Dying to Know (37 page)

The taller one’s voice stirred me. “Yassir,—‘took so long to

find us.”

“What happened to you?” I asked.

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The shorter soldier shook his head. “We was down in the ole’

root cellar under this ‘ere barn gittin’ supplies. There was a

flash—big ’plosion. Guess Yanks dun it.”

“You were hit by Union cannon?” I felt odd talking to them—

dead soldiers from so long ago. “And they just left you?”

“Um, yassir. Barn and them walls just came down. Can ya

help us?”

“I can’t, but Angel can. Who are you—Angel will properly

bury you.”

The taller one smiled. “I’m Tom Harper and this ‘ere’s Jimmy

Morgan. We was with Gen’ral Ramseur. Yassir, be nice to move

on. Thank ya.”

They began fading. One gave a wave; the other tipped his

hand in salute.

Amy said, “He hurt you, too, Oliver. Because of us.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Amy whispered to Caroline, who nodded and said something

I couldn’t hear. Then they turned, waved to their soldiers, and

stepped into nothing. All four were gone.

Bear stumbled out of the orchard and onto the side of the pit

where they had been standing. He was holding his head and

blood oozed between his fingers. He walked around the pit,

stumbling as he approached us. He stopped beside Angel and

looked down at Stuart’s body.

“That bastard hit me as I came around the house. Damn near

took my head off with a shovel.”

“Thank God you’re okay.” Angel burst into tears and clung

onto him. “For a second I thought it was …”

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“Me too,” I said, and repeated what Caroline and Amy told

me. She told Spence and Bear. They just listened and looked at

each other, unsure of what was real, and what was not.

Bear gazed at Ernie for a long time. “Stuart? Okay, yeah—Stu-

art. Nic said Amy had a secret lover; it was him. They were al

friends back then.”

“My God, he was like a father. He fooled me for years.” An-

gel’s eyes were red and tearing. “He sent for Lucca Tuscani to kill Nicholas. Then he tried to kill André, and had Lucca try to finish him.”

“Angela, he fooled us all.” Bear nodded as the pieces began

fal ing into place for him. “The break in at his house was faked to throw us off track. I bet it was Lucca you saw at his house the

morning after my murder. I bet Lucca was there all along.”

“Oh, my God. And Carmen,” Angel said. “I told him she was

searching for the M.E. report. He thought she had it. It’s all my

fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Bear shook his head. “I get why he killed the

two girls. But why Tuck?”

I knew. I knew it all now. “He didn’t expect me to be home.

You told him I was working all night.” I touched Angel’s shoulder

and watched the truth surface in her eyes. “You called Bear and

he sent me home early. We were fighting again. It’s not your fault, Angel—it’s not.”

“Oh …” Angel burst into tears, sobbing in heavy, deep stut-

ters. Her body shook and Bear tried to wrap his powerful arm

around her shoulders but she pulled away and turned to me. Al

eyes fell on her. “Tuck, he came to our house to get the medical

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examiner’s report and the necklace—he knew they would lead us

to the girls. It was supposed to be me, not you.”

“I know.”

“Ernie was coming to kill me.”

“Yes, he was.”

“You stopped him—oh my God, you died for me.” She came

to me, but stopped an arm’s length away, looked into my eyes—

she could see me again. We were both crying. “Tuck, oh no,

Tuck.”

I put my arms around her and crushed her to me.

Ernie Stuart. All these years, he had been a part of our family;

a friend, mentor, and surrogate father. That was a façade. Be-

neath it al , he was a ruthless, raging killer—the Diggin’ Man. In the past three weeks, every step he took—every violent act—was

a failed attempt to hide what he’d done here—right here—at Kel-

ly’s Dig forty years ago.

“What now, Tuck?” Her face was damp and her eyes search-

ing—hoping for the answer she wanted. “You came back because

of me. It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not your fault, Angel. It never was.”

“Yes, yes it is.” She shook her head and sorrow rained down

her cheeks. “It’s my fault you’re not, wel , that you never moved

on. I’ve been terrified of what would happen after you found

your killer—that you might leave me again. Are you leaving?”

It was the guilt—her guilt—that she had been hiding. It wasn’t

shame for some tryst with Bear Braddock. It was not remorse for

a sinister role in my murder. Yet, it was remorse. Remorse for

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holding me back from the afterlife and the fear that helping solve my murder would send me away to it.

Right then, I looked around, wondering if that evasive, magi-

cal light was close and ready to guide me elsewhere.

Nope, not a damn thing. Not even a flicker.

Instead, an old gray-haired, blue-eyed doctor still wearing

surgical scrubs stood across the pit. Doc Gilley shook a finger at me.

“Don’t even start with me, Oliver.”

“What?”

“You idiot, you nearly got all this wrong.”

I shrugged. “How do you figure that?”

“Bear.” Doc Gilley folded his arms and scolded me with pierc-

ing blue eyes. “Your house key? You gave it to him last year be-

fore you and Angel went on vacation.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.”

Angel laughed through her tears. “I took it back because it

bothered you so much. I gave Ernie one last year, too.”

Doc’s right eyebrow rose. “Your memory
was
the first thing to go.”

Yeah, wel , there were still unanswered questions. “Then why

was he acting so weird? He searched my house and hid my file on

Salazar.”

Doc sighed, saying, “You still don’t get it. He didn’t want any-

one seeing that file until he knew what you had in it. And later,

searching the house, well, he wanted to make sure that Angel

wasn’t
involved. He was protecting you both. Idiot.”

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“Oh. Shit. Of course.” Doc made a good point. He was also

making me feel foolish. “What about the emails? Livingston’s

business card?”

Doc said, “The business card was a clue and he followed it.

Detectives detect. That’s what he’s been doing. Now, those mail-

things I don’t know. In my time …”

“Emails?” Angel’s smile fought through the tears. “They were

about Bear and Carmen—she’s in the middle of a nasty divorce.

They are, wel , you know …”

“I do?” Shit, yes I do know, they were having a secret fling.

“Ah, I see. Bear and Carmen.”

She sighed. “If anyone found out, it would be a big mess for

her. And more for him. He begged me not to tell you.”

I had been a fool—a jealous, dead fool. Early on, I said that if

the roles were reversed—if Bear were dead and I were left be-

hind—I’d tear this town apart looking for his killer. All this time, he was, and I was too jealous to see it.

I looked at Doc and hoped for an excuse. “Hey, I’m new to

this dead thing. You should have just told me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not the detective, you are.”

Bear moved closer to Angel and put his arm around her

shoulders. All the time, though, he looked anxious and grim, like

a parent finding the nerve to tell his child the goldfish died.

“Angela, listen …”

“No, Bear, you listen.” She whirled around and faced him.

“He’s here, right here. Can’t you hear him? Can’t you see him?”

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“I want to, I do. My God, he was my partner.” Bear started to

cry. “My best friend. He’s gone, Angela. Please, don’t make this

harder than it is.”

Doc touched my shoulder. “Oliver, you can fix this. You know

how.”

“I do?” Something tingled in my head and I understood. I

pulled my gold detective’s badge off my belt and looked at it. Of

all the things that bonded Bear and me together, it was our love

of this job. From the academy to just now, we were cops to the

bone—partners … brothers. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

I reached out and pushed my badge into Bear’s hand. When

our fingers touched, I felt that sparkle of power and life. But, this time it was different, like a warm wave of morning sunlight running over me. He felt it, too—I know he did. He lifted his hand

and his eyes exploded when he saw my badge in his grasp. He

looked up, right into my eyes, and behind them, grief erupted.

“Oh my God. All this time … Tuck. I’m sorry. I never should

have sent you home.”

“No, no, then Ernie would have killed Angel.” I hugged him

and we both cried. “It’s all right, partner. I’m sorry—me. With all that’s happened, all this insanity, I forgot the rule. You and me—

partners to the end. And longer. It wasn’t your fault.”

He turned away so no one would see him melt. All the while,

though, he held onto my badge while his hulking frame trem-

bled. His fingers tightened on it as his grief flowed out, escaping from whatever crevasse it was buried, cleansing away the guilt of

sending me home early to my death.

Doc said, “Good for you, Oliver.”

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“Tuck?” Angel looked at Doc. “It’s over now. Are you leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

“You ass.” Doc threw back his head and laughed. “I can’t be-

lieve any great-grandson of mine is so stupid. I told you, I’ve

been around nearly sixty years. Do you think you can solve one

or two little murders and poof, you’re home free?”

“Great-grandson?” Ghosts are hereditary?

Doc winked at Angel and ignored Spence’s stunned face star-

ing at him. “No, Angela. You’re stuck with him. At least for a

while.”

“Oh, thank you.” Her face lightened and the tears—good ones

I think—poured out again. “Thank you.”

As Doc faded, it struck me that everything I feared as a child

was real. When I was six, I believed in monsters—they were in

my closet, the attic, and waiting in the dark. Later, my third-

grade teacher, Mrs. Young, told me they were imaginary. She was

wrong. Ernie Stuart was a monster. He became one when he

slayed Amy and Caroline all those years ago. Later, he fed his

macabre hunger on Salazar, McCorkle, and me.

Perhaps there were others, too. I fear that.

Yet, in the end, Ernie’s victims stopped him. Each of us played

a role. Because when there are monsters, there are ghosts. And

we all want something—peace, justice … revenge. After all, he

made us. He answered to us. So, if my death was for anything, it

is to stop monsters like Ernie Stuart.

I real y don’t have a choice, do I?

the end

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