Clipping shears and two rakes. Had she ever seen Jim use any of those things? There was a baseball bat as well. A long, golden baseball bat. She'd thought he kept his bats in the coat closet. Why in the basement? They hardly ever went into the basement.
She smelled fresh dirt and turned toward the scent. In the far corner she saw a mound of dirt perfectly shaped as a fresh grave.
No. No, no, no.
A hand clamped over her mouth.
She screamed. She screamed and the palm shoved the sound back down her throat. She was pinned against a body, struggling and squirming wildly. Dear God, help me.
Thick fingers dug into her jaw and pinned her head into place. “I thought you wouldn't come down here, Theresa. I thought you said you wouldn't.”
She whimpered helplessly. She was trapped. Now he was going to do something awful.
She felt his arm move behind her. A black scarf slid over her eyes, shutting out the light, cutting her off from everything.
She moaned in terror.
He tied a rolled pillowcase over her mouth, the cloth pressing against her tongue and digging into the sensitive corners of her lips like a horse's bit.
He released her and she fell to the ground.
“I told you not to come down here, but you had to, didn't you, Theresa? You had to know. You shouldn't pry if you don't want answers.”
He dragged her to her feet and pulled her across the dirt floor. The pungent odor became stronger. The smell of dirt and something else, something astringent. Lime. Fresh lime to cover the scent of decaying corpses. She gagged against the pillowcase.
“That's right. You're standing at the edge of a grave. One push and you'll tumble right in. Fall into the grave. Want to know what you'll find there?”
He pushed her forward into empty space and she screamed in her throat. He jerked her back against him and laughed softly in her ear. “Not quite yet. Let me show you everything else.”
His fingers dug into her hand, forcing it to reach out. She begged, her words muffled, gasping sobs behind the
cover-up
— you got it all.”
“And it still burns, doesn't it, Marion?” J.T. said quietly. “Though Roger was hardly a shabby consolation prize.”
“Roger left me, J.T. But thanks for asking.”
“What?” J.T. sounded genuinely surprised, perhaps even stunned. “Marion, I'm sorry. I swear to you, I'm sorry—”
“I did not come here for your pity. You utter those words one more time and they'll need Super Glue to put your face together again. No, don't say anything more. I'm sick of this conversation — it never gets any better. I'm staying seven days, J.T. Seven days for you to see the light. Then I wash my hands of this whole mess.”
“Merry Berry—”
“Don't call me that! And tell your ‘guest' that if I catch either one of you doing anything remotely illegal, I'll arrest both your asses. Got it?”
“You don't have to scream for me to know how much you care.”
“Oh, go knit yourself a Hallmark card.”
Tess heard the sharp, ringing sound of heels against hardwood floors. The fast, furious footsteps grew closer and Tess held her breath. But the sound passed her by. Marion stormed to the end bedroom, where her arrival was punctuated by the sound of the door slamming shut.
Tess released her breath. Her body sagged against the door. Everything was okay. This Marion was an FBI agent, but she was also J.T.'s sister and was here for reasons that had nothing to do with Tess.
She was safe, no one knew who she was, and she was still in Arizona.
She couldn't take any more. It was still afternoon, but her exhausted body demanded rest. She crawled into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and welcomed slumber.
SIX
IT WAS COLD in the basement. She could feel a draft but couldn't identify the source. The light was feeble, just a bare overhead bulb that lengthened the shadows. Beneath her feet she felt hard-packed dirt
.
What was that leaning in the corner? A shovel, a saw, a hammer. Clipping shears and two rakes. Had she ever seen Jim use any of those things? There was a baseball bat as well. A long, golden baseball bat. She'd thought he kept his bats in the coat closet. Why in the basement? They hardly ever went into the basement.
She smelled fresh dirt and turned toward the scent. In the far corner she saw a mound of dirt perfectly shaped as a fresh grave.
No. No, no, no.
A hand clamped over her mouth.
She screamed. She screamed and the palm shoved the sound back down her throat. She was pinned against a body, struggling and squirming wildly. Dear God, help me.
Thick fingers dug into her jaw and pinned her head into place. “I thought you wouldn't come down here, Theresa. I thought you said you wouldn't.”
She whimpered helplessly. She was trapped. Now he was going to do something awful.
She felt his arm move behind her. A black scarf slid over her eyes, shutting out the light, cutting her off from everything.
She moaned in terror.
He tied a rolled pillowcase over her mouth, the cloth pressing against her tongue and digging into the sensitive corners of her lips like a horse's bit.
He released her and she fell to the ground.
“I told you not to come down here, but you had to, didn't you, Theresa? You had to know. You shouldn't pry if you don't want answers.”
He dragged her to her feet and pulled her across the dirt floor. The pungent odor became stronger. The smell of dirt and something else, something astringent. Lime. Fresh lime to cover the scent of decaying corpses. She gagged against the pillowcase.
“That's right. You're standing at the edge of a grave. One push and you'll tumble right in. Fall into the grave. Want to know what you'll find there?”
He pushed her forward into empty space and she screamed in her throat. He jerked her back against him and laughed softly in her ear. “Not quite yet. Let me show you everything else.”
His fingers dug into her hand, forcing it to reach out. She begged, her words muffled, gasping sobs behind the
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