Graveyard Games (6 page)

Dusty stopped at the traffic light at
Hubbard and North Rose. Cougar's General Store was across the way,
the familiar hand-lettered advertising in the big picture window.
There were no cars crossing the intersection, but Dusty waited
anyway, conscious of the Larkspur police station on her right,
until the light turned green.

She turned right and
guided the car up into the parking lot next to
Floral Gardens
—Larkspur's one and
only florist.

"Hello, Dusty!” A voice greeted her as she
got out of the car and pocketed her keys. “How're your folks?"

"Hi, Mrs. Hughes." Dusty shut the door and
leaned against it, prepared for the onslaught of conversation. "My
parents are..." Dusty hesitated. What? Going on as if nothing
happened? "Fine. How's little Mikey?"

"Growing like a weed! He's going to be a big
boy." Rita Hughes smiled, hoisting her purse up onto her shoulder.
Mikey was her grandson and had just turned four, if the math Dusty
did quickly in her head was correct.

"Give him and your daughter my best." Dusty
smiled back, edging toward the florist.

"I will, and you take care." Rita nodded
slowly. "Nick was a good boy. It's a terrible shame."

"Yes. Thank you." Dusty felt that lump in
her throat again. Why did people insist on mentioning it,
especially out in public? It made it so immediate. She realized how
much she sounded like Julia, even to herself, as she turned and
left Rita standing there, going into the florist.

She was surprised to see Tom Connley
standing near the register, working on an arrangement. His father
ran the store, and as far as she knew, Tommy hadn’t worked there in
years—since they were in high school. But there he was, looking
better than he had even then, his dark hair buzzed short, his jaw
still square and strong, his eyes just as blue as he looked up at
the sound of the bells attached to the door.

"Well… hi, Tom." She glanced around, the
aroma of the empty store sweet and a little cloying.

“
Dusty!” Tom smiled at
her—it was the smile that had stolen her heart the minute she saw
it, broad and bright and full of mischief. “Oh my god, you’re
gorgeous. Come on, girl, couldn’t you have gained fifty pounds and
gone gray or something? You can’t come back looking just as
beautiful as the day I asked you to marry me!”

“
I don’t know if I should
thank you or apologize,” she said, blushing in spite of her attempt
not to. He came around the counter and hugged her and she fought
both tears and her own attraction to him when he did, letting
herself rest her head against his shoulder and enjoy the strength
of his arms around her for only a moment.

“
I’m so sorry about Nick,”
he murmured against her ear, giving her a tight squeeze.

“
Thanks.” Dusty broke his
hold, taking a step back and looking around the store with a small
smile to cover the sharp stab of pain she felt near her heart. Was
this ever going to get easier? She attempted to change the subject.
“So how’s business?”

"Dad says it’s good." Tom moved behind the
counter again, leaning against it as she approached. "Although
that’s not always a good thing. Too many funerals lately."

“
Your dad ask you to help
out?"

"Yeah.” Tom sighed. “He had to go to another
funeral over in West Lake.”

Dusty winced. “Whose?”

“
That kid that got killed
the other night." Tom shook his head. “My dad was a friend of the
family. Heck, even I knew Scott. He and little Joe always palled
around together.”

“
I’m sorry.” Dusty
recognized her own polite response, the one she had cringed at
coming from others.

“
I just can’t believe it.”
Tom lowered his voice, as if there were someone else in the shop
who might overhear them. “It’s kind of scary. First Joe Wilson,
which, you know, wasn’t that great a loss…but Nick? And now
Scott?”

Dusty nodded. She was sure no one had taken
much notice when Joe Wilson disappeared. Town drunks without family
just didn’t register on the missing persons radar for a while, even
in a town as small as Larkspur. As long as she’d known him, he’d
spent most of his time drinking out by the train yards across from
the cemetery on the south side of town, and she was sure his
pattern hadn’t changed any.

“
I just wonder…what is
it?” Tom leaned in, conspiratorial. “I mean, what is it
really?”

"Sheriff Thompson assured me it was some
sort of animal," Dusty said, hearing the sarcasm in her voice. Of
course, Tom was touching on her own doubts.

"I just don’t know.” Tom frowned, shaking
his head. “Maybe it is. But…what if they’re covering something
up?”

Dusty stared at him for a moment over the
carnation flower arrangement he’d been working on. "Why do you say
that?"

"I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Buck Thompson
is up for re-election this year. And that outlet mall they’re
building at the south end of town is supposed to bring in a lot of
tourists and stuff. Maybe they don’t want the bad publicity?”

“
A bobcat seems…” Dusty
sighed. “A little too convenient?”

Tom nodded. “I don’t like it, either.”

"Do you have any yellow roses?" Dusty asked,
trying to change the subject again. It felt dangerous, feeding her
suspicions.

"Sure." Tom stood fully, turning toward the
refrigerated flower cases behind him.

Dusty always thought it
would be neat to have one of those—a refrigerator you could see
into without opening it.
It would have
saved Nick and I a lot of "Will you shut that door's?!" from
Julia
. The thought was so painful she cut
it right off.

"How many do you want? A dozen?” Tom opened
the door.

"Just one." Dusty struggled to keep the pain
in. "How much?"

"Just one?" He took a yellow rose out of the
container and shut the door, turning to hand it to her. "Here. Take
it, beautiful."

"Are you sure?" Dusty took the rose,
blinking back tears as his fingers brushed hers. Their eyes met and
she saw it, in that moment—he wasn’t over her, like she’d hoped.
Nick had said she broke Tom’s heart when she turned down his
proposal just out of high school, but she’d always told herself
they were both too young. Besides, he was joining the air force,
and she couldn’t be a military wife.

“
It’s all yours,” he said
with a nod and a small smile. “Always was.”

“
Tom…” She swallowed,
looking down at the flower instead of up at him.

“
Don’t worry about it.” He
stood, his big hands so out of place arranging flowers it made her
want to smile. “Okay?”

She wanted to ask him if they were still
talking about the rose she was holding, but she knew they weren’t,
not really. “Thanks.”

She turned to leave, understanding suddenly
a whole new meaning to the phrase “killing someone with kindness.”
Every kind gesture felt like a stab through her heart.

* * * *

Dusty left the Jeep parked by the front
office of the cemetery. She could have driven all the way to the
grave, but she felt like walking.

Warm for September, she thought, lifting her
face to the gentle breeze. Her father had said it had been a warm
summer for northern Michigan, one of the driest they’d ever had.
The trees were just turning color and a few leaves decorated the
lawn. It's always so perfect, how do they do that? she wondered,
taking one of the winding paths, admiring the grass. Her father had
once said the Clinton Grove Cemetery should have been a golf
course.

It was silent with the exception of the
leaves rustling above her head. Isolated, she thought, staring up
the incline. It was at least two miles from town and on the
outskirts, just before the county line. The entire ride along
Hubbard had been views of farms and fields.

She stopped at the top of the sloping hill
and looked across acres of land. One great big garden of stone, she
thought, peering across the rows of graves. She looked at the tall
monument on her left, erected in honor of those who had fought in
the Civil War, and the newest one for those who had fought in Iraq.
Six or seven family mausoleums stood interspersed among trees, all
containing once-prominent Larkspur residents. Nick liked to remark
that a small town like Larkspur had a lot of big people—and a lot
of small minds.

The hill sloped back down,
offering a panoramic view of the cemetery. To her left was Nick's
grave and there was someone standing there in the distance, head
down, back toward her. She moved down the row, realizing he was
standing
at
Nick's grave. She recognized the figure when she was only a
few feet away from him.

"Chris?" She put a hand on his shoulder.

He yelped, whirling to face her, his hand on
his chest.

"Jesus, Dusty!" he cried, his breath ragged,
his eyes wide as he looked at her. "You scared me to death!"

"I suppose we're in the right place for it."
She gave him a wry smile. He looked back down, his eyes resting on
the grave. They had covered the fresh dirt with sod and put the
headstone up already. It gave Dusty a start to see it there, an
announcement to the world in gray marble.

"How're you doing?" he asked, shoving his
hands into his jean pockets.

"Surviving, I guess.”

"Yeah."

They both stared at the grave, neither
knowing quite what to say. They had never been friends—more like
passing acquaintances. Nick had been their connection, but now he
was gone.

"How'd you get here?" Dusty asked, unable to
recall seeing a car parked anywhere.

"Oh, uh..." He hesitated and looked up,
first at her and then away, off into the distance. "Shane gave me a
lift."

"He's here?" Her eyes following Chris' gaze
to where Shane sat on the hood of his car, just outside the eastern
fence, a beer bottle resting against the crotch of his jeans.

"Yeah, but he wouldn't...he didn't feel like
coming in."

"No?" As she watched, Shane tipped the
bottle at her and then put it to his lips. Dusty fingered the rose,
turning her gaze back to Chris. "How come?"

Chris shifted his weight back and forth and
shrugged. "I don't know. Gave him the creeps, I guess."

"Shane Curtis—scared?” she scoffed. “Come
off it, Chris. He's never been afraid of anything in his
life—except maybe jail."

"I don’t argue with him.” Chris met her eyes
and then looked away.

She nodded, pursing her lips, and looked
down at the headstone. "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh...sure." Back and forth, he shifted his
weight from one foot to another.

"Did you see Nick that night?"

He laughed, shaking his head, but his eyes
fled hers. “You playing detective?”

"No.” Dusty lied. She was better at it than
he was. “Just wondering. He mentioned he might see you guys that
night. He mentioned Shane specifically."

"We were all at the Starlite.” Chris
straightened, pulling his hands out of his pockets and crossing his
arms over his chest. “Me, Shane, the gang. We were drinking beers
and playing pool.”

“
And Nick?”

“
I don’t know.” He looked
down at his boots. “He wasn't with us."

"Hmm." Dusty gazed toward the fence where
Shane was parked. She raised her hand to him and he nodded in her
direction.

“
You don’t believe
me?”

Chris’ words brought her attention back to
him. “I don’t know what to believe, to tell you the truth.”

“
I wasn’t there,” Chris
insisted, his arms tightening around himself, as if he were cold in
the warm September sunshine.” I don’t know what happened…but I wish
I did.”

“
I wish I did,
too.”

“
Teri wanted me to tell
you she’s real sorry.” He gave her a small, tight smile at her
blank stare. “My wife, Teri.”

“
Oh. Teri…” Dusty frowned,
trying to remember. “Teri Calhoun?”

“
She’s Teri Jackson
now.”

She shook her head, smiling, remembering the
Chris she knew from high school, wearing a leather jacket and
tagging after Shane, like they all did, wannabes. “It’s hard to
picture you married.”

“
We just had a baby.” He
sounded proud and that made Dusty smile. “That’s why she didn’t
come, you know, to the funeral.”

“
Well, congratulations.”
Dusty looked down at her brother’s headstone and the sudden
realization that Nick would never have the opportunity to make her
an aunt made her feel sick and dizzy. “Boy or girl?”

“
Girl.”

Chris married with a kid—it was almost too
much to comprehend. Dusty changed the subject. “So, what are you
doing now?”

“
I’ve got a good job over
at the steel mill in West Lake,” he said, again with that
tight-lipped smile. “We just bought a house out on Deer Trail Road.
The old Avery place.”

“
That’s a great house,”
she admitted, knowing it well. The Averys had moved downstate not
too long ago, according to Julia. “You really like living in this
town?”

“
Yeah, I do.” He nodded.
“Everyone knows everyone else.”

She laughed softly, hugging herself. “That’s
why I hate it.”

“
Nick didn’t,” he replied,
catching her eye. His gaze was soft now, more open.

“
I know.” She sighed,
shaking her head. “Maybe that’s why he came back, because he loved
it here.”

Chris raised his eyebrows at her and then
frowned. “I don’t think so.”