by K. J. Emrick
“Your men have found pieces of decayed clothing here, and three more pieces of bone. The bodies taken from the graves were obviously left here after they were dug up.”
“So?”
“So,” Jon said slowly, “what are you suggesting? Maven Sirles dug up all those bodies, then dragged them out here only to drag them out again and put them in boxes in her garage?”
“So we don’t have all the answers.” Vic stalked away, throwing his hands in the air as he went. “I don’t see the Misty Hollow Police Department coming up with any of the answers either!”
“Got it!” Wilson’s voice carried through the trees.
Vic stopped midstride.
It was all Darcy could do not to laugh at the comical look of surprise on his face.
Wilson came carefully stepping through the underbrush, breaking sticks underfoot, pushing low branches out of his way, careful to keep out of the areas the CSU team was searching. There was something in his hands, bulky and flat.
A stone. Darcy saw it now. A flat, irregularly square stone still wet from the river. Just like the ones in the boxes Darcy had seen in Maven Sirles’ garage.
“This is why Maven found the bones. She was here to collect these stones.” Wilson spun the rock in his hands by its edges. “There’s a ton of them down there by the bend in the river.”
“Good job, Will,” Jon told him, taking the stone from his hands. “Now we know how the bones were found.”
“Sure, sure.” Vic grumbled to himself before turning away again. “Like that’s any use to anyone.”
“Right,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes at Vic’s back. “Because we haven’t helped him figure anything else out. We just found the boxes in Maven’s garage, found the place where the bones had been dumped in the woods here…”
“Mapped out the cemetery where all the graves are,” Darcy added.
Jon ticked more facts off on his fingers. “Talked to the next of kin, figured out the motive for the grave robbing, and basically put it all together in a nice neat package with a little red bow. But, hey, the State Police will solve the whole thing by themselves.”
“Kind of makes me glad I didn’t become a Trooper,” Wilson muttered, low enough so none of the men nearby in their State Police uniforms would hear him.
“Don’t worry about Vic Dunson.” Jon shook his head. “Most State Troopers aren’t like that. Guy’s got a chip on his shoulder. That’s all.”
Darcy smiled, but her thoughts were somewhere else. Something one of them had just said. What was it? Something important…
“I think these guys have it for now,” Jon said, breaking into Darcy’s thoughts. “Why don’t we go home. You too, Wilson. Is Shane Wagner still out there in his patrol car?”
“Yeah,” Wilson said. “He and Officer Baskin are making sure none of the reporters make it any closer than the entrance to the cemetery.”
“Sherrie’s out there with Shane? How’d she pull that duty?” Jon asked. “I thought she was on vacation this week?”
“She was. Baskin and a bunch of the others came in on their own time to help with this one, Chief.”
After a moment, Jon nodded. Darcy saw the change in his expression that he tried to hide. He was proud to hear how the officers of the department were supporting him, their new chief. Darcy wasn’t surprised at all. She knew the people who worked with him supported Jon completely, even if he wasn’t ready to believe it.
“All right.” Jon straightened his tie, casting one last glance over at Sergeant Vic Dunson who was in the process of ordering his men to do things they’d already done. “Let’s get out of here so we can let Vic do his job, shall we? Maybe us small time cops can come up with some leads on our own.”
“Oh, Jon,” Darcy said. “That reminds me.”
How could she have forgotten? It had been her whole reason for coming to find him earlier.
Phoebe Stewart.
She told him all about the woman in the short-brimmed hat as they walked back through the woods and came out into the cemetery. Jon agreed with her that it sounded suspicious, but at the same time he said they couldn’t check on every tourist that came into town.
“How about just the suspicious ones?” she asked him.
“Sounds fair.”
At the far end of the cemetery, where the wrought iron entryways stood tall and serene, two black and white patrol cars sat with their red lights flashing. The officers from the Misty Hollow Police Department, Shane Wagner and Sherrie Baskin, were keeping the crowd of reporters back. Cameras swept the area taking background shots. Several reporters stood with microphones up, trying to get the officers to give a quote.
Jon put his arm around Darcy’s shoulder and drew her against him. “We’ll talk more about our wedding tonight. I promise. We still have to confirm with Pastor Hillier, and there’s a couple of menu items I want to check on with Helen.”
“Okay. Talking about it at home sounds good.” Just not here, she thought, standing in a cemetery with the headstones all laid out in neat rows, eight graves covered with sheets of plywood and staked off with yellow police tape. It was like looking over that perfect little map from the church that Jon had in his office. Each grave, marked out and carefully labelled with who was laid to rest inside.
And what they were laid to rest with…
She stopped where she was, and Jon stopped with her.
Oh, for Pete’s sake, she thought to herself.
Anyone could have known which graves to hit. All they needed was access to the church’s records.
***
Jon knocked on the door of the modest little house that Pastor Hillier lived in next to the Grace Community Church. It was a one story home with old white vinyl siding and green trim around the windows and door. The flagstone walk reminded Darcy of the flat river stones Maven had been hunting, the very thing that had started this whole mystery.
Just after the second knock the door opened by Pastor Hillier, a slim man with a thick head of hair that never quite sat down the way it should at the back. His simple black shirt and slacks were the only thing Darcy had ever seen him wear.
“Darcy! Jon!” The pastor smiled to see them. “Did we have an appointment? I thought we weren’t meeting until Monday.”
“We weren’t,” Jon assured him. “Something else came up.”
“Ah. The grave robbing. Yes.” Hillier’s face soured. “Nasty business. Never in twenty years as a pastor have I ever seen something like this. Well. Come on in. What more can I do for you?”
The pastor made them tea while they talked in his small kitchen. The round dining table was barely big enough for the three of them. The countertop had a few spices and a standing roll of paper towels on it. Everything in the kitchen was white from the cabinets to the appliances to the floor. If men of God were supposed to live simply, then Pastor Hillier certainly exemplified that rule.
“I do hope black tea is all right,” he said to them as he passed out the ceramic cups. “It’s all I have left. So. The whole town can’t stop talking about this one, can they?”
“No,” Jon had to agree, turning his cup around and around on the table. “They’ll be talking about this for a long time. What we needed to ask you about, Pastor, was this. We believe whoever was responsible for this had access to the church records. That map you gave me of the cemetery plots, as well as the information the church keeps on what people were buried with. Can you tell me who would have been able to see those records?”
“Well, me of course,” Hillier laughed. “I don’t suppose a man of God such as myself would be a suspect, would I?”
Jon concentrated harder on his cup. Darcy knew what he was thinking. Anyone could be a suspect, but neither of them had any reason to believe Pastor Hillier had done this. “I can safely say you aren’t on my list of suspects. Someone had to know which of the graves to dig up, though, and for that they needed your church records.”
“Ah, I see.” The pastor nodded with a litt
le chuckle. “I suppose that makes sense. I’m almost disappointed you don’t think it’s me. It might have been fun to be a suspect. Let me see. Besides myself, theres’s only a few people who would have that kind of access. We have four church elders who can see the records anytime they want. The cemetery association has the map, of course, but they don’t get to see the other records of the church.”
He folded his hands together and tapped the tips of his index fingers against his lips. "I don’t believe anyone else ever looks at either set of records.”
Jon had already taken out his little notebook from the pocket of his suitcoat. “Well it’s a place to start. Why don’t you give me the names of the church elders. We’ll interview each of them…is there something else, Pastor?”
Darcy had noticed the way Hillier was pursing his lips and shaking his head. Now he shrugged at Jon’s question. “I just know that interviewing the elders would be a waste of your time, Jon.”
“Pastor Hillier, I know it might be hard to accept, but if one of the elders is robbing the graves of the people buried here in town we need to know about it. We need to put a stop to this and punish whoever is responsible.”
“I agree, but it’s not any of the elders,” Hillier insisted.
Jon closed his notebook again and set it on the table. “This isn’t going to be a church confidentiality thing, is it? I can get a court order if you need one. Or I could just ask around town. It’s not like the names of your elders is a big secret.”
The pastor raised a hand, waving aside Jon’s concerns. “It’s nothing like that, I assure you. If you still need the names I’ll be most happy to provide them to you. I’m just telling you that it isn’t any of them.”
“Can you at least tell me how you know that?”
“Simple,” Hillier said. “The records are kept in the church, and the only way anyone can look at them is by signing them out.”
Darcy’s heart sank. “Let me guess. No one has signed them out?”
He smiled back at her almost apologetically. “Not for three or four years. I’ve been the only one to lay eyes on them in all that time. I checked after the last time we spoke. I’m sorry, Jon, but we really don’t have that many people associated with the church. I wish we had more. It’s such a nice town here but so few of our neighbors spend time with us at Grace Community. We have our elders and our ladies of the auxiliary, and our deacon readers. A few volunteers, too. I know them all. None of them have signed out the records.”
Jon closed his eyes for a moment, sighing out through his nose. Darcy knew how he felt. So much for their big lead. Pastor Hillier had just put a huge hole through it.
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Hillier said again. “I wish I had better news. Is there anything else I might be able to help you with?”
“No. No, I wish there was. I guess we should…no, wait. The list of items buried with each person.”
“Hm? What about it?”
“Your records are very thorough. Everything about the burial is noted, right down to the time of day the coffin gets put into the ground.”
“Thank you. We try to be complete.” Darcy could tell the Pastor was confused. “What about the records troubles you?”
“Not troubles me, so much. It’s just part of the case we’re working on. Every single one of the people dug up had something valuable buried with them. A ring, a watch, a necklace. Something. All of them, except for one.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“Emile Miller,” Jon told him.
“Ah, yes. Beatrice’s grandfather. I never knew him, myself. Died before my time here in Misty Hollow. Before I graduated from pastoral college, actually. Still, if the records say nothing was buried with him then I’d have to believe it. My predecessor was very, shall we say, anal about such things.”
Darcy would have laughed at the way he said it, if she didn’t feel so let down. She was still sure that the bodies had been targeted specifically for the valuables buried with them. Emile Miller’s lack of anything was a mystery within the mystery but she could let it go for now. It wasn’t like Jon could just ask Emile if the church records were right or wrong.
Jon couldn’t, but she could. A communication could bring Emile’s spirit up for her to talk to. It would be rough, considering she didn’t have anything of Emile’s for her to use as a link to his spirit. Communication’s without some way to bridge the gap between this world and the next were exhausting. She could literally spend hours and hours calling out to Emile’s ghost only to never make a connection to him, or else make a connection to the wrong spirit over and over.
She’d done that before. She’d had nightmares for a week afterward. Not to mention taking two days to recover from the session.
If only there was an easier way to ask this question…
“Oh, wait,” Darcy said out loud, not really meaning to. Once Jon and Pastor Hellier’s attention was on her, though, she rushed ahead anyway. “Did you say Emile was Beatrice Miller’s grandfather?”
“Yes. I did,” Hellier told her.
“Well, I know Beatrice. She’s part of the book club. Jon, why don’t I ask her if she knows about anything buried in her grandfather’s casket with him?”
He scratched the back of his neck, tapping the fingers of his other hand against the table. “I guess it can’t hurt. It might even lead us to a next clue because I have to tell you, I’m out of ideas.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That’s why you have me around.”
Pastor Hellier clapped his hands together. “Oh, you two will make such an amazing couple. I can’t wait to marry you. Now. We’re confirmed for the twentieth, right? I’ve got the whole day booked off for you and the auxiliary association is going to decorate for the ceremony. White bows and blue bows and even some paper bells, I think. It will be so wonderful.”
Jon’s hand found hers under the table and in that moment, even with another mystery left for them to solve, everything was right in the world.
“Please remember the Matron of Honor and the Best Man need to sign with you,” the pastor continued, as if they hadn’t come here to talk about death and crime at all. “It’s a simple thing, but very important. The wedding isn’t official without the paperwork. The Bible says render to Caesar that which is Caesar’s.” He laughed like he’d made some grand joke, and then went right back to talking about the wedding day.
Darcy couldn’t wait.
***
Bedtime couldn’t come soon enough. Not as far as Darcy was concerned.
In her flannel pajamas she slipped in under the covers and was asleep even before Jon came in to wrap his arm around her and lend her his warmth.
How long she was asleep before Jon’s phone rang was a question she never would be able to answer. It felt like all of two seconds. It might have been longer. Like a whole ten minutes.
He rolled away from her quickly and picked up his cellphone after only a few jarring rings, trying not to wake her. He shouldn’t have bothered. She told him so, but it came out in a muffled garble, something like “Hmph na mumph.” Her body was awake. Her brain…not so much.
“Hello?” she heard him say, quietly. “Uh-huh. You did wake me, but don’t worry about it. Go ahead.”
His hand snaked its way onto her hip as he listened to the call. It felt good. There were worse ways to be woken up.
“You’re sure?” he said. “No, no I believe you. I mean, I don’t believe it but I believe what you’re saying. Okay. Thanks, Will. Go home. Get some sleep.”
When he ended the call and tossed the phone back down onto the bedside table, Darcy rolled over so she was facing him. “Will was still at work?”
He sat up, propping his pillow at his back, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yes. He was running down a few things for me. Including your mystery woman, Phoebe Stewart.”
She stretched, turning bleary eyes on the clock to see she really had been asleep longer than she thought. Fifteen minutes, at least. She thre
w her hands back behind her head and stifled another yawn. “Did he find anything out about her? I know she was lying to me today. She wasn’t reading that book. She was waiting for someone. Or looking for something.”
“Maybe a little bit of both,” Jon said. “Maybe neither. According to the motor vehicle records, there are exactly three Phoebe Stewarts in the state. One is sixty-seven years old.”
“Uhn-uhn. Not her. This woman was younger than that.”
“I figured. The second one is nineteen and only just got her license.”
“Definitely not. What about the third?”
“That’s where it starts to get a little interesting.” He ran his fingers through his hair again, a nervous habit of his that she adored. “Phoebe Stewart, age thirty-one, lives at the other end of the state, has never been in trouble with the law that we’re aware of, and matches the description you gave us perfectly.”
Darcy couldn’t find the energy to sit up, but she did come mostly awake when she heard that. “So he found her. What’s the tricky part?”
“Will did a little more digging and also found out that Phoebe Stewart happens to be the only living relative of Annadine Chisolm. Her daughter, in fact. You might recognize Annadine Chisolm’s name.”
It took her a moment to pull the name out of her tired brain. “Yes. Hers was one of the graves that got dug up.”
“That would be correct. So that leads me to an interesting possibility.”
He slid back down under the sheets, his hand gliding over her skin as he did. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying his touch.
“What possibility would that be, Mister Tinker?”
“Well, we were looking for someone who knew which graves to dig up. We were assuming it had to be someone who was looking at the church records. What if…?”
She knew what he was going to say. As he settled his weight down over her, as she opened her eyes to see his silhouette above her in the dark, she finished his thought for him.
“What if the person we’re looking for knew which graves to dig up, because they had a relative buried here. Phoebe could have visited her mother’s grave, and kept watch to see who else came and went. That would have let her see who might have a rich relative buried with, say, five hundred dollars in gold.”