A Dream to Die For: A Novel by Susan Z. Ritz

Author:Susan Z. Ritz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2019-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

TURN OF THE TAROT

“Let me go!” Celeste yelled as she struggled to regain her balance.

“Quit yelling. It’s only me.”

The voice was familiar, but in her panic she couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

“Stop it, Cel. Look at me.” The hand let go. She didn’t dare look up, but she could see brown tasseled loafers, loose linen pants, the bottom hems blowing around skinny ankles.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

Bruce Nussbaum stood in front of her, his eyes hard and accusing. A look she’d never seen before—a look that scared her.

“You can’t keep running from me. We’re supposed to be together.”

“Seriously? This is what you wanted to talk about? Now?” She stepped away from him, offering him a full view of the body behind her.

“What, what is that?” he whimpered, suddenly looking and sounding like the old Bruce again.

“He’s dead,” Celeste said.

Bruce lowered himself down, steadying himself with one hand on the weathered gravestone, to squat beside the body. He touched the corpse’s stiff, white hand, and then drew quickly back. Overhead, a murder of crows landed on the birch trees, flapping their wings and cawing.

“Dead?” Bruce’s high, frantic voice seemed to shatter against the cold wind. “What have you done now, Cel?”

“Me? I didn’t do this,” Celeste protested.

“Then maybe he froze to death?” he said.

“Froze?” She bent down next to Bruce, swallowed hard, and then reached out and pulled the stained blanket from Adam’s shoulder. As it fell to the ground, the filthy greatcoat opened. A glossy crimson stain covered Adam’s chest.

Bruce gagged and shot to his feet. “Oh my God!” he wailed. He swayed as his knees buckled. Down he went, his head grazing the gravestone as he collapsed with a thump on the frozen ground.

“Bruce!” Celeste tried shaking him. He was as unresponsive as Adam, but not quite so cold.

She squatted between the two bodies, wondering what to do next. If only she had a phone! Bruce must have one on him somewhere. She reached inside the pocket of his down jacket . . . bingo! It was locked, but she knew the code. The same one all the Dreamers used, Larry’s birthday: 0326. Celeste hit the numbers with her frigid fingers, pressing extra hard to get what little warmth she could out of them. The screen opened. Two bars of reception. She found the phone icon and, for the second time in two days, dialed 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?” It sounded like the same woman who had answered when she was in Larry’s office.

“A dead body! In the West Branch Cemetery!”

“Is this a hoax? Because if it—”

“It’s not a hoax, I promise. He’s shot!”

“Shot in the cemetery. Can you detect any sign of life?” Celeste clutched the phone harder, hanging on to it as if it could keep her from toppling over like Bruce. “No! But there’s another guy down. He fainted and hit his head.”

“All right, ma’am. Calm down. I’m contacting the police. They’ll be there soon. Please, stay where you are.

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