Evelyn Vaughn - Buried Secrets

Jo especially regretted it when the P.I. stiffened, then leveled a look of pure annoyance at her friend. “To fend off nosy broads like the two of you?” he suggested. “Now, can you give me some phone numbers for these magic users we’ve been talking about, or am I wasting my time here?”

Ashley made a face as if to say, touchy! Jo, uncomfortable to have been lumped into the nosy broad category, wasn’t sure she agreed. Life was easier when people minded their own business.

“Just the ones you think will be okay with us visiting,” Jo suggested, more politely. “If there are any you’re unsure about, feel free to contact them first, to clear it with them.”

“You’ll go along and make sure this guy doesn’t turn the entire occult community against us, right?” Ashley walked to one of the filing cabinets that held up the break room’s sidebar. “Because it’s bad enough when the mundanes are ticked off.”

“I promise,” said Jo.

“Us again.” Lorenzo sighed. “Great.”

“So are you two best friends or something?” asked Zack, reaching the Ferrari a step ahead of Jo. Her hand collided with his as they reached to open her door.

She didn’t pull back, just met and held his gaze. Stubborn.

He let go first and she opened her own door. Did nobody outside of Little Italy learn how to be a gentleman, anymore? Or did the women in Texas just no longer appreciate it?

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Lorenzo,” said the sheriff after he got in on his side, “I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“Zack,” he corrected, bringing the sports car to life with a twist of his fingers. “Now the ice queen, I could understand. Not that you’re the pink of perfection, but compared to that one…”

“And you’re such a judge of congeniality?” But at least she came close to smiling. He liked that expression better than that worried look she’d been wearing in the clinic.

Not that it was any of his business whether Josephine James worried or not. Or whether she had friends. Or whether she, like Nurse Vanderveer, gave a rat’s ass about his marital status.

“Look, when I mentioned I wasn’t married the other day, it was no big deal. At least she didn’t go fishing with stupid comments about what my wife thinks, or where she is.” That had annoyed him even before Gabriella’s death; did a wedding ring mean nothing anymore? “But this time, that was just nosy.”

He turned a corner onto the old highway, in the direction Jo indicated.

“She could be my friend,” cautioned Jo, lest he criticize the ice queen too heavily. “If I start making friends again.”

He almost asked, Why wouldn’t you?

Luckily he caught himself. Taking care of her wasn’t his job, even if he did like her better than Mzzz. Vanderveer. And he did; unpainted nails, uneven tan and all. Jo James was solid, and real—and a distraction.

“All I’m saying is, you might want to aim a little higher for companionship.”

“I didn’t ask you,” she reminded him, stubborn.

“Your loss.”

“I’ll survive.”

He grinned and continued to drive toward the first address on Ashley Vanderveer’s short list. This lady, she’d claimed, was a Bruja who would talk to anybody who came by.

Even, Jo had teased, him. Which Zack kind of liked. The sheriff was a lot safer to deal with on an antagonistic level. If he didn’t glance over at her, he could almost pretend she was one of the guys. And if she was one of the guys, he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

Well, not as much.

They were heading out into the middle of nowhere to interview what sounded like Jo’s first, full-fledged witch.

The last fifteen miles to the Bruja’s house were on a dirt road. State-of-the-art suspension or not, the car bounced enough to make Zack’s classic-rock CD skip. Almanuevo was so far out, the only radio stations that came in were AM. Pushing the scan button landed the radio on Spanish stations, sermons, commentary and—heaven help them—polka music. So they stuck with the CD.

Not for the first time, he wondered how the hell Josephine James lived out here. Then he reminded himself that, oh yeah, living hadn’t exactly been the lady’s priority. It sounded like she’d pretty much retired from life after that mining accident.

He guessed she’d been going for safety. But most safety-conscious women wouldn’t leave her mobile phone in her truck.

“I forget I have it,” she’d explained, after she caught him sliding his glance toward her lap, looking for a belt-clip, and demanded an explanation. “It’s personal anyway. My brother signed me up. Spur doesn’t provide extras like that.”

Extras?

So if they got into trouble it would be up to him, his Nokia and the Ferrari to get them out. Peachy.

Zack was used to visiting scary, out-of-the-way places by now. He doubted Jo, what he and his partner called a “civilian,” was as prepared. Even if she was as tough as she made out, this was no thief or drug dealer. This was a witch. Old school. Unlike Wiccans, Brujas weren’t above the occasional curse.

Something about owls eating out one’s innards came to mind.

Not a standard stop on the safety-conscious tour of Texas.

Zack kind of hoped the old crone would scare Sheriff James right out of helping with his investigation. But he also hoped Jo would get over her fright without losing years and moving to an even smaller town—if such a thing existed—to do so.

At least he had a life…albeit one devoted to hunting down and killing things most people didn’t even believe and therefore didn’t see. Things he once hadn’t seen or believed himself.

Gabriella’s young death, even her body’s disappearance, hadn’t been enough to open Zack’s eyes. First he’d tried investigating through normal channels—despite the lack of witnesses, security footage, fingerprints or hair. Only when that proved a dead end did he turn, reluctantly, to the death itself.

He’d found her drowned in their bathtub. The front door had been locked and her clothes were where she had always hung them. Even in shock, he’d noticed those things; he’d been trained to notice. He’d dragged her from the water, so strangely beautiful even in death, and he’d called 9-1-1, her long black hair soaking him, and he’d cried, wanting her back, barely believing—but some damned cold part of him had still noticed the other details. Nothing pointed to suicide or murder. An autopsy revealed that she’d had some kind of mild heart attack and passed out. If she hadn’t been in the bath… If he’d just been home… It was an accident.

Or was it?

Her corpse’s disappearance upped Zack’s suspicions. He began to ask the M.E. how a bright, healthy woman of twenty-three could have even a mild heart attack, and whether it could have been drug induced, and whether drugs existed that were new enough to not show up in the tests. Then, needing more answers, he went after her new friends. The Life Force, they’d ironically called themselves. He hadn’t known she was even in a club until some of its members, other college students, showed up at her funeral. And if the death hadn’t been an accident…

Murdered women generally die at the hands of family or friends, not strangers. Zack had known Gabriella’s family his whole life. But these new kids—they were into reincarnation and near-death experiences, stuff he’d laughed at while Gabriella was alive. Was that why she hadn’t told him? With her dead, he found himself tracking her friends down and asking so many questions that they began to whine about police harassment.

His captain told him to let it go, and Zack quit to become a private investigator. There was something suspicious about the Life Force, even if most of its members were goofs.