Unbinding Love Read online

  “We didn’t leave the house in any kind of mess. Someone else has been there. I gotta go.”

  And that was the end of that conversation.

  I dropped Mel off at her place and set her up with a bag of ice, and eight hundred milligrams of ibuprofen.

  “I’d love a tall, non-fat, with whip mocha,” she said.

  “And they’d like ice water in Hades, too,” I said, heading toward her front door.

  “You suck at being a best friend,” she yelled my direction.

  “Not the first time I’ve heard that.” I shut the door behind me.

  On the short drive home my mother and Bill rambled on.

  “Who do you think did that to her house?” Ma asked.

  “Probably Jesus,” Bill said.

  “Boy’s got no manners. You don’t leave a mess in a woman’s house. You visit, you clean up after yourself.”

  “I don’t think he was there to visit, Ma,” I said.

  “It don’t matter, it’s still rude.”

  I didn’t bother. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth messing with her old school way of thinking. “What do you think the numbers mean? Could it be a password for something?”

  “Josh says you gotta have passwords for everything these days. Maybe it’s for that thing-a-ma-jig your son plays?” Ma asked.

  “I think she means his XBOX or whatever it is he plays.”

  “It’s an XBOX,” he said. “And I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “There’s one way to find out,” Ma said, and then she was gone.

  “She does that often, doesn’t she?” Bill asked.

  “More than I like.”

  He gave me a head nod and disappeared too.

  “And then there was one,” I said to my empty car.

  Several hours later I sat on my couch, thoughts of Emma Marx, her son Justin, and the rest of the case keeping me from sleep. I reviewed what I knew, which I realized wasn’t much. Bill Marx had been killed walking out of court after giving up the bad guys. The family had been put in WITSEC. Bill saved a little of the money he’d laundered for the bad guys, and Emma hid it after his death. Emma gets an envelope from who knows who, with who knows what in it, ships her kid off to her mother’s house, gets drunker than a skunk, claims the kid went missing, and then takes a tumble down her stairs to her death. Some time in the midst of that—or not, I wasn’t sure—she leaves a clue in the false bottom of a trunk. Ten-twenty-five.

  What I didn’t know was a heck of a lot more than what I knew.

  I snatched an icy cold Diet Coke from the fridge and headed to the basement. Everyone was asleep, and I needed to have a powwow with my mother, and I didn’t want to wake them, nor did I want my daughter Emily to hear me talking to my deader than a doornail mom. Emily didn’t know I had the gift, and I didn’t want her to find out. Because my mom had some freaky celestial spirit sixth sense, she was already floating down there when I flipped on the light.

  “Boo.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Nice try.”

  She shrugged. “Drat. I coulda used a good laugh.”

  I stumbled backward, clutched my chest, and squealed. “Oh my stars, a ghost! Whatever should I do?”

  “What’s the point a bein’ a ghost if I can’t haunt the ones I love?”

  “You do--my brothers.”

  “There is that, and I gotta say, that’s a lotta fun.”

  An image of John and Paul seeing something they couldn’t explain popped into my head, and I giggled. “Yeah, I bet it is.”

  “So whadda need?” she asked.

  “It’s creepy how you know when I need you.” I plopped onto the couch, but not before moving a handful of chick-flick DVDs my daughter had left stacked on the cushion.

  “I’m your mother. I know you like I know a good meatball.”

  I ignored the fact that my mother had just compared me to a mixed ball of cow and pig. There was a joke in there somewhere, I was sure of it. “Something doesn’t fit. I’m missing something.”

  I went over what I knew again, except before I finished, the light bulb over my head flashed. “Bill was killed leaving the court-house.”

  “Yeah. That’s what he said.”

  “After he testified.”

  “Yeah.”

  “After.”

  I could almost see the light bulb go on over my mother’s head, too.

  “Why would they kill him after he testified against them and not before?”

  I tapped my chin with my finger. “Because the people he testified against weren’t the ones that killed him.”

  “Yeah, I’m onto something here.” She rotated in circles, her feet just barely hovering above the floor.

  “Uh, excuse me? I’m the one that said it, not you.”

  “Yeah, but I was thinkin’ it first. I just gave you a nudge in the right direction.”

  Good grief. Why did I even bother? “So if wasn’t the people he’d testified against, who was it?”

  “Ain’t that the million dollar question?”

  More like the two million dollar question. “Where’s Bill?”

  “How should I know? I ain’t his babysitter. Call him.”

  “Ugh. Fine. Bill? Hell-ooo?” I waited a few seconds and when he didn’t appear, I tried again. “Hola, Bill? Eh, uh, Dan?” I thought using his real name might help.

  “I heard you when you said ‘Bill.’ Like I said, I’ve grown accustomed to it. It’s funny how that happens, actually. I guess names aren’t as important as we think.”

  I waved my hand in the air. “We’ll talk about that later—or not—who wants the money?”

  He stared at me, his brows furrowed. “I don’t know.”

  My mother chimed in. “You work for someone else? Someone you didn’t give up to the po po?”

  Remnants of ghosts from my recent past along—with my mother rapping—flitted through my head when she said po po. “Who killed you?”

  “Who killed me?”

  “Yuh huh. Who?” Ma asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” I asked.

  “That part’s kind of foggy. I remember walking out of the courtroom. I remember walking out the front doors of the court- house, thinking everything was going to be okay, and the next thing I knew, I was floating over my body watching blood spurt from my neck.”

  “A neck shot? Ouch,” Ma said. “That’s gotta hurt. Angela’s great uncle Joey got his throat slit back in the sixties. The neck’s a gusher, Madone. The blood on his clothes. My aunt never got it out. Hadda bury ‘em in a stained suit.”

  I held out my palm. “I know, Ma, ‘cause the other one was all stained because he used that one to shoot up his boss. Blah. Blah. Blah.” I’d heard the story a billion times and still didn’t like it.

  “All’s I’m sayin’ is you oughta have at least three dressy outfits. Ya know, just in case. ‘Specially if you’re gonna play with the bad guys. You know what I’m sayin’?”

  I rolled my eyes. No one went off topic better than my mother. “Aside from the attorney, did you…” I paused, looking for the right word. “help anyone else?”

  Bill contemplated the idea but couldn’t come up with anything. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s as if there are holes in my memory. Some things are perfectly clear, while others seem to have disappeared completely.”

  “Yah, that’s the way it works. More so when you’re knocked off like that. Bein’ I’m an advanced spirit and all, I can tell you you’ll remember eventually, so you just gotta be patient.”

  “I don’t have time for patience,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of missing money to find, a code that makes no sense to anyone, and then there’s the whole who killed Emma Marx question.” I paced the length of the room. “Ten-twenty-five. One-zero-two-five.”

  “One-zero-two-five?” Bill asked. “I think I know that number.”

  I would have beaned him if my hand wouldn’t have go
ne right through his head. “It’s the code we’re trying to decipher, remember?”

  Ma waved her hand at me. “Hush. Maybe he’s remembering.”

  She had a point.

  Bill did a ghostly version of pacing the room. “One-zero-two-five. One-zero-two-five.”

  “Yeah, one-zero-two-five,” Ma said. “So what’s it mean? You rememberin’ something?”

  From the look on Bill’s face, I wasn’t sure if he was concentrating or constipated. Either way, he was focused. “Ma, give the man a minute, will ya?”

  “I thought you didn’t have time for patience?”

  I really hated when she threw my words back at me like that. “Just hush.”

  She stuck her tongue out at me.

  So mature.

  I returned the gesture because I was mature, too, and because I loved her ability to ease my stress with her silly sense of humor.

  “I know the numbers mean something,” he said.

  “Yeah, they’re the key to where the money is,” Ma said.

  He shook his head. “Other than that. They mean something to Emma. To me. I’m close. I can almost remember.” He made that funny constipated look again.

  Ma hovered close to him and cheered him on. “Come on, Bill, you can do it. Just think.”

  “Ma, he could probably think better if you’d give him some breathing room.”

  She flipped toward me. “He’s dead, remember? He don’t need no room to breathe.”

  Score another point for my mother.

  Bill paced again for what felt like a year but was exactly two minutes. I knew because I checked the clock on the cable box five times. I sat on the couch, emotionally and physically drained, and wondered if it would be inappropriate to get a bowl of ice cream while he concentrated. When I decided it wouldn’t, Bill’s energy lit up and shone bright blue, with little sparks flying off him.

  “Oh, now that’s impressive,” Ma said. “I wanna sparkle like that.”

  I jumped from the couch. “You remembered?”

  He nodded. “I think so.”

  Ma and I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, Ma said, “Well, tell us, for cryin’ out loud.”

  “It’s the day our dog died. October twenty-fifth.”

  Ma moaned. “That’s it? Well ain’t that a real letdown?”

  I didn’t understand. “They day your dog died? What would be the importance of that?” I realized that sounded harsh, but it wasn’t intentional. I know when our girl Gracie crosses the Rainbow Bridge I’ll be beyond devastated, so I swallowed my snotty attitude and showed some compassion.

  “I mean, that’s a sad day and all, but why write the number down and stick it in the false bottom of a trunk? Could it have any other significant meaning?”

  “When did the dog kick the bucket?” Ma asked. “Before or after you?”

  Clearly I got my compassionate side from my father.

  “After.”

  “And you know the date?”

  The light surrounding him brightened. “I loved that dog.”

  “I can understand that, but what could it mean in relation to the money?”

  “Why don’t we ask the dog?” Ma asked.

  “Really?”

  “You gotta get better at this talkin’ to spirits stuff, you ask me.”

  “Good grief.” I glanced back at Bill. “Think about it. What’s the missing link?” When Bill didn’t answer, I continued. “What kind of dog was it?”

  “Golden Retriever. He was a great dog. Even I cried when he died. I was with them when they buried him. I wanted to comfort my son, but he couldn’t feel me. Broke my heart to see him crying like that.”

  “Where’d they bury the dog?” Ma asked.

  “In the woods behind their house.”

  I locked eyes with my mother. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”

  “We gotta dig up that dog,” she said.

  “Ew, no. That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Well, whadda ya mean then?”

  I had no intention of digging up their family dog, but the date had to mean something, and the best place to start was where he was buried. “I mean we need to pay our respects to the dog.” I ran a hand through my hair, knowing Aaron would flip if he knew I went back to Emma’s house, but what was I supposed to do? “Let’s do this.”

  ***

  The next morning I scattered yard tools around the back of the garage searching for the small shovels I knew we had, but couldn’t find, even though Mel and I had just cleaned out and organized the darn garage. And not because I planned to dig up a dead dog, because ew, but because…well, heck…because I planned to probably dig up a dead dog. “Where the heck are they?” I complained loudly, but only to myself. “Where did Mel put the shovels?” Blaming Mel was the easiest way to pass the buck.

  I kicked up a fuss and responded to myself. “Well, Ang, ease up on the poor gal, will ya? You only asked her to help you clean up to pass the time. It’s not like she did much anyway, and, really, neither did you, so you’re to blame as much as she is. And anyway, this is technically outside work. And the outside work—since it’s outside of the house—is Jake’s, so it’s really his fault, not Mel’s. Get on him about it, not her.” I crouched down and pulled a shovel out from under the bottom shelf of paint cans. “Finally.”

  “You’re doing it again.”

  Startled by the sound of Jake’s voice, I jumped up and bumped my head on a stack of two by fours sticking out from another level of shelves. “Son of a beach ball.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for the shovels. When’re you planning to clean the garage? You promised to do it last summer.”

  He rubbed the top of my head and kissed it. “Didn’t you and Mel just do it?”

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “What’s the shovel for?”

  My eyes involuntarily shifted left, and he let out a heavy breath. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

  I leaned the shovel against the garage wall near the door and walked back into the kitchen. Jake followed. “We’re not digging up any graves. It’s just in case we need to dig up the money.”

  “The money?”

  I hadn’t told Jake the whole story, so I gave him more of the details.

  “Does Aaron know what you’re doing?”

  My eyes betrayed me again, and I hated them for it.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not. This is dangerous. You almost got killed the last time you went out on your own. You’re not doing this again.” I was pretty sure his brain was bubbling to a boil because his face was the color of the extra ripe tomatoes my mother used to use in her pasta gravy.

  “Ma, Mel, and Bill will be with me. If anything happens, they’ll take care of me.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  I dipped my head into a partial nod. “Yes?”

  He didn’t so much as pace the length of the kitchen; it was more of a sprint. Back and forth, zinging expletives about my gift and my lack of fear, and my inability to know when to quit. I kept my mouth shut, a feat in and of itself for an Italian woman for sure, and for me, nearly a miracle, and I waited until he settled down. When he did, he dropped into a chair at the counter and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s always gonna be like this, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.”

  “I’m proud of you, but I worry about you.”

  “I know, but I’ll be careful.”

  “I’m getting you a gun and teaching you how to use it.”

  I laughed. “I can’t shoot a ghost.”

  “It’s not for the ghosts.”

  And that’s when I realized his fear was real. I pressed my lips together. “Okay.”

  He came over to me and wrapped his arms around me, nuzzling my neck with his scruffy, hadn’t-shaved-in-a-few-days face. “If anyone tries
to hurt you, you beat the living daylights out of them with that shovel, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thirty minutes later I was at Mel’s house, beeping my horn in her driveway. A few seconds later she limped out her front door and hobbled to my car.

  “Mangled Mel, ready for service,” she said. She peeked into the backseat. “Uh, why is there a shovel and a rake in the back?

  “Why do you think?”

  Her eyes shot open. “Oh, heck no. I am not diggin’ up any dead people.” She grabbed the door handle. “No thank you.”

  I clicked the electric lock. “Chill out, Daniel-san, we’re not digging up any dead people. Only a dog.”

  Her already China doll-white face paled more. “Nope. No dead animals either.” She rotated her head back and forth. “I don’t do dead.”

  There were so many ways I could go with that comment, but I didn’t. “I’m kidding,” I said, patting my best friend on the knee. “We’re not digging up anything dead. They’re just in case we need to dig around the area. Bill thinks the code is the date their dog died, and they buried the dog in the backyard, so he thinks it’s the clue.”

  She leaned back in the seat. “So we’re for sure not digging up the dog, right?”

  I held up my pinky. “Pinky promise.”

  She tilted her head toward me. “I’m not five.”

  “Sometimes you act like it.”

  “Bite me.”

  “And my point made.”

  “Are we alone?”

  “Oddly, yes, but I’m sure they’ll be with us soon.”

  “Good. Tell me if anyone shows up, okay?”

  I narrowed a brow her direction. “Okay. Why? What’s up?”

  She pulled a notepad from her purse. “Did some research last night. Bill, er uh, Dan was associated with some pretty bad dudes. Allegedly, of course, but you know what that means.”

  “Yes, it means innocent until proven guilty, and we already knew that anyway.”

  It was her eyebrow that narrowed that time. “Maybe to someone who doesn’t live in the world of cops, but for someone like me, it’s the other way around.”

  “You did not just seriously say that to me,” I said.