Grave Sight

For someone who'd been so sure I was a fraud, she was taking my word without a second thought.

"So if he didn't kill himself," she said, talking faster and faster, "then he didn't kill Teenie, and if he didn't kill Teenie, then he didn't..." She stopped with an almost comic expression of panic, her eyes popping wide and her mouth clamped together to block the crucial word in, whatever it might have been.

A pounding at the door startled Tolliver and me; we'd been staring at Nell Teague as if we could pry the end of the sentence out of her with our eyes.

"Wonderful," I said after I looked through the peephole. "It's Sybil Teague, Tolliver."

"Ohmigod," said our visitor, who suddenly looked even younger than her age.

I cursed very thoroughly but silently, wishing that Sybil had arrived five minutes earlier. I had a fleeting idea that we could sneak Nell out through Tolliver's room, but as sure as we tried that, we'd be caught. After all, we hadn't done anything wrong. I opened the door, and Sybil came in like a well-groomed goddess of wrath.

"Is my child here?" she demanded, though we were making no move to conceal Nell, who was sitting in plain view. It was like she'd preplanned the moment.

"Right here," Tolliver said gently, with an edge of sarcasm to his voice. Sybil flushed, her natural color warring with the carefully applied tints of rose and cream.

Sybil took in the sight of Nell sitting in the chair, unmolested and with a Diet Coke clutched in her hand, and she seemed to deflate. "Where have you been, young lady?" she asked, rallying almost instantly. "I expected you home two hours ago."

Fortunately for us, Nell decided to come clean. "I followed them. They went to Flo and Jo's for supper," the teenager told her mother. "They took their time. I followed them here, and then I asked them if I could come in."

"You drove back in the rain from that place, with the roads slick, in the dark?" Sybil Teague's face went even paler. "I'm glad I didn't know about it."

"Mom, I've driven in rain plenty of times."

"Oh, yes, in the two years you've been driving. You have nowhere near enough experience..." Sybil took a deep breath and made herself relax. "All right, Nell, I know you wanted to talk about what happened to your brother. God knows, I've wanted to find out, too. And I thought this woman would give me answers. I just have more questions than I started out with, now."

"This woman" felt like throwing up her hands in exasperation. "This woman" did not like being spoken of as though she weren't there.

Paul Edwards appeared in the doorway behind Sybil. His hair was dark with rain. He put his hand on Sybil's shoulder, I thought to move her farther into the room so he could get out of the weather. I also thought it would be nice if they shut the door, since the wind was gusting in. Sybil stepped forward reluctantly, but his hand stayed on her shoulder.

For the first time, it occurred to me that there might be more between the two than attorney-client privilege. I'm just not as sharp about the living as I am the dead.

Nell's face shut down completely when she saw Paul Edwards. All the youth slid out of her mouth and eyes, and she looked like a hooker with her heavy eye makeup and tight clothes, instead of a cute kid trying on her personality.

"Hello, Miss Connelly, Mr. Lang," Edwards said. He focused on Nell. "I'm glad we caught up with you, young lady."

I wondered if Edwards was related to Sybil Teague's deceased husband. His ears were the same shape as Nell's, though otherwise she looked more like her mother.

"Right," Nell said, in a voice as expressionless as they come. "Thanks for coming out to look for me, Mr. Edwards." You could have cut the sarcasm with a chain saw.

"Your mother doesn't need anything else to worry about, Nell," he said, with so much gentle reproof in his voice that I wanted to deck him. I had no doubt that Sybil Teague had suffered over the loss of her son, but I was pretty sure Dell's little sister had been missing him, too. If anything happened to Tolliver, I'd... I found I couldn't even imagine it.

I'd rather have been out doing "cause of death" for a whole cemetery than be standing in that room right then.

"Goodbye," I said, making a hostess gesture toward the door. I was sure no hostess actually indicated her guests should leave, but this was my room, and I could behave as I chose. Everyone looked astonished except Tolliver, who smiled, just a twitch of the lips. I smiled myself, and out of habit they all responded, though uncertainly.

"Yes, of course. I'm sure you're tired," Sybil said. Like a true lady, she was providing a reason for my discourtesy.

I opened my mouth to disagree, but Tolliver beat me to it. "We've had a long day," he said with a smile. Mary Nell Teague suddenly looked at him with more interest. When Tolliver smiles, it's so unexpected it gives you a pleasant surprise.

Within a minute, the mother and daughter and lawyer were on the other side of the door, which was exactly where I wanted them.

"Harper," Tolliver said, in a reproving way.

"I know, I know," I acknowledged, without any regret. "What do you think she was really here for?"

"I'm trying to figure it out. Wait a minute, which 'she' do you mean?"

"I mean the mother."

"Good. Me, too. You think she was here to find out what Nell was saying to us? Or to keep us from telling Nell anything?"

"Maybe we should be wondering why Nell was so determined to talk to us. You think she might actually know something about her brother's death?"

"We're getting too wrapped up in this. We need to get out of Sarne."

"I agree. But I don't think the sheriff will let us leave." I drooped on the end of the bed, trying not to look at myself in the mirror opposite after one quick glance. I looked too pale and even a little haggard. I looked like a woman who needed a big mug of hot chocolate and about ten hours' sleep.

I could do something about that. I always carry powdered hot chocolate with me, and there was a little coffeepot in the room. After making sure Tolliver didn't want any, I had a steaming mug in hand. I scooted up against the headboard, pillows stuffed behind my back, and looked at Tolliver, who had slid down in the chair so that his long legs were fully extended. "What's our next appointment?" I asked.

"Memphis, in a week," he said. "Occult Studies at some university."

"A lecture?" I tried not to act as dismayed as I felt. I hated going back to Memphis, where I'd had the only easy part of life I could recall.

"Reading a small cemetery. I think they know the COD for most of the inhabitants." Cause of death. "It's a test. I could hear the professor gloating over exposing you, over the phone. Patronizing as hell. Is he going to be surprised or what?"

"Jerk," I said scornfully. "They paying us?"

"A nominal amount. But we should do it, because I figure the word-of-mouth on this one is gonna be great, and it's a private university, so some of the parents have money. Plus, we have an appointment in Millington the day after, which is real close."

Tolliver had arranged things very well. "Thanks, brother," I said, and I meant it with my heart.

He waved a hand to discount my gratitude. "Hey, what else would I be doing?" he asked. "Herding carts at Wal-Mart? Running a forklift in some warehouse?"

"Married with a couple of kids in a three-bedroom ranch, stable and happy," I almost said; but then I clenched my teeth over the words.

Some things I was scared to say out loud.

five

WE had no purpose the next day, which again dawned sunny and crisp. I went out for a run right after I got up, and I saw Tolliver trotting down the street in the opposite direction when I was almost back at the motel. After I'd showered, and he'd returned and cleaned up, we ate at a different diner.

About midmorning, I was so bored I got Tolliver to take me out to the older cemetery, the one I'd noticed the morning I'd found Teenie. I found it with my other sense, instead of asking for directions. This cemetery had graves over a hundred and fifty years old - well established, at least in American terms. The presence of so many old dead produced a constant, mellow reverberation, almost soothing; like giant ancient drums in the distance. Though the grounds were well tended, in the oldest section I spied a few overturned headstones with writing that time had obscured. These stones would belong to families who had died out; there were no living descendants to tend the plots. I amused myself by going from grave to grave, reaching deep to pull from each collection of bones what information I could garner. The glimpses I caught of these faces were often blurred or obscured, as if the dead themselves had forgotten who they'd been. Every now and then I saw the features clearly, heard a name, caught a longer glimpse of death in the past.

"Childbirth," I called to Tolliver, who was sitting half-in half-out of the car while he worked a crossword puzzle.

"Another one," he said, hardly raising his eyes from the page. It was the third childbirth death I'd found.

"Kind of scary." I stepped to the next grave. Since this was simply to pass the time and keep in practice, I'd left my shoes on. It was a nippy day, and I didn't want to catch a cold, especially since I was just messing around. "You know, Tolliver, men didn't used to die of heart attacks."

"That so?"

"That's what I heard on the news the other day. Oh! This guy was crushed by a tree he was cutting down."

Tolliver didn't bother to look up. "Um," he said, so I gathered he wasn't listening. I moved to my right. "Asthma attack," I muttered. "Blood poisoning from a knife cut. Scarlet fever. Smallpox. Flu. Pneumonia." I shook my head. So many of these things could be cured, or at least eased, now. I couldn't fathom people who longed for the past. They weren't thinking about the absence of antibiotics, that was for sure.

The next grave was one of the oldest. The tombstone had broken in half, and someone had tried to set it back together. I couldn't read the name.

"Hey, gunshot wound," I called to Tolliver.

"That's Lieutenant Pleasant Early," Hollis Boxleitner said, from about a yard behind me. "He was shot during the Civil War."

If there'd been an open grave, I would've jumped into it. Tolliver looked up sharply and lay down the clipboard. "Where'd you come from?" he asked, in no very friendly tone.

"I was weeding my great-grandmother's grave over there." Hollis inclined his head toward the north side of the cemetery; sure enough, there was a bucket full of weeds and a trowel beside a grave with a leaning headstone.

"During a murder investigation, you have time to weed?" Tolliver's voice was sharper than necessary.

"It relaxes me." Hollis's broad face remained calm. "And the state guys are in town."

A gust of wind blew dry leaves across the graves. As they crossed the graveled drive that wended through the cemetery, they made a hissing sound. I liked it.

"So, is this kind of... recreation, for you?" Hollis asked, indicating the graves around us.

"Yes. Just kind of keeping my hand in." People always expect me to be embarrassed by what I do. Why?

"Have you ever been to a really old graveyard? Like in England?"

I ducked my head. "Not often. There are the Indian mounds, of course, and even more ancient people. Those are pretty interesting. And we went to a very early American one. In Massachusetts."

"Was it the same? Does the length of time they've been dead make a difference?"

I was pleased at the question. Not many people want to know too much about what I do. "Yes, it does," I said. "I get fainter pictures, less exact knowledge. Someday I want us to go to Westminster Abbey. And Stonehenge." Lots of ancient dead people there, for sure.

"You think you could get any more information by going back to Helen Hopkins' house?" The policeman had switched back to the here and now, putting an end to our conversation.

"No," I said. "I have to be with the body." I didn't want to go through that, not at all. It was very unpleasant, seeing the death of someone you'd known.

"The state police have taken over the investigation," Hollis said, after he'd retrieved his bucket of weeds. "I just answer the phones on my shift. There's a hot line number."

It took me a second to understand that he'd been banished from the investigation.

"That sucks," I offered. I've met enough cops to know that the best of them like to be in charge. The best ones have that confidence.

He shrugged. "In a way. I'm just a part-time cop, it's true."

"She was your mother-in-law."

"Yes," he said heavily. "They're waiting for you."

For a second, since I was standing on a grave, I was sure he meant all the dead people; and I already knew they were. Then I realized his meaning was much more mundane. The lawyer, Paul Edwards, and a uniformed man I'd never seen, were standing by the car talking to Tolliver. I was glad I'd left my shoes on. I took a breath and began walking toward the men.

"Good luck," said Hollis, and I nodded. I knew he was watching, and he would see.

W E had a dismal time at the police station. The state police thought I was a blood-sucking leech. I'd anticipated their attitude as we drove into town, but it wore me out anyway. The male faces followed each other in slow succession. Thin, heavy, white, black, intelligent, dense; they all shared an opinion of me they didn't take any pains to hide. I guess they thought Tolliver was the enabler of the blood-sucking leech. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">