At the plot was a freshly plowed hole at the opposite end of his father’s grave. In between them, untouched by the shovels and backhoe, remained enough space for two more graves.
One for his mother and the other for himself.
Understanding that one day he would be buried among his deceased family caused David to shudder. It was still hard for him to grasp the fact that Amber was inside this casket braced on his and some other men’s shoulders. She had been tragically taken away from him and was about to be placed in the ground. He remembered her request to be cremated, but Mom didn’t agree with those wishes. After the argument between Amber and Mom, Amber made him swear to her that he would have her cremated. She did not want to be buried in the ground just to have—as she had so delicately put it—bugs chew on her ass.
David smiled. Amber definitely had an inimitable personality.
But he feared standing up to his mother, and so here they were, carrying Amber’s corpse to be buried in the ground. He doubted bugs would dare attempt chewing on Amber’s ass. They’d come back with no mouth and missing limbs.
The four men carried the casket to the fresh hole and carefully set it on the conveyer, a small machine designed for the sole purpose of lowering bodies into their graves. David shivered once again at such a morbid piece of technology.
Reverend Steely stepped around to the head of the casket. Holding both arms out, he signaled for the small group to close in on the opposite sides. There had been only one chair placed—for Mom—and everyone else was forced to stand. David was fine with that; if he had to sit once again he wouldn’t be able to remain still. Standing would help hide his jitters that much more.
Sam eased her way through the crowd, excusing herself as she maneuvered her way to the front. David waited for her. For the first time since George’s accident, they locked eyes. She looked amazing. Even in mourning, the sight of her was magnificent. Her hair, styled just right, showed every detail of her beautiful face. She wore glasses today. The simple addition made her appear older, wiser, and more mature.
She joined him behind Mom. He was surprised when she slipped her arm around his and pulled it tightly to her side. He felt the hardness of her hip pressing against him. It felt good. He had missed it. Catching a whiff of her perfume, he felt a gentle tugging at his heart, a fluttering sensation in his stomach.
He began to sweat.
Preoccupied by Sam’s company, David barely heard a word of Reverend Steely’s reciting of the last rites. From the tears in Sam’s eyes, Steely’s words must have been lovely. He regretted not hearing them, but Sam was capturing his attention.
As if reading his thoughts, she turned to him. Staring sternly into his eyes, she whispered, “I’ve missed you.”
His chest ached. He could not answer, only nod. But it was enough. Sam leaned her head against his arm. The pressure there was something he had missed in recent months. A small piece had been placed in an uncompleted puzzle.
It felt right.
“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” Reverend Steely said, ending the service.
David turned away from Sam as Reverend Steely came around the side of the casket and helped Mom to her feet.
Sam gave his arm a gentle squeeze before she stepped away. She waited for Reverend Steely to finish consoling his mother. When he was done, Sam stepped in front of her. He watched Sam’s full lips mouthing words of comfort to his mother. Abruptly, Mom jerked Sam to her and gave her a powerful hug.
David could not stop himself from laughing. Shaking his head, he gazed at the small crowd. It had gotten even smaller. Martin was walking with the group back to the church. He turned around and threw his hand up to him, waving. Somehow, David knew that would be the last time he would ever see him.
The rest of the crowd was thinning out and going inside for the banquet.
“Savages,” he muttered. All they cared about was the free food. Rush the service and get on to the refreshments. He had half a mind to go to the dining hall and tell them all what he thought of them. A quick glance at his mom bear-hugging Sam changed his mind. It would break her heart if he did that. He decided to keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself.
Then he saw him.
The stranger.
Just as it had been in the dream, he stood by a tree near the center of the cemetery. Watching. He looked just the same as in the vision, down to his wardrobe. Dressed less than casually, wearing a heavy coat and a hat to keep his head warm in the winter air.
His feelings for the man hadn’t changed. Fear, confusion, and an unadulterated hate. He wanted to kill that man and didn’t know why. In a way, it felt as if he had to.
I’ve got to get out of here, he thought. Right now.
He glanced over his shoulder at Sam. She was cornered by some of the ladies from Mom’s church. Smiling, nodding, and being overly polite, she humored them by pretending she didn’t mind their company. She caught him staring and winked. It caught him by surprise. He could not remember her ever winking at him before. It was cute.
With her attention drawn back to them, he could sneak away. He didn’t want to do it, but inside, he was being tugged. Natasha was reminding him to flee before being spotted by the stranger.
He walked away from Sam, his mother, Martin, and all the other mourners who wanted nothing more than to express their regrets to him. Like in the dream, he found a gate up the hill. It was unlocked. He pulled open the latch and stepped through. Peeking his head around the corner stone wall, he observed the crowd. It seemed that no one had spotted him.
The stranger was already approaching the crowd. A close call, but he had managed to avoid him.
“Um…excuse me?” said the male voice. It was one Sam did not recognize. She turned around and confirmed her suspicions. A person she did not know had spoken to her, though he looked vaguely familiar. Judging by his appearance, he seemed harmless. He was trying to smile sympathetically, but that was something he obviously was not good at.
He removed the hat from his head. Matted underneath was short brown hair.
“Yes?” asked Sam.
“I’m a…well, how do I put this?” He thought it over for a few moments, then said, “I’m an acquaintance of Amber Barker’s.”
“Oh?” He certainly didn’t fit the type Amber would usually acquaint herself with. The guys she liked to date were of a different breed. Real assholes. This guy was frigid, timid, and harmless to anyone. Sam noticed that much in the first impression.
“Sam, we’re going to go head on to the rec hall.”
Carol, joined by Ms. Hodder, stood behind her. “Oh, all right. Did you want me to escort you?”
“No, that’s quite all right. Ms. Hodder will do that. You finish up chatting with Amber’s friend.”
“No problem.”
“I guess David has already headed that route himself?” Carol skimmed her eyes over the cemetery. Unable to find him, she shrugged.
Sam did the same. When she realized he wasn’t there, she felt herself shrink a little inside. “Yeah, I guess he did.”
“I’m sure I’ll see him there,” said Carol. Ms. Hodder led her away from the few remaining mourners.
Sam felt awfully sorry for her.
A mother should never have to bury one of her children, she thought.
Sam looked at the man. He was watching Carol leave also. His eyes were misting. Maybe he really did know Amber. He reeked of grief.
“So, you know Amber?”
He whipped his head toward her. “What?”
She held a hand out, as if to calm him. “I’m sorry, that was blunt.”
“That’s all right.” He smiled. “I sort of know her.”
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“Amber called me a few nights ago, and she said…”
He stopped talking as Stiltson and Giles approached. Sam knew they only wanted to pay their respects, but she was quickly growing tired of b
eing interrupted.
Stiltson had his hands tucked down in his pockets and couldn’t keep eye contact when he spoke. “Sam, I just wanted to say one more time how sorry I am.”
Placing a hand on his shoulder, she smiled. “Thank you.”
“I just wish I could do more, but I’m working on it.”
“We’re both working on it,” said Giles.
“I know you are, and thank you. Both.”
She caught Stiltson studying the unusual man. Tilting his head, he stared at him as if he too thought he looked oddly familiar.
“Have we met?” Stiltson asked the unknown, yet familiar man.
“I doubt it.”
“Oh, maybe you’ve just got one of those faces.”
“Maybe you’ve seen it in a store?” He shrugged his shoulders and fidgeted with his heavy gloves.
Stiltson tipped his head lower. If he contorted it any further down, his neck would surely snap. “Like on wanted posters?”
The man laughed. “Maybe if you’re in a church.”
Wait a minute, Sam thought. I know him. Holy shit, don’t tell Stiltson who you are.
“A church?” Stiltson was even more confused. His face was a dumber version of its normal self.
“I’ll explain, I write these books and–”
“You wanted to talk to me over here? Right?” Sam broke in, placing a hand on the man’s arm. She all but jerked him away from the detectives. Glancing over her shoulder, she read the expression on Stiltson’s face.
Who the stranger was had dawned on him as well. She read it in the smirk that had replaced the dumbfounded look.
Without much choice in the matter, the man followed Sam.
“Hey? What are you doing?”
“I know who you are,” she said. “Follow me.”
“What was that all about?” asked Giles, as if trying to decipher the twist at the end of a movie. Smiling, Stiltson shrugged, shook his head. “Nothing. Let’s get to the car, its cold out here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Giles hurried away, but Stiltson lingered a moment, watching Sam lead Mr. Brandon Cartwright away. He was curious why she was so suddenly reluctant to let him know he was the man who’d written the book Amber Barker had died with.
The plot thickens.
He made a mental note to call Carrie the first chance he got. She had some work to do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sam tugged Brandon by his arm away from the cemetery, guiding him around the back of the church to a small patch of grass with two trees on each side. Secluded, away from the cemetery and away from Stiltson. The church should block the freezing wind.
A work shed had been built against the rear wall of the church. She figured the only time anyone came back here was when there were outdoor duties to attend to.
They should be safe here.
“May I ask what you’re doing?”
Sam whispered heatedly. “Shut up. I’ll tell you in a second.”
He obeyed. Once they were securely back there, Sam pushed him against the stone wall. Looking over her shoulder, she saw no one. The coast was clear.
“All right, now we can talk,” she said.
“Why couldn’t we before?”
“Too many ears.”
“Oh?”
“Why are you here?” she asked. “You said you knew Amber.”
“No, I didn’t. You’re putting words into my mouth.”
“Well, you said she’d called you.”
“Yes, she did.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed. “I wish I knew for sure, but if I had to take a guess, I’d say that someone is in deep, deep trouble.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Sam.
“When my phone rings, it’s never good news.”
“Then why did Amber call you?”
“You don’t know?”
“Not really. I could guess, but I wanna hear you say it.”
“You said you knew who I was.”
“I do. You’re Brandon Cartwright. I recognize you from your picture on the back of the angel book.”
“You’re right about that. I am Brandon Cartwright. But if you’ve seen the book, then you know why I was I called.”
“Angels?” Sam cringed at speaking the word. Her lips burned.
“Right again.”
Sam fell against the wall. Sliding to the ground, she pulled her legs to her chest, not caring that she was wearing a skirt.
Brandon stepped over to her and took a seat beside her. He rubbed his hands together nervously. “I’m used to that reaction.”
“I’m sure you are.” The ground was cold under her. It felt wet, damp. “I guess Amber didn’t tell you she called me?”
“No. She was already gone.”
He grimaced. “I’m so sorry.”
Shaking her head, she held her hand up. “No, that wasn’t meant to sound the way it did. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He leaned his head against the stone wall.
Sam’s hair kept sticking to the cracks in the stone. Having enough of it, she leaned forward, against her thighs. “Tell me why you are here.”
“There’s a lot of ground to cover. Are you sure you want to do it here?”
“At least some of it,” she said. “I can’t move right now.”
Understanding, he nodded. “Okay.”
He sat up, pulled a piece of grass out of the frozen ground, and held it between his fingers. He was obviously nervous.
“When Amber called that night, I wasn’t there to answer. I had decided to go to a young writers’ function in Boston.”
“Boston?”
“Yeah. If you think it’s cold here, you should see Boston.”
“I’d rather not, imagining will do just fine.”
He laughed softly. “Anyway, I flew in yesterday, early. I got home around lunchtime. She was the only call I had. She said there might be a problem with angels.”
“Yeah, that’s what she thought.” Amber groaned.
“When I called her back there was no answer. So I snooped around online and read that she had died and the methods were undetermined.”
“No, that’s not true. They’re probably just not telling the papers. She supposedly jumped out of her window. She landed on my car.”
“Oh my…I’m so sorry.”
“Stop being sorry and keep talking.”
“Right, sor—” He stopped himself. “I jumped on the next flight here. Got a paper from the airport and found the funeral arrangements. That should bring you up to speed for right now.”
Bracing her back against the wall, she stood up.
Brandon followed.
“That may bring me up to speed on why you’re here,” she said. “But that doesn’t explain shit.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“We should really get out of here. You say there’s too many ears, I say there’s too many eyes.” He pointed up.
Sam looked at the top of the church. On top of the steeple was a concrete monument of an angel.
She felt as if she would be sick.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sam followed Brandon’s car, keeping a safe distance behind him while he led her through the outskirts of town. The hotel was up ahead. His right turn signal flickered, and she tailed him into the parking lot, steered along the row of rooms, and parked beside him in front of room three. The parking lot was sparsely occupied. Just a few cars filled the other spots.
Though she’d never stayed at this hotel before, she was familiar with it. She and David had passed by it many times. It was dingy, but not a pit. To her knowledge there were no drug dealers or prostitutes who lurked around after hours.
Brandon tapped on her window, startling her out of her thoughts.
She rolled the window dow
n. “Yeah?”
“Are you getting out?”
“Yeah…” Embarrassed with herself, she opened the door. She briefly thought about leaving her purse in the car, but decided against it. This hotel wasn’t that grimy, but she wasn’t about to tempt anyone to bust her window open and steal her purse.
Adjusting her coat to block the cold, she bumped her thigh against the door, shutting it.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Sure,” she lied.
Far from it. Somehow, she knew that when she stepped into Brandon’s hotel room, her world would never be the same. What she had once believed would soon be cast aside and replaced with a different truth. She wouldn’t want to believe any of it, but would be forced to deal with it.
Brandon opened the door for her. When they were both inside, he closed it and ran the chain through the slot.
He hadn’t bothered to unpack. Looking around his room, Sam wondered if he’d come straight to the funeral after checking in. His larger suitcase sat on the other bed, opened. A couple of garments lay on top. Something bulged against them. A few books were stacked on the dresser. A carry-on bag had been placed on the floor. It was zipped tight.
Brandon marched to the nightstand that separated the two beds. His leg brushed against her knee in passing, so she quickly pulled her legs back.
“Pardon me,” he said, without looking back.
She said nothing, only stared.
He pulled open the nightstand’s top drawer and removed a black address book and tossed it on the bed next to Sam.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Oh, that? It’s something I bring with me every time I…”
“Every time you what?”
“Nothing. It just has some numbers in there that I may need from time to time.”
“Oh.” She rubbed a finger across the book. The leather was old, dry. “You don’t just store them in your cell phone?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t own one of those things.”
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