“Not normal?”
“Normal is highly overrated. You seem more somehow.”
I knew what he meant. I was more. I had a new sensitivity to everything around me, including him. My nerve endings quivered with an awareness I’d never experienced before. My senses were unnaturally heightened. I was focused on Devlin, but also hyperaware of our surroundings. The whispering leaves, the scratch of tiny claws in the underbrush. I could still smell honeysuckle and roses, but the air was now punctuated with the decadent scent of Devlin’s cologne. I drew in the fragrance like an addict.
I turned in his arms, pressing back into him as I lifted my lips to his neck. He held me tightly, one arm over my breasts, the other hand sliding down my abdomen, into my jeans, tempting me in ways that had nothing to do with the evolution of my gift.
He nuzzled my ear and whispered my name, using that irresistible drawl to melt me. His fingers moved softly against me and yet I had never felt such a delicious tension. My head fell back against his shoulder as I stared up into the treetops through half-closed eyes.
Something was up there staring down at me. Gleaming eyes in a snowy face. A barn owl, probably the same one that had winged across the path in front of Devlin.
I told myself this was nothing out of the ordinary. I’d seen owls in the cemetery before. But this one... The way he perched there, so still and knowing...
It’s not an omen. It’s not a harbinger of dark things to come. Don’t look at it.
But I couldn’t tear my gaze away. “Something’s up there,” I said.
Devlin lifted his head. “What?”
“The owl that flew across the path in front of you. It’s watching us.”
He was silent for a moment as he searched the branches. “So it is.” I felt his lips in my hair. “Ignore it.”
Slipping free of his hold, I turned to face him, lifting both hands to undo the buttons of his shirt until the silver medallion lay gleaming against his chest. The moment I touched the cold metal, I felt a jolt. Like lava flowing through my veins, lightning in my fingertips.
It would have been so easy—too easy—to close my eyes and let Devlin’s thoughts and emotions pour into me. To crawl inside his head and search through his memories until I discovered what made him tick. I’d always held a fascination for his time at the Institute and a perverse curiosity about his relationship with Mariama. Even dead, she loomed larger than life.
But I wouldn’t invade his privacy. I wouldn’t use that facet of my gift with Devlin because I still wanted to believe that we could someday have a normal life together.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as I drew away from him.
“Papa could come back at any moment.”
“He’s gone up to the house.”
“He could return, though.”
Devlin sighed and brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You’re killing me here. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re right. He could come back.” He glanced over his shoulder at the trail. I could sense a sudden wariness in him, but I didn’t think he was worried about Papa.
“What is it?”
He searched the path for another long moment before turning back to me. “Nothing. Just making sure we’re alone.”
“We are. Except for the owls and the bats.” We stood very close, but I sensed a subtle distance between us now.
“Are you ready to tell me what happened tonight?” he asked.
“With Papa, you mean?”
“What did he tell you about Rose?”
“She was Papa’s mother. My great-grandmother.”
“That’s not a surprise,” Devlin said. I saw his gaze dart back to the path. “Even apart from your shared name, the resemblance is too uncanny to be a coincidence. Did he say why he’d never mentioned her?”
“Papa doesn’t like to talk about his past,” I answered truthfully if not altogether candidly. “He keeps a lot of things hidden.”
That simple observation seemed to give Devlin pause. His gaze brushed me for a split second before he glanced back up at the owl. “He isn’t alone in that regard. I sometimes think we Southerners have a predilection for secrets.”
“Yes. I sometimes think the same,” I said as I watched him closely.
It was a strange moment. A subtle acknowledgment of the barrier that would always be between us. I fretted endlessly about all the things that I kept from Devlin, but he was just as secretive. There were parts of his past I would never be privy to, like his time at the Institute and his membership in the Order of the Coffin and the Claw. The medallion he wore around his neck had been the emblem of secrets and dark deeds since the founding of Charleston.
“Why did you go to Columbia?” I asked. “Were you working a case?”
“No. The trip was personal.”
“Is your grandfather okay?”
“The trip wasn’t about him, either. And yes, he’s okay. There’s been no physical change. I’m meeting with his doctors tomorrow for a psych evaluation.”
“I know the two of you aren’t close, but this must still be so difficult for you.”
Devlin shrugged. “Dealing with my grandfather has never been easy. Old age hasn’t tempered his disposition or his demands.”
“Or his expectations, I imagine.”
He shrugged again. “I’m not here to talk about my grandfather. If you want to know the truth, I stopped by here to make sure you hadn’t taken off for Kroll Cemetery without telling me.”
“Why didn’t you just call me?”
“I can be more persuasive in person.”
I could certainly attest to that. “If you mean to try to talk me out of going, you’re a little late. I’ve already made arrangements to meet with Louvenia Durant tomorrow to go over the details of the restoration.”
“Then, I’d better tell you what I found out today,” he said grimly. “I drove to Columbia to meet with Nathan Fortner.”
“Nathan Fortner.” I searched my memory until the name finally clicked. “He’s the friend you mentioned before. The boy you used to explore the ruins with.”
“He’s an attorney in Columbia these days, but he also maintains a small office in Isola. The last time we spoke he mentioned that his firm had done some work for the Kroll family.”
“What kind of work?”
“Something to do with the estate. Evidently, there’s been contention among the various branches of the family for decades. After Ezra’s death, a will was never found, so the money was eventually divided among the surviving relatives. Somehow the eldest sister ended up with all the land, which was a sizable fortune even apart from her portion of the cash and investments. According to Nathan, a rumor later surfaced that the sister had destroyed Ezra’s will because she’d been disinherited. That sister was Louvenia Durant.”
“They did have a falling-out,” I said. “Nelda Toombs told me that Louvenia had never gotten over the estrangement. That’s why she’s so emotional about the restoration. And speaking of Nelda, I found out today that she’s the owner of Dowling Curiosities. Owen Dowling is her great-nephew.”
“How did you find that out?”
“Owen called and asked if I would come by the shop so that his aunt could see the stereoscope. Nelda was there when I arrived.”
Devlin scowled. “How did he explain withholding the information from you?”
“He claims he didn’t recognize the inscription because the nicknames haven’t been used in years.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m not sure. He’s hard to read. But Nelda did back him up.”
Devlin rubbed the back of his neck as if the fatigue of a long day was finally setting in. “Do you know anything about Louvenia Durant’s grandson?
”
“I’ve seen him around. His name is Micah Durant and apparently he isn’t very happy about the restoration. He thinks his grandmother is squandering her money.”
“Maybe there’s another reason for his disapproval,” Devlin said. “It’s something Nathan hinted at. He could only speak hypothetically, of course, but it got me to thinking. If Louvenia or any of the Kroll relatives wanted to put that land on the market, the expense of moving the cemetery could diminish the value. It would be easier just to get rid of the headstones and pretend the cemetery never existed.”
“I don’t think Louvenia would stand for that.”
“Maybe not while she’s alive,” Devlin said.
I stared at him for a moment. “You don’t think her own grandson would try to harm her, do you?” But even as I played devil’s advocate, I couldn’t help remembering the visceral reaction I’d had to Micah Durant.
“All I know is that I don’t trust these people,” Devlin said. “There are too many coincidences and deceptions in the way they’ve made contact with you.” He rested his hands on my shoulders. “I wish you would wait until I’m free to go with you, but at least promise me you’ll keep your eyes and ears open. If there’s even a hint of danger, you call me.”
“I will.” I wanted to reassure him that I would be fine on my own and that he needed to stay focused on his grandfather’s health.
But truthfully, I also had a bad feeling about the Kroll family. Something dark had happened within their ranks. Something that had kept the ghosts of Kroll Colony restless for decades.
This was no simple visitation or restoration. I was being pulled to that walled graveyard by both the living and the dead, and whatever the outcome, I wouldn’t leave Kroll Cemetery unscathed.
Thirty-One
The next day, I left for Kroll Cemetery. I set out with my tools, camera equipment and a change of clothes because tramping through cemeteries could be a hot and dirty business during the spring and summer months. Dr. Shaw and his associate were already in place and I kept the map he’d drawn for me nearby in case the navigation system couldn’t deal with the country roads. The three keys were safely stored in a zippered compartment of my backpack. I wished that I still had the stereoscope and card because I felt certain they were important clues, but I’d left both with Nelda Toombs.
Surprisingly, my mood was lighter than it had been in days. For one thing, I felt relieved to finally be taking action, and for another, I’d had no visitations since my talk with Papa. I hadn’t heard scratching in the walls or witnessed any manifestations, which I hoped meant that I was on the right track. So long as I did as the entities wished, they would leave me alone.
With so many things swirling around in my head, the miles sped by. Soon enough, I left the coastal area behind and entered a dark green landscape of hunting forests and timberland. Aiken County was known as Thoroughbred country, and the horse farms I passed along the way ranged from modest clapboard houses and outbuildings to stately plantation homes and elaborate stables reminiscent of the estates where the Vanderbilts, Astors and Hitchcocks had once summered.
The sunshine streaming in through the windshield lulled me, allowing the lush landscape to captivate my imagination. Before long I started to relax and enjoy the journey. I often traveled to the far corners of the state and beyond for work, and I’d come to appreciate the solitude of those long drives.
Just outside Isola, I put in a call to Dr. Shaw to let him know when he could expect me.
“I’ve been hoping to hear from you,” he said with cautious excitement. “Where are you?”
“I’m still a few miles outside town. Why? Is anything wrong?”
“No, quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve made a rather extraordinary discovery on Rose’s headstone.”
My own excitement surged. “What is it?”
“I think it would be better if you see for yourself.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel and I found myself leaning forward as if I could somehow will away the remaining miles. “You can’t just leave me hanging! At least give me a hint.”
He paused. “Very well. The last time we spoke you mentioned some markings that you’d noticed at the top of Rose’s headstone. You thought they might be imperfections in the stone or a photographic artifact. But your first instinct about them was right.”
“Meaning?” I asked on a breath.
“The markings are an inscription, possibly even a message written in braille.”
“In braille?”
“I don’t know how I missed it when I toured the cemetery the first time. But the placement is discreet. Easy to assume they’re blemishes or anomalies in the stone if one doesn’t take a close enough look.”
The discovery was indeed fascinating, but also disturbing given what Nelda had told me about Rose’s passing. She’d blinded herself right before she took her own life. The bloody key had still been clutched in her hand. Why a braille inscription if she had only lost her sight a few moments before her death?
Somehow it had been easier to believe that my great-grandmother—my look-alike and namesake—had succumbed to a temporary madness that had driven her to commit such a horrifying act. But a braille inscription on her headstone, one that she had undoubtedly arranged for herself, suggested that she had been planning the grisly mutilation for quite some time. But why?
“Do you know what it says?” I asked.
“Not yet. I’ve photographed the inscription from various angles and emailed the images to my assistant to look up the translation for me. I also sent a scan of a rubbing I made of the stone. I should hear back by the end of the day.”
“It’s a very interesting find, Dr. Shaw.”
“Yes, I think so, too. I would imagine a headstone inscription in braille is rather rare.”
“I’ve seen only one, in Nunhead Cemetery in London.” I’d gone the year after my aunt had treated me to a visit to Père Lachaise in Paris. Nunhead was a much darker place, more Gothic and lush. I could still remember the scent of the lime trees as I’d wandered along the overgrown walkways, ignoring the ghosts.
“There are so many things I want to show you in Kroll Cemetery,” Dr. Shaw said in a strangely subdued voice. “It’s such a beautiful place, but rather forlorn, I’m afraid. I find myself lingering over each of the headstones, trying to imagine those last moments in Kroll Colony. Wondering if the colonists knew when they awakened in the morning that it would be their last day on earth. Or were they betrayed? Blindsided by someone they trusted? Left to die horrifically, their legacy tarnished for all eternity.”
“It’s a mystery that desperately needs a resolution,” I said.
“Indeed it does,” he agreed. “And I’m more certain than ever that you’re the one who can finally unravel this graveyard’s secrets.”
* * *
A half hour later, I left the town of Isola behind as I headed out to Louvenia Durant’s horse farm. With Dr. Shaw’s map still resting on the seat beside me, I felt confident I could find her place without too much trouble. As I crossed over the city limits, traffic thinned and the four-lane thoroughfare gave way to a narrow country blacktop lined with pine trees. Other than an occasional farm vehicle, I had the road to myself.
Five miles out of town, I slowed to look for the turn, afraid that I might miss it because of the thick woods. I needn’t have worried. The entrance to the Durant property was prominently marked with an impressive archway and two metal horses mounted on brick columns built on either side of the paved lane.
As I drove through, I cast a wary glance around me. Suddenly, I felt a very long way from civilization. A world away from my beloved Charleston. I was on my way to meet Louvenia Durant, a woman I barely knew, in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps not the smartest thing I’d ever done, but despite my distrust of
the Krolls, I couldn’t imagine that anyone in the family meant me harm. Too many people knew of my whereabouts. A mishap on their turf would be hard to explain. At least that was how I reasoned away my unease.
The narrow road wound through mile after mile of solid evergreens. With my window down, I could smell pine and cedar mingling with the darker scent of the hawthorn. I had the sense that I was traveling through the black forest of a childhood fairy tale and was glad when the trees cleared and I could see patches of sunlight ahead.
As I topped a ridge, the woods gave way to rolling pastures dotted with wildflowers. Behind well-tended fences, magnificent horses grazed peacefully in the afternoon heat, the only interruption to their rural paradise the distant crack of a rifle.
Rounding a curve, I finally caught sight of the house, a sprawling three-story plantation home with a small army of chimneys rising from the rooftop. The spread was beautiful in the somnolent light. Even the outbuildings and stables had the well-cared-for look of a place where money had never been a concern.
A uniformed maid answered the door, her dark eyes at once appraising and dismissive. “Whatever you’re peddling, we already got a dozen more’n we need.”
Her bluntness took me aback. “I’m not selling anything. I have an appointment with Mrs. Durant. My name is Amelia Gray.”
The shrewd gaze narrowed as she rested a hand on her scrawny hip. “That cemetery gal from Charleston she told me about? Didn’t nobody call you this morning?”
“No, I haven’t heard from anyone all day.”
“Well, don’t that beat all.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “I swan, I don’t know why Miss Vinnie keep that gal on, not worth a plug nickel, you ask me, never do a thing a body tell her to do.” The woman heaved a weary sigh as she gave me another doubtful scrutiny. “I reckon you better come inside, but mind them feet. Don’t go tracking dirt in here on my rugs.”
“It seems I’ve come at a bad time,” I murmured. “Maybe I should just wait outside.”
“Come in,” she barked. “Before you let the flies in.”
The Visitor Page 17