by Libby Howard
“We do need to wait until Ms. Driver arrives as next of kin,” Melanie said with an apologetic smile that managed to include all three of us. “I’ve put some chairs over to the side if you all would like to sit.”
“How long…” Olive grimaced. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to sound disrespectful, like I’m trying to rush this along or anything. I’m just wondering what to expect.”
Melanie nodded. “Completely understandable. Generally during this time of year, it takes about forty-five minutes to an hour for us to open a grave in preparation for interment. As we’re doing a relocation, some of the work will be done by hand as opposed to using the excavator. We will make every effort to be respectful and careful in our handling of, David, so expect around two hours.”
Olive glanced out across the cemetery. “Is DeLanie having him immediately re-interred? Is there a service? I feel so horrible not knowing these things. I mean, she’s my cousin.”
“She’s having him immediately interred, but planned a private service for Sunday. I do believe she is wanting to bless the new grave.” The woman’s gaze shifted toward an approaching car. “This must be Ms. Driver. If you’ll excuse me?”
Without waiting for a response, she was off, clipboard in hand, that efficient yet mildly sympathetic expression firmly in place.
“If you all want to head out, I completely understand,” Olive told Suzette and me. “I hate the thought of you all sitting here for two hours. It’s going to be so awkward.”
“We’re not going anywhere until this is over,” Suzette insisted. “And when it’s done, you’re coming back to my place for a few big glasses of wine and pizza delivery. You can spend the night so you don’t have to worry about driving.”
“I’m staying,” I told her as we went over and sat in the chairs. “We’re here for you. And hopefully once today is over, you’ll be able to focus on grieving for your uncle and putting all this family bitterness behind you.”
Melanie came toward us, a tall woman by her side. DeLanie Driver was matronly in build and wore a somber knit dress that matched the color of her short silver-gray hair. Olive rose as she approached, hugging her and nearly crushing the box of tissues the other woman carried.
“I’m so sorry, DeLanie. I hate that this is happening.”
The older woman smiled, her eyes swimming in tears as she patted Olive on the arm. “I know, I know. Sarah and I have always had our differences, but I’ve never had any issues with your father or your family, Olive. And David always loved you. Remember when you were both little and you’d swing out in the backyard together?”
Olive nodded, helping herself to a tissue from the box and leading her cousin over to the chairs. She introduced Suzette and me, and after lots of hugs and expressions of sympathy, we all sat. Melanie gave the sign and one man started up the excavator while the other two stood nearby with shovels and straps. As the equipment scraped across the ground, Olive reached out and gripped her cousin’s hand.
I’ll give the Windy Oaks’ staff credit, they were extremely careful and precise in their work. Dirt came up in the narrow bucket and was skillfully dumped into the wooden crate, ensuring the grass surrounding the plot was unsullied. The two men by the side loosened soil from the sides, their attention increasing as the excavator bucket sank lower into the ground.
The ghosts closed in, hovering over the gravesite. There were so many I couldn’t tell who was male or female, or any distinguishing characteristics. All I knew was that they were agitated…angry.
I leaned over to Olive. “Are you…do you see, I mean feel, any of these…you know?”
She sucked in a breath. “I always have a hard time in cemeteries. Funeral homes and hospitals too. I try to block it all out, but yes, I know they’re here.”
“There’s a lot,” I murmured. “I visit my husband’s grave sometimes, and I’ve never seen this many. Do you think it’s because we’re disturbing a grave? They seem…distraught.”
A muscle in Olive’s jaw twitched. “I’m sure that’s got them stirred up. That and we do have a lot of emotions going on right now—both me and DeLanie. Ghosts are drawn to that sort of thing. Once David’s moved, and Uncle Ford is buried, I’m sure they’ll go back to wherever they were before.”
I nodded and sat back, not wanting to upset her further by discussing it. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was just the emotion of what was happening, and the fact that one of their own was being moved. But something about these ghosts raised the hair on the back of my neck. I didn’t feel like they were going to attack us or anything, but their anger….
It couldn’t have been more than another five minutes when one of the men with the shovels gave a shout, thrusting his hand out in a gesture that clearly meant the man running the equipment should stop. I jumped, the yell out of place with the general tone of respect everyone had shown until that moment. The man running the digger shut off the power, and my ears rang with the sudden silence. It was then that I saw what had alarmed the man with the shovel. Right between the teeth of the excavator’s bucket was a piece of bright blue plastic tarp, stained brown from the dirt.
“Are they ready to bring him up?” DeLanie asked, her voice unsteady. “So soon?”
Melanie came from behind us, walking over to where the three men were conversing as they glanced down into the plot. “They’ll probably want to dig the rest by hand,” she assured the other woman with a stiff smile. “They won’t want to risk damaging the liner lid with the equipment.”
Hadn’t she seen the bit of tarp? She glanced at the blue caught in the digger’s teeth, then down into the grave plot, her expression still bland. Yes, she had seen it. And clearly it didn’t bother her. Melanie seemed completely unfazed. I knew she had a good poker face, but good grief. There was no reason for there to be a tarp in the grave dirt. I would have expected her to look panicked, mortified. Her calm demeanor shaken.
Maybe there was a good reason for that bit of torn blue. Maybe they put tarps on top of the caskets now? Certainly, David hadn’t been buried with it in his casket. It wasn’t likely the casket was rotted after six months. If the digger had accidently cut into it, there would have been a crack noise or something to indicate it had hit more than dirt.
Besides, weren’t these graves all lined to keep the ground from sinking? Yes, I distinctly remembered having to buy a grave liner when I buried Eli. Cemetery policy, Melanie had told me.
My heart beat a frantic rhythm. I plastered an expression on my face as close to Melanie’s calm as I could. “Stay here,” I told the other ladies as I got to my feet and walked over to where the men were clustered, their backs to us.
“We’re only four feet in,” one of them told Melanie in a hushed tone. “I stopped Paul as soon as I saw it.”
“Maybe a mourning flag that got mixed in with the dirt,” another man whispered. “Or someone snagged a section of the drape when they were filling it in. We’re not that deep.”
Melanie peered down into the grave, her face shifting from an expression of bland, calm sympathy and transforming into one of icy granite. “Get down there,” she told one of the men. “Do the rest by hand.”
“It’s two more feet down,” one man began to argue before another swatted him on the arm and with a warning glance, hopped down into the grave, shovel in hand. The second guy hopped down with them, while the third stood near the box that was to hold the dirt.
Melanie turned back to the others, the bland expression returning to her face. “It will be a bit longer. We’re doing the remaining two feet by hand.”
I eyed the scrap of blue on the bucket. As inappropriate as it would have been, I was tempted to reach out and pull it down to examine. The only thing besides impropriety that held me back was that the bucket was suspended over the grave plot, and I most likely would have fallen in trying to grab the shredded bit of tarp.
Glancing down, I saw it the same moment as the two men with the shovels. I saw it before the third man next to the dirt
box, before Melanie who still had her back turned as she spoke to DeLanie. I saw it, and I realized we wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, that David’s casket was most likely going to remain in this grave for a bit longer, that Uncle Ford might need to wait before he occupied the plot.
That scrap of tarp clawed up by the digger wasn’t a mourning flag. It was a piece of tarp surrounding a body—a body lying four feet down in the grave without the benefit of a casket.
Chapter 5
It didn’t take the police long to arrive, right behind them the long van that I recognized as being from the Medical Examiner’s office.
I realized the dark humor in my knowing what the M.E. van looked like. This wasn’t the first body I’d seen. I’d gone my whole life without coming across a murder scene, and in one year I’d now encountered six. This was beginning to be an unwelcome habit of mine.
Was this why there were all these ghosts hovering over the grave? Why they were so angry? I squinted, trying to see if the figure-shaped shadows would become something more distinct. If anything, that just made them blurrier. It was frustrating. If I was going to have this odd ability to see the dead, it would help if I could truly see them. And communicate with them. As much as I didn’t want to become that lady who went around talking to ghosts, it would make it a lot easier to find out what they wanted and how to get them to go away if we could speak to each other.
Two shadows separated from the mass, floating closer to where we stood like a compact section of gray fog. One passed across Melanie and she shivered, rubbing her arms.
The manager had calmly halted the excavation and had informed us that she was shocked and embarrassed to say there appeared to be another body informally buried on top of David’s casket. If that was her being shocked, I couldn’t tell. The woman had an amazing poker face, but then again, I guess if you dealt with grieving people and remains all day, you’d be rather stoic about the whole thing. After apologizing profusely and letting us know that the relocation of David’s remains would have to wait until this “issue” was resolved, she’d called the police.
I’d given Suzette the keys to my car, telling her to take DeLanie and Olive back to her house. Neither one of the women needed to be here to see this, and both clearly needed a stiff drink right now. Suzette had turned on the motherly instinct and headed off with the pair after making me promise I’d go over to her house to update them all as soon as things were wrapped up here.
It wasn’t until they were gone that I realized that they were in my car and I hadn’t grabbed either Olive’s or DeLanie’s keys to drive one of theirs. Thinking the police might be a bit too busy to drive me home and unsure about calling an Uber to a cemetery on a Saturday evening, I texted Judge Beck.
There’s a dead body on top of the casket at Windy Oaks. Can you meet me here and give me a ride to Suzette’s?
It took Judge Beck a while to respond, so I watched the cops take pictures of the crime scene, making sure they noticed the scrap of fabric at the edge of the bucket. I was certain the gravedigger men had let them know, but just in case I felt like I needed to point that out.
My phone beeped.
WHAT???
I thought I’d made it quite clear what was going on, but evidently Judge Beck needed some additional explanation. Honestly, he should have been used to my odd habit of discovering murder victims by now.
Murder. I was certain this person who’d been buried in a grave he didn’t belong in had been murdered. It wasn’t just the ghosts that swarmed around the gravesite; it was simple logic. There was no way someone would have wrapped themselves in a plastic blue tarp, accidently fallen into an open grave, and been accidentally covered over with dirt. Someone had put this body there. And whoever filled in the grave must have known there was an additional resident in the plot.
I texted the judge back. Olive’s family feud came to a head. DeLanie’s son was to be moved. We were here, and as they were digging, they uncovered a body... Not in a casket.
There. That was clear as…. dirt.
The police finished taking pictures. They’d strewn crime scene tape around the area, spoken to Melanie who had assured them that the canopy would remain up to not only protect evidence, but keep a half-open grave from filling in with rainwater and damaging the casket and remains that they still needed to exhume.
The Deputy—not Miles; he’d be so disappointed this hadn’t happened early enough to get him out of the golf tourney—told Melanie that they hoped to be able to clear the crime scene by mid-week at the latest, so they could resume whatever they needed to do here.
Satisfied, Melanie stepped back and watched as two women hopped into the grave with small shovels, a box of plastic bags, and cameras. Two deputies stood up top next to a stretcher and straps, ready to bring the body up when the two women were done processing the evidence and unearthing the remains.
My phone beeped.
Why?
Why are you watching an exhumation? Did the casket come apart or something? Wasn’t he just buried six months ago? And isn’t there a vault or a liner or something?
I sighed and typed the equivalent of a short novel, explaining the entire thing. Texting wasn’t the medium for this sort of lengthy dialogue, but it seemed Judge Beck couldn’t wait until he’d actually arrived to learn the details.
By the time I’d finished and hit send, I saw the judge’s SUV pull up behind the police cars. He was reading the text as he strode across the grass, his long black coat oddly reminiscent of his official robes. The deputies looked up at him. One stepped forward, only to recognize him at the last moment.
“Judge Beck,” he stammered. “Can I help you? Is there something I can do…?”
The judge looked up at him, and I saw he had his professional expression on. Where Melanie’s professional expression was cool, efficient, comforting, someone you could rely on in your time of need to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s without fuss or muss, Judge Beck’s would peel the paint from the side of a building. It too was cool and efficient, but it sliced like a laser. It made powerful men shake in their boots. It was incredibly intimidating. And sexy.
It was a bit embarrassing to realize that.
“I’m here to give Mrs. Carerra a ride home,” he said, his voice like polished glass. “You can rest easy that I won’t compromise your crime scene in any way.”
The deputy gulped. “No, of course not, sir.”
He stood aside and the judge walked toward me. He didn’t look happy.
“I’m so sorry,” I told him. “If it was a bother, I could have called Matt or someone else. I didn’t mean to put you out like this.”
He stopped in his tracks and blinked, the stern expression fading. “Kay, I’m not mad. I want you to call me if you need something like a ride…or anything, actually. I’m just… I’m worried. How many bodies have you found this year? That party planner. The man across the street. Holt Dupree. That vampire romance writer. And now this? Is this kind of thing common with you, or was my moving in a curse or something?”
I squirmed, not wanting to tell him about how I saw ghosts. Admittedly, a good number of my murder-victim discoveries would have happened even if I hadn’t been able to see ghosts, but still…
“The party planner was the first,” I confessed. “But I’d been taking care of Eli for ten years prior to that, so it’s not like I got out a lot. It’s not a curse. It’s not you. It just seems to happen, and I’m going to go with it.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Poor Olive. How did she get roped into this?”
“I’m glad she did in a way,” I told him. “This is DeLanie’s son’s grave. Can you imagine how dreadful this is for her? She’s badgered by her cousin into moving her son’s remains and comes here for what’s clearly going to be an emotional event, only to have this happen? Having a sympathetic family member like Olive here helped. And now they’re all over at Suzette’s drinking wine and hopefully mending fences between the two
sides of their family. I hate to think that she might have been here alone for this. Or with this Aunt Sarah that seems to hate her for some reason.”
Judge Beck nodded. “You’re right. I’m glad she wasn’t alone. I just wish it wasn’t always you in the middle of it all, Kay. I worry.”
It warmed my heart to know he worried. “I know. And I’m sorry, but this is who I am. I might not have been stumbling across bodies back in my journalism days, but I met with a lot of unsavory characters. Eli used to worry as well, but he knew he had to accept me as I was.”
I cringed, realizing that I’d just compared him to Eli as if they had anywhere near the same relationship with me. Eli had been…well, he’d been my life, my partner, my lover, my until-death-do-us-part. Judge Beck was a tenant and a friend. A very close friend. But that was it.
Or was it?
The two women handed their cameras and several labeled plastic bags up to the deputies, then lowered the stretcher into the grave. Several bags of dirt came up, then the deputies hauled the body up on the stretcher. It was covered in a torn blue tarp. The two women guided the stretcher to the grass. Then while the deputies loaded it into the waiting van, the women continued bagging additional samples.
I eyed the sun low on the horizon and the darkening sky.
“Are you done here?” Judge Beck murmured. “Have you given a statement? Any additional graves you need to dig up while there’s still some daylight?”
The two women began climbing up out of the grave. “I think I’m done here. There’s nothing more for me to do until the medical examiner gets a look at things.”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing more for you to do period besides go comfort your friend. Really Kay, leave this one for the police.”
I stared at him, eyebrows raised. He grinned and let out an exaggerated sigh.