“I guess I was raised right.”
“I guess you were.” She smiled.
“Dad told me you were awarded the Oak Grove contract. Congratulations.” Ethan saluted me with his wineglass.
“Thank you, but how did Dr. Shaw know about the contract? I understood the whole operation was to be kept under wraps until the unveiling.”
“He sits on the committee that gave final approval.”
“I see. Well, I appreciate his faith in me, but unless I can make significant progress fairly quickly, I’m not sure how much longer my services will be needed.”
“The delays aren’t your fault,” he said. “The committee will understand that.”
“The committee, maybe. I’m not so sure about Dr. Ashby.”
“Camille Ashby?” Temple gave a derisive snort.
I stared across the table. “How do you know Dr. Ashby?”
“Camille was at Emerson with us,” Ethan explained.
“She and I were roommates for a time.” Delicately, Temple blotted her ruby lips on her napkin. “We were quite close until she tried to kill me.”
“She…
“It’s true.” She shrugged, as though an accusation of attempted murder was an everyday occurrence. “I woke up one night to find her standing over me with a pair of scissors. It was pretty apparent she didn’t have arts and crafts on her mind.”
“That’s crazy. Why would she try to kill you?” I’d never known Temple to exaggerate, let alone outright fabricate, but this accusation was a little far-fetched. I couldn’t imagine anyone less likely to attack another person with a pair of scissors than Camille Ashby, if for no other reason than abhorrence for the mess it would make.
“I’m afraid it’s one of those unseemly little tales,” Temple said, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Shall I tell it?”
“By all means,” Ethan said and shot me a grin.
“Well. It happened during our junior year,” she began with a flourish. “We’d had some classes together the year before so we were already acquainted, but then outside circumstances conspired to throw us into the same arena. We found we had a lot in common—both into freedom of expression and experimentation, socially as well as sexually.”
“I like this story already,” Ethan said, with some enthusiasm.
“To cut to the chase, Camille wasn’t as liberated as she led me to believe. She was competitive, jealous and quite the vindictive little bitch. She took our fling seriously—”
“Wait, back up. Fling, you say?” Ethan gave her a pained look. “Why must you gloss over the most interesting details?”
“You have an imagination, use it,” Temple advised. “Anyway, when Camille caught me with a guy one night, things got ugly. She smashed my computer, ripped up all my clothes. Told the most vicious lies about me. I tried to salvage our friendship, but after the incident with the scissors, I got the hell out. I haven’t seen her in years, but with her issues, I can’t imagine she’s changed much.”
“She’s still wound pretty tightly,” Ethan agreed.
Temple picked up her glass. “It has to be exhausting spending most of your life pretending to be something you’re not. Given enough time, secrets have a way of becoming terrible burdens.”
I thought of my father’s secrets,
“Why would she have to keep her sexual orientation a secret?” I asked rather naively. “I can’t imagine anyone caring about her personal life.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Pollyanna. Emerson may be a liberal arts college, but the board and much of the alumni are still very conservative. And her family’s even worse, especially her father. The old man’s head would probably explode if she came out. Not that that would be a bad thing,” Temple added, her voice tainted with venom.
Earlier when I’d seen Camille and Devlin together at the cemetery, I’d been quick to jump to the wrong conclusion about a romantic relationship, and it wasn’t to my credit now that mostly what I felt was relief.
I thought of his hand on my arm, the ghost’s taunting caresses, and shivered. The episode at the cemetery had upset me in so many ways for so many reasons. Devlin could not have been more off-limits to me if he had been a ghost himself. And yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The table fell silent as our first course arrived—she-crab soup for Ethan and Temple, beet and arugula salad for me. When the waiter stepped away, I saw the ghost again.
His frozen gaze locked with mine, giving me a terrible chill. But unlike my behavior with Devlin, I was in perfect control…until I heard the shatter of glass.
For a terrifying moment, I thought he’d caused the window to break. Then I realized the sound had come from our table. Temple’s glass had cracked and smashed against her soup bowl. I stared in shock at the crimson dripping between her fingers.
“Temple, your hand!”
“No, it’s okay. Just wine. See?” She dabbed it with her napkin. “I don’t know what happened. The glass just…disintegrated.”
Ethan had jumped up from his seat and rushed around to her chair. “Are you sure? Let me take a look.”
“I’m not cut,” she insisted, pushing back her chair. “I’ll just go clean myself up. You two eat.”
Before she’d stood, the waitstaff had arrived to mop up the spill and sweep away the broken glass, all done so discreetly that only those seated nearby were aware of anything amiss.
Another glass was brought to the table, more wine was poured, and I chanced another glance out the window. It had started to mist. I watched the candles sputter out on the tables and wondered where the ghost had gone.
A man from a nearby table rose and approached Ethan. I assumed he was a colleague so I paid little attention to their conversation until I heard my name. I looked up with a start.
“Sorry. I was a million miles away.”
“I was just wondering if you’d met Daniel,” Ethan said. “He’s one of South Carolina’s most distinguished historians.”
“Dependant on whom you ask, of course.” His smile was a little wistful, a little self-deprecating. “Daniel Meakin.”
“Amelia Gray.”
“If there’s anything you need to know about Charleston, Daniel is your man,” Ethan said.
“I’ll remember that.”
He turned to Meakin. “Amelia is something of a historian herself. She’s a cemetery restorer.”
“Ah. Now, there’s an intriguing profession.” Meakin stood with his right hand clasped over his left, a self- conscious gesture that made him look as though he was trying to control some nervous tic. “I love graveyards. We can learn so much from the dead.”
Exactly what Devlin had said earlier, but in an entirely different context.
“You’ll be happy to hear that Amelia has been hired by the committee to restore Oak Grove.” Ethan gave me a contrite glance. “Sorry. I’m letting the cat out of the bag, but in light of what’s happened, I don’t think it matters anymore.”
A shadow flitted across Meakin’s birdlike features. “Dreadful business. I can’t fathom…”
“Yes, terrible,” Ethan agreed. They exchanged a glance.
“Had you been working long in the cemetery when they found the body?” Meakin asked.
“A few days. I’d just started photographing.”
He shook his head. “Such a shame. I certainly hope you’ll be able to resume the restoration once things get back to normal. Whatever that means,” he added with an ironic smile. “Oak Grove has been a thorn in Emerson’s side for years. I can’t imagine why it’s been allowed to linger for so long in such a dismal state. A matter of funding, I suppose.”
“It’s not unusual. Cemetery upkeep is expensive and there are other priorities. Once the gates are locked on abandoned graveyards, people tend to forget they exist.”
