GraveDigger

Part 6

 Detective A. Howard balked at that statement, the righteous fury in Grace's eyes, and the force with which she had issued the threat. Not one of the people who stood nearby doubted the truth in her words. Grace was glad. She looked to meet Marie's eyes dead on and saw understanding there. Grace had never thought to wonder before at where her empathy might have come from. That depth of feeling could only be a loss like her own.

If Marie were ever willing to give Grace the time of day again, Grace swore to herself to do better... to be better this time.

"You might not want to be saying those sorts of things in front of the detectives, Grace, as understandable as those feelings might be. I'm inclined to agree, actually." Scott said after an extended stretch of awkward silence.

"We won't hold it against her." Marie said with a conspiratorial wink in Grace's direction. "I think that's all we'll be needing at the moment. I'll call you with anything additional we need or have missed... Ms. Baxter."

Grace was struck by the tone in which Marie had said her name, having forgotten in their brief time apart just how much heat the other woman could add to her voice.

"I'll see you around, then, ... Detective Winslet. It's been too long." Grace added, doing her absolute best to match Marie's tone in intensity. She tracked the other woman to the car with her eyes completely shamelessly.

"You have a gift, Grace, the way you pull attention or deflect it like you're flipping a switch. Use it well." Scott said, his tone impressed but full of warning despite himself. She smiled softly at him, her eyes thankful. "It could come in handy at some point. You could use it to your advantage."

Grace nodded her understanding. She squeezed one broad strong shoulder to convey her thankfulness. "I don't know how it'sgoing to help me with my current predicament."

Scotty knew that Grace didn't mean the vandalism at the construction site. Her particular issue ran much deeper. She was finding she could not bear the thought of her son's killer being out in the world, loose amongst the sons of other mothers throughout their town. Grace didn't want him in jail anymore, she wanted him gone. Gone from her life, from her town, and from this Earth.

Scott understood completely what Grace had meant. He knew those protective instincts, he had felt them for her since she had been a young woman. Scott McPherson would have killed the bastard on Grace's behalf if he could have. Watching her go through that kind of pain had been the worst time in his life. Scott couldn't imagine that heartbreak. He had nearly torn himself apart trying to find some way to help Grace through it. She had insisted on forging her own path through her grief anyway.

It had not been completely healthy and had not inspired much hope in Scott that Grace would be okay. He had taken every opportunity to remind her that he was there for her, even when she did her utmost to push him away. Scott had once promised Grace's parents that he would watch over her, always. He was a man of his word if he was nothing else. She would never be able to shake him, so long as she was willing to accept his help... however begrudgingly.

Grace had gone completely cold inside. She hadn't even realized her anger ran so deep until she had said the words out loud. Still, she had told the truth. Grace wanted him gone from the world. It wouldn't fix anything, the law wasn't going to provide justice for Brendon, and killing Brock Sampson wouldn't ring him back but the scales might even out a bit. Grace's world still wouldn't make any sense but maybe she could be able to live with herself.

By the time she got back home, her cold resolve had replaced itself with a seething, writhing mass of nervous energy. Grace poured her energy into cleaning up the small, two bedroom home. With her as the only occupant, it didn't take long at all even with her sore thumb. She wasn't done yet, though. There was still something deep down inside fighting, trying to claw its way out. Grace changed into some of her more tightly fitting jeans and a v-neck t-shirt under her flannel shirt. She grabbed her keys and her pocket-knife before heading out.

McNeely's was only two blocks down from Grace's house. It had one bar area, a dozen tables for dining, and a full half of the building cleared with a hardwood dance floor should the mood strike the patrons. She had not often danced since she had broken up with Brian, and any special occasions spent with Marie when she needed to move and feel someone's body pressed tightly against her own. Sometimes the contact was the only thing that reminded Grace she was still alive. She didn't always want to be.