ago?”
“It was fifteen years ago and now two more bodies have been discovered in the same cemetery. I might buy two as a coincidence, but three is a pattern.”
“Jesus, Amelia. Are you trying to give me nightmares? Can we talk about something more pleasant before I have to go crawl into bed all by my lonesome?”
“What would you rather talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Detective Devlin, maybe?”
My pulse jumped at the very mention of his name. “What about him?”
She gave me a crafty glance. “Don’t act all innocent. I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you looked at him. What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing. I barely know the man.”
“Maybe you should remedy that situation. You could do worse, you know. A lot worse. A man like that could do a woman like you a world of good.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You spend far too much time in the company of the dead.”
“Look who’s talking.”
She shrugged. “Yes, but at least I know how to have a little fun. You, on the other hand, always play it safe. Step out of your cemeteries for a moment and loosen up. Live a little dangerously now and then.”
“You think Devlin is dangerous?”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
“Not true. We found out all sorts of fascinating things about him tonight. He comes from money. He’s estranged from his family. He married an exotic woman who died tragically and he may or may not have spent time in a mental institution.” Her eyes danced in the light from the street. “I’d say that qualifies John Devlin as a dangerous man. Deliciously dangerous, in fact. Remember, I’ve seen him in action.”
“You mean that incident with his wife?”
“That was something to behold, Amelia. I’ve never considered myself a voyeur, but it was like getting a peek of what he might be like in the bedroom—at least Mariama’s bedroom. Dominant, explosive…completely out of control.”
My pulse quickened in spite of myself. “I’m not sure that sounds altogether appealing.”
“Maybe not after all the milquetoasts you’ve dated.”
I shrugged, refusing to be offended. “I like the quiet type.”
“No, you like the safe type, but it’s time you broaden your horizon.”
I tried to remain indifferent, but I couldn’t deny that Temple had planted some rather titillating images in my mind.
She lolled her head against the wall. “Mariama. Even her name gives me shivers. I can still see Devlin looming over her, so dark and angry, and that lustful defiance of her response.” Temple’s eyes closed on a sigh. “There was a breeze that day. It blew her skirt back and molded the flimsy fabric to her body so that you could see the outline of her thighs and her—”
“I get the picture!” I suddenly wondered where Devlin was at that moment. Was he home alone or had he other plans for the evening?
“Can you imagine all that pent-up intensity after years of celibacy?”
I glanced at Temple. “What makes you think he’s been celibate? I doubt very seriously he’s remained alone since his wife died.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport. Let me enjoy my fan-wanking.”
“Your what?”
“Let me arrange the story to meet my own personal needs.”
“Be my guest then. Just please leave me out of it.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not my type. Too white-bread and staid. Although…” Her voice turned silky and sly. “I’ve always sensed some spice beneath all that vanilla. In the right hands—”
“Please stop.”
“You’re right. Just ignore me. It’s the wine making me a fool for love. Or lust. I’ll drop the whole subject, but you have to promise me something.”
“Doubtful. Unlike you, I’m stone-cold sober.”
But she was serious. A worry line formed between her brows and she placed her hand on my arm. “Be careful with Devlin. Flirt with him, sleep with him, do whatever with him, but…be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something about him…I’m not sure I can explain it. I’ve known men like him before. Controlled and guarded on the surface, but under the right conditions…with the right woman…” She trailed off and glanced at me. “Do you know what I’m saying?”
“Not really.”
“A woman like Mariama would know how to push his buttons. She would do everything in her power to make him lose control, because that’s how she got off. That’s what gave her power. But with you…”
“What about me?”
“You said it yourself. You like the safe guys. And Devlin is anything but safe. He’s not the man for you.”
“A minute ago, you said he was just what I needed.”
“As a brief fling, yes. As a lifetime companion, no way. I see you with someone like Ethan.”
“Ethan? Where did that come from?”
“I’m just using him as an example. You need a man who will—”
“Don’t say take care of me. That’s the last thing I want.”
“Someone who’ll always put your interests above his own,” she insisted. “That man is not John Devlin.”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled. “I may be a switch hitter, but I know men. Trust me on this one. It’ll save you a lot of heartache down the road.”
Fourteen
When I got home that night, I went straight back to the office, grabbed my laptop and settled down on the chaise for some online sleuthing. Research was an important aspect of my job, and given enough time, I could usually uncover anything I needed. But tonight, even after the most persistent digging, I found nothing on Afton Delacourt, either before or after her death. Apparently, Devlin had been right about the media blackout. It was as if her whole life had been expunged after the murder.
Rupert Shaw was a different matter. A Google search yielded a wealth of links, most of them in conjunction with his work at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies. For the most part, the articles I scanned portrayed him in a favorable light—a scholarly, if somewhat eccentric gentleman who had an obvious affinity for the paranormal. Not out of line with my own perception of the man.
I did glean one new morsel from a video interview I found on a local ghost hunter website. The questions to Dr. Shaw ran the gamut from haunted houses to near-death experiences, but the part that caught my attention was a little off-the-cuff chat at the end.
The interviewer had complimented Dr. Shaw on a ring he wore on his right pinkie. I’d noticed the ring myself the first time we met. It was silver and onyx, with an ornate symbol embedded into the stone. Dr. Shaw had mentioned at the time that it was a family heirloom, but he told the interviewer the ring had been a gift from a colleague. It was entirely possible we were talking about two different rings, but I didn’t think so. Nor did I consider it anything more than a curious tidbit.
Moving on…
Like Yale’s infamous Skull and Bones Society, the Order of the Coffin and the Claw had been established in the early nineteenth century and counted among its membership some of South Carolina’s power elite. In 1986, the
