Long Black Veil (32 page)

She skidded to a stop in the dry snow. The steam from the engine had almost stopped as the engine died. Devon slipped her sweater down over her hand and opened up the door.

Charlotte Mackson was pressed against the chair, her face almost covered by the airbag that had deployed upon impact. Devon stumbled a little, but Brock’s hand on her waist steadied her. She looked at him, bewildered. “She doesn’t drive,” she managed to get out before confusion stole her words.

“Does this look like the car that tried to hit you the last time?” he asked, his voice soft in her ear.

She shivered, unable to piece together past events and put them in context with the now. “It was silver. That’s all I really remember.” She shook her head stubbornly, as if that would make her thoughts arrange themselves properly. “But she doesn’t drive.”

Jessamy stood next to them, looking at the car like it was a sleeping beast about to come alive. Brock glanced at her, then hugged Devon to his side. “Doesn’t and can’t are not the same thing,” he reminded her. He placed his fingers against Charlotte’s neck. He waited over a minute. “I don’t feel a pulse,” he said, his voice hollow.

Devon pushed Charlotte’s body back so her head wasn’t resting against the air bag. She put her hand in front of the woman’s mouth, hoping for even the faintest puff of air against her skin. She felt nothing. After a few moments, Devon lifted her hand away. She pushed the door closed.

“Who is she?” Jessamy asked after placing her hand on Devon’s shoulder.

“My grandmother.” Then she stopped and thought about what she’d just said. Charlotte was not her grandmother, not by blood or anything else. “I guess she wasn’t my grandmother, not really. But I thought she was for a long time.”

Jessamy didn’t look overly concerned over the accident. Devon guessed she wouldn’t be; after all, what could really bother a ghost? But Brock pulled out his phone and dialed the sheriff’s department. He stepped away so he could give them the details of the accident while Devon spoke with Jessamy.

“What happens now?” Devon asked. Without her veil hiding her, Jess didn’t look scary at all. Devon wondered now how she could have been so frightened of her.

Jessamy shrugged. “I am not sure. But I feel different. I feel…” she broke off suddenly, her head coming up like a hunting dog scenting prey.

Devon followed her gaze and saw a smattering of glowing motes gathering under the town hall light that shone on the steps. The glimmer coalesced into a man in clothing from the same time period as Jessamy. Devon gaped, unable to stop her staring. Daniel Holfsteder stood before them, looking as alive and solid as Jessamy did.

He opened his arms, his handsome face suffused with joy. Jessamy let go of Devon with a happy cry and flung herself at him. Daniel caught her up, swinging her around and off of her feet. Jessamy kept saying his name over and over again until he stopped her with a kiss.

Devon felt an arm around her shoulders and looked up at Brock. He stood watching the reunited ghosts, a proud smile on his face. “You did it,” he said quietly, a kind of amazement in his voice.

“We did it,” she answered back, snuggling into him. She knew she was going to hurt in the morning from her fall, but right now all she felt was a beautiful energy, like she was tapping into pure happiness.

They watched as Jessamy and Daniel broke off their kiss to stare into each other’s eyes. They were radiant in their joy at being together again. Daniel took a moment to look at Devon and Brock wrapped up in each other’s arms and gave them a wink and a smile. Jessamy pulled his head back down to hers for another brief kiss, before Daniel placed her hand on his arm and began to lead her away.

Devon watched as the two faded into insubstantiality, their forms fading like mist into the night. She sighed and said, “Wherever you go, you go together.”

Brock turned her so she faced him. His arms held her loosely in his embrace and he rested his forehead against hers. Devon breathed in the scent of him mixed with the cold air of winter in the mountains. They had done it. She felt bone tired, but so happy that she was nearly incandescent.

“Think they’re happy?” she couldn’t help but ask him, although she knew the answer.

“I think it’s a good thing they’re ghosts and they don’t need to come up for air,” he responded, looking at her fondly. “Are you happy?”

“Never been happier,” she said and meant it with every fiber of her being. Daniel coming for Jessamy was the rightest thing she’d ever had the pleasure to witness. She pulled Brock tight against her. “I think I love you,” she murmured in his ear.

He brushed her hair back behind her ears. “I know I love you,” he answered back.

They stood there holding each other until the sheriff’s cruiser came.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Devon sat on the crumbling wall that bordered the abandoned church’s cemetery. Brock sat next to her, holding her hand in his. They both watched the installation of the new headstone in silence. They had decided to go in together and buy Jessamy a new headstone and have it placed where it belonged: next to Daniel. She and Brock had split the cost.

Charlotte had died in the accident. She and Brock had lied about it, telling that they saw her lose control of the car on the slick road and crash into the post. Being as old as she was, the shock of the impact had been too much for her. And Charlotte had never changed her will to remove Deacon, or his heirs, as her beneficiary—Devon assumed it was because she didn’t want anyone to suspect the scandal—so Devon had inherited everything.

Brock put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. They had a blanket wrapped around their legs to keep them warm as they sat in the cold watching the work. Devon snuggled against his side, feeling satisfied. Jessamy deserved some happiness after all this time.

The workman finished installing the headstone. He waved at the two of them, then climbed in his truck and drove away. Brock and Devon sat on the wall for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet and each other. Finally Devon gathered up the blanket and hopped down from the wall. Brock took the blanket from her and draped it over the wall, then took her hand.

They walked to the stone marker. Devon wished that they could have moved Jessamy’s remains here, but she thought the ghost would appreciate the gesture of the headstone regardless. Not that she ever expected to see Jessamy again. But it made Devon feel better.

“Think she’s happy?” she couldn’t help asking Brock.

He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His breath ghosted over her cheek as he answered her. “I don’t think happy is enough to cover it.”

Devon sighed, leaning against Brock’s body. “Good.”

“Are you?”

She nodded. Everything was so perfect, Devon thought she might be living a dream. Jessamy had taken care of the academic probation situation for them by simply frightening the student who had made up the complaint into telling the truth. Devon remembered with a smile the cryptic message Jessamy had said that Saturday night. When she and Brock had arrived in school that Monday after Charlotte's accident, they were immediately called into the principal's office for an apology. He notified Brock's parents and Devon's grandmother that very morning that they were off academic probation and the incident had been removed from their student records because a junior had come forward to admit that Micah Landsdown had paid him to say that Brock and Devon were running a term paper scam. Devon wasn't surprised to hear through the gossip grapevine—Gil—that both Micah and Skylar were suddenly suffering in-school suspension. As far as she was concerned, it couldn't happen to a nicer couple.

Today she’d received an acceptance letter from the final college she had applied to, along with offers of financial aid. Devon was still waiting to hear about the five-generation scholarship that had started everything, but she felt a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. Even if she didn’t get the money from it, she had gotten a great deal more than she ever expected. Devon had found out who her parents were—all three of them—and had managed to put to rest not one but two skeletons from her family’s closet. Knowing that Jessamy and Daniel were at peace was more than any scholarship was worth.

She wondered if Charlotte knew what her secrets had come to. The woman had spent so much time and effort trying to protect the family name that it had wound up killing her. Devon still got her father’s money, and she was still thought of as a Mackson. Devon had no intention of changing that either; Deacon Mackson had been her father in every way that counted.

So she, Brock, and Gil had decided it was better to keep Charlotte’s secrets. None of them would reveal what they had learned about her grandmother’s part in the murder of the drifter and the framing of Jackson Duvall, nor would they ever speak of Devon’s true parentage. They vowed they would take it to their graves.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Brock said, resting his chin against her shoulder.

“I was thinking about my mother,” Devon answered.

“Ah. Come to a decision yet?”

She and Brock had talked a lot about whether Devon should tell her mother everything they’d found out over the past few weeks. He hadn’t pressured her, just let her use him as a sounding board. Devon knew she would have to see her mother if she wanted to talk to her and tell her about everything she’d been through. She just wasn’t sure if it would make a difference.

“No.” She shook her head. “I guess I’m still mad at her.”

Brock tightened his arms around her. “It’s okay to not know what you want to do.”

“I should tell her.” Devon knew this. She felt bad that her mother sat in jail in a sort of self-induced exile, a punishment of her own devising. But what she was most afraid of was if her mother would choose to stay there, even after she knew the whole truth. What would that mean for how she felt about Devon?

“There’s not a time frame on this,” Brock reminded her. “You’ll see her when you’re ready.”

Devon turned in his arms, wrapping hers around his waist. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

“That’s high praise coming from the valedictorian.” He ducked his head down to kiss her.

Devon gave herself up to the sensation of his lips on hers, of his hands sliding up her back, of his body pressed against hers. Brock slowly broke off the kiss, running his hands through her thick hair. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “That was a pleasant distraction,” she whispered, leaning her forehead against his.

“So, my mom wants you to come over for dinner this Sunday.” Brock held her loosely in the circle of his arms.

Devon raised her eyebrows. To say that they were less than enthused over Brock’s choice of girlfriends—once they’d found out about Devon anyway—would have been a gross exaggeration. But once Brock had proved that he was serious about Devon and their relationship was more than a pre-college fling, his parents had slowly accepted it. They still weren’t thrilled with it, but they were trying.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Devon still liked to keep a safe distance from his parents. They were nice people, but she didn’t feel comfortable around them yet.

“Oh, come on, Dev. My mom is way less scary than your Gammy—I thought she was going to burn a hole in my chest with her glares the first time I came over.” He let her go, taking her hand instead. “I still stuck around.”

He led her back to his car. “So you’ll come?”

Devon pursed her lips, thinking it over. “Maybe.”

Brock frowned. “Maybe?”

Devon grinned slyly. “If you make it worth my while…”

Brock leaned forward, pushing her back against the car door. “And exactly how am I supposed to do that?” His smile was wickedly inviting, and it turned her knees to liquid.

She moved so her lips were against his ear. “You’re creative. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

They were so busy kissing that they didn’t notice the two pale shapes that watched over them from the churchyard. Jessamy and Daniel shared a slight smile, private and full of emotion, then faded slowly into nothingness.

###

To my family, both the one I inherited and the one I created: thank you for your everlasting support.

To my readers, who are the best part of this job: thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to entertain you.

To all of the people who made this book happen either through editing or art: Tracey, Nan, Bev, Char, Claudia, and Ashley. Thanks to my awesome agent, Pam van Hylckama Vlieg, for being, well, awesome.

Thanks to Mike Ness for his version of Long Black Veil which began this endeavor. And finally, to the one and only Johnny Cash, whose version of Long Black Veil kept me company on many a long night of writing. Sir, you are greatly missed.

About the Author

Jeanette Battista graduated with an English degree with a concentration in medieval literature which explains her possibly unhealthy fixation on edged weapons and cathedral architecture. She spent a summer in England and Scotland studying the historical King Arthur, which did nothing to curb her obsession. To satisfy her adrenaline cravings--since sword fighting is not widely accepted in these modern times--she rode a motorcycle at ridiculously high speeds, got some tattoos, and took kickboxing and boxing classes. She gave up the bike when her daughter came along, although she still gets pummeled at the gym on a regular basis.