“What’s a…what you just said?”
“Slot-and-tab box tomb, and it’s exactly what it sounds like—a horizontal tomb in the shape of a box. Slots are cut into the lid so that it fits down over vertical head and foot stones. The only other ones I’ve come across were in northeast Georgia. And, of course, there’s the Bedford Mausoleum.” I turned and studied the towers and points, barely visible through the lush vegetation. “It’s built into a hillside. You just don’t see that in the Lowcountry.”
“Man-made?”
“The hillside? It would have to be. The whole structure is covered in kudzu so I can’t tell much about the construction. Anyway, as I said, those are some of the features that caught my attention. I don’t remember any more outward-facing headstones, but there could be others. We’d have to rewalk the cemetery to know for sure.”
“That might not be a bad idea,” he said.
Regina Sparks came up just then, her round face glistening in the heat. Lifting up her hair, she fanned the back of her neck with her hand. “It’s hotter than a two-peckered alley cat up in here. Humidity must be close to a hundred.” She sized me up with a friendly smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Regina Sparks.”
“Amelia Gray.”
“She’s the cemetery expert I told you about the other night,” Devlin said.
Her gaze fastened on him before she turned to me. It seemed she wasn’t altogether immune to Devlin’s magnetism, either. “The one they call the Graveyard Queen?”
“Yes, but how did you know?” I was both pleased and embarrassed that she knew my nickname.
“My aunt lives in Samara, Georgia. She sent me the video of your interview and the hovering ‘ghost,’” she said with air quotes. “That was the biggest news to hit that place in forty years. She couldn’t stop talking about it.”
“Small world,” I murmured.
“No kidding. Wait’ll she hears about this. You don’t have a headstone rubbing or something you could sign for her, do you?”
“Uh, no, sorry. And I don’t recommend rubbings, anyway. The process can actually be damaging to headstones.”
“Really? Well, that’s too bad. She would have gotten a kick out of something like that.”
“Do you mind?” Devlin cut in. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to hear your initial assessment.”
“Of Amelia?” Regina gave me a wink. “Lovely girl, handled herself well on camera.”
“I’m talking about the remains,” he said drily.
“Oh, him. Dead as a doornail.”
Regina’s wisecracks were probably a little hard for someone like Devlin to take. He was all business and I’d yet to see anything more than a hint of a smile. But those who were haunted often had a grim demeanor. One could hardly blame them.
She pushed back her bangs, giving herself an odd plumed appearance that I doubted was the look she’d been aiming for. “I don’t exactly have a lot to work with here. I can’t even say for certain we’re looking at an intrusive burial. The hand looks pretty damn clean. No muscle or ligament, just bone. Whoever that poor bastard was, he’s been here for years.”
“She,” I said, garnering simultaneous eyebrow lifts. “If the bones are from the original burial, the remains are most likely female.”
“You don’t say.” Regina swatted a mosquito, leaving a bloody smear on her arm. Absently, she wiped her hand on her jeans. “I’m mighty curious as to how you came to that conclusion. The inscription on the tombstone is illegible.”
“If you look at the top of the stone, you can just make out a floral motif…a rose, which is almost always used to symbolize the feminine. Whether the rose is a bud, flower or somewhere in between indicates the age of the deceased. A bud, a child under twelve. A partial bloom, a teenager and so on. A full bloom and a bud are sometimes used together to represent a dual burial of mother and child. I only saw one rose in full bloom on this stone.”
Regina turned to Devlin. “I guess they don’t call her the Graveyard Queen for nothing.”
“Evidently not.” His eyes in the shade looked almost black. “Anything else you can tell us?”
“Yes, and it’s a bit of a coincidence, considering our previous conversation. If you look closely, you can also make out the outline of a winged effigy. Not a death’s head, but a cherub, which is more common to the mid- nineteenth century.”
“Now you’ve lost me,” Regina said, scratching the bug bite.
I gave her the top-line version. “A skull—a death’s head—was used to represent the grimmer aspects of death like mortality and penance, but the evolution of cherubs and the like symbolized a more hopeful outlook—the soul in flight and the ascension to heaven.”
“The soul in flight,” Devlin said thoughtfully. “Like the feather on the other headstone?”
There it was. A connection between the body found last night and the skeletal remains discovered less than an hour ago. Neither of us said anything, but I knew our minds had gone to the same dark place.
Regina’s gaze hopped back and forth. “Well?”
Devlin gave her a rundown of our previous conversation.
She heard him out with a pensive scowl. “I’ve never given much thought to what they put on tombstones, but wouldn’t anything to do with wings and feathers—all that soul in flight stuff—be pretty common in a Christian cemetery?”
“It’s not uncommon,” I agreed. “Especially in a graveyard as old as Oak Grove. Different eras evoke different imagery, but certain symbols never go away. They just evolve.”
Regina turned back to Devlin. “You really think there’s something to this?”
“I’m taking a wait-and-see approach. It’s too early to consider the symbols anything more than an interesting observation.”
“Interesting is right.” She glanced at me. “You got anything else for us?”
“Just this. If the bones are from the original burial, you’ll need to notify the Office of the State Archaeologist. Remains over a hundred years old fall under her jurisdiction. Her name is Temple Lee. I can make the call for you if you like.”
Regina shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. We’ll need Shaw for the exhumation and I’ll have to line up an entomologist to help us determine PMI.”
“What’s PMI?”
“Postmortem interval. The amount of time passed since death.”
“I thought Shaw was still in Haiti,” Devlin said.
Regina snagged a phone from her back pocket. “One way to find out.” She walked away to make the call, leaving me alone once again with Devlin.
“Would she be referring to Ethan Shaw?”
He looked surprised. “Yes. He’s the forensic anthropologist we normally use in these kinds of cases. I take it you know him?”
“I met him once, very briefly, through his father.”
“The ghost hunter?”
“Rupert Shaw is more than a ghost hunter. He runs one of the most respected institutes for parapsychology studies in the state.”
“Hardly an overwhelming endorsement,” Devlin said. “Don’t tell me you believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”
“I try to keep an open mind. Do you know Dr. Shaw?”
“Our paths have crossed.”
Something in his voice caught my attention. “Crossed professionally?”
“Look, I’m probably not the best person to ask about Rupert Shaw. I think he’s at best a kook and at worst a fraud. Though I can’t say I’m surprised he’s been able to make a name for himself in this city. Charlestonians have always had a high regard for the eccentric.”
“But not you.”
