Chapter3

#Chapter3

/"We should stop for lunch. Maybe you’ll get lucky and find some good food,/" Kacey said.

She was sitting in the passenger seat of Hollis’s department vehicle, a fully outfitted blue Chevy Tahoe with tinted windows. Outside, the sun was shining (which was unusual for Washington) as they made their way down McQueen en route to Shady Acres. The cemetery was located just a few miles outside city limits.

/"I’m not hungry,/" Hollis said. Prick. Having him drive was her idea, so she could keep watch on him but now she was regretting it. Grandpa wasn’t even doing the speed limit. It felt like she could get out and run faster.

But then again, all old people drove slow. And Hollis was old. Not ancient, but old. And ugly. He had one of those resting bitch faces. Like he was always smelling someone’s fart. Or trying to squeak out a dusty one of his own.

/"We could always find a place where they chew the food for you,/" Kacey offered.

/"Nah, but I’m sure we can find you a sippy cup,/" Hollis lobbed back.

That was enough. /"Dude, what is your problem?/"

/"What do you mean?/" The ass-cracker wasn’t even looking over at her, like she wasn’t worthy of his attention.

/"You know damn well what I mean,/" Kacey replied. /"When I connected Crowe to the Chosen killings you said I ‘got lucky.’/"

/"You did get lucky. Your info came off a tip from Declan’s assistant./"

/"Rhonda. Rhonda said Declan had met with several of the killers but there was no proof… until I verified a connection with camera footage that put Crowe in the coffee shop where Amanda Bingham worked, one day before she practiced her hedge-trimming skills on Duncan Styles’ throat./"

Completely ignoring this statement, Hollis went on: /"And then you got lucky yet again at the asylum, when a sheriff’s deputy noticed Crowe’s Range Rover parked outside the gate, and responded to your BOLO./"

/"Uh-huh. Look, I don’t need to prove myself to you, Matlock. Tell you what, you stay the hell out of my way and I’ll do the same. Whaddaya say?

/"Suits me. Just stop calling me ‘dude.’ Oh and by the way you know Matlock was a criminal defense lawyer, right?/"

/"No, but I’m not surprised you do./"

They rode in silence for a few minutes, Hollis glancing over at her every once in a while. Kacey's phone rang. She checked the screen to see who it was. Hanson. What part of /"it is over/" did that guy not understand? For the first two weeks she had answered his calls, and told him in various different ways, increasingly forcefully, that they were done. Why couldn't he let go? The sex wasn't even that good. At least not for her. Kacey hit the /"decline/" button.

Hollis cleared his throat and said /"Hey look, I know about before, you know… about L.A.—/"

Not this again. Kacey held up her hand. /"Let me just stop you right there, Doctor Phil. Okay? Everybody knows about L.A. It was all over the news. And everybody wants to talk about it. Well guess what? I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t need any more psychoanalysis, I don’t need anyone else trying to empathize with how terrible it must have been, and I sure as hell don’t need any grandfatherly advice. What I need, is to move on. And I’ll do that in my own way./"

She turned to look out the window and could almost feel the heat radiating off of the old geezer. He didn’t say anything in return. After a few tension-thick moments he sighed. As the SUV came to a stoplight Hollis turned the radio on and fiddled with the controls, landing finally on a country station.

Looking over in disgust, Kacey said /"Dude, you’re kidding me./"

Burt, the caretaker on duty at Shady Acres, couldn’t have been more than twenty, with a downy patch of peach fuzz on his chin and a backwards baseball cap pulled tightly over a nest of tangled brown curls. His clear blue eyes darted nervously between Kacey and Hollis as he stood in the office doorway.

/"Yeah, yeah I can take you over there./" He exited and closed the door behind him, his gaze lingering warily on Hollis, who was stone-faced and stood with his jacket open and pulled back on the right side, service weapon in plain view. Kacey hadn’t gone quite that far, but she kept a safe distance, hand ready to draw just in case.

As they walked across the burial grounds toward the south end of the property, Hollis walked closely behind and just to the right side of Burt, who kept glancing over his shoulder.

/"I uh… I noticed it this morning while I was mowing. Just over here…/"

/"So this happened last night?/" Hollis asked.

/"Could have been the day before,/" Burt answered, scratching his chin. /"I was sick and there was no one to cover for me./"

/"Anything like this happen in the past?/" Kacey asked.

/"Not since I started a couple years ago,/" the caretaker replied.

They crested a small rise. On the downslope, they saw upturned earth, just in front of a modest headstone. Drawing closer, Kacey could see the hole, with dirt piled all around. They stopped, staring.

/"Anybody else know about this?’ Hollis asked.

/"Like who?/"

/"Like anybody,/" he answered. Kacey knew that what he was really asking was whether or not the press had gotten wind of it. That was all they needed.

/"Just my boss. He’s the one who called you guys./" Burt’s eyes remained fixed widely on the plot. He stood well away, fidgeting.

At first Kacey had thought the caretaker was acting squirrely because he was intimidated by cops. Especially paranoid cops. Now, however, as she looked also to the grave site, she knew differently. It was the grave that was freaking the guy out…

Because rather than looking like someone had dug their way in, it looked an awful lot like someone or something had dug its way out.