Page 74 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

IN THE GALLOWS

Graham

Oh fuck. If I wasn’t on thin ice with the department before, tonight definitely cracked it wide open.

Between hiring Derek to hack the precinct—that’s a federal offense, by the way—and dragging Maggie to Portia’s mansion like we were on some half-baked undercover op?

Yeah. My badge might as well be dipped in gasoline and set on fire.

And the kicker? We didn’t even get what we came for. Not all of it, anyway.

Maggie sat beside me in the truck, legs wobbling when I helped her climb in. Her skirt was still crooked. Her hair a little too tousled. She looked like sin wrapped in Sunday softness, but now wasn’t the time for that. Not even close.

She trusted me in there. Let go. Let me guide her, touch her, protect her.

And then I had to rush her out before I could even hold her through the aftermath.

No aftercare, no cleanup, no kiss on the forehead—just adrenaline and invoices crammed under her arm like some kind of fucked-up treasure hunt.

I gripped the wheel and forced myself to breathe.

Focus.

We needed answers, and fast.

Dr. Felix Crowley owed me a favor. After I played chaperone for his teenage daughter and her grabby date—a favor that, in hindsight, probably violated several department guidelines—he told me I’d earned a “grand recompense.” Whatever the hell that meant.

I still didn’t understand why he picked me for the gig.

I wasn’t exactly the poster boy for abstinence.

Hell, I’ve been the bad influence in more teenager’s horror stories than I cared to admit.

But I kept my mouth shut, did my job, and let the horny little shits fumble their way through awkward handholding while I polished of a chili dog in the parking lot.

Now that favor was about to get cashed in.

My thumb hovered over his contact in my phone, but I stole one last glance at Maggie first.

She wasn’t shaking anymore, but she didn’t trust herself to speak. I’d seen that kind of silence before—trauma curling in the gut, settling behind the ribs. She needed rest. She needed safety.

She needed me to hold this shit together.

I hit call.

“Hello Dr. Crowley, it’s Graham Locke.”

“Ah… yes, Mr. Locke. Simply delightful. I’ve been meaning to contact you—though as always, time has slipped right past me…”

The way he said my name made me feel like I was twelve again—summoned to the headmaster’s office with my shirt untucked and guilt plastered on my face.

“You have?”

“Indeed. My daughter’s been begging for another evening out—with you as a chaperone, of course. I was hoping you’d be available.”

Oh, I bet she was. Had I not intervened, the poor boy was about to become a baby daddy through no fault of his own.

“Well, I… uh—“ Watching two hormone bombs grind on each other in the back of my truck again wasn’t on my to-do list, but if I wanted access to Morty Planchette, I had to make a sacrifice. “Sure. But only if I can have your help first.”

“Oh… yes, sure. Anything.”

“I need to get into the morgue. Tonight.”

“Well, I’m here right now if you’d like.”

“Perfect. I’ll be there faster than you can count the tits on a pig.” I hung up before he could, as if that was supposed to be impressive or alarming.

“Faster than you can count the tits on a pig?” Maggie let out an obnoxious giggle.

“What? You’ve never heard that?” I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, the engine rumbled awake.

“No, can’t say that I have.” She opened the photos app and started inspecting the invoices while I drove to the morgue.

We met Dr. Crowley at the main entrance.

He looked like a strand of old spaghetti someone forgot to throw out—tall, thin, and dry around the edges.

Late sixties, maybe, with more salt than pepper in his perfectly parted hair.

Heavy dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t seen sunlight or sleep since the Clinton administration.

He probably spent more time with the corpses than with the living—and it showed.

But he was alright. As long as he didn’t go blabbing to Nettles about this little midnight favor.

“Who’s this pretty little thing you’ve got with you, Mr. Locke?” He asked, extending a hand toward Maggie.

“This is Maggie Max—oof!”

Her elbow shot into my ribs like a heat-seeking missile. Okay then, name’s off-limits. Noted.

Should I tell her now that this guy’s been to her house multiple times collecting the dead? Or do I let her squirm a little for that cheap shot? Yeah. That’s what I thought.

“I’m Maggie,” she said, plastering on a sweet smile as she shook his hand.

“Ah, yes. Of course,” he said, eyes squinting with recognition.

“I never forget a face. Fascinating, really, how the brain imprints certain features. You’re Magdalene Maxwell—the new arrival.

And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve taken up residence in Silas’s old place.

That property has been quite busy, I must say. ”

Maggie shot me a dagger-filled stare, like I was the traitor here, when really, she was the one who weaponized those tiny murder elbows. Sharp as hell. Cute, sure—but I might have to gnaw on them when we were done here. Fair’s fair.

“How’d you guess?” She asked.

“You were on the front page.”

“What? Ugh!” She threw her head back with a groan like the weight of existing was too damn much.

“My dear, this is not a bad thing,” Crowley said, plucking a paper from his desk like he was presenting evidence in court.

“‘Killer not likely, but target indeed.’ Without this article, people would’ve pegged you as the suspect.

Journalism may have actually done you a favor, little miss.

Considering how many bodies I’ve collected from your property… ”

She didn’t respond. Probably because it’s hard to argue with facts when they’re delivered by a man who looked like Nosferatu’s more polite cousin.

“Speaking of favors…” I cut in, “Maggie and I need to see Mortimer Planchette. Think you could help us out with that?”

“Oh…” Crowley’s mouth thinned. “Do you have paperwork from Captain Nettles? This is still an active investigation. They still consider that poor soul evidence.” He started tidying a stack of files on his desk, like he was already preparing to say no .

My eyes darted to Maggie. I needed backup.

She gave me nothing.

Fuck.

“Oh shoot,” I said, snapping my fingers like I just remembered to pick up milk. “Must’ve left the paperwork at the precinct. We’ll go grab it.”

“Needn’t bother with that—I can just call the Captain for a verbal agreement.”

“No!” Maggie and I blurted at the same time.

My heart stuttered. Shit. Think, Locke. Think.

I recovered fast—faster than I probably should be proud of. “I mean… I don’t wanna bother the Captain. He mentioned something about a birthday party tonight.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Crowley said, pressing his finger to his chin. “Little Jenny-Mae’s seventh. I’d forgotten.” He waved us off, completely unfazed. “Very well then. I’ll see you two soon.”

He ushered us to the door and locked it behind us with a click that sounded way too final.

“Fuck!” Maggie hissed as we made our way back toward the truck. “What are we going to do, Graham? I need to know what else Morty’s got to share.”

“I know.” I yanked open the truck door and gave her a boost inside. “Just… get in.”

I shut the door behind her, fished out my phone and stared down at the number I never thought I’d dial—not for this, not ever.

But there I was.

And this damned well better work.

“Hello?” Her soft voice answered as I climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Angel! Hey—it’s Graham.” I said, shocked at how eager I sounded.

“Been waiting for you to call,” she said.

“Yeah… seems like everyone has.” I exhaled through my nose. “But listen, I need to go first—kind of an emergency.”

“Okay?”

“I need you to call your dad at work. Call his office line. Don’t mention me.”

“What do I say?”

“Anything that’ll keep him talking. Maybe your dating life—he always loves that horror story.”

“Ohhh… I get it.” She popped her gum into the mic. “That’s gonna cost you.”

That sound—gum.

That’s it!

I leaned across Maggie, ignoring her raised brow, and popped open the glove box. Jackpot. I pulled out a crumpled pack, tugged two sticks free, and dropped them into her hand.

She peeled the wrappers like I’d handed her a live grenade, popping both sticks into her mouth while watching me with that squinty, I-don’t-trust-you-but-I’ll-play-along look—right as I pulled the little black pouch from the glove box.

Yeah, she clocked everything. Smart girl. Too bad we were about to do something so illegal I might’ve needed a lawyer, a priest, and a new identity.

“Angel, come on.” I slid two pieces into my mouth as well. “I already looked the other way when you had your hand in Pickle Dick’s shorts the other night.”

“True. But I need more.”

“More?” I rolled my eyes, this girl had balls—more than Pickle Dick, that was for sure.

“I need twenty minutes alone—no supervision.”

“…doth my ears deceive me? I thought your daddy said his Angel is as pure as heaven itself.”

“Twenty. Or I tell my dad you gave us condoms last time…” she said, smug as hell. “ And I’ll say you dropped us off so you could go to Haze and get sucked off by LoLo Christy.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

It was a shame she used her powers for extortion.

I smeared my hand down my face. “Fine.” I sighed. “Twenty minutes.”

“…and a full box of condoms.”

“ Jesus—j ust go to the clinic! You can get them for free.”

“Please, Graham, you’re the cool cop. Besides, everyone at the clinic knows my dad.”

“No, I’m not doling out condoms to the youth of Port Grey.”

“You’ve done worse,” she sang.

“True. But I’m old… and jaded . You’re just a baby bat learning how to use her fangs.”