Winding through the cemetery on my way up to Pat’s, I couldn’t help thinking that each headstone represented a distinct individual—one who had died due to specific circumstances: disease, accident, old age, and—yes—maybe even murder. In another sense, though, each person had died simply due to the inherent brokenness of the world.
For as in Adam, all die.
One day, I, too, will die. My body will rest beneath a cold, gray stone. But I will not be there. My body will go down to the grave, but my soul will rise to meet my King.
So also in Christ shall all be made alive.
Passing Betsy E.’s headstone, I dragged my hand through the dusting of snow at the top. I paused to read the inscription.
Stop and see as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
14
Half of me felt safe holed up inside with the blankets tucked to my waist, my laptop warming my crossed legs. The other half longed to walk off my jitters. After a quiet, mid-morning writing session at Pat’s, I started feeling antsy.
It wasn’t because I’d passed the eighteen-hour mark since Johnson had escaped, of course. That had nothing to do with it. And it wasn’t because I still hadn’t heard from Leah. After all, even remote assistants deserved time off.
Still. Without her updates, I felt blind. Blind and cold and a bit stir-crazy in my tiny, Internet-less StayAway room.
But Birchardville didn’t offer outsiders many options for hanging out. I had my room here at Pat’s, the counter at The Olde Birchardville Store, and the cemetery—all of which felt too predictable for comfort. I could walk back up Cobb Hill and take more pictures of the old Roth homestead, but the thought of confronting that creepy, ramshackle building was too much to take. Ditto Birchardville Hill. Fortunately, I'd gotten all the pictures I needed the day I'd walked up there with Reed. I wouldn't need to go back.
At least, not today.
And definitely not alone.
My phone buzzed as a text came through. The ID read Levi Stoltz.
Booth and Reed filled me in. Meet for coffee?
So. I would meet the famous Uncle Levi after all.
But when I stepped outside and tugged the gaudy bobble hat over my head, the person I saw standing at the bottom of the stone steps leaning against a beat up red truck was not Uncle Levi.
15
Reed’s dad leaned against his truck, completely at ease.
The only thing that kept me moving forward was the driving need to be somewhere other than my StayAway. I stamped down the stone path, my right heel skidding against a small patch of ice that a light dusting of snow had concealed.
“What are you doing here?” I didn’t care if I seemed blunt.
“You just agreed to have coffee with me.” He pushed himself to his feet and opened the passenger-side door. It creaked ominously.
“No,” I said slowly. “I was texting Reed’s uncle.” I stepped back, shivering. Belatedly, I realized that I'd left my gloves inside on the bed. I jammed my hands into the pockets of my coat.
One side of his mustache quirked up. The mismatched eyes sparked.
That’s when I finally considered the evidence. “You’re Levi Stoltz.”
Levi drove us to a diner in the nearby village of Friendsville, though I was too annoyed to enjoy the irony of the name. I opted for hot chocolate. Uncle Levi ordered coffee and drank it black. Apparently he had a high tolerance for bitterness.
He also had a high tolerance for rudeness. My plan had been to freeze him out. On the drive over, I’d met all attempts at conversation with monosyllabic grunts. Still, he plowed ahead.
He told me that he’d been born and raised in Birchardville, and had gone straight from high school to the quarry while attending trade school in Montrose on the weekends. Now he operated his own businesses out of the tumbledown barn halfway out of town, where he produced hand-crafted wooden furniture. He also worried about his sister—Reed’s mother—who lived in New York.
Why he was telling me all this was anybody’s guess. But I had a theory. Sometimes people who listened to the show felt like they already knew me.
“I think maybe Evie married Reed’s dad just to spite us. When he started getting rough with her, she packed up Reed and left for the City.” One big hand circled a mug. He’d flung the other arm across the back of the chair next to him.
I knew I needed to say something. “Does Reed see his dad much?”
The skin at the corners of his eyes tightened. “He’s out of the picture.”
I nodded and looked away. Color had already leeched from the sky. Evening came early up here.
Uncle Levi was still talking. “For a while, I worried Reed would never know his roots. Evie was so adamant against him growing up in Birchardville. Then I worried that once I got him back here, he’d hate it.”
There seemed nothing to say to this. I blew on my hot chocolate.
He shifted in his seat. “Birchardville is a special place. It has a long history a long memory. Our family aren't Birchards, of course, but we came in 1802. Amos Stoltz helped the Birchard brothers build the dry stone walls. Abraham Stoltz helped raise the first steeple on Birchardville Church. We’re as much a part of this place as anybody. Evie always said she wanted her children to be part of that—I mean, we all want that for our kids—those of us who are from here. So when Reed came along—”
I had to ask. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I'm not sure.” He shifted again. “Except I thought one of us should do some talking.”
Although I was staring at my drink, I knew he was studying me. I could feel that mismatched gaze. Surprisingly, I didn’t mind the weight. It settled over me like a thick blanket—heavy and warm.
I stirred my hot chocolate. The marshmallows bobbed. Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. “I saw a Leviticus Stoltz in the cemetery.”
When he said nothing, my suspicions mounted. Surely not. “A namesake?”
He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “So, anyway, about this murderer—”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Leviticus? Really?”
“Hey, now.” He smoothed his mustache. “No need to laugh.” He shot me a look. “I mean, not all of us had parents with the decency to name us something sensible like Morgan.”
My stomach dipped. “I’m sorry.”
He waved this away. “I guess that’s one thing Reed’s dad did for him—he insisted Evie drop the antediluvian family names.” He sighed, and his shoulders fell.
I wanted to ask what Evie was short for, but I didn’t want to linger on the subject of names. “I wouldn't worry about Reed. He seems fine.”
“Maybe.” Levi leaned forward, crossing his arms on the tabletop. “Where you grow up—your family, your friends, your community—that’s what makes you who you are. Family matters. Names matter. Place matters. Don’t you agree?”
My chest tightened. “You're factoring without two important elements.”
“And those are?”
“Human agency and the grace of God.” I sipped my hot chocolate. “Although how those two interact is a question for the ages.”
Levi’s expression eased, and his mustache shifted as he smiled. “Reed told me that you talk theology.”
I shrugged.
“But I didn’t call you here to talk about Reed.”
“Or pry into my personal life?”
He laughed. “I was saving that for next time.”
The diner was suddenly very warm. I pulled off the bobble hat and fanned myself with it. “Well? What did you want to talk to me about?” I wanted to hear him say it.
“Mitchell Charles David Johnson.”
“How much do you know?”
He snorted. “Reed has Internet alerts set for every Johnson-related headline th
at could possibly exist. His phone’s been blowing up since last night.”
Of course. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”
Levi’s forehead furrowed. “Technically, that would still give Johnson plenty of time to track you down.”
“But I don't see how he could.”
“Are you serious?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed in a code.
He looked so grim. I bit my lip. “What?”
“Your Vibe update.”
What Vibe update? I hadn't posted since arriving in Birchardville. But wait. “You follow me on Vibe?”
His mustache quivered. “Not the point.” He flipped the phone around and extended it.
There, at the top of my feed, was a cheery holiday greeting, no doubt posted on my behalf by Leah. Merry Christmas from the Endless Mountains! Attached was a screenshot of the online map of Birchardville, zoomed in just enough to show Cobb Hill, the cemetery, the church, and Birchardville Hill.
My stomach swooped. I handed the phone back, scrabbling for my own. No service. “We need to head back.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded hollow.
“You’re not going to delete it?”
“I don’t have service,” I snapped, exasperated that he hadn’t figured this out on his own. “Otherwise I’d e-mail my assistant right now and have her take it down.”
“Take it down yourself.” A few flicks of his fingers to log himself out, and he slid his phone back across the table. He signaled for our bill.
I wiped sweaty palms against my jeans and picked up the phone. Before deleting the update, I checked the time stamp.
Last night.
My blood chilled.
The damage was done.
Levi steadied me as we skidded across the icy parking lot.
Dusk hugged the hills, and the lowering clouds spat snow. Wet, fat flakes landed on my exposed neck and ears, melting on contact. I jammed the bobble hat onto my head and let Levi hand me into the cab of his truck. He jogged around to the other side, jumped in, cranked the heat, and backed out of the parking lot.
“She probably wrote that message days ago and set it to auto post and then forgot about it,” I rationalized. Before the dead bird. Before Johnson’s escape.
Levi eased onto Route 267, headlights sweeping the bare woods opposite the diner. Branches swayed in the wind, scraping the lowering clouds with skeletal fingers.
The truck skidded, and Levi slowed. The snow fell in earnest now. Although fell was a misnomer. It seemed to be snowing sideways.
Levi flipped on his windshield wipers.
“Leah’s new,” I explained. “She works remotely. I only hired her recently, and mostly because I hate social media. Like, really hate it.”
Levi nodded. His eyes didn’t leave the road. “Where’d you find her?”
“Mutual friends.”
“Real-life or online?”
A gust of wind hit the truck, and Levi fought the wheel, swerving.
I looked down at my hands, clutched together in my lap. Without gloves, they’d already gone numb at the tips. I stretched them toward the heating vents. “I found her through this woman I’ve known forever.” Since before I’d been popular, in fact. She’d been one of my first and most loyal listeners. “One of Leah’s jobs is to post regular updates, alert followers of show developments, and interact with the fan base.”
Levi’s gaze twitched from the road to my face. His eyebrows were so high that they were practically one with his hairline. “You’re OK with this Leah posting your whereabouts on Vibe?”
“Of course not!” Then again, I hadn't expressly told her not to. “She’s new,” I defended. “We haven't worked out all the kinks.” Although now I’d probably have to fire her. Which would be a shame. She knew the show well, demonstrated a working knowledge of my book, and had come highly recommended.
But still. Some mistakes are too much to overlook.
Thanks to Leah, if Johnson really wanted to track me down, he had a way.
And he’d had one all along.
Levi refused to take me back to the StayAway. “We’ll call Pat when we get back and have her come down.”
“Come down where?”
Levi huffed out a breath. “To my place. I live in town, near the church. Oh, wait—church. It’s almost time for the Christmas Eve service. We might be able to—but wait, what if Johnson’s already there?”
That seemed excessively pessimistic. “It’ll be pretty easy to figure out if he’s in town. I mean, there aren’t a lot of places for him to be, and it would be sort of hard for him to blend in. Look what happened with me.”
“That's only because of Reed,” he said absently. But the thought must have struck us both at the same time. Our gazes locked across the cab.
Reed.
If there was one person who would know Johnson on sight—and who would act on whatever impulse struck his fancy—it was Reed.
Levi accelerated up a hill, tires skidding. Loose waves of snow ghosted across the lanes. Levi hunched over the steering wheel and pressed forward, muttering under his breath.
I hoped he was praying.
Our arrival in town coincided with a lull in the storm. Through the blowing flakes, I spied Pat Martin standing in front of Birchardville Church, peering into the dark. I was shocked to see so many cars in the parking lot. People had hazarded these roads to drive to church? Birchardville folk must be a hardy breed.
“I thought we were going to your house,” I said.
“Change of plans. This is probably the safest place in Birchardville right now. Do you know how many of the elders have their License to Carry?”
I almost laughed. The elders at my church in Florida were literally elderly. I tried to picture them packing heat.
As we pulled into the church lot, Pat jabbed her cane in our direction before jamming the tip against the ground and stumping inside. Feeling as if we’d been summoned to the principal’s office, I let myself out of the cab.
Levi met me at the back of the truck, turning his body to partially shield me from the wind. But at the door of the church I paused, stepping back. “I still need to message Leah.” What if she noticed that the Vibe post had disappeared and stuck it back up?
Levi frowned. He peered across the street. “The Store’s closed until after the Christmas Eve service, and I'm not letting you go up to Pat’s alone.”
I jammed my hands into my pockets and bobbed my head toward the cemetery. “There's a little patch of service out there.” It would only take a few seconds to text her.
Reed popped his head over his uncle’s shoulder. He looked as if he’d put in an effort. He’d attempted to tame his hair and donned dress pants under the red hoodie. “Great Scott—there is service out there. Right next to Betsy E.”
“Betsy E.?” Levi apparently wasn't as familiar with the Birchardville Cemetery as Reed was.
“You know. The Stop and See lady. Right next to that big black monolith that’s falling apart.” Coatless, Reed hopped from toe to toe and shivered. “Hurry up, Cap. Service is about to start.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” I told them. I withdrew from the circle of light and turned toward the dark cemetery.
When Levi fell in step beside me, I almost demurred. He really should stick with Reed. Who knew what that kid would do if Johnson actually turned up. And surely nothing would happen to me within ten feet of a church full of people. However, I'd reported too many crimes to take anything for granted. Besides, I didn’t want to be that woman—the one who, knowing her life could be in danger, willingly walks alone into a dark cemetery during a snow storm. Instead, of course, I was striding into the dark with a relative stranger. A stranger with firm hands, broad shoulders, a stern jaw, and interestingly mismatched eyes.
Not that any of that mattered.
When we reached Betsy
E’s grave, one of those firm hands settled on my upper arm. Levi squeezed once and turned away, stepping close behind me. He turned so that we stood back to back. “I won’t look.”
The attempt to protect my privacy was wasted. Leah hadn’t responded to my messages, which was worrisome. In all the time we’d worked together, she’d never failed to respond more or less immediately. It was the holidays, but still. I stared at our most recent messages, my worst fears deepening.
What if instead of heading straight here, Johnson had stopped along the way? What if—but no. He couldn’t know about Leah. How could he? Then again, there was no way Bev Pickett should have known that I was in Birchardville, and look what had happened.
But that was beside the point.
What if I wasn’t Johnson’s only target? What if he was coming after not just me, but me and everyone I cared about?
He was, after all, an annihilator.
My throat constricted.
It was hard to know what to worry about first.
Levi leaned back, his solid warmth a comfort. “Everything OK?” He turned his head to glance at me.
Which was why he never saw it coming.
16
Something large and heavy whooshed through the air. Levi turned toward the sound just as the slab of granite hit him in the head. His body made surprisingly little sound as it hit the snow.
A shadow separated itself from a nearby obelisk, lunging straight toward me. Even in the low light, there was no mistaking that hulking build—that bristly hair—those overgrown eyebrows—that square head, the snaggle teeth, the jutting chin.
I whirled and ran, feet scrabbling in the loose-packed snow. I wove frantically through the headstones. As much as it went against my instincts to leave Levi, my only hope to save him—and all of Birchardville, I could only assume—was to give Johnson a reason to chase me.
Because it was Mitchell Charles David Johnson who had attacked us.
Of course it was.
Who knows how long he’d huddled in the graveyard, no doubt delighting in the opportune moment as he’d snatched up a fragment of granite from that crumbling obelisk and bashed in Levi’s head.
I wanted to throw up, but I couldn’t stop. He was right behind me.
Murder on Birchardville Hill Page 6