A shadow flicked across his face. “I don’t place much stock in anything I can’t see with my own two eyes.”
Something told me I should let the matter drop, but apparently I wasn’t too keen on listening to warnings these days, internal or otherwise. “What about emotions? Fear, loneliness, grief. Or even love. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
He froze, and I saw something waver in his eyes, a darkness that made me tremble before he shook off whatever cloud had passed over him.
“Just a friendly word of advice about Rupert Shaw. I don’t know what kind of dealings you’ve had with the man, but I’d be careful of any future associations.”
“I appreciate your concern, but unless you can offer something more concrete than your disdain for his profession, I see no need to alter my opinion or my relationship with Dr. Shaw. He’s been nothing but kind to me.”
“Have it your way,” he muttered.
I thought that was the end of the subject, but then he took my arm and ushered me deeper into the shadows, where we wouldn’t be overheard. We were standing so close I could smell the graveyard on his clothing. Not the putrid odor of death, but the sensual earthiness of a lush, secret garden.
It wasn’t fair, I thought. The cemetery was supposed to be my domain, so how come I was the one short of breath here? How come I was the one with tingling flesh where his fingers circled my arm?
As if sensing my discomfort, he dropped his hand. “You asked earlier about an arrest in the Afton Delacourt murder. No one was ever formally charged, but Rupert Shaw was brought in for questioning.”
“On what grounds?”
“He used to be a professor at Emerson University. He taught classes in ancient burial practices, primitive funeral rites, that sort of thing. After Afton’s murder, some of his students came forward to say that they’d attended séances with him at his home and in a mausoleum here at this cemetery. They said he had a theory about death that he was obsessed with proving.”
“Which was?”
“According to him, when someone dies, a door or gate opens, which allows an observer a glimpse into the other side. The slower the death, the longer the door stays open, so that one might even be able to pass through and come back out.”
Papa’s voice darted through my head.
Alarmed, I stared up at him. “What does that theory have to do with Afton Delacourt?”
His expression didn’t waver. “She was tortured in such a way that her death was a long time coming.”
“That’s horrible, but it hardly proves—”
“Her body was found in the mausoleum where Shaw allegedly held his séances.”
I had no response to that. My mouth had suddenly gone dry.
“I’m not saying he’s guilty of anything,” Devlin added. “Just be careful. Don’t get too involved with him or that shady institute of his.”
It had been less than forty-eight hours since I’d first set eyes on John Devlin, and yet neither of us seemed to think twice about his meddlesome interest in my personal affairs.
“How do you know so much about this?” I asked uneasily. “You said the investigation was kept quiet back then and you’re too young to have been on the police force.”
“My wife was one of Rupert Shaw’s students,” he said quietly. And with that, he turned and walked away.
Eleven
A million questions swirled in my head—about Devlin’s wife, about his ghosts—but I kept them to myself as I watched him walk back over to Regina Sparks. Perhaps I wasn’t yet ready for those answers. Maybe I still harbored some notion that if he remained a stranger, I could keep my distance from him.
Nothing could have been further from the truth, of course, because despite everything, our destinies were already intertwined. We just didn’t know it.
With some effort, I turned my thoughts to other things as I walked back to my car. I didn’t know what to make of the information I’d learned about Afton Delacourt, but I was beginning to fear the worst. I didn’t see how the discovery of three bodies in the same cemetery could be unrelated, no matter the gap in time. However, if the skeletal remains turned out to be original to the grave, then I could more readily buy two bodies—Afton’s and the recent murder victim—being coincidental. As Devlin had pointed out, fifteen years between discoveries was a lot of time and an abandoned cemetery wasn’t an uncommon dumping ground.
The only certainty I’d gleaned from any of Devlin’s revelations was his disregard for Rupert Shaw. As far as I was concerned, his assessment couldn’t have been further off the mark.
I’d met Dr. Shaw shortly after my arrival in Charleston. Someone had sent him the Samara video and he’d contacted me through my blog. We’d kept in touch via email and the occasional dinner ever since. It was through one of his research associates that I’d found the house on Rutledge Avenue. For that reason alone, I was inclined to have a favorable opinion of him, regardless of what Devlin thought.
Emerging from the tall weeds onto the road, I hustled over to my SUV to retrieve my phone. It was lodged between the seat and console, where it must have slipped from my pocket earlier as I pulled on my boots.
Temple wasn’t in her office, so I left a brief voicemail explaining the situation and asked her to call me back as soon as she got the message.
As I closed the car door, I noticed a man leaning against the vehicle parked in front of mine. In spite of the over-cast sky, he wore sunglasses and held his head in such a way that I couldn’t see his face straight on. But I recognized him at once. He was the man I’d seen on the Battery the day before.
And now here he was at Oak Grove.
I glanced up the road, where a uniformed officer stood talking on the radio outside his cruiser. The occasional burst of static from the transmission assured me that he was close enough to hear me scream, should I feel the need.
The newcomer lifted his head slightly as I walked to the front of the SUV. “Amelia Gray?”
A warning bell sounded. “How do you know my name?”
“I read about you in the paper,” he said. “I’m Tom Gerrity.” Instead of shaking my hand, he folded his arms and crossed his feet at the ankles as he leaned back against the vehicle. He appeared to be very much at ease. I couldn’t say the same for myself.
“Have we met?”
“No, but I’ve seen you around.”
“Like on the Battery yesterday morning?”
A smile flashed. “I’m flattered you remember.”
I shot another look at the cop. He was still on the phone. Still within screaming distance.
I could feel Gerrity’s gaze on me. It was disconcerting not being able to look into his eyes. The part of his face that I could see was very attractive. He was even more handsome than Devlin, but he didn’t possess Devlin’s dangerous allure, so therefore, he posed no threat to the rules.
Fate had a very strange sense of humor, I decided. The first man in forever that had ignited my carnal spark and he had to be haunted.
But I couldn’t worry about that now. Tom Gerrity had been following me and I needed to find out why.
“What do you want, Mr. Gerrity?”
“Direct and to the point,” he said. “I like that. What I want, Miss Gray, is a conduit into the police department.”
I stared at him with open suspicion. “A conduit? Are you a reporter? Do you expect me to leak information to you about the investigation? Because that’s not going to happen.”
“I’m not a reporter. And I’m not after information. I want you to give John Devlin a message for me.”
