Black Jack Point Read Free

Lucy cry before. He took her in his arms, let her rest her face against his shoulder. ‘Okay, Lucy, okay.
     I’ll call the sheriff’s office, all right? And we’ll start making phone calls. We’ll find them. But when Patch finds out you’ve
     made all this fuss, you got to take the blame for it.’
    She sniffled. ‘I will. Okay, thanks, baby. My aura’s feeling calmer already.’
    ‘Sure, Lucy.’ He didn’t pay much heed to her talk of auras and vibes, but it was part and parcel of Lucy and part of loving
     her. He kissed her forehead, wiped away her tears with the ball of his thumb.
    He dialed the Encina County sheriffs office, figuring that within an hour or so Patch and Thuy would be found but fishing
     along a stretch of Black Jack Point, and all would be good and fine.
    It didn’t happen.
    The sheriff’s office, once called, found a broken windowat the back of Patch Gilbert’s house. Lucy noticed certain items missing: a silver candelabra, a cookie jar in which Patch
     kept ample cash, a jewelry box that was a family heirloom. The search began.
    Patch Gilbert owned over two hundred acres on Black Jack Point, and on late Wednesday morning, the searchers found the turned
     earth along the edge of his property. The disturbed soil was a hundred yards up from the beach, a rectangle of torn loam hidden
     among the thick fingers of the oaks, broken grasses draped over the ground like a shroud.
    The deputies and volunteers started digging and Whit made Lucy wait up at Patch’s house.
    ‘Wait here with me,’ she said. ‘Please.’ She was shaking, her freckled arms folded over each other, her hair a mess from having
     dragged her fingers through it nervously.
    ‘I can’t, sweetie. I got to be down there.’ He was justice of the peace, and because Encina County didn’t have its own medical
     examiner, he also served as coroner. If there were bodies he’d order the autopsies, rule on cause of death, conduct the inquest
     if it was needed. His chest felt sucked dry at the thought of Patch and Thuy murdered and buried. But he didn’t like the vacant,
     broken look in Lucy’s eyes.
    He put an arm around her and turned to Deputy David Power. ‘Maybe I should wait with Lucy.’
    David made a dismissive noise. ‘You’re supposed to be down there,’ he said, as though comforting relatives of the dead was
     second-class duty compared to forensic investigation.
    ‘You don’t need me until you find bodies,’ he said, and he felt Lucy’s skin prickle under his fingertips.
    ‘Sure, Judge, whatever.’ David Power turned and headed down toward the thick copse of oaks.
    Lucy watched him leave. ‘Well, he’s an asshole. Lots of negativity.’
    ‘He doesn’t like me,’ Whit said. ‘I’m friends with his ex-wife.’
    ‘Maybe you should go down there,’ she said. ‘I’ll be okay.’
    ‘I’ll stay here as long as I can.’
    He and Lucy sat in Patch’s den, a dark room covered with thick brown paneling in turn covered with fishing trophies and a
     fake muscled marlin. He held her hand and watched
All My Children
to avoid thinking about what the shovels might be unearthing.
    Lucy stared at the screen. ‘I cooked dinner for the two of them last week. Meatloaf. I burned it a little ’cause we got to
     talking and I was drinking too much beer. It tasted like a shingle. They didn’t complain, ate it with a smile.’
    Whit squeezed her hand.
    ‘I should call Suzanne,’ she said. Her cousin, her only family other than Patch.
    ‘Let’s just wait and see.’
    They watched a commercial offering tarot card readings for a call-per-minute charge while an energetic woman with a doubtful
     Caribbean accent proclaimed the future to amazed callers.
    ‘That approach is so misleading,’ Lucy said. ‘Look at her. She’s hardly listening to that caller – she’s just slapping those
     cards down.’ Her voice was flat as she pretended the searchers weren’t tearing up her uncle’s land.
    ‘I’m sure your