“She was very nice, showed me the Backman cemetery, but I knew she was upset that I’d cremated Martin and brought him in an urn, not in a casket as she obviously expected. There were a lot of graves in the cemetery, maybe upwards of forty, maybe more. Must be an old family, I thought, looking out over it. I remember all the graves were set in overlapping triangles, so there were no rows or paths. I asked her about all these triangles, and she said her husband’s grand-parents designed it that way when they’d moved to this spot from the other end of the bowl, and had all the caskets moved here. Then she said the weirdest thing: ‘They knew to keep the old ones with them, because the old ones know how to draw the power from the earth.’ I was so surprised—so creeped out, really—that I didn’t pursue what that meant.
“There were all these oak trees, nearly growing together, some branches pushing down on others, vying for space, and they seemed to huddle over the graves as if trying to protect them, or hide them.
“But then, the next morning, I thought I’d overreacted because it was peaceful and warm, a sun bright overhead—serene, even. It felt right that Martin would end up being buried with his family. His grave was already dug. It hadn’t been there when we’d arrived the day before, so I guessed Blessed and Grace dug it out after Autumn and I went to bed. She told me the space was meant for her, but she could always move, now, couldn’t she? I remember watching her wrap the urn in a lace tablecloth she said her mother had made herself. I watched Blessed climb down a small ladder and lay the urn on a wooden platform at the bottom of the grave. It looked so small in that deep hole. Then she handed Blessed a wood-framed mesh sort of thing that looked like a chicken coop and he set it over the wrapped urn. Grace climbed down and smoothed another white tablecloth over that. Both Blessed and Grace were wearing shiny black suits, and they took turns filling in the grave. It was just the five of us, no one else, not even a minister. Blessed read from an ancient Bible—ashes to ashes, dust to dust—read on and on for quite a while, in a low drone. When I realized no one was going to say a prayer, I did. Then we all stood staring down at Martin’s grave, the raw dirt piled high, all loamy and black. Autumn was clutching my hand, but she wasn’t crying. Her hand was terribly cold. She was so still, never made a sound.
“I wanted to leave immediately after we’d buried his urn, but his mother begged me to stay, just one day, she said, only one single day so she could spend some time with her granddaughter. She reached out to touch Autumn. Autumn didn’t move, didn’t seem to even breathe when her grandmother stroked her hair.”
“And did you stay for one more day?”
She shook her head. “We couldn’t stay not after what Autumn saw—”
She looked terrified. He waited a beat, then asked, “What did Autumn see, Joanna?”
“She said she saw them burying dead people in her daddy’s grave.”
She’d said it, insane words, unbelievable and terrifying.
Ethan’s expression didn’t change, but she saw clearly he wasn’t going to accept that.
She saw them burying bodies? In her daddy’s grave?
Ethan knew there were all kinds of monsters out there, but this was a story from a little girl. He said, “Who did she see burying dead people? Blessed? Grace? Shepherd? All of them? Come on, spit it out.”
“It was that night—”
Autumn appeared in the living room door. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
Joanna looked pale and exhausted, but she looked up and smiled. it was well done, Ethan thought, but Autumn wasn’t buying it. She came running to her mother, grabbed her arm. “Mama, you were telling Ethan about Daddy’s funeral, weren’t you? You look all white and stiff, like you did that day.”
There’d been too many lies, to her daughter, to herself, to others. And so she told her daughter the truth. She nodded. “I was telling Ethan about your daddy’s family, sweetheart, about how they behaved, what they were like.” Autumn tightened all over. Joanna said, “Did you get some rest, sweetie?”
Autumn nodded. “I woke up from my nap, Mama. Big Louie was licking my toes and Mackie hissed at him.”
Ethan asked, “Big Louie only licks big toes. Did you keep them from lighting?”
“I guess because my feet are a little smaller than yours, Ethan, he got them all. Mackie only swatted his nose once.”
“And what did you do?”
“I hugged him, kissed his nose, and then he nearly licked my face off.” She pressed closer to her mother and whispered in a small voice, “You told Ethan what I saw them doing?”
Joanna nodded.
Autumn looked at Ethan. He saw such fear on that little face, it was like a punch in the gut. Joanna held her hand tight and said, “Why don’t you tell him about it yourself, Autumn?”
She licked her lips. “It’s too scary, Mama.”
Ethan said, “You tell me and then it won’t be so scary anymore. I promise.”
She thought about it, then slowly nodded. “I was supposed to be asleep beside Mama, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them, how scary they were, how I knew they didn’t like Mama, even though they pretended they did. And they looked at me funny, you know, trying to pretend they weren’t looking, but they were.
“Mama started moaning in her sleep, so I got up. I put on my clothes without waking her and climbed out the window.” She swallowed. “I walked to the cemetery, and that’s when I saw them, and they were digging up my daddy’s grave and there were these bodies on the ground beside them.” She was shaking, both her voice and her small body, and she pressed even harder against her mother’s side, as if she wanted to become part of her.
Joanna gathered her close, kissed the top of her head, whispered, “It’s okay, sweetie, I swear it’s okay. Ethan is—” Joanna cleared her throat. “Ethan is going to help us.”
He swallowed hard at that vote of confidence. He looked at the mother and daughter and marveled at what life had dished onto his plate in a single day. He said, “Autumn, I told your mama I’m the prince of bad and that means I can help you with just about anything. Now, kiddo, tell me who you saw out there.”
“Blessed and Grace were digging, and Shepherd was standing beside the dead people.” Her voice caught, and she looked terrified.
“Okay, Autumn, that’s enough for now. I want you to take some deep breaths and shake your arms around; it’ll loosen you up. That’s it—good. Now, let your mama talk for a while. Joanna, let’s back up. After the funeral, what did you and Autumn do?”
Joanna said, “I made some excuse, and I drove us to Bricker’s Bowl, only about a half-mile away. Like Autumn, I wanted to get away from all of them. I was tempted to keep driving west, let me tell you. I wish I hadn’t gone back there now, wish I hadn’t taken Martin’s urn to be buried in a chicken coop.”
He wondered what would have happened if she’d kept driving west. Would they still have found her just like they found her here? “Okay, after you drove into Bricker’s Bowl, what did you do?”
“Just walked around. Everyone knew who we were—how, I have no clue, but I knew they were talking about us, wondering about us, I guess, wondering, maybe, if we were weird. I’ll tell you, I don’t blame them a bit.
“We stopped at the small grocery store because it was hot and Autumn wanted an ice cream. There was a woman in there who looked at us like we were members of the devil’s fold. I’ll never forget how she stared at Autumn and said, ‘She looks just like him,’ and she crossed herself. I was appalled and grabbed Autumn’s hand to get her out of there but the woman said then, ‘I was very glad Martin es-caped. I’m very sorry he’s dead. Everyone liked Martin, but no one knew when he was going to be buried. Preacher Michael even called Mrs. Backman, but she didn’t tell him a thing.’ And then she shut up and shook her head.”
“The lady asked me what kind of ice cream I liked best,” Autumn said. “I told her I really liked butter pecan, and she said that was good because she’d just made some.”
Lula strolled i
nto the living room, tail high. She meowed when she saw Ethan, padded quickly to him, and jumped up on his lap. She began kneading his leg.
Autumn leaned over to pat her and Lula stretched under her hand and kept kneading.
Of course Mackie wasn’t to be left out. He was soon seated on Ethan’s other leg, his claws sharper than Lula’s, who’d had a manicure only two days before when Maggie had come to clean up the cottage and managed to catch her. Mackie had escaped clean.
Autumn yawned and leaned back against her mother’s chest, all boneless, like the cats when they were with him in bed at night “Mama,” she whispered, “I think we can trust Ethan. We started to tell him about those poor dead people. I think we should tell Ethan more of it, Mama.”
19
JOANNA WAS PALE and quiet. He gave her a moment to think about what Autumn had said, and slowly stood up. “I think both of you could use a soda. How about it?”
Joanna looked at him, drew in a deep breath, and slowly nodded. “Yes, a drink would be nice. Autumn, stay here, sweetie, sit on my lap.”
When Ethan came back to the living room, he popped open the cans and passed them on. He kept his voice easy and slow as he said to Autumn, “You were telling me about seeing them burying people. Did you see how these people died?”
Those stark, unbelievable words hung in the air. Autumn stiffened up, pressed her back against her mother’s chest. Ethan sat forward, reached out his hand, and lightly touched her shoulder. “You know me now, Autumn. Your mom knows me too, in fact, she even knows I play the piano. I’ll play for you later, but first, it’s time we cleaned up this mess, and that means you’ve got to tell me what you saw. All right? Can you do that?”
Autumn gave him a long look, then said, her voice clear and steady “The people were already dead, Ethan. They were lying next to each other. Blessed and Grace were digging Daddy’s grave even deeper so those dead people would fit in it.”
“You’re sure they were people, Autumn?”
Even as she nodded, Ethan saw her small face cloud over. He knew what she was thinking: He doesn’t believe me: he thinks I’m a stupid little kid. She couldn’t have been clearer if she’d spoken out loud.
“Could you tell how many dead people there were?” Now wasn’t that real smart, asking a seven-year-old how many bodies were piled around.
Autumn sat forward, her small hands making fists on the table, her eyes on his face. “I was so scared, Ethan, I just couldn’t think. I ran to Mama.”
Joanna said clearly, “Yes, she came to tell me what she’d seen Sheriff.”
“Did you go and look?”
“At that point I didn’t think it was necessary.”
At that point? What did that mean?
He said, “If my kid came to tell me she saw dead bodies, I think I’d be up like a shot to see what was going on. Oh, I see, you thought Autumn was making it up.”
“No, Mama didn’t believe that,” Autumn said. “She just didn’t think I saw what I thought I did.”
Joanna Backman’s face was so leached of color he thought she’d faint. He waited for her to say something, but it was Autumn who spoke. “I wanted Mama to come with me so I could show her what they were doing, but she wouldn’t. She pulled me against her and rubbed my head and told me it would be all right, and we were leaving first thing in the morning, and I wasn’t to worry about it. I’d forget about it—that’s what she thought. But I knew it wouldn’t go away. How could it? I saw them digging up Daddy’s grave, and I saw them burying dead people in it.”
Joanna took her daughter’s hand. “She’s right. I believed Autumn was seeing something in her head, but I didn’t believe the Backmans were actually in the cemetery at that moment burying people. Autumn had just lost her father; she was grieving for him terribly. Per-haps she’d misinterpreted whatever she’d seen.”
The thick silence in Ethan’s living room was broken only by Lula and Mackie’s purring.
He said slowly, “You believed Autumn was seeing horrible things in her head because of what you’d both seen earlier that day in the cemetery? You thought she was dreaming it?”
Joanna saw incredulity on his face, heard the disbelief in his voice. She said, “That’s what I hoped at the time. I mean, who wants to believe something that horrible was actually happening right below the bedroom window?”
Ethan said, “You went to the cemetery, didn’t you, Joanna?”
“Yes, I planned to, alone, so I could come back and reassure Autumn. I was walking toward the center staircase when I heard the three of them come through the front door. They were talking. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, so I tiptoed down to the bend in the stairs. I heard Mrs. Backman then, her voice was really proper, so I stopped right where I was and listened. I couldn’t have misunderstood her. She sang out, sounding happy as a lark, ‘Well, boys, I’m thirstier than a desert in hell. We got it done, all solemn and proper, and it’s over. Nobody could complain we didn’t do it right. That big pile of dirt will settle down soon enough. Now, I need a nice whiskey sour. Grace, you know exactly how to make it. Blessed, you want a Diet Coke?’
“Blessed said he did, with a slice of lemon. Grace didn’t say any-thing. I would swear they should have heard my heart pounding. They’d just buried people and she wanted a whiskey sour? I wanted to run, but I knew I had to wait and listen, but for the longest time I didn’t hear them say anything more. I stayed bent down, in the shad-ows of the bend of the stairs. I thought they’d gone when Shepherd said, ‘We’ll take care of Joanna in the morning. Make it look like an accident, Blessed; we don’t want Autumn to distrust us. Everyone will be so pleased she’s here at last, where she belongs. She’s strong. I know it now, stronger than Martin.’
“I heard Blessed grunt and say he’d stymie me easier than Nat Hodges. That was the word he used, ‘stymie.’ Then Grace said some-thing, but I couldn’t make out the words.
“I felt frozen, so terrified I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, could scarcely draw a breath. Finally they moved away, probably to the kitchen, so Blessed could make this horrible old woman a whiskey sour.
“Later, probably after three o’clock in the morning, Autumn showed me the tree branch outside the window and we climbed down.”
Ethan said, “Did you go to the cemetery before you went to get your car? To know for sure?”
Autumn turned in to her mother and wrapped her arms around her back. “It’s all right, sweetie.”
Autumn nodded and turned back. “Mama wanted to see it with her own eyes. But she said she believed me now after what she heard Mrs. Backman say. She knew I didn’t see it in my head.”
Joanna hugged her daughter tightly to her. She kissed her hair. “Know this, Autumn, from now on I will always believe exactly what you tell me.” She gave her daughter a lopsided grin and another hug. “However, whether or not I want to believe you is a very different matter.” She looked up at Ethan. “It was too dangerous to stay. We had to get out of there.”
Ethan studied the little girl’s face. “Tell me, Autumn, what were you doing in the cemetery so late, and alone. When you saw them burying the people?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She glanced at her mother, then quickly away. Finally she said, “I wanted to say good-bye to Daddy.”
Joanna looked like she’d collapse in on herself.
Ethan said matter-of-factly, “Okay, thanks for telling me. So, Joanna, you got out of there fast?”
He’d thrown her a rope and she grabbed it. “You bet. Thankfully my car was on a bit of an incline in front of the huge garage, and I put it in neutral, pushed, then jumped in as it gained speed and steered it back down that long driveway. I didn’t have to start the engine until we were nearly at the road that runs past the driveway.”
Autumn said, “I was looking back, and I didn’t see any lights go on. I told Mama we’d be okay.”
“I drove until morning. Believe me, I never stopped, even for an instant.”
Autumn said, “I tried to call Daddy, and that was stupid because there couldn’t be an answer now since he’s dead. But before he died, I spoke to him when he was in prison. Do you know, Ethan, Daddy would talk to me about everything, but he wouldn’t ever talk about his mother or his brothers. I guess I know why now. They’re creepy. I’m glad he ran away.”
Ethan asked without thinking, “Your dad had telephone minutes?”
Autumn cocked her head at him. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, he did,” Joanna said. “That’s enough for tonight, Sheriff.”
“One last thing you might help explain, Joanna. Blessed must know we’re aware of who he is now, where his family lives, yet he still tried to take Autumn. What did he intend to do with her? Where did he think he could take her? And why? And what did Shepherd mean by saying Autumn was stronger than Martin?”
“You’ll have to ask Blessed that, Sheriff. He didn’t exactly share it with us.”
20
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Sunday evening
“That was a good call on Buzz,” Savich said to Jimmy Maitland, who stopped by after dinner. “He’s safe now, no way the two of them can get to him in Aruba. That would mean passports, and Lissy Smiley doesn’t have one.”
“Victor Nesser does, but the alert’s out on him. I would strongly doubt they have the sophistication to obtain good forgeries,” Maitland said. He accepted a cup of coffee from Sherlock, cocked his head at her. She said, “Yeah, yeah, the coffee god over there made it, not me.”
Maitland toasted her with his cup. “You’re looking pretty good, Sherlock. Like I told my wife, in the long scheme of things, I’d rather lose a spleen than some other parts I can think of,”
Sherlock wanted to whine about how her body still wanted to sleep when she wanted to keep working—even piddling everyday stuff—how a nice sweaty workout was still at least a week away, but she smiled. “I’m feeling it less and less every passing day.” She handed Dillon a cup of hot tea.
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