Elise had brought Audrey to the tearoom hoping to talk to her about Jackson Sweet, but suddenly the timing didn't seem right. When Audrey was up, you didn't want to risk bringing her crashing down. Why spoil the afternoon?
Their tea finished, Elise paid and left the waiter a nice tip. Then she and Audrey walked up Bull Street, through Madison and Chippewa Squares in the direction of the police station, where Thomas was scheduled to pick up his daughter.
The temperature was perfect. Not too hot or too humid. A white horse-drawn carriage moved lazily past, the Morgan's huge, shaggy feet clumping slowly and rhythmically against the brick street. Azaleas were blooming, and for a few short moments Elise could almost believe everything in their lives would be fine.
They were preparing to cross the street when Audrey halted abruptly. 'Look!'
Turning the corner was a black car, its back windows tinted so nobody could see inside. The charming Enrique was at the wheel.
'Strata Luna,' Audrey whispered in awe, her eyes glued to the long vehicle, her mouth hanging open. 'They say she killed her daughters. That she drowned one and strangled the other. That is so creepy.'
Elbows at her sides, Audrey rapidly waved her hands as if she might flutter off. 'Oh-my-God,' she gasped. 'She's coming this way!' She pinched the sleeve of Elise's jacket and tugged. 'Hurry! We have to run!'
The car pulled to a stop and the blackened electric window glided down. In the darkness of the backseat, Elise could make out the vague shape of a hat and veil.
'Elise.' Strata Luna's melodic voice came from the murky interior. 'Is this the daughter you were telling me about?'
Audrey stiffened. Elise could sense her shock, maybe even her disapproval.
Elise introduced her naive, innocent daughter to the woman who had feasted on her own mother's heart and ran a whorehouse. A nice wrap for a mother-daughter outing.
They were caught in the middle of a no-win situation. If Audrey chose to keep the encounter from her dad, then she'd be hiding things; if she chose to tell him, he'd be extremely upset.
'Are you skilled, child?' Strata Luna asked, choosing to keep her face hidden by the black veil.
'S-skilled?'
'Has your mother taught you anything? Passed on her root knowledge?'
'N-no.'
'Elise, it's your duty to pass the mantle,' Strata Luna said.
Audrey glanced at her mother. 'That's okay. I don't want to know any of that root stuff.'
'Then what do you do, child? What keeps your mind and body busy?'
'I play ball. Softball.'
'Are you good?'
'Pretty good.'
'Do you win?'
'Sometimes.'
'I'll make a charm so you'll be always winning. Something you can wear around your neck.'
'Audrey doesn't need a charm,' Elise said firmly, while at the same time thinking of the herbal pouch Strata Luna had given to her. At that very moment, it was in her shoulder bag. 'She's an excellent player.'
'My ears hear what you're telling me,' Strata Luna said with a sly smile in her voice. 'Every mama knows what's best for her girl.' She lifted a gloved hand and made a motion like a blown kiss. The electric window silently closed, leaving Elise and Audrey regarding their own reflections.
As they watched, the car glided away.
Beside Elise, still clinging tightly to her arm, Audrey whispered, 'Sweet kitty.'
Chapter 19
Gary Turello's grave was labeled with a cheap metal marker. The kind with nothing more than a piece of paper slipped behind thin plastic. The family had given consent to exhume the body under the condition that they wouldn't be responsible for any fees incurred, including the cost of reburial. Elise was relieved that they'd had no desire to witness the event.
'He was seventeen,' she told Gould, who stood beside her in shirtsleeves and loose tie.
'A kid,' he agreed.
She'd done a little investigating and had found that Turello had been a runaway. And like many runaways who were broke and scared and homeless, he'd turned to prostitution. It had probably seemed an easy way out.
The exhumation was taking place in midafternoon of an overcast, shadowless day, hot and humid, with a heat index above ninety degrees, the air so heavy and wet it had wilted the fabric of Elise's suit. The smell of magnolia blossoms hung in the air. Bees buzzed among the tombs decorated with dying flowers while digital cameras silently recorded the event.
Laurel Grove Cemetery had been laid out in wide carriage lanes. Back in the days when early death was a part of life, relatives desired the comfort of constant communion, so the mausoleums had porches where people could sit and visit.
Savannah PD had tried to keep the exhumation from becoming media fodder, but as with all things tantalizing, people whispered secrets that could not be kept, and pretty soon news teams and press reporters were there from as far away as Atlanta.
Earlier that day, Cassandra Vince, the state medical examiner from the GBI in Decatur, had arrived. Casper had picked her up at the airport, and now the MEs stood side by side. Abe Chilton, crime scene specialist, was also there with a team.
The backhoe was loud and threatening as the bucket maneuvered into position above the grave. As everybody stepped back, Elise heard the whine of hydraulic cylinders. The bucket shifted, shuddered to a stop, then moved again in a jerky, awkward ballet until the teeth made contact with the ground and began to peel away the sod.
Georgia earth had a distinctive smell. Highly loamy and peaty, with hints of woodiness and stagnant water.
When she was little, Elise had picked up a library book called Tales of the Grave. Inside was a drawing of a cadaver clawing its way from the coffin to the surface of the ground. Not a comforting bedtime story.
'Stop!' The man in charge waved his arms, signaling to the backhoe operator.
Leaving the coffin's gray protective outer case in the ground, they broke the seal. Sticky, gummy residue trailed off the lid as it was lifted away. It took another piece of large equipment to hoist the coffin from the case.
Elise had helped Thomas pick out a casket for his grandfather. The mortician had talked about the different models as if they were cars. Elise and Thomas had looked at each other and burst out laughing. Completely inappropriate, but hysterical humor came at just such highly emotional moments. Thomas still talked about it. 'Remember when we laughed our asses off at the coffin salesman?' he would sometimes say.
Abe Chilton broke away from the crowd and approached the casket, taping down evidence seals where the double lid met the body of the box. Two of his assistants documented the entire process-from the first bit of ground broken by the backhoe to the final seal-with a video camera and 35-mm film.
The casket was loaded onto a flatbed truck and secured with chains.
'Show's over,' Gould said, hands in the pockets of his dress pants.
They were met by a wall of news junkies, cameras running, shutters clicking. A reporter from the Savannah Morning News jumped in front of them, took their photo, then asked for their names.
Elise didn't dislike the media the way some police did. She felt they could have a healthy, symbiotic relationship. She paused and told the reporters who they were. But when the questions turned to the body and exhumation, she put up her hands. 'There'll be a press conference at police headquarters. The time will be announced later today.'
In her faded yellow SAAB, Elise drove carefully, getting Gould and herself through the crowd while the air
