“All right, hold your horses.”
I was afraid she would have to check with the coroner before she released the records or, worse, verify with Regina. But instead, I heard the whir of a printer, and a moment later, she handed me a single sheet of paper.
“This is just the summary,” she said. “If Regina wants the full report, she’ll have to submit a formal request. But she knows that.”
“I’m sure this will be fine,” I said, as I stuffed the page in with the others. “Thanks again for your help.”
“No problem. Y’all take care.”
I hurried out of the building and climbed into my car before anyone had a chance to stop me. Pulling out the reports, I scanned all three, then read back through them more carefully. Something niggled but I didn’t know why. Everything seemed to be in order. Nothing leaped out at me, so I put them back in the envelope and set it aside for the time being.
Chedathy Cemetery—and Shani’s ghost—waited for me.
On my way to the cemetery, I stopped at the bridge where Mariama’s car had gone over the guardrail. I’d been there once before when Shani had first appeared in my garden because I thought I might find answers in the place where she’d drawn her last breath. Back then the heart on my window and the garnet ring had been our only communication. Now I knew that she wanted me to come find her and I dreaded what that might entail.
I had no idea why I’d come back to the bridge, but the compulsion had been too strong to resist. Something or someone was trying to direct my actions, be it my instincts, the universe or my spirit guide. These impulses didn’t happen out of the blue, and according to Clementine, I needed to pay particular attention to whatever meaningful coincidences might be headed my way.
Parking on the side of the road, I got out and walked up the incline to stand at the railing, gazing down at the water. It was a still day and the sun warmed my face. I could smell brine from the marshes and pine from the forest. The leaves of the hardwoods had already turned, painting the landscape in brilliant shades of russet, crimson and gold.
It was very peaceful here. I’d noticed that on my previous trip. I wouldn’t have been surprised to sense some disturbance remaining from the accident. If a house could harbor the emotions of previous residents, then surely a place could capture a scream.
I heard nothing.
In that quiet setting, I thought of my conversation with Isabel. Devlin had remained with Mariama because he’d been afraid for Shani. It must have been a horrible situation, one I could hardly imagine.
With his money and clout, he could have taken Mariama to court and sued for full custody. And if granted, he could have taken every precaution, installed the best security system, hired a full-time guard. But nothing would have kept Mariama away if she’d been bent on revenge. Nothing could keep her away now.
I took out my phone to check for messages in case Devlin had tried to call, but I couldn’t get a strong enough signal to connect with my voice mail. As I stood there contemplating the water, a patrol car from the Beaufort County Sheriff’s office eased alongside me.
My first thought was those autopsy reports in the front seat of my car. The woman at the coroner’s office must have caught on to my deception. But then I remembered that, technically, autopsy reports were a matter of public record. Surely I’d done nothing to warrant an arrest.
“Everything okay here?” he asked through his open window.
“I’m just enjoying the scenery,” I tried to say casually.
“Thought you might be having car trouble.” He nodded to the phone in my hand. “You won’t get a signal out here. Have to drive up the road a piece.”
I turned to stare out over the bridge. “What about on the water?”
“Nah. I ran out of gas not too long ago and had to wait all morning before anyone came along to give me a tow. Not enough towers in the area,” he said. “You’re out in the boonies.”
“Well, thank you for stopping to check on me.”
“I wouldn’t hang out here for too long,” he cautioned. “These swamps are full of meth heads. They’d knock their own mama in the head for a buck.”
Suppressing a shiver, I nodded. “I’ll remember that.”
He drove off slowly, and I tried the phone from both ends of the bridge before climbing back into my car. I sat there for a moment, staring at the guardrail as I dredged up Ethan’s account of the accident.
According to him, Mariama had contacted 911 and then Devlin from her sinking car. How had she managed one call, let alone two, without a signal?
A little while later, I pulled around to the back of Chedathy Cemetery where I’d parked on my last visit. It was early afternoon, but the eerie tremolo of a loon tapped an icy tattoo down my spine as I jumped the ditch of brackish water and set out through the cemetery.
In the Gullah tradition, personal mementoes decorated the graves, along with seashells and broken pottery. Every now and then the sun shone down through the heavy canopy to catch a mirror just right, and the flash of light simulated a spirit in flight. I loved these old seacoast cemeteries. Everything that had been left upon the mounds— lamps, clocks, bits of porcelain and glass bottles—was an acknowledgement that life did not end with death.
I knelt beside Shani’s resting place and cleaned away leaves until I uncovered the seashell heart. The antique doll that I’d seen Devlin place on the grave last May had been taken away, probably having been ruined by inclement weather. I slipped the garnet ring from my finger and placed it inside the heart just as I had done before. Then I covered it back over with leaves to wait for Shani.
It was only three-thirty, too early for her ghost to appear, so I decided to take a walk by Essie’s house. I wouldn’t call on her unannounced, but if she happened to be sitting on her front porch, I could stop by and say hello. Maybe even work the conversation around to Darius. He was her grandson, though, so I’d have to be very careful not to offend her with my questions.
The sun was still warm on my shoulders as I walked down the gravel road toward the small community of clapboard houses. Birds sang from the treetops, and I could hear the distant laughter of children. It was all very tranquil until my gaze was drawn to one of the houses where several men stood around a hole that had been cut in the siding. As I stopped to watch, a draped stretcher was passed through the opening into their waiting hands. That the sheet covered a body, I was certain. A hearse was parked in the dirt drive, and I could hear weeping from inside the house.
As I gazed upon the bizarre scene, a girl of about sixteen ambled down the road toward me. She carried a baby in her arms while she shepherded a small child on a tricycle. Like me, she stopped to watch the house, and I turned to nod an acknowledgement. She was tall and gangly with high cheekbones and dark, luminous eyes. I thought her vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
Resting the baby on her hip, she eyed me with open curiosity. “Did you know old Mr. Fremont?”
She nodded toward the house. “He died this morning. They’re carrying him down to the funeral home now to get him ready.”
“I never met him,” I said. “But I did know another Fremont from this area. His name was Robert.”
“That cop? He was Mr. Fremont’s grandson.” Despite the time of year and cooling weather, she wore flip- flops with her jeans. I could see a flash of hot pink toenail beneath the tattered hems. “How did you know Robert?”
“We met in Charleston.”
“He was a friend of yours?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that. Such a tragedy what happened to him. His death must have been a blow to the community.”
“Mama said the old man never got over it.”
We stood watching the strange proceedings in silence for a moment. “Why didn’t they bring the body through the door?” I asked. “What’s the significance of the hole in the wall?”
“In case he comes back,” she said with a shiver. “Once that hole is closed, his spirit won’t be able to find its way into the house.”
