“Houses, cars…an old graveyard.”
My gaze shot back to him. “A graveyard?”
“Thorngate Cemetery. Another casualty of the Asher greed.”
“But I thought…” Uneasiness crept over me. I was good at my job, but recovering an underwater cemetery wasn’t exactly my area of expertise. “I’ve seen recent pictures of Thorngate. It looked high and dry to me.”
“There are two Thorngates,” he said. “And I assure you that one of them does rest at the bottom of this lake.”
“How did that happen?”
“The original Thorngate was rarely used. It was all but forgotten. No one ever went out there. No one gave it a second thought…until the water came.”
I stared at him in horror. “Are you telling me the bodies weren’t moved before they expanded the lake?”
He shuddered. “Afterward, people started seeing things. Hearing things.”
I fingered the talisman at my throat. “Like what?”
He hesitated, his gaze still on the water. “If you look for this basin on any South Carolina map, you’ll find the Asher Reservoir. But around here, we call it Bell Lake.”
“Why?”
“In the old days, coffins were equipped with a warning system—a chain attached to a bell on the grave in case of a premature burial. They say at night, when the mist rolls in, you can hear those bells.” He glanced over the railing. “The dead down there don’t want to be forgotten…
A tremor shot through me a split second before I saw the gleam of amusement in the stranger’s eyes.
“Sorry,” he said with a contrite smile. “Local folklore. I couldn’t resist.”
“It’s not true then?”
“Oh, the cemetery is down there all right, along with cars, houses and God knows what else. Some claim they’ve even seen coffins float to the surface after a bad storm. But the bells…” He paused. “Put it this way. I’ve fished on this lake since I was a boy, and I’ve never heard them.”
What about the face I’d seen under the surface? I wondered. Was that real?
His lingering gaze made me uneasy, though I had no idea why. His eyes were just a little too murky, a little too mysterious—like the bottom of Bell Lake.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms against the railing. He wore jeans and a black pullover sweater that hugged his toned torso. An unexpected appreciation skimmed along my nerve endings, and I glanced quickly away because the last thing I needed was a romantic complication. I wasn’t over Devlin, might never be over him, and an attractive stranger could do nothing more than momentarily ease my intense longing. Assuage an almost physical ache that had settled deep inside my chest since the night I’d fled the house Devlin had shared with the very beautiful and the very dead Mariama.
“So what brings you to Asher Falls?” the stranger asked. “That is, if you don’t mind my asking. We don’t get a lot of visitors. We’re pretty well off the beaten track.”
His voice was pleasant enough, but I detected a slight edge to the question. “I’ve been hired to restore Thorngate Cemetery. The high and dry one.”
He didn’t respond, and after a moment, his silence drew my reluctant gaze. He was staring down at me, his eyes still gleaming, though not with amusement or even curiosity, but with a spark of what I could only name as anger. The emotion faded, but I knew I hadn’t imagined his irritation.
I tried not to read too much into it. I often encountered local opposition. People were protective and sometimes overly superstitious about their graveyards. I started to reassure him that I knew my business. Thorngate would be in good hands. But then I decided that might be a job best left to the woman who had hired me. She would know how to address the concerns of her community far better than I.
“So you’re here to restore Thorngate,” he murmured. “Whose idea was that?”
“The name of my contact is Luna Kemper. If you have questions, I suggest you direct them to her.”
“Oh, I will,” he said with a tight smile.
“Is there a problem?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Not yet, but I can foresee some tension. Thorngate—the high and dry Thorngate—used to be the Asher family cemetery. After the original graveyard flooded, the burial site was donated to the town, along with enough land for expansion. A lot of people still have strong feelings about it.”
“The Ashers gave away their family cemetery? That seems a bit extreme. Why didn’t they just donate land for a new one?”
“Because a gesture was needed after what the old man did.” The green eyes darkened. “An atonement, if you want to know the truth. The irony, of course, is that the ostentatious memorials and family mausoleum only serve to highlight the divide between the Ashers and everyone else in town.”
“Is Pell Asher still alive?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so.” I saw another flicker of emotion before he glanced back at the water.
“What do you do in Asher Falls…if you don’t mind my asking?” I mimicked his earlier question, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I drink,” he said. “And I bide my time.” He turned with a look that sent another shiver skittering along my backbone. There was something in his voice, a dark undercurrent that made me think of drowned cemeteries and long-buried secrets. I wanted to glance away, but his heavy-lidded eyes were disarmingly hypnotic. “I’m Thane Asher, by the way. Heir apparent to the shriveling Asher Empire, at least until Grandfather rewrites his will. He tends to go back and forth between my uncle and me. I’m the fair-haired child this week. If he kicks the bucket before next Thursday, I’m golden.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I merely extended my hand. “Amelia Gray.”
“A pleasure.” He took my hand and squeezed. His was the warm, smooth palm of the privileged, unmarred by the calluses I’d acquired over the years from clearing brush and lifting headstones.
My thoughts turned to Devlin once again, and I imagined the stroke of his long, graceful fingers down my back.
Suppressing a shudder, I tried to pull away from Thane Asher’s grip, but he held me for a moment longer, his gaze locked with mine until the ferry docked with a slight jolt and he freed me.
“Here we are,” he said cheerfully. “Asher Falls. Welcome to our kingdom, Amelia Gray.”
Disembarking behind the minivan, I pulled to the side of the road to reset my navigation system. My windows were down, and a cool wind swept through, carrying the verdant, piney scent of the Upcountry. The dog days had extended into September, and the bee balm and hedge nettle were still blooming, carpeting the meadows in lavender. Rising above the gentle hills of the Piedmont, the area was beautiful, but the landscape of looming mountains, deep shadows and the green-black forest of pine and hemlock was foreign to me. My beloved Lowcountry, with its steamy marshes and briny breezes, seemed a long way from here.
The roar of an engine drew my attention from the scenery, and I glanced at the road as the black sports car zoomed past my window, leaving a thin cloud of dust and exhaust in its wake.
“Welcome to our kingdom,” I muttered as I watched Thane Asher take a sharp curve without slowing. It was an impressive maneuver of reckless abandon, squealing tires and shimmering metallic paint. Then with a whine of the powerful motor, he was gone, and the quiet that settled around me seemed heavy and ominous, as if weighted by some dark enchantment.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at the ferry, mentally retracing my route to Charleston. To Devlin. But I was
