Every hidden thing, p.16
Every Hidden Thing, page 16
“I’m not looking to pick up a couple yards.” Harley tossed the ball back. “How about a touchdown attitude here?”
“Even better,” Scorza said. “When?”
Harley thought for a moment. “Let’s do something quick tonight.” And they’d keep doing damage—every night—until Steadman sent Gatorade to the bench. Until Ella wrote him off as bad blood.
“A quick fix isn’t going to cut it,” Scorza said. “Not if we’re going to step it up.”
Harley smiled. “Way ahead of you. Tonight is just the pregame show. The warm-ups.”
“Okay.” Scorza cocked his arm back like he was throwing a Hail Mary. “When do we really start putting points on the scoreboard?”
Harley pictured his uncle doing his Friday after-closing thing at the Gloucester bars. That would give them all the time they needed. “Tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER 31
THE SCARS ON PARKER’S ARM INTRIGUED ELLA—in a weird, artsy way. She wanted to duplicate them on a canvas—then take those random, jagged lines and draw something beautiful. Scars always formed an image eventually. Sometimes the worse the scars, the better the picture.
He tooled around the bay, steering around sailboats, constantly looking over the side into the glassy water. It was the diver in him, always interested in what was down in the water, on the bottom of the bay. Ella preferred to focus on what was above the surface.
“So, what’s this urgent thing you wanted to talk about?” Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to be in a big fat hurry now.
He tossed her the bag of donuts from Brothers Brew. “What’s the story with June 19th? When your Grams mentioned that date, it seemed like it was something special. Your Grams’s birthday or something?”
She stared at him for a moment. He was serious. “June 19th. It’s a huge—as in massive—part of US history. Juneteenth.”
Parker thought for a moment. “I actually kind of like history—and my memory can be freaky good. But I don’t remember that date being mentioned—ever.”
“That’s because it doesn’t make it into the history textbooks, and it isn’t taught in the classroom—even though it is a totally legit national holiday.”
Clearly he was still drawing a total blank. “Holiday?”
“You are soooo white, you know that?”
“What?” Parker shook his head like she was crazy. “What does my skin color have to do with this?”
“Everything. Trust me.” She pulled a donut from the bag, perfectly frosted with cinnamon sugar. The confectionary ring of happiness was still warm.
“Okay, so enlighten the ignorant pasty-face. What is Juneteenth?”
She wasn’t going to let him off that easy. If he really wanted to know—if he really cared—he’d do the homework. “Look it up, Mr. I-kinda-like-history. And tell me you didn’t bring me out here just to talk about Juneteenth.”
He slowed to an idle. “Actually, that’s exactly why we’re here. Because if we don’t come up with a way to save your place before June 19th, you lose the house, right?”
She so didn’t want to talk about this. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead like they didn’t want her talking about it either. “What we need is for you to find a treasure box on one of your dives. Then we can pay off the loan and keep the bank from taking Beulah away.”
“You need your rental business back, and that won’t happen until whoever is scaring renters away is caught—or exposed.”
Parker had a way of ruling out the possibility of the supernatural. But in this case maybe it was better he was so closed off to those things. She’d hate to hear his plan to catch a ghost.
“Rankin thinks this is kids having a good time,” Parker said.
Ella pointed at Parker. “Actually I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re the kid.”
“The point is, until we can prove it isn’t me—and that we’ve got a serious crime going on here—I don’t see him throwing the weight of his badge behind this.”
“Gotta plan, big man?”
He was looking down in the water again. Like the answers were somewhere out of reach. “Sort of. But it’s a shot in the dark. And kinda risky.”
This was the guy who took some incredible chances in the Everglades, from what she’d pieced together. A guy who’d almost got himself killed helping his friends. “How risky are we talking . . . one to ten. One, I might get my cowgirl boots wet. Ten, my arm might end up looking like yours.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “I am so sorry. That just kind of spilled out.”
He laughed and waved her off. “I’d put this at a solid five. No more.”
“Really, that comment about your arm, I’m so s—”
“El . . . I’m fine. You want to hear the plan or not?”
For the next ten minutes he laid out his scheme for finding out who was behind the burglaries. It was a totally “guy” plan. Surveillance. Traps. All nighttime work. And nothing that would help one lick if this truly was an otherworldly presence at work. How he ranked his plan as a solid five on the one-to-ten risk scale, she had no idea. This felt a lot more like an eight in her opinion.
“You don’t seem excited.”
“It’s dangerous. And I don’t think it will work.” There. She’d told him right out. Even though she was desperate for a solution, it would be a whole lot easier to get behind this if she honestly thought his idea could actually do any good. “Stick with diving. The odds are higher that you’ll find a treasure chest.”
He didn’t say anything for maybe a half minute. “We have to do something, El. We have to try.”
“I agree completely. I’d just like to try something that might actually work.”
“It’ll work.” Parker started the engine and headed out toward the breakwater. Like the thing was decided.
“And when will you implement this plan?”
He had an answer for that, too. He’d have to talk to his parents first. He didn’t go into too much of an explanation, but he was all about integrity on this—and that meant not keeping secrets from his parents.
Was Ella staring at him with some stupid expression on her face as he spoke? She hoped not, but honestly? She’d never had a friend like him. Not ever. Most had secrets they didn’t want their parents to find out about—and they put a lot of energy into covering up. But Parker was putting effort into being open with them?
“So I’ll talk to them tonight,” he said. “And we go live tomorrow night.”
“I haven’t agreed to this yet, you know.”
Parker smiled like he knew it was all an act. Like he knew she would do anything to save their home—no matter how insane the plan might seem.
Parker neared the harbor inlet between the Headlands and the granite jetty. Even here the waves felt a lot bigger than they’d looked from back near the Motif. She studied the water outside the protected harbor. The swells rose with angry brows of foam. Ella gripped the sides of the boat.
“Change of plans.” Parker swung the boat around and headed toward the T-shaped wharf. “Definitely too rough to chance it.”
For a moment Ella wasn’t sure if he was talking about the waters out in Sandy Bay, or the crazy idea he had to catch the rental home intruder.
“I probably should get back anyway.” Parker got a restless look about him. He flexed the hand of his scarred arm like he was stretching knotted muscles in is forearm. Maybe he was beginning to realize his plan was more dangerous than he’d admitted.
Ella didn’t want him to think she was analyzing him like she would a scene before painting it. She focused on the back side of the shops on Bearskin Neck as they came into view. For some reason she looked at the bay window of the Rockport Dive Company. Harley was there, just staring out the window. Ella waved, just to be sure he knew she saw him watching.
Harley suddenly backed out of sight. For just an instant she felt a power rush. Harley could toss her over his shoulder and walk around all day without breaking a sweat—but apparently she had the ability to intimidate him. If only it was that easy to make him disappear every other time she saw him.
Parker motored around the yacht club and eased into the slip next to Steadman’s Boston Whaler. There were a few inches of scummy water inside—and it hadn’t rained in a couple of weeks.
A police car cruised down the T-wharf, snail speed. There were no cars parked in the spaces along the docks, so the cop drove close to the edge of the granite pier. He stopped dead even with them.
Rankin.
“Parker, you’ve got company.” For an instant she almost dropped into coaching mode. Look him in the eye. Be respectful. But the white in him would think she was paranoid.
The cop leaned toward the open passenger window—like he wanted to make sure Parker saw him. He pointed at his eyes—then back at Parker.
Parker waved. “Yeah, and I’m keeping my eyes on you, too.” He didn’t say it loud enough for the cop to hear, but even from his body language Rankin had to see he was rattling Parker.
The cop smiled and moved on.
“Don’t you worry what he might do when you talk to him like that?”
He gave her a confused look. The guy was totally clueless.
This wasn’t the time to go into it. “Let’s say your parents do allow you to do this—even though I doubt they will. How are you going to run surveillance without getting spotted? If Officer Rankin sees you scoping out one of the rentals, he’ll shadow you closer than a . . .” She grinned. “Closer than a gull follows a fishing boat.”
Parker laughed. “Stop worrying. I’ll melt into the shadows. I’ll move without a sound. Nobody will know I’m there.”
“You’re the guy who doesn’t believe in ghosts.” The irony of it hit her. Now it was her turn to laugh. “But to pull this off, it sure sounds like you’ll need to become a ghost yourself.”
CHAPTER 32
THE FACT THAT SOMEBODY WAS IMITATING HIM was a compliment. It was also a complication. For one, the copycat was an amateur. It wouldn’t take much detective work to figure that out. And that would bring the wrong kind of publicity. If people were convinced a punk was behind the break-ins . . . someone out to prove himself or to get his kicks, it would water down everything the Ghost had been doing. Pretty soon rentals would trickle in again.
He wasn’t about to let that happen. Nope. Nopity-nope. Not going to happen.
So he had his work cut out for him. He’d still keep his eye on Do-Right. And he’d keep his eye out for the impersonator. If the Shadow-man wannabe kept up with the copycat thing, sooner or later that unlucky fool was going to meet the real Ghost, and he’d wish he never did.
Damage assessment? For the moment, no real harm had been done by the impostor’s break-in Tuesday night. But the Ghost had to maintain total control. So he’d make more appearances—just to keep everyone a bit more on edge.
People always talked about the “element of surprise” like it was a surefire way to overpower an opponent. “Hey, if you want to be the big winner in a fight, use the element of surprise.” Like it was a superpower. A genie lamp that granted unlimited wishes instead of just three. A victory machine that kept paying out.
But surprise wasn’t it at all. Surprise was the stuff of Hollywood films and bigmouths who didn’t know what they were talking about. The element of surprise was a Swiss Army pocketknife. It could probably help in a pinch, but it was never the best tool for the job.
To merely surprise an opponent was weak. It was the same tactic used at a birthday party, for crying out loud. A surprise gave someone a quick jolt—a shot of low-dose adrenaline—and then it was over. Surprise wasn’t the type of thing that kept opponents awake at night. It wasn’t the type of thing that made them want to check—and recheck—their locks. Surprise had no muscle. No useful lasting side effects.
EOS is what gave a guy the real advantage over an opponent. Any opponent. EOS. Not the Element of Surprise . . . but the Element of Shock. And he was good at shock. Really, really good. It was about doing something so horrifyingly unexpected and maniacal that the opponent just might wrestle with PTSD afterward. EOS was about doing something that would come across as absolutely possessed. And if the opponent thought you had a coven of demons in you, even better. They’d surely fear you’d left one behind to haunt them.
Element of Shock. That was the prescription now. That Catsakis kid swallowed a lethal dose of EOS—and missed his chance to run. Shock had that effect on people. After you’ve hit someone with that stun gun, the rest was easy-peasy.
Which brought him back to Do-Right. If he got too close—or got in the way—he would be dealt with. He would OD on shock too.
He checked the time and smiled. Maybe the Ghost would make a little surprise appearance tonight. He laughed at his own choice of words. Not a surprise appearance, exactly. But it would be a shock.
CHAPTER 33
Thursday, June 9, 9:45 p.m.
BLACK SWEATS. Black hoodie. Black gloves. Black spandex face-covering. Harley imagined he was some kind of Special Ops commando on a training exercise. Scorza crouched beside him in the shadows, scoping out the Steadman rental on Mills Street while they let their eyes adjust.
“I’ll watch your backfield—and meet you at the cemetery,” Scorza said. “You ready?”
Oh, yeah. Totally. It made sense that only one went in. If somebody spotted two people inside, that would actually eliminate Gatorade as a suspect, wouldn’t it? The guy didn’t have a friend—except Ella. And Harley was going to take that one away, too.
Harley tore open the wrapper on the glow stick and balled it up in his fist, saving it for later. He shifted his body into the set position, like he was ready to fire off the line.
“Picture Gatorade at the top of those stairs,” Scorza said. “Have fun.”
Harley rocketed ahead like he was charging for the end zone. He bounded up the stairs and lowered his shoulder into the back door. The doorjamb shattered, sending frantic splinters in all directions. Enough light crept in the windows—and he remembered the layout well enough. He didn’t really need it, but he cracked the glow stick and shook it to life anyway. If a neighbor saw a green glow from inside, it would be perfect. He’d be down by Front Beach before the cops arrived.
He spread out both arms and bowled through the first floor, taking down lamps and chairs like they were helpless defenders. He even flipped the couch, pretending for a moment that it was actually a car. He felt strong enough to do it for real. Ten feet from the front door he tossed the wrapper from the glow stick behind the couch. They’d find it when they cleaned things up. And hopefully they’d find the stick itself, after he planted it at Gatorade’s house.
CHAPTER 34
Thursday, June 9, 10:05 p.m.
GRAMS’S SCREAM COULD WAKE THE DEAD. Ella flew out of her room and down the stairs. “Grams!”
She was on the kitchen floor—sprawled out like someone had pulled the rug right out from under her. “Are you o—”
“Down, Ella Mae, and hit the light—don’t let him see you.”
She hit the switch on the fly and skittered down beside Grams. “You hurt?”
Grams clutched at her. Drew her close. Hugged her like she thought Ella would get ripped away if she didn’t. “I saw it. I saw it.”
“Saw what, Grams?”
“Where’s the cross—the necklace?”
Ella pulled it out from under her shirt. Grams clutched it with both hands and pulled it close. The turquoise chain dug into Ella’s neck. “You don’t never go nowhere without it, hear?”
“What. Happened.”
“I saw it. I saw it. Lord Almighty, I saw it.” Grams’s whole body trembled.
And right then Ella wanted Shadow-man’s head on a platter. Grams was the strongest woman Ella had ever known. But that thing had terrified her. “I’m calling the police.”
“No.” Grams clung tighter. “We got a call for a rental tomorrow night. A for-real booking. No police. No bad publicity.”
“Then I’m texting Parker.” Her thumbs flew over the screen. Pushed send.
“There was no face.”
“Grams.” Ella held Grams’s face between her hands. “Tell me everything.”
“The ghost—right there in the kitchen window—holding a ghastly green light.”
Goose bumps rose on Ella’s arms.
“He was writing something on the window with his finger.” She whispered like she thought the thing was still outside.
Ella raised herself up just enough to see the window. “He’s gone, Grams.”
“I know,” she wailed. “He disappeared—before my eyes!”
Ella’s stomach did one of those flip-flop things that happens on the first drop of a roller coaster.
“It was a spirit, Ella Mae. And not a good one.”
They clung to each other on the floor. Ella listened. Tried her best to control her breathing. Expected the sound of a window shattering any second. “I should call the police,” she said.
“Won’t do us no good.”
Footsteps pounded up the porch steps and someone banged on the door. Grams and Ella screamed.
“It’s me, Parker.”
Ella peeled herself from Grams’s grip and opened the door a sliver—with her toe wedged at the bottom to keep it from being forced open if the ghost was still out there.
She double-locked the door behind Parker and gave him a twenty-second recap. Together they helped Grams to her feet and onto a kitchen chair.
Parker found a glass in the cupboard and poured her a cup of water. “You’ve had a nasty shock, Mrs. Houston. Take some water.”
She shook her head. “I need sweet tea, Parker, my boy.”
He dumped the water and poured some tea instead.
She took a sip, and then another. A few minutes later her breathing steadied, and she retold the entire experience to Parker.
