The Accused and the Damned: Book Three, the Eddie McCloskey Series (The Unearthed 3) Read Free

tricks were good enough that a cursory investigation wouldn’t expose them. Giles had no time to look at wiring or find hidden speakers or do any one of a million things. Not that he necessarily would have, but still.
    And, even worse, Giles didn’t help himself during the interview.
    “Clients call me for many reasons. But they all want the same thing, Ms. Barbitok. They want to feel special. They want to think wondrous things are happening in their otherwise quotidian existence. They want me to say yes. They want to believe. I give them what they want.”
    “So you lie to them and take their money?”
    “Lie is too strong a word. We know so little of our universe. We don’t know what happens beyond death. My job is to open their minds to the possibilities.”
    Eddie said, “Giles, buddy, you always did speak in italics too much.”
    After the episode had originally aired, Eddie had sent Giles a heartfelt email long on condolences and short on criticisms. The guy had helped Eddie out of a jam before, so Eddie figured it was the least he could do to repay the old debt.
    Giles had never responded.

Two
     
    Alice Ketcher could still hear her husband upstairs. She was waiting for him to pass out before she turned in. It had been three months since he’d been drunk but you never knew with men. Anson had a mean streak. They’d been in couples counseling at church for the last year. She’d thought that Anson had shown genuine remorse and a desire to change, but here he was back on the bottle.
    No matter how much she prayed and tried to forgive him, she couldn’t forget the times he’d scared her. He’d put his hands on her twice. Never hit her, just grabbed her shoulders to shake some sense into her. Murder in his eyes.
    The last time had been over a year ago but you didn’t forget a thing like that. He’d been boozed up that night. Alcohol and her husband were a dangerous mix.
    Not to mention they hadn’t spoken more than five words to each other in the last two weeks.
    “ … seen … shirt?” he yelled from upstairs.
    Alice pretended not to hear him. She went into the laundry room. The washer was running and making a lot of noise. She could always lie and say she hadn’t heard him over the sound of the washer.
    “Alice?”
    She jumped at the sound of his voice. He’d poked his head into the doorway. Looking at him, you’d never know about his mean streak. He had a kind, soft face and sympathetic eyes.
    “Yeah?”
    “I …” Anson took a deep breath. “I know my drinking makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
    She kept her distance. “That’s okay.”
    The cycle was predictable. Falling down drunk followed by scenes of absolute terror then remorse and pathetic, weeping apologies. It was way past getting old.
    Anson stepped into the tiny laundry room, blocking the door. She felt how very alone they were in this house. Nearest neighbor was half a mile away. It was times like these she grew furious with the church and her God for frowning on divorce. For pressuring her into staying with a man who frightened her.
    Anson studied her, his kind eyes searching for something. She hoped it was for forgiveness. She fought herself not to look past his shoulder and give away how uncomfortable she was. That could send him into a rage.
    “No really.” He shook his head. “I just … there’s no excuse.”
    She realized he was crying. She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. Suddenly, not scared of him at all.
    Had he turned the corner finally?
    He spoke into her shoulder. “I want to keep with the counseling. I don’t think we should stop.”
    “Okay, Anson. Okay.”
    She rubbed his back till he collected himself. “I’m trying, hon.”
    “I know.” She just wondered if people were actually capable of change. The fairy tales all said they did. But life was no fairy tale. “I just want this thing gone. I’m not comfortable in this house …”
    “I know, baby. I want