The Visitor (18 page)

“Yes, unfortunately that's true.”

She glanced at me with a frown. “You must know about my sisters. It seems you've spoken with Nelda at length.”

“She mentioned they had a difficult childhood,” I said carefully.

“To put it mildly. In this day and age, my sisters would be favorable candidates for separation since they shared no vital organs, but back then surgery on conjoined twins was tricky. We were told the lengthy operation might result in one of their deaths. How do you choose?”

It was a rhetorical question so I said nothing.

“Mother wouldn't accept the risk,” Louvenia went on. “Had she lived, things would have been easier—on all of us—but after she passed, the care of the twins fell to Ezra and me. When he came back from the war, he could barely look after himself. I'll be the first to admit that I should have been a better guardian.” Her fingers tangled in the tail of her shirt as if she were trying to wipe away something unpleasant from her hands.

“I'm sure you did the best you could,” I murmured.

Her smile was wan. “You're very kind to think so. My only excuse is that I wasn't much more than a girl myself and wrapped up in my own affairs. Rose offered the twins sanctuary. A safe haven where they didn't have to worry about being bullied by the other children.”

“Your sister said Rose was their tutor.”

“She was so much more than that. I believe they came to think of her as a surrogate mother. I'm certain they would have gone to live with her if given the opportunity. As it was, they spent every waking moment thinking about her, talking about her, making little gifts for her. It was a harmless obsession. Nelda was always the stronger of the two. The dominant twin, I suppose. Someone at the Colony built a little device, a sort of cart with a special harness so that she could pull Mott along behind her. Off they'd go. Sometimes at night, I can still hear the squeak of those wheels.” She paused and I could have sworn I saw a shudder go through her. I, too, suppressed a shiver as I remembered the metallic sound from my garden.

“They must have had a very strong bond with Rose,” I said.

“A bond,” Louvenia mused. “Yes, that's an apt way of putting it. I think in some ways, Rose clung to them just as tightly. I often wondered if she'd lost a child of her own before she came here. There was such a sadness about her.”

“Your sister mentioned that Rose became ill.”

Louvenia nodded. “When she got really bad, she'd wander the countryside at all hours, mumbling to herself, pointing to things that no one else could see. It was really quite eerie. And the way she would look at you. As if she could see all the way down into your soul.” Louvenia closed her eyes. “The memory of it still brings a chill.”

“Who took care of her during her illness?”

“Nelda did what she could, but she was still so young, only fourteen or so, and the surgery after Mott passed left her weak. A local doctor looked in on Rose from time to time, as did I, but there was no one else. Most of the townsfolk were afraid of Rose. And of Nelda, too, I think.”

I was hesitant to pursue the conversation. How much did I really want to know about Rose's descent into madness? But I couldn't leave it alone. I couldn't ignore the squeamish details when there might be a chance I could learn something that would keep me from the same fate. “Did Nelda arrange for Rose's burial in Kroll Cemetery?”

“There really was no other place for her,” Louvenia said.

“Because of the suicide?”

Another hesitation. “Yes, of course. The suicide.”

Before I could say anything else, the front door opened and a man breezed in with a leather overnighter strapped over one shoulder. His slacks and shirt were neatly pressed, his loafers polished to a high gleam. He turned his back to me as he closed the door, but I knew who he was at once.

“Sorry I'm late,” Owen Dowling called over his shoulder as he hung the bag on a hook near the door. “I had to take care of a few things before I left Charleston. I'm afraid Micah may not be our only problem—”

He turned toward the foyer and froze when he caught sight of me.

His sudden appearance seemed to have rendered Louvenia speechless. The fingers of one hand tangled in her shirt while the other hand crept to her throat.

Thirty-Two

“O
wen,” she finally managed. “I— You surprised me.”

“Really? Aunt Nelda told you I was coming, didn't she?”

“Yes, of course. I guess I lost track of the time. Anyway, I'd like you to meet Amelia Gray. She's the cemetery restorer Nelda and I met with the other day in Charleston.”

“I've already had the pleasure,” he said with a flash of his usual charm. “I'd like to thank you again for returning the stereoscope to my great-aunt. She was quite overcome with emotion after you left the shop.”

“I'm happy it's back with its rightful owner,” I said.

“What's this about a stereoscope?” Louvenia asked.

“I'll explain later,” Owen said. “No need to bore Miss Gray with a story she already knows.”

“No, of course not,” Louvenia murmured. She seemed subdued, perhaps even a little cowed by Owen, but I found that hard to imagine from a woman who had managed a sizable estate and run a successful horse farm for most of her adult life.

“So you're here about Kroll Cemetery,” Owen said. “It really is nice of you to come all this way. My aunt tells me that we've another visitor from Charleston. A ghost hunter and his assistant have taken rooms in her B and B.”

That seemed to rouse Louvenia from her daze. I saw a flare of the same impatience she'd shown Nelda that day at Oak Grove. “Dr. Rupert Shaw is not a ghost hunter. The work he does at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies is highly regarded all over the state.”

“I meant no disrespect,” Owen said gently.

Louvenia was not appeased. She lifted her chin. “You've been listening to Nelda, haven't you?”

“She's expressed some concern,” Owen admitted.

“I'm sure she has. She thinks I'm a fool or even worse, demented. But I'm telling you something is out there.” Louvenia seemed to be addressing Owen, but her gaze was on me. “How do you explain the fact that no horse or dog will go near that place? Or birds. You won't find so much as a wren's nest in the trees growing around the wall.”

“Now, Louvenia,” Owen soothed. “I wouldn't go getting all worked up about it. Especially when we've other things to worry about at the moment.” He gave her a meaningful glance.

“I warned you. I warned you all,” she said with mounting agitation. “You shouldn't mock things you know nothing about. I don't like it and neither do they.”

Owen shot me a look. “Of course you're right, but perhaps this is a subject best discussed later. After all, you wouldn't want to frighten Miss Gray away, would you?”

“I was just leaving,” I rushed to say.

Louvenia seemed to have forgotten my presence. She stared at me blankly for a moment before the fog lifted. “If you still plan to go out to the cemetery this afternoon, please take care,” she said, slipping back into her cordial if somewhat reserved demeanor. “It's a very disorienting place and the woods that surround it are dense. You might find yourself lost even with a map.”

“I'll be careful,” I promised.

“Are you headed out there now?” Owen asked. “Why don't I walk you to your car and at least point you in the right direction?”

“I won't put you to the trouble,” I said. “I'm certain I can find the way.”

“It's no trouble. I need to fetch something from the car anyway.” He turned to Louvenia. “I've brought you a gift. Just a little something from the shop I think you'll enjoy.”

She nodded absently. “Make sure you tell her about the maze. And the latch on the gate. There's a trick to both of them. And please let me know if you decide to stay over, Miss Gray. I'll make sure my sister takes good care of you.”

“I will. And thank you for the chat,” I said.

“Oh, it was my pleasure. I hope to speak with you again very soon.”

With that, I followed Owen Dowling out the front door and across the wide veranda. We were both silent until we reached the steps and then he stopped and turned to me with an apologetic smile. “Louvenia tends to have some strange notions. I hope she didn't scare you away with all that talk about something being ‘out there.'”

“No, of course not.”

“I didn't think so, but some people are easily spooked. I guess when you work alone in abandoned cemeteries you can't afford to let your imagination get the better of you.”

“I take it you don't think there's any basis for her concern.”

“Why, Miss Gray,” he said in a teasing voice. “Don't tell me you believe in ghosts.”

“I try to keep an open mind.”

“Please don't tell Louvenia. She doesn't need the encouragement.” He glanced worriedly over his shoulder. “Normally, she's the most down-to-earth, business-minded person I know, with the possible exception of Aunt Nelda. Both of them are extraordinary entrepreneurs, Louvenia with the farm and Aunt Nelda with all her little businesses. But ever since I can remember, Louvenia has had an almost pathological superstition about that old cemetery.”

“Is that why her grandson is against the restoration?”

“You've met Micah?” Owen asked in surprise.

“Not formally, but I've seen him around.”

He lifted a brow. “May I ask where?”

“He was at the cemetery in Charleston the day I first met with your aunts.”

“Ah. Well, to answer your question, I doubt his motives are at all altruistic. I'm quite certain he has his own agenda. Which is another reason Aunt Nelda and I are so worried about Louvenia. If she gets too caught up in that old cemetery again, she's apt to overlook the real threat that's living right here under her nose.”

“You think her own grandson would try to harm her?”

Owen paused. “The problem is none of us really know Micah anymore or what he's been up to. Even before he left, he was a troubled young man. In and out of institutions since boyhood.”

“I see.” I put a hand to the back of my neck as my skin started to prickle.

“Is something wrong?” Owen asked.

“I didn't notice all those bees at the end of the veranda earlier. But their drone now is really distracting.”

He listened for a moment before turning back to me. “Louvenia keeps a number of colonies around the farm. The family has a long history of beekeeping.”

I took a few steps into the yard, distancing myself from the incessant buzzing.

“There's no need to worry,” Owen said. “Bees aren't aggressive when they're swarming. Unless they feel threatened, of course. I suppose that's one of the good things about Micah's return. Possibly the only good thing. He's taken over the beekeeping duties. It's very hard work and Aunt Louvenia has never been one for delegation. But Micah has always had a way with the bees. A rapport. The most successful beekeepers do, you know.” Owen's gaze shifted away from me and he frowned. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered.

I turned to find Micah Durant staring across the lawn at us. He'd removed his shirt and I could see the outline of his ribs along his emaciated torso. The back of my neck still tingled as if a bee had crawled inside my collar. I resisted the urge to put up a hand because I somehow knew that was what Micah wanted.

I must have made some involuntary sound or movement because Owen said, “Yes, he's always had that effect on people. It's really quite disconcerting the way he stares you down like that.”

I wanted to turn away, break eye contact with Micah Durant, but I couldn't tear my gaze away. Lifting his face to the sky, he slowly unfurled his arms and froze in that rapturous pose while Owen and I stood enthralled.

All of a sudden, the droning in the flower beds became so loud that my first instinct was to run for cover. I started to flee to my vehicle but halted when a cloud of honeybees rose from the blossoms and flew across the yard toward Micah. Within a matter of seconds, every inch of his scrawny body was covered in thousands of droning, crawling honeybees until he no longer resembled anything human.

“My God,” I breathed.

“No worries,” Owen said. “They won't hurt him. They know he means them no harm.”

“How do they know that?”

“Because he told them.”

I thought of the way Micah had lifted the honeybee from my neck, rotating his hand so that man and insect remained face-to-face.

Owen smiled. “You look skeptical, but honeybees are very communicative. Back in the old days, they were highly revered by the community. If the keeper died, someone from the family was dispatched to the hive to inform the bees of the news so they wouldn't die or fly away.”

“That's fascinating.”

“When Micah first left home, Louvenia actually lost some of her hives. But they seem to be thriving now.” His gaze was still on Micah. “You're familiar with the term ‘bee bearding'?” He put a hand to his chin. “There's a trick involving a caged queen that most keepers use to attract the workers. Micah doesn't do that. He's a natural lure.”

My attention was still riveted on the swarming bees. How did they not smother him? I wondered. His face was entirely covered. I started to ask Owen that very question, but just then Micah jumped up and down, gently dislodging the workers. After a moment, they scattered into the trees.

“Show's over,” Owen said.

I had no doubt the spectacle had been for my benefit. Perhaps it was even meant as a subtle threat.

I'd seen and heard enough for one day. “I won't keep you. I'm sure you and Louvenia have a lot to talk about.”

Owen was still scowling at Micah. “Don't you have anything better to do?” he yelled.

Micah didn't respond. He merely stood there smiling at us before he, too, turned and disappeared into the trees.

“Don't mind him,” Owen said. “He likes to show off and you're a fresh audience.”

“It is quite an impressive trick,” I said, edging toward my vehicle.

“We all have our talents,” Owen muttered. “Anyway, about those directions...”

“I'm sure I can find the cemetery on my own.”

“You may think that now, but wait until you're in the woods.” He gestured toward the end of the driveway. “You'll need to go back a couple of miles the same way you came in. Once you're around the first sharp curve, start looking for an old iron marker to your left. Ironically, it looks like a cross now that the sign has rotted away, but it used to be a no-trespassing warning. The entrance is overgrown with vines and branches, so you'll be apt to miss it if you don't spot that marker. The road through the woods is passable in a vehicle like yours, but you'll have to take it slow.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“Eventually, you'll come to a dead end. From there you'll have to go the rest of the way on foot. There's a path of sorts, but it'll still be a rough hike. Louvenia was right. The woods are dense and the scenery is disorienting. You can easily get lost if you don't pay attention to where you've been and where you're going.”

“She also said something about a trick to the maze.”

“It's simple. Bear left, always. There's a spot in the middle where your instincts will tell you to go right. You'll recognize what I mean when you get there. Ignore the impulse and keep left.”

“And the gate?”

“The latching mechanism is released by pulling out a loose brick in the wall. You'll know it by the markings. Again, easy to overlook if you don't know it's there. Got all that?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

I climbed into my car and closed the door, but the window was open and an errant bee landed on the back of my hand. Before I could shake it off, the barbed stinger sank into my flesh. I felt the prick of a red-hot needle, followed by a slow-spreading heat. The angry bee circled for a moment and then fell to the ground outside the car window. Quickly, I flicked the stinger from my skin.

Owen moved up to the car, transfixed by the dead bee.

“I thought you said they wouldn't sting unless they felt threatened,” I said.

He lifted his gaze. “They must perceive you as a threat.”

“Why?”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the spot where Micah had disappeared into the trees.

I gave him a skeptical look. “You're not suggesting Micah told them I'm a threat, are you?”

Owen turned back with a shrug. “I don't exactly know how his rapport with them works. It goes beyond that of any normal beekeeper.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time he was sent away was because he let loose a colony in the school playground. They swarmed a boy that Micah didn't like. One of the other kids swore he'd heard Micah whisper the boy's name to the bees before he released them.”

“Was the boy all right?”

“He lived, but it was touch and go for a while.”

“And the authorities believed Micah had deliberately set the bees on him?”

“They believed he deliberately released those bees in the playground. That was enough to send him away, especially after a number of similar incidents. But enough about Micah. You should probably put something on that sting.”

I glanced down at the welt on the back of my hand. “I guess it's a good thing I'm not allergic to bee venom,” I tried to say calmly.

“It's not the poison from a single sting you have to worry about. It's the alarm pheromones left behind on your skin to warn the other workers of danger. If the colony decides to attack, there's not much you can do to get away. Even if you jump in water, they'll just wait you out.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “And for the directions.”

“No problem. Mind that sting,” he said. “If I were you, I'd be on my way before the colony gets wind of those pheromones.”