She plunked down on the floor and cradled the watch in her hands. When Jonathan Drake was alive, he’d given his butler a new pocket watch every Christmas, and her father treasured them, wearing a different one each day. The thought that she’d almost left one behind made her stomach twist.
What else might she have missed?
Sniffing back her tears, she flipped the edge of the bedspread back. Crouching on hands and knees, she scanned under the bed. Even though the rug seemed clean, her nose tickled with dust. The edge of a small notebook caught her eye. She grasped it and brought it into the light.
At first it seemed like nothing, just a pad of paper he might have jotted messages or to-do lists on. Then she saw the indentations left from pressing the pencil or pen on the sheet above.
Marie’s heart jolted. She scrambled to her feet and raced into the sitting room. She ripped open the box holding items from his desk and fished out a pencil. Rubbing the pencil back and forth lightly across the indentations in the notebook paper, she started to see the indentations take shape. A short, curved stem emerged on the page…a simple leaf…and finally the U-shaped petals of a tulip.
Identical to the image she’d seen in the psychomanteum mirror.
She squeezed her arms close against her sides to steady herself, to try to keep her hands from shaking. Her father had seen the image, too. He’d copied it. And there was more.
She rubbed the pencil over the other indentations on the notebook page. Numbers formed in her father’s abrupt script. No, not numbers. Letters. A name.
JENKINS COVE CHAPEL CEMETERY.
The graveyard where her father was buried.
Chapter Sixteen
Brandon paced the third floor. His leg ached to high heaven, but he couldn’t care less. He was doing the right thing. He was. Wasn’t he?
He wished tomorrow morning was already here, that Marie was on the plane, that she was safe. Every second that ticked by made him more nervous. Every creak of the old house made him long to run downstairs to gather her into his arms. To protect her? Or to tell her he’d changed his mind? To beg her to stay with him forever?
He didn’t know.
The distant sound of an engine hummed from the front of the house. What the hell?
He raced to the door of his sitting room and across the hall to his study. He pulled aside drapes covering the windows facing the forest and driveway at the front of the house. This was where he’d seen the fire that had taken Charlotte’s life. A small orange glow through the trees at the stone wall. But he didn’t see a fire now. He didn’t see a crash.
He saw headlights shining down the drive, moving away. And immediately he knew the car, even though it had only arrived from the rental agency the day before.
Where did Marie think she was going?
MARIE WRAPPED HER JACKET around her shoulders and quickened her steps up the redbrick path that wound between boxwood hedges. The gray stone church and walled graveyard were smack in the middle of town, right on Main Street. But that didn’t seem to matter to her jumpy nerves.
A cemetery was still a cemetery.
She’d tried Sophie’s breathing exercises. They didn’t work. The only thing she could think of as she was scooping in those big, slow breaths was that she could hear sounds around her. Footsteps following up the path behind her. The creak of someone watching from the willow oaks overhead. Moans from among the gray, lichen-covered stones.
She had to reel in her imagination.
She pulled the notebook from her bag and tilted the page toward the light from the nearby street. Why had her father included both the sketch and the cemetery name on that page? She knew they were related. The two things were grouped too deliberately on the page not to be. Had he seen both the tulip and the name of the graveyard in the psychomanteum mirror? She’d seen the tulip right before Brandon had rushed into the room, responding to her scream. If she hadn’t been interrupted, would Charlotte have shown her the rest?
Charlotte.
Charlotte was buried in this cemetery. Generations of Drakes were, as were many of their loyal servants who attended the chapel alongside the family. Would finding Charlotte’s grave make the tulip’s meaning clear? But how could she locate the grave in the darkness?
Maybe she should have roused Brandon and asked him to come with her. He would be able to lead her directly to Charlotte’s headstone. And as painful as it would be to spend her last hours in Jenkins Cove with him after he’d pushed her away, at least she wouldn’t be walking through graves alone.
No. He would never have let her come. Not as determined to protect her as he was. Once he made his decision, she knew he wouldn’t let her go anywhere but to the airport. He would insist she turn the notebook over to the police. And they would file it away, never knowing what importance the drawing held.
Not that she knew, either. At least not yet.
She glanced around the perimeter of the yard. Just over the redbrick wall, she could hear a car’s engine as it buzzed down the street. She could see the night-lights of the stores along Main Street. Some insomniac soul was burning the night oil in a nearby house.
She’d never been afraid to walk around Jenkins Cove by herself. No one was. Half the residents still didn’t lock their doors, at least not during the off-season. She didn’t need Brandon’s protection. And she didn’t need his help finding Charlotte’s grave, either.
She could do it herself.
She reached an opening in the boxwood. She stepped off the path onto the sparse, winter grass. The dappled glow of nearby streetlights kissed the cemetery, filtered through thick, evergreen leaves of magnolia and wispy branches of willow oak. Tombstones of different shapes and sizes jutted from the ground like jagged teeth. They crowded every space between tree trunks and shrubs, some old as the town itself, some new…like her father’s.
Marie hadn’t noticed Charlotte’s grave during her father’s funeral, but then she’d been focusing on holding herself together and on the upcoming discussion she’d planned with Police Chief Hammer. It could be in the same area, and she’d simply missed it. At least she knew some Drakes were buried in that area. It was a place to start.
She wound through the stones, rubbing her arms to ward off the chill. If spirits roamed Drake House, surely they must roam this place. She thought she could feel them. The cold pockets of still air. The hair rising on the back of her neck. The soft beat in her ears that she swore had to be footsteps.
Or maybe the beat of a heart.
She shivered again, tamping down her imagination. She had to focus on the tulip. She had to find what it meant, what connection it had to the cemetery. She rounded a tree and spotted a white spire thrusting into the night.
The marker of Brandon’s father, Jonathan Drake.
She remembered the tall column of stone, reminiscent of the Washington Memorial across the Chesapeake in the nation’s capital. She couldn’t help thinking of Brandon’s uncle. When Clifford Drake died, no doubt his memorial would be twice as tall.
A twig cracked behind her.
She whirled around, but all she could see were stones, trees, shadows. She pushed out a tense breath and moved on. One by one, the Drake name started popping up on the headstones around her. Her father’s grave was closer to the wall, deeper in the cemetery. But judging by the increased frequency of the Drake family graves, Charlotte’s had to be close by.
She scanned each name. Mirabelle Drake, who died in 1933. Samuel Drake, who died as an infant twenty years earlier. William Drake, 1883, possibly one of the first Drakes buried in the yard.
Charlotte Drake.
Charlotte’s stone was smooth. No mark of a tulip. No sign of the violence that had taken her life. Just beautiful, flawless, white.
Marie swallowed into an aching throat. She’d never liked Charlotte, but that wasn’t due to anything Charlotte had done. It was because of what she had. It was because she was living the life Marie had dreamed of. It was because of jealousy and envy a
nd bitter resentment.
Marie felt ashamed of those feelings now. She felt ashamed she’d been so hard on Brandon’s wife. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I’m sorry things worked out so badly for you. I’m sorry things worked out so badly for me. And most of all, I’m sorry Brandon will never know happiness.”
The chill surrounding her faded and the air warmed. Marie blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes and scanned the stones around her. Maybe there was no tulip. Maybe Charlotte was the reason she had to come here tonight. To speak to her one last time. To put everything between them to rest.
Feeling less tense, Marie walked to her father’s grave, the earth on top still rough and mounded. She’d felt Charlotte’s presence in the graveyard, but she could tell right away her father wasn’t there. His stone felt like just a stone. The mound of dirt covering his casket was just dirt. She pressed her lips together and studied the flowers clustered around his grave. “Goodbye, Daddy. Wherever you are. I’ll miss you every day.”
She turned away from the stone and wiped her eyes. She shed still more tears. A miracle. When her vision cleared, she focused on the brick wall. Concrete squares lined the length of the wall, vaults for cremated human remains. Each one held another name, another loved one who would never come back. The dates they died. The special bonds they had with family and friends and community.
And one held the simple etching of a tulip.
Marie sucked in a breath. She stumbled to the marker and fell to her knees.
She didn’t have to compare the image to the one her father had drawn in the notebook. It had been burned into her brain in the psychomanteum. She read the name.
Lala Falat.
A foreign name. Maybe Eastern European.
The story Chelsea and Michael told her after her experience on the roof filtered through her mind. They’d said the doctor, Janecek, had smuggled people into the United States from Eastern Europe. He’d made them pay for their passage by donating their organs. Many had died. The state police were still counting the bodies.
Could Lala Falat be tied to the mass grave? And if so, what could she possibly have to do with Charlotte Drake? And why did her father think her grave was important?
Marie dug into her bag. Her hand closed over her digital camera. She pulled it out and focused the camera on the wall marker.
And the world went black.
“MARIE?” Brandon quickened his pace. He swore he’d heard the low whisper of her voice on this side of the graveyard. “Marie? Are you in here?”
Damn this leg. By the time he’d awakened Josef to drive him, Marie had a substantial head start. He wouldn’t even have known where she’d gone if she hadn’t parked her car right on Main Street in front of the Jenkins Cove Chapel.
He wound through the headstones, making his way to her father’s marker. What on earth would make her so intent on visiting his grave that she had to drive here in the middle of the night? And what had possessed her to come here alone?
He knew the answer. Or at least he could guess. She’d assumed he would nix the idea in an effort to protect her.
And the worst thing was that she was probably right.
He reached Edwin’s grave site.
No Marie.
He made his way to the brick wall. Maybe if he walked the perimeter, he could locate her.
His foot hit something in the grass.
He bent down and picked up a camera. And not five feet away lay Marie’s purse.
His lungs constricted. His pulse thundered in his ears. She never would have dropped these things. Not unless she was forced to. Not unless she was attacked.
He spun and headed back to the dark, squared outlines of the boxwood hedges. He had to reach the car. He had to find Marie. “Josef!”
The chauffeur didn’t answer. Or at least, Brandon didn’t hear him. He couldn’t hear anything above the roar of his breath and the beat of his heart. “Josef!”
He reached the boxwood. He could move faster on the path’s hard, brick surface, but still not fast enough. He approached Main Street and strode through the church’s gate.
Marie’s second rental was still parked at the curb. The black shadow of his town car hulked behind it. A man stood behind the town car, raised the car’s trunk.
“Josef?”
The man bent down and picked up a large object. Something wrapped in a blanket or a bag. The way he strained, Brandon could see it was heavy. The package seemed to move. The man dumped it in the trunk.
No. Not a package…A body.
Marie.
Josef slammed the trunk and looked up at Brandon.
Brandon raced for the car. Pain shot up his leg. He gritted this teeth and pushed faster.
The chauffeur jumped in the driver’s seat. The engine hummed to life.
Brandon reached the curb. He slammed into the passenger door and grabbed at the door handle. But the car jolted into gear. It shot away from the curb, tires screeching.
The door swung open under Brandon’s hand. He ran, trying to keep up, trying to jump inside. His legs faltered.
The door handle ripped from his grasp. He staggered and fell to his knees in the street.
The taillights faded into the distance.
Chapter Seventeen
She had to find a way out.
Marie pulled in the moist air of her own breath into her lungs. The bag he’d slipped over her head and shoulders clung tightly to her skin. Duct tape cut into her wrists and ankles. She fought the need to scream. It wouldn’t do any good. Once he’d taped her hands and feet, he’d stuffed a gag into her mouth and secured it with more tape before replacing the bag. The gag wouldn’t allow her to make much noise. Not enough for anyone to hear.
All she could do was thump her feet against the wall of the trunk, and even then she didn’t have enough space to get power into her kick.
Josef.
She’d heard his voice when she’d kicked him. His accent. The strange language he spoke with a fluent tongue. She still couldn’t believe he was doing this. She couldn’t understand it. He’d seemed so meek, so courteous. Why would he want to hurt her? What had she ever done to him?
She could feel the car slow beneath her. She could feel it turn. More driving, over loose gravel this time. Around twists and bends. Finally the motion stopped.
A door slammed. Footsteps moved to the back of the car. The trunk lock clicked its release. Cool air rushed over Marie’s sweat-slick skin. The crash of waves against rock whipped on the wind.
His rough hand gripped her arm. He pulled her to a sitting position, strong fingers bruising her flesh.
She didn’t know what he planned to do, but she wasn’t going to let him do it easily. She twisted her body, wrenching from his grasp. Flopping back down in the trunk, she lashed out with her feet.
She hit something solid.
A grunt broke from his lips, followed by swearing in that other language. He gripped her arm again. His fist crashed down on her neck and shoulder.
Breath shuddered from her lungs. For a moment, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Pain shuddered through her.
He lifted her from the trunk and slung her over his shoulder.
A whimper stuck in Marie’s throat. She swallowed it back. She couldn’t give in. She wouldn’t.
She willed her mind to clear, willed the pain to fade. She wasn’t strong enough to fight him. And trying wasn’t going to get her anything but hurt…or killed. She had to be smarter. Had to strike when she could make it matter. If she could make it matter.
He walked on, her body swaying on his shoulder with each stride. The scent of water rode the wind along with the sound of the lapping waves. Then Josef stopped. She heard a lock rattle. Her body brushed against what felt like the jamb of a door. His heavy footfalls moved over what sounded like a marble floor.
Drake House.
She’d heard Brandon calling her name in the graveyard, even though she couldn’t answer loud enough for him to hear. He must st
ill be at the chapel. Without Josef, without the car, he’d have no way to get back to Drake House. No way to help her until it was too late.
She had to find a way out of this on her own.
Stairs creaked. She could feel the sensation of moving upward. He was taking her upstairs. To do what? She tried to think, tried to stay calm. There had to be a way to escape. There had to.
“You kick again, I beat your head.” His voice was low, dead, as if bled of any emotion, any humanity.
He lowered her down, letting her fall the last two feet to the parquet floor.
Oxygen rushed from her lungs. She tried to breathe, but took in dust. She coughed and sputtered.
He pulled her up to a sitting position and yanked the bag off her head. Without saying a word, he strode out of the room.
She blinked against the light. She didn’t recognize the room at first, but the molding along the ceiling and the carved woodwork proved they were in Drake House. The room smelled dusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. She focused on the trees outside the uncovered window. The room was facing the south side of the house, away from the water. She blinked her eyes. Her vision cleared. Details came into focus. Animals circled the room, carved into the moldings. They rimmed the fireplace mantel. They had to be in the nursery.
Josef thunked back into the room. Rugs and paper and broken sticks of furniture overflowed his arms. He dropped them near the front bank of windows. He walked back out, returning with another armload, as if he was raiding whatever he could find and piling it in here.
As if he was building a bonfire.
Marie’s throat constricted. She struggled to breathe around the gag. She had to think. Clearly she couldn’t fight Josef. Not only was she tied, but he was twice as strong. She’d found that out the hard way. But maybe she could talk to him. Reason with him. Convince him that she was a person, too, that he couldn’t just burn her like trash.
Christmas Awakening Page 15