by Angie Fox
“Thanks,” I said, letting him open the door for me.
I stepped into a cramped office with small stained-glass windows along the right side. Bookshelves took up the wall ahead of me and the one to the left. More bookshelves flanked the door I’d just entered.
“Is this a library?” I asked.
“The old parish office,” Pastor Mike said, ducking past me to pull the tassel on a Tiffany-style lamp perched on a battered wooden desk. “The original Pastor Clemens lived in a small house behind the church and used this office.” He smiled.
“There’s a house in the back?” I’d never noticed.
“Oh, it’s long gone. My father modernized. These days we do all of our administration out of an old barn at the pastor’s residence down the road,” he said, his gaze slanting over the books lining the walls. “There’s more room there.”
“If these walls could talk, right?” I asked.
“I’d love that,” he mused. “Okay,” he said, moving to a card table wedged into the corner to my right. It took up a big portion of the room. “Here are those boxes from Jorie’s house. You can empty them on the table if you’d like, or if you need more space, you can use the desk. There’s not much room in here.”
“I’ll manage,” I said, glad for the chance. “On the day she died, Jorie tried to give me a picture of my grandmother at Jorie’s wedding,” I said wistfully. “Did she mention anything about it to you?” I added, taking a stab.
“She didn’t, but I would have cherished seeing that,” he said. “Your grandmother had the loveliest smile.” His face lit up as a thought occurred to him. “There might be some wedding pictures in these boxes.” He removed a few pictures from the top of the nearest box.
“So you haven’t looked yet?” I asked, taking a few from the same box he had. The first showed a boy in front of a chalkboard, flanked by a smiling couple.
“Oh, that’s the elementary school before the renovation,” Pastor Mike said, excited. “No, to tell you the truth, I hadn’t planned to take the time to go through these. I only wanted to help Suzanne.”
“Did she tell you which ones she wanted?” I pressed.
“She didn’t need to. Jorie wrote Suzanne’s name on the front.”
“Ah.” I spotted it, on masking tape in Jorie’s looping handwriting.
He also hadn’t touched a hand to his chin, which had been MayBelle’s tool to know if he was lying.
I smiled. “It seems Jorie was giving a lot of memories away. I’ll have to ask Fiera if she has any nice photos,” I said, trying not to fish too hard.
Pastor Mike’s attention had been captured by a photo of a crowd at a dance hall. “I couldn’t say what Jorie wanted her friend to have.” He glanced up at me. “But there were dozens of boxes at Jorie’s apartment.”
“There aren’t anymore.” I’d found only a few.
He seemed surprised at that. “No,” he said, lowering the photos. “There are all kinds of boxes in a cabinet under the TV. I took the ones marked for Suzanne, but I don’t think Jorie would have minded at all if you take a look at the rest of them, as long as you don’t disturb anything.”
Too bad someone had beat me to it.
He flipped to another photo. “The town picnic 1957,” Pastor Mike gushed, as excited as I would be if I weren’t distracted by a murder investigation.
Fiera must have taken almost everything.
Unless someone else had gotten a few boxes as well.
There was no way to know for sure.
MayBelle had only seen Pastor Mike and Fiera. Although, it wasn’t as if she’d watched the hall twenty-four seven.
And MayBelle might not be the most reliable witness. She’d stated quite clearly that Fiera had taken her items before Mike had arrived.
“Here’s a picture of Jorie’s husband, Ray, with my brother, Felix.” Pastor Mike said, holding it up. “Ray would play the guitar while Felix sang happy birthday to anybody at the picnic who had one.” He grinned. “They sang especially loud to the ladies who wanted to forget turning a year older.”
I tried to smile back. This was going to take a while with Pastor Mike.
“Oh, and here’s one of the cemetery cleanup.” He held it close to his face, taking in every detail. “We used to have a whole crew back in the day. The congregation could fill the church back then.”
While I adored town history, I found it difficult to focus on anything but the case at hand. “What do you do to maintain the graves now?” I asked. Maybe the ghosts were upset that the cemetery had been neglected, although the grounds looked nice enough to me.
“I hire goats,” Pastor Mike gushed, lowering the photo. “Cletus Barnes drives them over for me every Monday afternoon. It’s eco-friendly and a hoot to watch.”
“Oh my. That sounds pretty cute,” I admitted.
“He puts little flower cages over the roses on Ray Davis’s grave. And I leave my car at home or they’ll perch on it like parrots. Come by on Monday and take a gander,” he offered.
I wondered how many visitors Pastor Mike got between fundraisers, when folks didn’t have an official reason to drop by.
“I’ve got to bring some of these pictures over to my dad’s tonight,” he mused, holding up a picture of a 1970s kid with an ice cream cone. “This is Grace Finch, who is now our church secretary. Ray always had that camera clicking,” he clucked. “Oh, and this is MayBelle dressed as an angel for the Christmas program,” he said, handing me a photo of the frowniest angel I’d ever seen, her hands folded in reluctant prayer. “That’s the only time you’ll see her sport a halo,” he teased.
“She doesn’t act like a preacher’s daughter,” I had to admit.
“Truth be told, she acts exactly like one,” he countered. “Some see the role as a challenge and aim for perfection; others see what they can get away with.” He set the picture aside. “Let’s just say Grandpa Clemens knew what he was in for when MayBelle used to hang out at the five-and-dime and con old ladies into buying her lollipops. She told each of them she’d ‘prayed God would send them to give her a treat.’”
“And it worked?” I asked.
“She had a whole stash under her bed.” His phone rang and he pulled it out of his back pocket. “Oh, Verity, I need to take this.”
“I can step out of the room,” I offered.
“Oh, no. You keep at it,” he told me. “I’ll do a walk and talk out in the cemetery.” He raised the sleeve of his shirt to display a Fitbit. “Helps me get my steps in.”
“Pastor Mike,” he said, answering his call. “Oh, Mrs. Danvers. How’s your husband doing?”
His voice faded as he left the building, and I turned back to the photos. At least I could make a dent without hearing the story behind each one. There would be plenty of time for that. In fact, after this was over, perhaps I’d stop by and go through them one by one with Pastor Mike. His dad might even like to join.
And so I explored the contents of the boxes, placing the photos I’d seen in three stacks on the desk, to correspond with each box. It was only respectful to keep things in the order Jorie had left them.
Only I saw no pictures from Jorie and Ray’s wedding. I didn’t understand it. Suzanne should be the one to receive those photos. She would be the one to appreciate them.
But they were not among the pictures set aside for her. I double-checked as I placed the photos back where they belonged.
I left the office and stepped outside the church onto the stairs. Pastor Mike leaned against the sprawling old oak tree beyond the parking lot, thinking, from the looks of it.
He startled and stood upright when he saw me. “How’d you do?”
“I didn’t find anything from Jorie’s wedding,” I confessed. “That’s really the only thing I was looking for.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know what those pictures would mean to you.”
I sighed. Yes, from what I’d seen in there, he did know. “It’s all right. I’ll ask MayBelle who el
se attended the wedding. I’m sure plenty of people in town were there.” This was Sugarland, after all. “Maybe someone else has a print.”
“That’s the attitude,” he said, then his face fell. “I have to tell you, Verity. While you were inside, I made a few calls to check up on some of our members who are going through hard times.” He pursed his lips. “One in the hospital has taken a turn for the worse. I’d like to stop in before visiting hours are over, so I’m afraid I have to go. You can call me or come back to chat anytime,” he was quick to add.
“Don’t worry about it,” I assured him. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
Although I wondered where my ghost had gone. I didn’t see Frankie among the graves on this side of the cemetery.
In fact, there might be one more person I could talk to while I was here.
“Would you mind if I stay a while?” I asked the pastor.
“That’s no problem at all,” he said, drawing a set of keys out of his pocket. “Are you going to try to talk to the ghosts?”
“You know this area is haunted?” I asked, walking him to a blue Ford Focus.
Not all religious people believed in ghosts. Or if they did, some didn’t admit it.
He opened the door. “This is going to sound crazy,” he said, turning back to me, “but the spot by the organ is oddly cold sometimes.”
“That’s a puzzle,” I said, not quite willing to go there with him.
“Stay as long as you like,” he said, resting a hand on top of the door. “And thanks for looking through some of those pictures with me. I enjoyed it.”
“Me too,” I said. And I meant it.
He nodded. “We’re having the service here for Jorie on Saturday at three o’clock. I hope you’ll be there to help us remember her.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I assured him.
We said our goodbyes and I watched him drive off.
Good luck, indeed.
I’d need it, I realized as I saw the gravedigger standing next to a leaning cross near the edge of the cemetery, watching me.
Chapter Nineteen
The gravedigger leaned heavily on his shovel, staring at me as I walked past the parking lot and toward a copse of redbuds. I remembered Jorie standing out that way on the morning of the fundraiser.
She’d told me how she visited her husband’s final resting place every Saturday, simply to talk, wishing he could hear her.
Truth was, Ray was probably with her more often than she realized. I had no doubt he watched over her, listened to her, loved her as much as he ever had. Couples like Jorie and Ray shared a bond that death couldn’t break.
Deep down, she’d recognized it. It was what brought her back to visit him.
While I had no reason to think he’d want to hang out at his grave without the prospect of seeing his wife, I figured I’d give it a shot all the same. Ghosts often returned to places that held fond memories, and I had to assume those Saturday visits with Jorie were pleasant.
A soft breeze rattled the tree limbs above as I made my way to the moss-dotted stone bearing Ray’s name. It was easy to spot. The Irish cross stood out from the others. Yet my heart sank a little when I didn’t see any sign of him.
“Hey, Ray.” I brushed a dried leaf off the top of the cross. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” I rested my hand on the cold stone, and at that moment he seemed very far away. Still, I’d come out to talk, and if there was a chance he could hear me, I’d take it.
I glanced out over the headstones dotting the gently sloping hill, then back to Ray’s final resting place. “I want to tell you how sorry I am about Jorie. She deserved so much better than what happened to her. I’m going to find justice for her. I promise.”
A chill went down my back, straight to the bone. I turned and saw a ghostly lizard drop from the back of my sweater and scuttle off toward the parking lot.
“E-yikes!” I slapped at my tingling skin and shook out my sweater.
Where had that come from?
I turned back around to find the ghostly suspect sitting on his headstone, grinning at me.
“Dang it, Ray. You scared me to death!”
“You’re too easy,” he guffawed. “Always were.”
He hadn’t changed a bit. Big and beefy, with a ready smile and a bald head. “I could hire a stonemason to sharpen off that gravestone into a point,” I teased, resting a hand on my hip. “You won’t be sitting so pretty, then.”
“Wouldn’t affect me on this side.” He barked out a laugh. “But that would be funny.” His eyes shone, from one too many pranks or from something else, I couldn’t tell. “I’m glad you came, kid.”
“Me too. Despite the lizard.” I’d have to get him back for that one. I shifted my weight, trying to think of an easy way to say it. Finding none, I settled on the plain truth instead. “I’m sorry about Jorie.” When he simply nodded, I couldn’t help but ask, “Have you…seen her? Can you tell me how she’s doing?”
He hesitated. “I did see her right after she passed.” He wore a small smile as he folded his hands in his lap. “It was wonderful—and it went by too fast.”
I appreciated his openness. This was the first time a ghost had willingly shared with me what happened after death.
It wasn’t like I could get any details out of Frankie.
He shook his head ruefully. “Maybe she’ll want to come back, or maybe we’ll go into the light together. It’s hard to wait, but she’s worth it.”
I simply nodded. “Did you see what happened to her?”
He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “You mean who pushed her?” he asked pointedly. “Make no mistake, she didn’t just fall.”
My stomach fluttered. That was what I was afraid of. “What did you see?”
He closed his eyes tightly. “She came flying out of that window.”
“Oh, my God.” I couldn’t imagine seeing that happen to someone I loved—if it was Ellis or Melody. I touched a hand to my chest, wishing I could take away some of his pain.
He looked past me, to the bell tower. With the blue sky and fluffy white clouds behind it, it was hard to imagine the horror that had happened there. “I didn’t see who did it.”
“I’m so, so sorry,” I said, wishing I could reach out and hug him.
He cleared his throat. “Me too.”
“Jorie was one in a million. She was part of so many people’s lives.” He of all people knew that.
He walked a few paces from his grave and looked down at the stone. “Every Saturday, I’d wait for her here,” he said thickly. “Some of the dead lose track of time.” He glanced toward the spirit of a woman in a flowing white nightgown as she ambled past, close to where we stood. “It’s easy to do on this side, but I never lost track. I never missed a Saturday because I knew she’d be here.”
“She felt close to you here,” I said simply.
He nodded. He knew. “I’d watch over her during the week,” he said, his eyes misting over. “Sometimes when she was paying bills or shoveling the back steps, she’d say, ‘Ray, I wish you were here.’” He grazed a hand through a rose in full bloom. “I wished that, too. I wished she didn’t have to figure out online bill payments or how to drill the curtain rod holders into the wall, or the million other little things I would have done for her.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “But every time she struggled, she wasn’t alone. I was with her.”
“It’s all anyone can ask for.” We couldn’t control death. We just had to live with it.
“I looked forward to her visits here.” He glided up to his gravestone. “I’m waiting for her now. It might take a year. It might take longer.” He traced a hand over Jorie’s name etched into the stone, with her birth year and the shiny, empty space where her death would be recorded. “She’ll come here looking for me, and I’ll be waiting for her.”
Was it wise to be envious of a ghost? Because at that moment, I was.
I noticed the woman in the nightgown ha
d stopped nearby.
“Hello?” I called to her.
She turned, and I saw her bloodied throat and the trail it left on her white gown.
She didn’t speak. In fact, I wasn’t sure she was all there.
“You’re not going to make much headway with that one.” Ray shook his head sadly. “I’ve about given up on the ghosts here.”
Truly? “Don’t you know some of them from life?” He’d been a member of this church.
“Everyone I know either went to the light or is haunting somewhere else,” he said, shaking his head. “This isn’t the friendliest place. Most of the ghosts just…wander. And even if they stop for a minute, they aren’t exactly sitting on their gravestones to chat.”
To be fair, I wasn’t sure how many ghosts did that. Except for Ray.
“Watch,” he said as he approached the nightgown ghost gently and stopped a few feet short of her. “Hi,” he said as if he were encountering her on the street or at a picnic. “I’m Ray. What’s your name?”
She stared straight through him.
He gave me an uncomfortable shrug. “They’re all like this.”
It gave me the creeps.
I studied her for a moment. While she didn’t seem to notice either one of us, it still felt wrong to talk with her standing so close. It was as if we were treating her like a rock or a tree instead of a person.
“Can we…walk?” I asked Ray.
“Sure,” he said, putting himself between me and the other ghost.
Without agreeing on a direction or even discussing it, we set off toward the bell tower.
“Have the ghosts here always been so…dead?” I asked.
“Since I’ve been here,” Ray said, glancing over his shoulder at the ghost we’d left behind. “I call them zombie ghosts. They don’t seem to know where they are most of the time.” He shook his head. “After Jorie died, I tried to see if any of them saw what had happened. I went up to every ghost I found—at least twice—and begged them to talk to me. But…” He gestured uselessly.