While he was talking, she turned away from the window to face him, but his back was to her as he shifted things around inside the oversize refrigerator. He turned around with a carton of eggs in his hand and said, “I couldn’t do that. I
She crossed the room, took the eggs out of his hand, and sat them on the counter beside him. “William died so you could be—”
“He died because Maylene died,” Byron interrupted, “and because the new Graveminder needed
Rebekkah took his hands. “I’m scared, and I’m sorry about your dad, and I’m angry about all of us being trapped, but I’m glad you’re the one who’s at my side.”
“Me, too. I—” His cell phone rang, and he frowned. “Hold that thought. That’s the ring tone for work.” He grabbed the phone. “Montgomery ... Yeah. Where? ... No, I’ll be there. Hold on.” He looked at Rebekkah and made a writing gesture in the air.
She mouthed, “Coffee table.”
“Sorry,” Byron mouthed back. Then he walked into the living room.
Rebekkah fixed two ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Then she started putting the food away. Snatches of Byron’s conversation stood out like beacons.
“ ... animal ...”
“ ... missing family ...”
She’d already caught enough details to know that she wanted to go with him to the scene of the death, so she turned off the coffeepot, pulled two travel mugs from the cupboard, and filled them both.
When he returned to the room with a scribbled note and a frown, she held out a mug and sandwich. “I need five minutes to throw on clothes and grab a ponytail holder.”
“Bek—”
“Is it Daisha?”
“We can’t know yet, but ... yeah, it sounds like it.” He blew his breath out in a heavy sigh. “You can see her at the funeral home. The scene of a murder is ... Chris says this one is messy.”
“I can do this,” she assured him. “Five minutes?”
He nodded, and she hurried upstairs to change out of her nightshirt.
Chapter 39
BYRON AND REBEKKAH DROVE TOWARD THE SUNNY GLADES TRAILER Park. The mobile-home community wasn’t quite at the edge of the town limits, but it was a long enough drive that the silence started to feel awkward. Byron plugged his iPod into the hearse’s stereo system.
“Your upgrade?” She nodded toward the stereo.
“Yeah. I added it a few months ago.” He glanced sideways at her. “It was a bit of an admission that I moved back to stay. I knew that when I crossed the town limits in December, but it took a little longer to really admit it.”
“Well, you’re a few months ahead of me, then: I figured out that I’m staying less than an hour ago.” Rebekkah stared out the window. “Tell me what you know.”
“I know it’ll be okay,” he said.
“About the murder,” she clarified, “not about living here.”
He cut off the engine. “Chris got a call, an anonymous tip, that there were two bodies that needed removal.”
“Two?”
“A couple. Man and a woman ... Chris says that it was another animal attack or maybe a murder suicide.” He opened the car door, but didn’t get out.
“This is ridiculous.” Rebekkah’s tone was angry. “What if we told them?”
“Told them?” he repeated.
“That a monster was killing people, not an animal.” She got out of the car and closed the door a little too forcefully, not quite slamming it.
Byron closed his door gently, walked around to stand beside her, and said softly, “You want to tell Chris that a dead girl killed these people and attacked the others?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I want to do. Either they believe it and can try to protect themselves or ...”
“Or they just forget, or they think we’re crazy,” he finished.
When Rebekkah didn’t reply, he went toward the door of the trailer. She followed silently.
The door was propped open, and he was grateful for the cool day. The smell of recent death filled the small structure, but if not for the open windows and breeze, it would’ve been worse. He handed her a pair of protective booties.
Once he’d put on his own, he looked over his shoulder. “Can you do this? Or do you want to wait outside?”
She frowned and stepped past him into the living room. Her eyes widened. “There are three death scents.”
She drew in a deep breath, and then, seemingly unfazed by the blood that was on the walls and soaking into the sofa, she walked farther into the trailer. “Two bodies. Another death.”
“A third murder? Chris said that—”
“No.” She looked around the room as if she saw things he didn’t. Her gaze was unfocused, even as she assessed the room. “Hungry Dead, not still dead.”
A sound from the hallway drew Byron’s attention. Chris had come out of one of the rooms and now stood in the doorway. He nodded. “Byron. Rebekkah.”
Rebekkah wasn’t looking at him; she walked in the opposite direction and stood in the kitchen area. Her hand was outstretched like she was feeling for something in the air.
After a moment, she turned around. Her eyes were shimmering silver. “Over here,” she said calmly.
“Bek!” Byron all but leaped over the dead woman to reach Rebekkah.
“She’s fine, Byron,” Chris said. “Barrow women get like that. Maylene looked peculiar-like when your dad brought her around dead folk.”
As Chris spoke, Rebekkah had become so vibrant that Byron’s eyes hurt to look at her. The shades of brown that he saw in her hair were highlighted as individual tones: dark coppers and soft golds twined with strands of amber and honey.
The urge to go to her vied with the need to run from her. Like stepping into the tunnel to reach the dead, this moment felt both frightening and alluring. Byron swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. She was still Rebekkah, still the woman he’d loved for years, still his partner in the strange task that lay before them.
Byron forced himself to look away from her and asked Chris, “What?”
“I don’t understand the particulars, but she’ll be fine. Just like her grandmama. Their eyes get different, but it’s not anything to worry over.” The sheriff shook his head, and then he headed to the door, trying to step around the worst of the bloodied carpet. “Come on. I’ll help you bag these two.”
“Sheriff ?” Rebekkah called. “This wasn’t an animal.” Her voice was different, too, thready in a way that reminded Byron of the wind in the tunnel to the land of the dead. “There’s a—”
“Stop.” Chris spun around and held up a hand. “Before you go saying anything more, here’s the facts: I don’t know as much as you, but the terms of my job let me accept things that most folks won’t hold in their mind. Reverend McLendon and Father Ness and the rest of the council members are able to remember some stuff, but if you go talking about things we shouldn’t know, it causes a hell of a migraine.”
“A migraine?” Rebekkah repeated.
“Stripes and lost vision, vomiting sick. Nasty.” Chris grimaced. “Don’t go saying anything that isn’t mine to know. What matters is this: something that shouldn’t be here killed them. When someone dies, I call the Undertaker. You”—he nodded at Byron—“bring the Barrow woman when you need to. Any ...
