Page 16 of Dirty Valentine (A J.J. Graves Mystery #17)

“You pigs don’t got nothing on me!” the guy roared, his voice echoing off the cinderblock walls like thunder in a canyon.

Without warning, he snapped his head backward, trying to catch Cole in the face with a skull-crushing headbutt that would have done some serious damage to that pretty face of his, but Cole let go of his neck and ducked just in time.

The big man pivoted, using his momentum to launch a vicious kick toward Jack, but Jack had been expecting it and grabbed hold of his leg and rammed him backward.

By this point cops had come running from all directions, but the guy was twisting like a dervish and feverish with rage.

Jenkin tried to jump back into the fray but the suspect’s shoulder caught him in the solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp.

That’s when Jack moved. He stepped around Martinez with the fluid precision of someone who’d learned violence as both an art and a science, timing his approach for the exact moment when the suspect was off-balance and focused on the others.

Jack’s right cross came from his shoulder with years of training and experience behind it, every ounce of his weight and momentum focused into his fist as it connected with the suspect’s jaw. The sound was like a baseball bat hitting a watermelon—sharp, final, and somehow deeply satisfying.

The suspect’s eyes rolled back in his head, showing nothing but white, and his massive frame collapsed like a controlled demolition. All that pharmaceutical rage and enhanced strength meant nothing against the basic physics of a perfectly timed punch.

The sudden silence in the bullpen was deafening after the chaos of the fight. Everyone stood frozen for a moment, staring at the unconscious mountain of muscle sprawled across the linoleum like a fallen statue.

“Well,” Martinez said finally, straightening his tie and trying to restore some dignity to his appearance. A thin line of sweat traced down his temple, and his breathing was still elevated from the struggle. “That was educational.”

Riley was a bloody mess and he pushed himself up from the floor. It looked like no one had escaped completely unscathed.

“Sheriff, don’t take this the wrong way,” Martinez said, limping back and forth to try and stretch out his sore muscles. “But I might resign today.”

“Why don’t you go home and sleep on it a couple of hours and then get back to me,” Jack said, looking down at the bruised knuckles on his hand. “Someone get EMTs over here to check out Riley. Anyone else need attention?”

“Nothing an ice pack and a beer can’t handle,” Cole said.

“Jenkins, get those ribs checked out,” Jack said. “Paperwork can wait. Get this guy into holding before he wakes up again.”

A group of the cops who’d been standing around moved in and hefted the unconscious man up under the arms and moved him toward the holding cells.

The aftermath of violence always left its own signature in the air—the metallic taste of adrenaline, the sharp scent of sweat and fear, the electric tension that took time to dissipate.

Papers were scattered across the floor like confetti, a computer monitor flickered with a spiderweb crack across its screen, and someone’s coffee mug had exploded against the wall in a brown starburst that would probably stain the paint permanently.

Jack turned to look at me and said, “You okay?”

“Just another day at the office,” I said, my voice steady. My hands shook slightly and I was more shaken than I’d realized. Things could have been a lot worse than they had been.

Jack rubbed his bruised knuckles and surveyed the chaos around us.

“This is going to take a while to sort out. Incident reports, internal affairs review, medical evaluations.” He looked at me with tired eyes.

“Give me a couple of hours to deal with this mess before we go talk to Blackwood and Randolph. I don’t want to be interrupted halfway through an interrogation because someone needs paperwork signed. ”

“That’s fine,” I said, relieved to have some time to let my adrenaline settle. “I’ll go check on things at the funeral home. Make sure everything’s ready for the day.”

Jack leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, mindful of the audience around us. “Call me if you need anything. And Jaye? Try to eat something that isn’t toast or crackers.”

“I’ll see what Emmy Lu has in the kitchen,” I promised, gathering my purse and jacket.

* * *

The drive to the funeral home gave me time to decompress from the morning’s violence. My hands had stopped shaking from the adrenaline by the time I pulled under the portico, though I could still taste the metallic tang of it on my tongue.

I let myself in through the side door, expecting to hear Emmy Lu’s usual morning routine—the soft murmur of the radio, the gentle clatter of coffee cups. Instead, the building felt unusually quiet.

“Emmy Lu?” I called out, hanging my jacket on the hook in the mudroom.

“I’m coming,” came her voice from her office, but there was an edge to it that wasn’t normally there. “I was just about to put on the coffee.”

She bustled in, staring at her phone with a worried frown, and immediately went to the coffeepot, her distraction palpable.

According to everyone, I made terrible coffee so I was banned from the machine.

Her light brown hair was pulled back in its usual messy bun, but it looked like she’d brushed it with an eggbeater—a sure sign of stress.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, settling onto one of the barstools.

“Sheldon didn’t come in this morning,” she said, setting her phone down. “His mother called about an hour ago. Said his bed wasn’t slept in and she’s worried sick.”

That got my attention. Sheldon was nothing if not punctual. “Have you tried calling him?”

“Goes straight to voicemail,” Emmy Lu said, tapping her fingers on the counter. “I keep telling myself he’s probably just fallen asleep at that creepy girl’s place, but it’s not like him. Even when he first started dating Leena, he always made it home at a decent hour.”

The sound of the side door opening interrupted us, and we both turned to see Sheldon shuffling in.

“Good Lord, Sheldon,” Emmy Lu said. “What happened to you?”

Even on a good day, Sheldon was one of those people who never quite looked put together.

Something was always out of alignment or a little bit wrinkled.

But today he looked like a disaster. He was disheveled—his shirt wrinkled and stained, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his glasses crooked on his pale face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I…lost track of time. I need coffee.”

I caught a whiff of something strange clinging to his clothes—woodsmoke and something herbal that made my nose wrinkle. “What’s that smell?”

He sniffed the sleeve of his shirt. “Must be the bonfire.”

Emmy Lu crossed her arms. “I thought you were allergic to woodsmoke.”

“I think it’s just an intolerance,” he said. “Did you know smoke from certain trees like the eucalyptus or cedar tree can cause a person to temporarily sing with natural vibrato?”

“I’ll remember that next time I feel like bursting into song out on the campground,” I said.

Sheldon sank onto the barstool next to me and Emmy Lu put a cup of coffee in front of both of us.

“I think Leena might be out of my league. She’s actually a really nice girl, but she’s pretty intense.

And she’s got a good sense of humor, but sometimes she gets this look in her eyes that scares me.

Ever since that guy got murdered she’s gone kind of cuckoo.

I thought it might be PMS and I told her so, but she threw a butter knife at my head so I’m guessing I was off the mark there. ”

“A classic sign,” Emmy Lu said. “My ex-husband had the bad fortune to leave me when I had PMS and I tried to back over him with my car. I would have got him too except he hid behind a dumpster.”

I’d known Emmy Lu’s ex-husband and if there was anyone who deserved to be backed over it was him.

“Why’s she so interested in the murder?” I asked.

Sheldon shrugged. “I don’t know. But she’s totally obsessed with Bridget Ashworth. She believes in reincarnation and stuff and she says she knew Bridget in a past life and they were good friends.”

“You believe her?” Emmy Lu asked, brow arched.

“I’m Episcopalian,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“So how’d you end up at a bonfire?” I asked.

“Leena said Bridget has been trying to communicate with her, but she’s not very good at communing with the dead yet. So we went to see Madame Evangeline.”

“A psychic?” Emmy Lu asked.

“Something like that,” Sheldon said. “She lives in this old house out by the river. Leena said she could communicate with spirits so we drove out to see her.”

My grip tightened around my coffee cup. “And this woman claimed she could channel Bridget’s spirit?”

“Yeah, Leena says she’s been taking lessons from her.”

“Private necromancy lessons,” Emmy Lu said, clucking her tongue. “Can you imagine? The only lessons I ever had growing up were for piano.”

“Do you remember where her house was?” I asked.

“It’s all kind of blurred,” Sheldon said. “Leena was smoking, and it made my brain fuzzy. She said it’s for medicinal purposes.”

“Mmhmm,” I said. “Then what did you do?”

“We got to Madame Evangeline’s cabin and there was already this big bonfire laid out next to the river.

Then she made me sit down on a pillow, and she took off my glasses and blindfolded me.

Then she lit the bonfire and things got really weird.

The fire was hot for just a couple of minutes and then things got really cold.

She started talking in this low voice and then I felt like I was floating. Like a dream.”

“Sounds like a nightmare to me,” Emmy Lu said. “I hate being blindfolded.

“What did she say?”

Sheldon pushed his glasses up his nose. “She said justice had been denied for too long. That the first stone had been cast but more blood needed to be spilled to balance the scales. She said there are families with bad blood. I don’t remember all the names she said.

Blackwood I think. Hill or Mill. Do you know what that means? ”

My heart started racing, but I looked straight at Sheldon.

“I’m going to be straight with you, Sheldon.

That all sounds like a lot of hooey to me disguised with smoke and mirrors.

But it does sound like she knows something.

We’ve not released any information about what was inscribed on those gravestones or whose graves they were. ”

“You think she could be in on it?” Emmy Lu asked.

“I think she’s worth talking to,” I said. “And Leena too.”

Emmy Lu turned back to Sheldon. “Where is Leena? And did you sleep in the woods? You’ve got twigs in your hair.”

“I slept in Leena’s car. I don’t remember a lot after the smoke and the séance, but I think we ended up at the cemetery to keep watch.

There were cop cars blocking the entrance, but she had some night-vision binoculars.

They were pretty cool, but my glasses kept getting in the way.

Then she smoked some more and I fell asleep.

When I woke up this morning she was gone. ”

“Gone where?” I asked.

He shrugged. “No clue, but she left a note that said Bridget was counting on her and she needed to meditate.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me.

“But she left the keys in the ignition so I drove straight here. Now that I think about it, maybe I should go home. That smoky smell is really giving me a headache.”

“I’m going to text Jack what you told me,” I said, grabbing my phone. “Do you know anything else about the woman besides her first name?”

“Am I in trouble?” Sheldon asked.

“No,” I said. “You’re just a poor judge of character. We’ll work on that.”

“Oh good,” he said. “I’m afraid of prison. I don’t look good in orange.”

“I’d think that would be the least of your problems in prison, darling,” Emmy Lu said.

Sheldon let out a defeated sigh and said, “I remember we passed Portobago Trail and took a left toward the marshes. We stopped the car when the road ended and then walked the rest of the way to her cabin. I don’t know her last name. She just told me to call her Evangeline.”

“What’d she look like? Give me a description.”

He seemed to remember he had coffee in his hands and took a hasty sip. “Oh, uh, she was old. Lots of wrinkles. Mixed race I think. Dreadlocks that looked like the steel wool my mother uses after she makes a pot of chili. Wore a lot of jangly bracelets.”

“Well, that ought to narrow it down,” Emmy Lu said, squeezing Sheldon on the shoulder. “Go home and get some sleep. But maybe shower first. And if your head starts spinning around and you vomit pea soup make sure you call us. I’ve always wanted to see an exorcism in person.”