Shannon looked confused. “I’ve never left flowers, Mrs. Campbell. In fact, I’m ashamed to say I rarely visit.”
“Oh, dearie, that’s understandable.” Valene straightened, furrowed her brows. “I just assumed they come from you ‘cause I visit her the same time every year. First week in January, near her birthday. Somebody always leaves a dozen calla lilies before me.” She worked her lips. “Guess she’s got an admirer, um-hmm.”
I frowned. “Sears?”
“Can’t see anyone but family keeping a vigil like that,” Valene said. “But it could be one of her young men.”
“A vigil,” Shannon murmured. “Joe DiMaggio did that too.”
“Yes he did.” Valene smiled. “Left flowers on Marilyn’s grave for twenty years.”
An ominous feeling ate at me. “Maybe it’s not a vigil. Maybe it’s a guilt offering.”
Valene bobbed her head. “Could be. Could be.”
“What about Sheriff Gray?” Shannon asked.
“Him give her flowers?” Valene harrumphed. “He wouldn’t lay a dandelion on her grave, much less some hothouse posies.” The old woman’s cataract hit the light again. “He hated her.”
I let that sink in. “Where’s Lilith’s grave anyway?”
“Same place as Dottie’s,” Valene said. “At Grace Brethren.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
New Memories
TRACE
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I strode down the flagstone path of Jane Younger’s three-story house. Shannon marched ahead. Icy air stung the back of my throat, but the anger kept me warm enough. The main thing on my mind was Mama’s grave and the heartless cowards who’d violated it. I gazed heavenward.
The sun had gone missing somewhere in the smoke-colored sky, and except for the occasional wind gust, the woodsy neighborhood was as quiet as a morgue.
Something wicked loomed on the horizon.
I caught up with Shannon in the driveway. Eyes narrowed, she pointed the alarm remote at her Volvo. The car chirped and the locks disengaged with a loud click.
After I opened her door, she slipped behind the wheel in brisk silence while I came around the passenger side and hopped in. She rammed the key into the ignition and floored the gas. The engine growled.
“I didn’t know Lilith was buried there too.” I snatched my seatbelt, channeling my anger. “It just makes me wonder.”
“About what?”
“Why they wrecked Mama’s grave.” Bile burned hot in my stomach. “Grace Brethren is the priciest cemetery in the area. Me coming back may have provoked the vandal into doing somethin’ he wanted to do all along. What if he was pissed that she had the balls to be buried in the same place—”
“As her son’s murder victim,” Shannon finished with grim finality. “Yes, I thought about that too.” Gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles paled, she stared straight ahead, then sank her forehead against the back of her hands. “I’m not sure I even want to know the truth now. It just keeps getting uglier.”
“Hey, c’mere.” I curled an arm around her so her head rested against my shoulder. God, she smelled good. That and the feel of her soft body next to mine nipped the edge off my anger. I kissed her temple. “Whatever happens, I’m here, okay?”
Nodding, she said, “I guess I need to speak with Uncle.”
“What? Now?”
“No, I’ll have to wait until he gets home next week.” One awkward pause later, she added, “He’s in LA…with Darien.”
Jealousy tore into me like a set of fangs, but I kept the venom from my voice. “You think Sears killed her?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Montgomery’s unspoken presence lingered when she pulled back and looked at me with nervous eyes. “Um, the…the grave desecration is too base for Uncle. If anything, he’d pay someone else to do it. That’s his MO. I just want to see his reaction when I tell him I know about Mother’s obsession.”
“What makes you think he’ll tell you anything?”
“He won’t,” she answered, her expression still wary. “It’s what he doesn’t say that matters.”
“What about your aunt? You gonna confront her?”
“No, she’ll just back him up. It’s what she always does. Anyway, I think I’ll call every flower shop in New Dyer. Calla lilies aren’t cheap. I also want to visit Cheltenham Manor.” Her eyes turned hopeful. “Will you go with me?”
I nodded, but inside a battle raged. Some hero I was. I’d had nightmares about that place for years, so just the thought of going back there again scared the piss out of me.
SHANNON
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“I hope this expedition is more fruitful than my calla lily idea,” I said when Trace and I arrived at Cheltenham Manor two days later. “A million flower shops in Temptation and New Dyer and no one’s ordered any since September.”
Trace was staring out of his window. He’d been pensive since I’d picked him up at the garage half an hour ago. “You try Main Street Flowers in Willow’s Corner?” he asked, distractedly.
“Yes, and Tori Mills was especially rude. She has the biggest mouth in West Virginia, yet she’s got the gall to lecture me about customer confidentiality?”
“Leave it to me. I’ll—” Slack-jawed, he stopped mid-word once the estate mounted above the treetops. Sheltered behind acres of evergreens and dogwoods, it looked like an old southern belle who’d lost her beauty—the sort who donned the same faded cotillion gown of her youth whenever company called.
My heart pounded when the Volvo coasted to a stop on the gravelly square. I loosened my death grip on the steering wheel and gaped at the heap of ivy and moss-covered brick. There’d been a few caretakers over the years, but the place eventually fell into disrepair. Without a word, Trace climbed out, came around and opened my door. How could he be so fearless when I was anything but? I wasn’t ready. I needed time—to prepare, to think. Just a few more minutes to—
Trace extended a hand. “Come on,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Twelve years is time enough.”
There was an intimacy between us, a strengthening of trust, and I knew right then that I’d be okay as long as he was nearby. I took his hand and followed his lead up the path to the carriage house. The sound of our footsteps filled the hush. Bushes guarded the walkway on either side. Willow branches dripped from above. Dead weeds sprouted through the cobblestone cracks beneath us. It was just as I remembered, but then again, it was not. Scents I hadn’t smelled in ages came trickling back, but they’d changed somehow.
I’d expected to feel something more than…numbness. Yes, numbness. This place had given me many nightmares over the years, but now? It was just an old estate with untended land—an imposter who’d been unmasked.
Relief made me breathe a little easier, yet when we reached the path’s end, I felt as steady as a paper doll in the wind. There it was, Mother’s death house, looking just as dark and ominous as before.
Trace gripped my shoulders, ducking down so we were eye level. “No going back now. All right?”
I swallowed, gave an uneasy nod, my mind screaming just the opposite. But after he laced our hands together again, strength leached from him to me, and I was comforted.
As we ventured around the side of a cottage-style guesthouse, I concentrated on nothing else but the rock-steady hand holding mine.