Lost in the Light Read online

  "Get inside. I got a little cart thingy I use."

  Even if Grammy drew blood, Dori dug her heels in. "You’re not carrying that in by yourself."

  "You’re thirty-six years old and I still have to remind you to say thank you?"

  "Thank you. But you’re still not carrying all of that in by yourself."

  Grammy muttered something about letting people go ahead and kill themselves, if that’s what they wanted. But she let go and Dori went over and picked up three bags with her right hand. "How long was I asleep?"

  "I got here maybe five minutes ago." Grammy pulled out a fold-out wheeled cart. Dori put the three bags in it before reaching for the last two. "I thought you’d wake up when I honked the horn, but then I got worried."

  Shame curled her insides at the thought of scaring Grammy.

  "I’ll pull it," Dori said as Grammy reached for the cart.

  "With your good side," Grammy said as they started towards the house. "By the way, you got twenty minutes to powder your nose."

  "Why?"

  Grammy waved her hand around her face. "You got the greasies, mija."

  A greasy face was the least of her problems. She hadn't even taken her anti-depressants and she was already hallucinating. As they approached the house, her chest felt tight at what she'd witnessed in her dream.

  "Wait." She stopped, remembering Vince staring at her through the Dutch door window yesterday.

  "What?" They stood just two paces from the corner of the house. All her senses were on high alert. What if she saw him again, but Grammy didn't? In their family, fisticuffs at Easter, misdemeanors and certain felonies, extra-marital affairs and children born out of wedlock were par for the course. But Grammy didn't truck with mental illness. To her, craziness was weakness.

  "Did you lock your car?" Dori asked.

  "Why would I need to do that?"

  "Just in case."

  Grammy looked back at her car and Dori took the opportunity to hurry to the kitchen door. No one glared back at her through the window as she approached.

  "I’ve called you paranoid before but baby, are you all right?" Grammy asked in that voice she used when one of the cousins had an unsuccessful court hearing.

  Dori inserted her house key, but before she could give it a twist, the door swung open. Her heart paused for a second and then resumed at a pounding gallop.

  "I locked that before I-"

  "Hoo! What have you been drinking?" Grammy waved her hand under her nose just as the alcohol smell flowed out and smacked Dori in the face. It was like someone had rearranged a liquor store with an Uzi.

  "Did you bring your cell phone?" Dori ordered, reaching for her off-duty weapon.

  "Damn girl, what you packing?"

  Grammy pointed to the Smith and Wesson M&P9 in Dori’s holster.

  "You can't have it."

  "That a .45?"

  "9mm."

  "9mm? Pshh! That's for pussies."

  "Stay outside. I may need you to call 911."

  When Grammy didn’t answer, Dori turned to see her pulling a chrome-plated piece out of her purse. "Your grammy don’t bring no damn cell phone to a fight."

  She then marched into the kitchen before Dori had the presence of mind to say, "Put that away!"

  Grammy’s eyes glittered at the prospect of a rumble. In her youth, she’d carried a switchblade in her bra and a razor in her pompadour. "Mija, you let your grammy handle this!"

  Dori stepped in, careful to keep out of her grandmother’s range. "Seriously, put it down and- Wait, you smell it, too?"

  "I’m not that old!" Grammy lowered her gun. "God damned safety! Can’t trust these stupid things."

  Even though everything was as she’d left it this morning, someone had been in this house. Dori knew it.

  She bypassed Grammy fiddling with her gun, figuring two guns if she needed them were better than one. She walked into the mud room at the back of the house. The back door was locked. She crept up the servants’ staircase and searched the rooms upstairs. She came back down the main staircase and then cleared the bottom floor.

  Holstering her weapon, Dori went back into the kitchen. The smell had dissipated.

  "Show me how to take off this safety thing," Grammy demanded.

  Dori took the .45 out of Grammy’s hand, admiring the inlaid pearl handle before removing the magazine. She pulled the slide open and emptied the round into her hand. She pocketed it and then lowered the hammer before handing the gun back to Grammy. "There you go."

  "Give me back my bullets!"

  "Is that registered?"

  Grammy pursed her lips. "We shouldn’t leave the groceries outside."

  "Everything was locked when I left. Nothing's been moved and I know the windows were-"

  "Honey, no one’s been in this house. Not anyone who’s alive."

  "What?"

  "You heard me." Grammy stuck her .45 back in her purse and then dusted off her hands. "How old is this place? Hundred years or so? Bound to be a ghost or two."

  "But the smell. I don’t get it. I don’t have any alcohol in the house."

  "Once we bring in the groceries, that won’t be a problem no more."

  "Aren’t you afraid?"

  "Are you?"

  "No," Dori lied. Then again, a ghost was better than going crazy and calling the cops only to find out it was just her imagination. Even though she was still a little shaky and her eyes ached from crying, she felt safer now that her grammy was here.

  "Come on now," Grammy said, making a shooing motion with her hands. "Go out there and bring those groceries inside. We got ice cream that needs to go in your freezer and I need a drink."

  Chapter Four

  After they put the groceries away and Dori made them tea, they sat down on her IKEA couch in the living room.

  "This is one helluva place," Grammy said after blowing the steam off her tea. "But it’s haunted. I can feel it."

  Dori shivered, even though the living room was stuffy. All the windows were stuck and she didn't feel comfortable about opening the French doors until she had a fence around the property. "You say that about everyone’s house."

  "We’re Orihuelas and Mexicans. The spirits talk to us."

  From a bottle, Dori thought to herself. "You won't tell anyone that I was sleeping in my car, will you?"

  "Give me back your Grampy's billy club and my bullets, and you won't hear nothing out of me."

  A shiver shot up her spine at the memory of those men beating Vince in the room across the hallway. "I told you that it's illegal to own a billy club."

  "You better not have to thrown it out or else I’m taking those groceries to your cousin Chuy’s house and you know I don’t like that woman he’s with."

  "I have it," Dori said. Tension bit into her neck. "But with my investigation, the billy club needs to stay where it is, okay?"

  Grammy rolled her eyes. "Fine. Now, go clean up. I got a strawberry pie from George’s."

  Dori was instantly suspicious. "Why?"

  "I thought it would help you feel better, and I found you a contractor!"

  "What?"

  "You said you wanted to fix this place up. Anyway, he's good with his hands and if you're smart, you'll let him use them on you, too!"

  Grammy cackled at her own joke. Dori took in what was supposed to be a deep, calming breath. Judging by the dubious architectural state of Grammy’s house, the last thing she wanted was her contractor touching this house.

  "I know what you’re thinking-" Grammy held up her hands as if placating Dori. "But let me tell you that he’s-"

  A footstep sounded in the hallway. Springing to her feet, Dori hissed at her to be silent. The person stopped and then started towards the living room.

  Dori tiptoed towards the doorway, every muscle ready for battle. "Who’s there?" she called out, her hand yanking her jacket aside to reach for her holster.

  "Put that thing away," Grammy hissed. "It’s probably him!"

  Th
e man in the doorway was solid, breathing and looking just as surprised as she was to be standing nearly nose-to-nose. When she looked into his eyes, dark and slightly titled at the corners, she pulled her jacket closed.

  "Hi Gavin," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor.

  "Dori," he said.

  He'd filled out since high school. His red shirt hugged a nice chest and was neatly tucked into dark blue jeans. The sole of his black motorcycle boot rubbed against the floor as he shifted his weight. Dori looked up and he caught her checking him out. A knowing grin formed on his lips.

  Ex-boyfriend or not, he let himself into her house without knocking. If she wasn’t under investigation for a shooting, she’d introduce him to her Smith and Wesson just to see that grin fall off his face.

  "So you're the cop granddaughter," he said, holding up one hand and wiggling his fingers. "I'm the guy with the good hands."

  "Mijo, you startled us!" Grammy pushed Dori out of her way to get at him.

  "I knocked, but the kitchen door was open," he said, eyeing Dori over Grammy’s shoulder. "Sorry if I startled you."

  "Oh, now don’t you worry about that. You're so dark, mijo," Grammy cooed, petting his muscular arm. "You should wear that sunscreen so you don't burn this nice skin."

  Resisting the urge to bolt through the nearest window, Dori held her hand out. "How are you?"

  He leaned forward to take her hand. His eyes were brown like brandy held up to candle light. "Good," he said simply and Dori felt the warmth of his hand all the way to down to her toes. "So where do you want me to start?"

  "I’m sorry?"

  "With your house. It needs some work."

  "It's my gift for her fortieth birthday," Grammy said.

  "I'm thirty six!"

  "Forty'll be here before you know it, mija."

  Gavin cleared his throat, toying with the pork pie hat he held in his hands. "Well, let me start with the big stuff. You got a lot of stuck doors and windows and that means the foundation needs work. See out here-"

  He turned and walked down the hallway. Grammy trotted after him like he was the Mexican Marlon Brando. He turned and looked at Dori like he expected her to tag along and pretend everything was normal.

  "Come, mija," Grammy ordered like Dori was four years old. "Gavin knows what he’s talking about."

  Dori followed because the sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could take her pain meds and eat the entire strawberry pie.

  "See this?" He put his hat on the mantle of the marble fireplace that was sinking into the floor. "These old places shift with time and with the proper retrofitting, we can jack up this fireplace so it doesn’t end up in your basement. Now, here’s a really big problem."

  He reached for a tiny flashlight riding in the back pocket of his jeans.

  "Let me hold that, mijo," Grammy cooed, taking his hat off the mantle and caressing it. "Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

  He smiled at Grammy but never once looked at Dori. Not that she blamed him. "No thank you, Señora Orihuela."

  Gavin went back to business. He aimed the beam of light at the staircase. "See the third step there? And the fifth and that one and that one-"

  Dori distinctly felt a hand between her shoulder blades. Grammy shoved her forward and she bumped into his solid shoulder.

  Gavin recoiled as if he didn't want any contact with her. Even though it had been 20 years since they broke up, humiliation flashed hot then cold. He'd once stood before her with a bouquet of roses and hope in his eyes. Now she was the evil high school bitch who cheated on him.

  Dori righted herself and folded her arms over her chest. "Sorry, you were saying?"

  She deliberately stepped back, keeping a distance between them. "Hey, watch it! That’s my foot!" Grammy exclaimed.

  Dori glared at her over her shoulder. "Well, I’m just all sorts of clumsy today, aren’t I?"

  Gavin cleared his throat. "This staircase shouldn’t be used anymore until it’s been retrofitted. Also, you're missing some lalley columns in the basement and the foundation is literally crumbling to pieces."

  "When did you see my basement?" Dori asked.

  Instead of answering her, Gavin went back and crouched down in front of the marble fireplace. He poked his head under the flue and aimed his flashlight into the chimney.

  Dori turned to Grammy who had risen up on the balls of her feet with the hope that his shirt would ride out of his jeans. She refused to be ignored. "I'll ask again, when did you-"

  "Sorry. While I waiting outside, I took a little trip into your basement," he said, his voice echoing in the fireplace. "You should have your basement door locked up."

  Just as she was about to get pissed off, Dori realized that Gavin gave her the perfect explanation for the man she'd seen in the window. Maybe he’d gotten in through the basement. Maybe his face had gotten all mixed up in her head and her nightmare had been nothing more than some weird psychological thing.

  As Gavin and Grammy talked about bricked-in chimneys, Dori broke away and walked to the basement door. Even though she hadn’t seen the guy run off, nor had she heard his footsteps after he’d vanished from the window, it would make sense that an intruder could get in through the basement.

  The door knob was cold and when she twisted, it was locked. She pulled and tugged.

  Her mind yanked at any logical explanation it could find: the man she’d seen had locked it on his way out. Or maybe the lock caught when he’d slammed it behind him.

  Then she realized she had been left behind. Gavin and Grammy were talking on the front porch. Dori was about to hurry over before her grandmother sexually assaulted him, or fell through the rotting porch floorboards. As she walked by the front parlor, she couldn't help but slow her pace and look in that dark, cold room that she'd seen in her dream.

  She was about to reach for the door knob when someone in the front parlor walked across the floor towards her. Awareness shot up her spine and when she turned, her whole body flashed hot then cold. No one was in the front parlor, except for spiders and their desiccated victims. She was alone.

  Dori waited for the sound again. Then, the floorboards made a cracking sound right in front of her and she felt the distinct sensation of something cold and sticky pressing against her. Dori staggered back. She breathed in the smell of blood and nearly gagged on it. Her breath came in short. Her thoughts scattered in every direction as this horrible cold suffocated her.

  She opened her mouth to scream for Grammy when two hands shoved her out of the room.

  Just like that the walls pushed back to their proper places and the cold swept back into the room. Whatever had been in her face had vanished and took with it the smell of blood.

  Dori took one step back and then another, waiting for the sensation to come back. But nothing happened.

  Drawing her shoulders back, Dori pressed her hand against her chest, feeling her heart hammering through skin and bone. Still shivering slightly, she was just a few paces short of the front door when Grammy's voice drifted out to her.

  "You think you can handle working with my girl?" Grammy asked.

  In spite of being wobbly on her feet, Dori leaned forward to listen for his response.

  "I can tolerate anyone as long as they pay on time," Gavin finally said.

  She swallowed the lingering nausea and forced herself to walk out the front door and down the steps.

  "Hi," she said. They both whipped around in surprise.

  Gavin turned away and ran his fingers along the peeling siding. Dori needed to gain control of this situation before he thought he could swagger around her house.

  "We were wondering when you’d come out," Grammy said.

  "I’ve got a lot to do today, so let’s do this another time," Dori said.

  "Mija, Gavin here builds big houses."

  "You know I grew up down the street from here," he said and Grammy nodded. "I'd like to take a crack at this."

  "Then it's done," Grammy said. "You're hi
red."

  Dori's eyes burned from the brilliant sunlight and she swayed on her feet. Two panic attacks within a few hours of each other were taking their toll and her stomach gurgled in warning. But she stared at him with a confidence she didn't feel.

  "The thing is you can't do this half-assed," Gavin said, looking at Grammy as if Dori didn't scare him. "You need to take in the whole picture and not just patch things up here and there."

  "What if I just want to make it safe and livable?" Dori asked.

  Gavin gave a short laugh. The kind of laugh that wasn’t all out rude, but still patronizing. "What do you mean by that?"

  She patiently explained. "I'd like to open my windows and not fall into the basement when I come downstairs one morning."

  "Let's start with the lalley columns and pour you a new foundation," he said, not looking her in the eye. "Didn’t you get a home inspection report?"

  "Yes and I read it, too."

  He grinned at the acid in her voice, but he was toying with his hat. "I'd like to see it. Please," he said with exaggerated courtesy.

  "I didn't say you were hired."

  Grammy's spine stiffened and she did a slow turn at the tone in Dori’s voice.

  Dori counted off on her fingers. "I want a written bid for the roof, the staircase and the column things within three days. Do you think you can you do that?"

  He finally looked at her fully. Contempt shot across the distance between them. "If you don't mind my asking, what are your plans?"

  Dori straightened her spine. "Give me the bid and we'll go from there."

  She could see exactly what he thought of her: ball-busting bitch who didn't know what she’d gotten herself into. "And next time we meet, I'd like for you to call and make an appointment so I know when to expect you," she added.

  He shot a glance at Grammy as if hoping that she’d save him in case Dori took him down to the ground. "Sure thing."

  Dori turned to Grammy. "I'm going to take a shower. Can you tolerate him?"

  Grammy gave a slight shake of her head as if wondering how Dori could verbally bitch-slap a beautiful hunk of man like Gavin. But if Dori hadn't turned and walked inside, she would’ve seen admiration, too.