Beneath the Bones (37 page)

“How can you say that?” Joanne demanded. “People have died — your granddaughter among them!” She looked at Marshall.
“Your
daughter!” Her tone softened. “Charlotte’s daughter.”

Marshall flinched as if she’d just struck him. Joanne supposed in a way she had. He looked down at the floor and refused to meet her gaze.

“We will grieve for Lenora in our own way and in our own time,” Althea said, her kind voice replaced by cold steel. “You may be the Guardian, but it is still not your place to question us.”

“It’s
exactly
her place,” Dale said. “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that Joanne’s primary function isn’t to guard against the Old One’s power escaping, but rather to police your family and save them from their own dark temptations?”

Althea looked taken aback, and Joanne knew the matriarch of the Cross clan hadn’t considered the possibility before now.

“Think of it,” Dale said. “Everything that’s happened over the course of the last few days is a direct result of how you Crosses manipulate people for your own ends. Marshall may have truly loved Debbie, but can he say he never used his mental powers to
encourage
her to return his feelings? As a result, Carl Coulter was born, a confused young man who — in true Cross fashion — tried to win acceptance into the family by impressing his father with his cold-blooded savagery. And what are the odds that Lenora didn’t use her powers on Terry?”

Neither Marshall nor Althea answered.

“And don’t forget poor Ronnie,” Joanne said. “Just before he died, he told me that Marshall had made him see and do terrible things. I’m not sure why, but I know that Ronnie didn’t have the most stable mind, and your using him like a pawn pushed his mind all the way over the edge into full-blown madness.”

Marshall looked up at Joanne, but he was unable to meet her eyes for long, and he averted his gaze once more. “At first I needed someone close to you to keep me apprised on the investigation’s progress. But when it appeared Lenora might be a suspect I …
encouraged
Ronnie to dispose of any evidence which might incriminate her.”

“Which turned out to be completely unnecessary,” Joanne said. “The evidence might’ve shown she’d committed the vandalism at the Caffeine Café, but it was Terry who committed the actual murders. She had nothing to do with them.”

“I know that,” Marshall said, then in a whisper added, “now.”

Joanne stood and Dale followed suit a second later.

“There’s no way I could ever bring charges against you for contributing to the deaths of Ronnie, Debbie, and Lenora.” Terry too, in a sense. “Not only wouldn’t I be able to present any proof to back up the charges, the county — much as it pains me to admit it — needs the Crosses, to maintain the Reliquary if nothing else. But remember this. I know who I am now and what I’m supposed to do. And from now on, I’ll be watching you. Closely.”

With that, she turned and left the library, Dale at her side.

• • •

Joanne and Dale stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to Sanctity’s main entrance. It was late afternoon, and despite everything, it had turned out to be a beautiful day. Sun shining, clouds white and puffy, breeze gentle. It seemed inappropriate at best to Joanne and obscene at worst. So many people dead, and it was like the world didn’t care.

“I feel like such an idiot,” she said. “How could I have been dating Terry and not know what was going on?” If she had, maybe she could’ve done something to prevent all the tragedy of the last few days.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Dale said. “There are many things we don’t and perhaps can never know.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “But you know the most important thing of all now.”

She nodded. “Who I am.”

Dale shook his head. “No. You know you’re not who you
thought
you were. As for who you will become …” He shrugged. “Only time will tell.”

He surprised her then by drawing her close and giving her a fierce hug. When they pulled apart, he smiled at her and she saw tears shimmering in his eyes.

“I’m very proud of you, Joanne Talon. And I’m honored to be your friend.”

A single tear ran down the side of his face. She brushed it away, knowing that it wasn’t for her but for his lost wife and daughter.

“Not to mention my sidekick,” she teased.

He laughed. “Like hell! I’m your designated CJA, and don’t you forget it!”

Joanne frowned. “CJA?”

“Cover Joanne’s Ass.”

Despite everything that had happened, she started to laugh, but she broke off when her cell phone rang. Reluctantly, she answered it.

“Sheriff Talon.”

She listened for several seconds, then said, “On my way.” She disconnected and slid the phone back into its belt pouch.

“Whatever it is, let someone else handle it,” Dale said. “You’ve earned a rest,”

“There’s a problem over at Grandfield’s Nursery. They were knocking down old greenhouses in preparation for putting up new ones, when they discovered something beneath the concrete foundation of one the buildings — three metal drums filled with blood. Fresh blood.”

Dale raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t those greenhouses built sometime in the early seventies?”

“Yep.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Dale let out a long sigh. “I’ll follow you.”

Lights flashing and siren wailing, Joanne’s cruise passed through Sanctity’s main gate, followed closely by Dale’s Jeep. As they headed toward town, neither saw the trenchcoated figure watching from the side of the road slowly began to follow on foot.

• • •

“Do you think they’re right, Mother?” Marshall looked down at the icon in his hand. He could sense the restless spirits of his children trapped inside, and he wished that he had found a way to be a better father to them.

They stood in the hallway outside Althea’s quarters, and the woman reached out and gently took the icon from her son.

“We do what we must for the good of the family,” she said. “Always.”

Marshall nodded and tried to smile. He knew his mother was attempting to comfort him in her own way. He also knew she would sense that her attempt had failed dismally. He turned away and headed for his room, intending to spend some time lying in bed, resting and healing while he stared at the framed maps on his bedrooms walls and contemplated the high price of duty.

• • •

Althea watched her son head for his room. She did indeed know what he felt, but knowing wasn’t the same as understanding. Or caring.

She entered her quarters, not bothering to lock the door behind her. There was no need. No one in the house, from the lowliest servant up to an including her son, would dare to enter her quarters without permission. She moved through rooms filled with furniture and various bits of memorabilia, each one decorated in the style of a different time period in which she lived. Her quarters were the largest in Sanctity, but even so, there weren’t enough rooms to represent all the decades of her life. Eventually, she reached the most special chamber in her quarters. She opened the highly polished mahogany door upon which was carved an odd symbol — a triangle bisected by a lightning bolt — and stepped inside.

The light came on automatically as her presence registered, illuminating walls lined with shelves, row upon row. And on these shelves stood icons, hundreds of them. There were a few empty spaces remaining, and she chose one and set her grandchildren down in their new home. Some spirits were well suited for helping keep the Old One slumbering peacefully, but others — the wildest, darkest, ones — they served a very different purpose.

They were her private stock.

She gently brushed her fingers across the surface of the newest addition to her collection.

“I’ll leave you two to begin getting acquainted with your new friends. You’ve a great deal to learn, and not much time to learn it.”

With a last smile, she exited the chamber and closed the door behind her. After a bit, the light deactivated itself, and in the darkness, a chorus of soft whispers began.