persistence chipped away at my resolve. With each manifestation, her determination became more obvious. She wasn’t going away until I found a way to help her move on.
Keeping to the cracked pavers, I worked my way to the back. Most of the graves in the front section of the cemetery ranged from mid-nineteenth to early twentieth century, hence the prevalence of weeping angels and grieving saints, but graves in the older area dated back to the early 1700s. Headstones from that era were adorned with more gruesome images of death: the grim reaper, winged skulls, skeletons in open coffins.
The deeper I walked into the cemetery, the thicker the canopy. Only a spangle of light shone through here and there, and the temperature dropped. I could see the spires of the Bedford Mausoleum peeking through a tangle of kudzu and, everywhere I looked, ivy. The ubiquitous vines curled around statues and monuments and snaked along the limbs of the old live oaks, snuffing the life from the centuries-old trees.
As I approached the first excavated grave, I became aware of a slight sound and cocked my head to listen. I heard what I thought was the crunch of dead leaves underfoot and assumed that Temple had arrived just after me. I started to call out to her, but something held me back. Cemetery etiquette precluded loud voices, and the need for caution had long become a habit. I didn’t exactly feel the urge to hide, but neither did I bother stepping out into the open. I had on dark clothing. Unless someone knew I was there, I blended seamlessly into the shadows of the monuments.
After a moment, a man emerged through the drapery of Spanish moss and grape vines and stood gazing around. He was average height, with an athletic build that had gone soft. I could see the outline of a paunch over his belt and, despite the distance between us, the telltale sag of his jaw line. Or maybe that was only my imagination because I could determine nothing of his other features. The brim of his hat was pulled too low over his eyes.
The man on King Street instantly came to mind. I told myself there was no way this could be the same person, and yet, I had a sinking feeling that he was. And since he’d been tailing me before I’d ever spoken a word about Darius Goodwine or gray dust to Dr. Shaw, I could only assume he was here because of Devlin. A connection had already been made, and now someone wanted to use me to get to him.
My first instinct was to ease the phone and a can of mace from my pocket. But I didn’t dare move for fear he would spot me. I stood there with suspended breath and pounding heart praying he’d move on so that I could call for help.
He lingered for what seemed an eternity. Then I heard my name shouted from the front of the cemetery. Temple had arrived, and thankfully she had no compunction about raising her voice. The man whirled and strode back along the path the way he had come. My relief was followed instantly by a dart of panic that had me bolting from my hiding place. If he kept on the path, he would run straight into Temple.
I cut through the graves hoping to head him off. Stumbling over roots and broken stones, I burst from the old section only to stop dead in my tracks. Temple and the stranger stood talking on the path. When they heard me approach, he turned nonchalantly, giving me the sleaziest grin I could ever imagine.
“There she is,” he drawled with a wink. “The infamous Graveyard Queen.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Amelia, this is—” Temple turned with a narrowed gaze. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name is again?”
“Ivers. Jimmy Ivers.” He fished in his pocket and handed me a business card.
“Mr. Ivers is a reporter for the
He glanced around appreciatively. “This place is creepy as hell. You ladies don’t get spooked working out here all by your lonesome?”
The way he looked us over made my skin crawl. I tried to commit his features to memory just in case I ever needed to pick him out of a lineup. Other than pale eyes and that flaccid jaw line, his appearance was completely nondescript. “I’m sorry…how do you know who I am? And how did you know we’d be here today?”
“You’ve heard of having sources, right? With enough incentive, anyone will talk. You’d be surprised,” he said, and I thought to myself that if he winked at me again, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. “As to the first question, I know who you are because I’ve done my homework.”
“Then you must know that without written permission from the university, you’re trespassing on private property,” I said. “If you don’t leave of your own accord, I’ll alert the campus police and have you escorted out of here.”
He looked affronted. “No call for that. I’m just trying to do my job.”
“As are we. Now if you don’t mind…” I nodded toward the gate.
“You can’t just answer a few simple questions for me? It won’t take a minute.” He turned to Temple. “How about you?”
“How about no.” She handed him her card. “Call my office next week, and I’ll see that you get a statement.”
“I guess that’s better than nothing,” he grumbled. “You ladies have a
He sauntered off, snapping a few shots with his phone, and I glanced at Temple. “That was weird.”
“No kidding. That guy’s about as much of a reporter as I am.” She glanced at his card. “Probably had these printed up on his way over here.”
“What do you think he really wanted?” I asked nervously.
She shrugged. “I’ve seen people like him before. I call them gore junkies. He was probably hoping for a look at an open grave. Maybe even to glimpse some remains.”
“He knew who I was, though.”
“Well, you were in the news last spring during the heat of the investigation. I must say, everything considered, you handled that extremely well.” An errant curl fell across Temple’s face, and she tucked it back. She was dressed much the same as I—cargoes, dark jacket and boots—but she’d left her hair down to blow artfully in the breeze while I’d scraped mine back into a ponytail. “I’ve never seen you so assertive.”
“Maybe he just caught me on a bad morning.” I watched Ivers—or whoever he was—disappear through the entrance. “I should probably go lock the gates,” I said on a shiver.
“Good thinking. I’ll come with you just in case Mr. Creepypants gets any wild notions.”
“There is no excuse for such wanton neglect,” Temple said a little while later as we gazed down a row of overturned headstones. “I’m ashamed something like this happened on my watch.”
“It’s not like you could be here every second of every day,” I said. “The excavations went on for months.”
“I realize that, but the blatant disrespect is like a slap in the face.”
“I wouldn’t call it disrespect. The police tried to observe proper protocol, but after the scope of the investigation became evident, priorities shifted.”
The killer had been very clever about hiding the bodies of his victims in old graves marked with meaningful inscriptions and images. Once the perpetrator had been identified, it then became a matter of recovering the remains. Dozens of sites had been exhumed, disturbing original interment. After the dirt had been sifted for evidence, the graves had been hastily filled in to prevent further exposure to the elements. As the state archeologist, Temple had authority over any human remains older than a hundred years. Her job at Oak Grove was to ensure the reburials had been conducted properly and that any artifacts such as personal mementoes, scraps of clothing and bone had been returned to the appropriate graves.
I went over to kneel beside one of the fallen headstones. Using a soft-bristle brush, I cleaned away dirt and dried moss to reveal the artwork—a winged face symbolizing the flight of the soul. “I don’t see any fresh cracks or chips. Maybe they were afraid of breaking them, so they left them where they fell. Which was a good call, actually. You know how fragile these old stones are.”
Temple’s eyes snapped. “You’re far more charitable than I am. I think it more likely that in their zeal to dig up
