Grave Intent (10 page)

He stood only a foot away, his lips set in a
thin hard line, his eyes narrowed. “You must come
now,
” he
demanded.

Anna looked back and sought Janet’s eyes for
a moment, hoping to somehow relay the message she felt so strongly.
Your daughter may be in danger. From what I am not sure. But it
carries the potential for death.

The worry lines on Janet’s forehead grew
deeper, but Anna saw no understanding in her eyes, only
confusion.

Reluctantly, Anna turned back to Ephraim, who
took her arm and led her back toward the front of the building.
Before they turned the corner of the back hall, Anna glanced over
her shoulder and saw Janet still standing where she’d left her.

Ephraim tugged Anna along faster. “Our people
suffer, waiting outside in the heat while you waste time speaking
with the Gaji. Have you no dignity? Must I remind you of your
responsibility here?”

Anna refused to answer him, and her silence
caused him to tighten his grip on her arm.

They soon reached the set of accordion doors,
where Michael stood waiting. Ephraim gave him a nod, and Michael
undid a clasp set in the middle of the doors, then opened them.

A sharp pain struck Anna in the chest, and
she struggled to breathe as Ephraim urged her past the doors. A
soft
click
testified to the doors being shut behind
them.

Anna saw flowers, more numerous and colorful
than a hundred gardens combined. Amidst their sickening sweet
aroma, she caught an odd, musky scent that told her Lenora had
already been here.

Ephraim’s steps faltered as he moved her
farther into the room, then to the left. Anna quickly looked down
at her feet. She didn’t want to see anymore. She wasn’t ready for
forever. Ephraim’s right hand, still clasping her arm, squeezed and
relaxed, squeezed and relaxed as though to keep time with the soft
music drifting down from the ceiling.

Suddenly, she heard Ephraim choke back a sob.
“Thalia—my—my little Thalia,” he cried. He let go of Anna’s arm,
and from the corner of her eye, she watched him lurch to the front
of the room. Her legs threatened to buckle, and she collapsed onto
the nearest chair, keeping her eyes trained to the floor.

Deep, hoarse laments filled the air, pulling
reality from the corners of Anna’s mind to its center, forcing her
to look up. Ephraim was on his knees in front of a shiny casket,
his hands clasped together along its edge. As he lowered his head,
Anna saw Thalia’s face. Soft—gentle—and still.

At that moment, something inside Anna burst,
and she sprang to her feet and wailed, “Thaaaalia!” She stumbled
forward, shoving past chairs, her chest heaving with sobs, her body
racked with tremors.

When she reached the casket, Anna fell at
Ephraim’s feet and clawed at his clothes. “Nooo!” she cried. He
grabbed her hands and held them tight. She fought to free herself.
“Nooo! My baby! My baby!”

Ephraim’s grip tightened. “Anna.”

The sound of her name froze her next cry.
Anna peered up, focusing on the face in front of her, the hands
that restrained her.

“Anna, please,” Ephraim said. His face
sharpened and cleared before her.

She drew in a shuddering breath, then yanked
her hands free of his, stood up, and leaned over the casket.

“No, Anna!” Ephraim said, struggling to his
feet. “You know we are not to touch the dead once they are
prepared!”

So beautiful,
Anna thought, gazing at
her daughter’s face. She watched Thalia’s eyelids closely and ached
to see them flutter and open. She reached out to touch her
daughter’s cheek, and Ephraim grabbed her hand.

“No,” he said, breathing hard.

Anna raked his wrist with the fingernails of
her free hand, drawing blood. “Leave me,” she demanded.

A look of defeat fell over Ephraim’s face,
and he backed away as Anna cupped Thalia’s face in her hands. Her
skin felt cold and hard to the touch, smooth like a piece of fine
furniture. Anna leaned over farther and kissed Thalia’s cheek.
Forever had begun.

CHAPTER NINE

Janet stretched out sideways on her sister,
Theresa’s, bed and propped her head up with a hand. “So what would
you do?” she asked.

Theresa shoved another pair of jeans into a
small suitcase. “Probably commit myself to the nearest psych
ward.”

“I already thought of that. No
vacancies.”

Theresa threw a pair of socks at her.
“Seriously? I don’t think there’s much you can do. He’s Michael’s
father not yours. All you can do is be supportive. Michael’s got to
take the lead on this one.”

Janet rolled over on her back. “I guess. But
Wilson’s here, what, one day? And Michael’s already up to his
armpits in alligators. You should have heard him on the phone when
I called the funeral home to talk to him about going to Carlton. He
sounded like a decrepit old man running on his last leg. I’m
worried about him.”

“Maybe so, sis, but I don’t think you can
blame that all on Wilson. It’s not his fault Michael wound up with
that big service. I’d probably sound decrepit, too, if I had all
those people swarming my place.”

“I don’t think it’s just about the crowd. I
mean, Michael and I haven’t had a chance to really talk since
Wilson came over to the house last night, but I’ve got a feeling
something happened while he was there.”

“Did Wilson give ya’ll any idea why he came
back now? Or hell, why he left in the first place?”

“Not that I know of. He didn’t say anything
in front of me. I’d bet rocks to rats, though, it has something to
do with money.”

“You think?”

“Yep.”

Theresa shook her head thoughtfully and
pulled a silver clasp out of the back pocket of her shorts. “You
know it’s too bad Michael’s an only child,” she said, clipping her
long hair back into a ponytail. “At least with a brother or sister
around, he could kind of spread some of the Wilson load
around.”

“Nah, it’d be worse.” Janet sat up. “Then
Michael would worry about the brother or sister, too.”

“That’s true.”

“It’s pathetic. Nobody should have to put up
with some of the stuff Michael’s had to deal with—especially from a
father.”

“I don’t think there’re many people who get
by without dad issues,” Theresa said. “Ours wasn’t exactly Saint
Peter.”

“But Dad was boring, not manipulative and
greedy.”

“Maybe. Guess it’s all perspective.” Theresa
zipped up the suitcase and lugged it over to the bed. “All done.
This should hold Heather for a couple of days.”

Janet cocked an eyebrow. “Couple of days?
You’ve got enough clothes in there for four weeks.”

“You’ll be in the woods. She’ll get
dirty.”

“You’re such a hen.”

“Cluck, cluck.” Theresa grinned and sat on
the edge of the bed. “You sure you want to head out there alone
with the girls? Wouldn’t you rather wait to leave with
Michael?”

Janet leaned over and stretched, not so much
to get the kinks out of her back as to delay answering her sister’s
question. Michael hadn’t been all that thrilled about her driving
to Carlton alone with Ellie and Heather when she’d talked to him
about it earlier. But she’d convinced him, shamelessly using
Ellie’s anxiety about possibly missing the fair. After her strange
encounter with Anna Stevenson, Janet decided that no matter how
much she disliked staying at the cabin, they were going, with or
without Michael. Anna’s strange warning might have been prompted by
the grief of losing her own daughter, but it played in harmony much
too well with the trepidation Janet had been carrying around for
the last two days. Fortunately, Bertha Lynn had been able to
collect her crew of pinochle cronies to cover the shop, and Laura’s
brother, Seth, had been more than happy to earn a few dollars
making flower deliveries.

“It’ll be all right,” Janet finally answered.
“Besides, if we wait for Michael we wouldn’t be able to leave until
tomorrow, and even then, he wasn’t sure what time he’d be able to
take off.”

“Why? Is it a two-day service?”

“Just one. But he said the family wanted to
do the entombment at dusk today, so it’ll be late when they finish.
Then there’ll be clean up, preps for the next day, not counting if
he gets any other calls.”

Theresa scowled. “That man works too hard,
girl. It makes me tired just thinking about all the stuff he puts
up with.”

“Me, too.” Janet leaned over and rested her
arms on her knees. “That’s another reason why I’m leaving today. I
don’t want him worrying about getting us to the cabin. He’s got
enough on his mind. Summer Fest starts tomorrow morning, and I know
he wouldn’t want Ellie to miss it. There’ll be plenty to keep the
girls occupied until he gets there.”

As though on cue, the sound of small, running
feet and squeals of laughter rumbled down the hall, and Ellie and
Heather burst into the room at full tilt.

Six-year-old Heather waved a yellow nightgown
over her head like a victory flag. “Look, Aunt Janet, Mama said I
could bring my new ‘jamas!” She proudly stretched the gown out in
front of her, revealing a large picture of Barbie on the front.

“Gorgeous,” Janet exclaimed.

“Now we can be twins,” Ellie declared. “All
except mine’s blue.”

Heather nodded in agreement and handed the
nightgown to her mother. Giggling, the two girls linked arms and
skipped back out of the room.

“No more clothes,” Theresa called after them,
then said to Janet, “Jesus, if I try to fit one more thing into her
suitcase, it’ll pop.”

“Mm,” Janet said.

Theresa hunched over to match her sister’s
posture and stared at Janet.

“What?” Janet asked.

Theresa tapped a finger between Janet’s eyes.
“Your divots are showing.”

“My what?”

“Ever since you were little, when something
really bothered you, your divots showed up.” She traced a short
vertical line between Janet’s eyes with a finger. “There. Two deep
lines.”

“Gee, thanks. What are you going to let me in
on next? That my ass cheeks twirl when I sneeze? How come you never
told me about these divot things before?”

Theresa shrugged. “Guess it’s just one of
those things that’re there, but you never pay much attention to,
like a wart.”

“Warts, huh?”

“Okay, so bad analogy. But I do know the more
you worry, the deeper those divots get. Right now, they look like
dry riverbeds.”

Janet rubbed briskly between her eyes.
“Great.”

“If it’s any consolation, they usually go
away after you’ve talked through whatever’s bothering you. They’re
still there, though. So I’m figuring there’s more on your
mind.”

Janet rested a cheek on a fist and looked at
her older sister. “When’d you get so smart?”

‘The day you were born.”

“Yeah?” Janet chuckled.

“So, you going to tell me?”

Dropping her hands between her knees, Janet
puffed out her cheeks, then exhaled loudly. “I don’t know, T. Just
a gut feeling I can’t quite put my finger on.”

“Like?”

“Like something bad’s going to happen.”

Theresa frowned. “Then maybe it’s best you
don’t head out to Carlton with the girls.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with
Carlton. I feel it has to do with something here. Maybe the funeral
home. Maybe Wilson. I don’t know for sure. It’s this . . . you know
how the weather gets right before a hurricane? How the sky turns
this funky gray-white color, and the air gets too still?”

Theresa nodded.

“That’s sort of how I feel inside.”

“Well, that’s understandable, don’t you
think? With Wilson back in the picture? He’s always been bad news
one way or another.”

Janet glanced over at the top of the bureau
with its lace doily, bottle of Passion perfume, pink keepsake box
in the shape of a heart, and a silver frame that held a picture of
Theresa, her husband, Mitch, and Heather.

“You’re probably right,” Janet said after a
while.

But it didn’t feel right. Not at all. Her
internal barometer measured something a hell of a lot bigger than
Wilson Savoy. Something much, much bigger.

CHAPTER TEN

Michael elbowed his way through the people
sandwiched together in the lobby of the funeral home, all of them
waiting to pay their last respects to the Stevenson girl. Around
shoulders and above heads, Michael watched helplessly as Sally and
Chad tried to stop Agnes Crowder, his cleaning woman, from
barreling her way out of the building.

He couldn’t blame Agnes for wanting to leave.
It was barely past noon, and the place looked like a disaster area.
Hordes of people had rotated through the building all morning, most
of them puffing on cigarettes. Some carried in kettles of stew or
platters of roasted meat, and rum, tequila, and high-dollar bourbon
had been hauled in by the case. Men, with hairstyles and clothes
more suited for the ‘70s, brought guitars, tambourines, and musical
contraptions that resembled large wooden fruit with strings, which
they played in drunken harmony.

Control became impossible as the multitude
grew. Everyone Michael spoke to about maximum occupancy laws or no
smoking ordinances either couldn’t understand him or could and
didn’t care.

Michael reached the back hall just as a
cornered Agnes shoved a finger in Chad’s face.

“You better back yourself up, little man, or
else!”

“But you can’t leave,” Chad said
desperately.

“For heaven’s sake, Agnes, all you have to do
is pick up the trash,” Sally said. “It’s not like we’re asking you
to sanitize the place.”

The buxom black woman slammed her hands on
her hips and glared at Sally. “And who died and made you queen? You
best take that smart ass mouth and—”