The Prophet (19 page)

I gave her a hard stare. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to scare me away?”

“I’m not at all. I’m relieved a historic cemetery will be in such capable hands. But you went through an ordeal here. It must have taken a toll. You can’t just will away those memories. Something like that can haunt you forever.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “Or I was until you brought it all back up. Can we please change the subject?”

She gave me a benign smile. “We could talk about your love life, but I have a feeling that would be even more depressing.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. How about we just get to work?”

“You don’t want to hear about my running into Detective Devlin at dinner last night?” She gave me a sidelong glance as I pretended to study the site map. Butterflies danced in my stomach as they always did at the mention of Devlin’s name.

“He was with the most gorgeous brunette,” she added.

“Where was this?” I asked casually.

“A little Italian place I discovered on King Street. I stopped by their table to say hello. Naturally, Devlin pretended not to remember me at first. He does like to play his little games, doesn’t he?” It was unfathomable to Temple that Devlin or anyone else would ever forget her, even if only momentarily.

“That’s nice.” I turned to look out over the headstones and monuments. “The next excavation is over by the mausoleum. We should get all the photographing out of the way, and then you can tell me how you want to proceed.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t you want to know about the brunette?”

“Let me take a wild guess. Was her name Isabel?”

Temple gave me a wide-eyed look. “You know about her? Well, I guess Ethan was right, then. Things didn’t work out between you two.”

“You talked to Ethan about Devlin and me?”

“Is the subject taboo?” she asked innocently.

“It makes me a little uncomfortable,” I admitted. “I’d rather not be the subject of gossip.”

“Well, you know Ethan. He’s worse than any old woman. He was positively salivating to give me all the juicy details.”

“What on earth did he say?”

She made a face. “Not much, unfortunately. I guess Devlin isn’t the kiss-and-tell type.”

I shrugged, but the nerves in my stomach were still bunched. “There’s really nothing to tell, but I don’t know why that should surprise you. You’re the one who warned me about him, remember?”

“Did I?”

“Yes. I believe the implication was that I could never live up to Mariama.”

“No one can ever live up to the dead wife,” she said dryly. “But Mariama was…”

“Yes, I know.”

Temple shivered as we headed toward the mausoleum. I kept my eyes on the ground because those gothic spires invoked a very different kind of chill in me.

“She really was something,” Temple said on a blissful sigh. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her. She was so extraordinarily beautiful and so blatantly self-indulgent.”

I turned in surprise. “You talk as if you knew her, but you only saw her that one time, right? At a crime scene, I think you said.”

She looked a little flustered and fanned herself. “Well, yes, but that one time made an impression.”

“Because of the argument?”

Confusion flashed in her eyes, and then she said quickly, “Oh, right. The argument between her and Devlin. Heated and very passionate. The whole blowup was extremely titillating.”

My gaze strayed to those spires in spite of myself. “Did Ethan ever mention why his father brought Mariama to Emerson?”

“I’m sure he saw potential in her. As I said, she was extraordinary, and Rupert used to be quite the philanthropist before he got so caught up in the occult. Then all his time and energy and, I would assume, money went into the Institute.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.

“Rupert? A day or so ago. Why?”

“I went by the Institute yesterday. He was acting very strangely.”

“How could you tell?” she asked dryly.

I folded the site map and tucked it away. “I know he’s always been eccentric, but this was different. And he has a new assistant.”

“Layla?”

“So you’ve met her, too.”

“Beautiful woman,” Temple murmured. “I found her quite fetching.”

“Really? Because I found her a little strange. I got the impression she’s definitely taken charge of the office. She gives off this sort of territorial vibe that’s extremely unsettling.”

“I didn’t notice anything strange about her,” Temple said.

“No, you wouldn’t,” I grumbled. “Maybe territorial is the wrong word. She’s more like Dr. Shaw’s caretaker.”

“He’s always needed someone to look after him, if you ask me,” Temple said. “I’m as fond of him as you are, but I’ve always been concerned about his stability, particularly after his wife died. That’s when his interest in the afterlife became an obsession.”

“He seemed perfectly fine when I first arrived. Then Layla brought him tea and he stirred something into it. An herb of some kind, I think. That’s when he started zoning out.”

“How do you mean, zoning out?”

“He just drifted off in the middle of our conversation. Then later, he had a dizzy spell. If I hadn’t been there, I think he might have collapsed.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Temple mused. “At his age, one worries about strokes and heart attacks. Have you talked to Ethan about it?”

“No, I thought I might mention it at dinner tonight. Dr. Shaw asked me not to say anything, but I’m really worried about him. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“What else was going on when he had this episode? Did something happen to upset him?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least not while we were talking. We had this long discussion about rootwork.”

“Rootwork?” She gave me a look. “Don’t tell me he thinks someone has put a root on him.”

“A root? You mean like a spell or a hex?”

“Did you notice anything else out of the ordinary about him? Any peculiar smells in his office?”

“Now that you mention it, I did notice a sort of musty, herbal odor even before he had his tea. And someone had sprinkled a line of salt outside the terrace doors. I assumed it was to keep the garden slugs away from the plants.”

“Did you see any iron or silver lying around?”

My mind flashed back to the iron bolt beneath his desk and the silver letter opener in his hand. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Why? What does all this mean?”

“The herbs he put in his tea? The salt line at the door? He’s trying to protect himself.”

“From what?”

“Probably nothing more than his imagination. Rupert can seem perfectly reasonable at times, but he has always had strange notions.”

“Just for the sake of argument, if someone did put a root on you, how would you go about removing it?”

“You’d go to a root doctor for a protection spell. In essence you’d be buying nothing more than illusion, but in the hands of a true believer, the power of persuasion can be a potent tool,” she said. “I once had an interesting experience with a root doctor.”

“What happened?”

“We were called out to move an old cemetery where a highway was going through. There was a woman…I’ll never forget her…Ona Pearl Handy. She lived just down the road from the property and her ancestors were buried in that cemetery. She was convinced they’d come back to haunt her if she allowed those graves to be disturbed. Our first day on the job and there she was, planted in a lawn chair at the entrance with this white powder sprinkled all around her. She’d put it on the graves, too. Called it law-keep-away dust.” Temple chuckled.

“Did it work?”

“Of course not. But she was convincing enough that it played with our heads. All sorts of weird things happened on that job, and it really started to freak people out. Phones wouldn’t work. Car batteries died. Equipment malfunctioned. The worst thing, though, we dropped one of the coffins. The lid popped open, exposing the remains, and Ona Pearl went into hysterics. She was terrified that once the remains had been desecrated, her great-aunt Bessie would come back at night and try to mount her.”

“Eww.”

“Sounds kinky, but in that context she meant possessed.”

“Did you get the graveyard moved?”

“Eventually, yes. Her roots weren’t strong enough to keep us from doing our job, albeit shoddily. But she had us all wondering there for a while.”

“Sounds like an experience.”

“Oh, it was.” Temple shook her head on another chuckle. “Poor Ona Pearl. Last I heard, she got busted for drugs and was doing some time. So much for her law-keep-away dust. Which proves my point. Rootwork is all about smoke and mirrors. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Rupert’s affliction turns out to be nothing more serious than the power of suggestion.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

But I didn’t think the scene I’d witnessed between Dr. Shaw and Tom Gerrity had anything to do with perception. From what I’d heard, it was straight-up blackmail. And
that,
I had a feeling, was the real source of Dr. Shaw’s affliction.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
emple had just left that afternoon when Regina Sparks, the Charleston County coroner, dropped by. I hadn’t seen Regina since the first two exhumations the previous spring, but I would have recognized her red hair anywhere. Like me, she wore it pulled back in a ponytail, but curls had popped loose all over her head, and the tiny bronze corkscrews shimmered charmingly in the dappled light.

I had lingered at the gate, perhaps to prove to Temple and to myself that I wasn’t afraid to be alone in Oak Grove. The sun was just sinking below the treetops, but there was still plenty of daylight left. Even so, my heart had tripped when I first spotted someone plowing through the weeds toward me, so it was a relief to recognize the flaming hair, as well as the logo of the coroner’s office emblazoned on her navy shirt.

She gave a pleasant wave as she approached. “A little bird told me you might be out here today. I found myself in the vicinity, so I thought I’d stop in and say hello, see how everything is going.”

I eased the mace back into my pocket. “Who is this little bird? I only found out myself yesterday afternoon that I’d be here.”

She shrugged as she swiped back those wiry curls. As always, she seemed tightly strung, as though it were a struggle to keep her restless energy constrained. “This is Charleston. The one thing you can count on is that everybody knows your business before you do. It’s annoying, but what are you going to do?”

“I’m just surprised that anyone would care enough to talk about it,” I said.

“Are you kidding? After everything that happened here? There was even an article about it in the online edition of the paper this morning.”

“That was fast.”

“It ran with lots of photographs, including one of you, and a link to your blog. You’ll be happy to know they spelled your name right.”

“That is good to know.” Someone on the Committee had obviously pulled strings to get a story planted so quickly. I could hardly blame them for wanting to shift the lurid publicity associated with Oak Grove to something more positive like a restoration, particularly since Emerson was in the midst of its bicentennial celebration.

“I emailed the story to my aunt,” Regina said. “She’s still over the moon about our having worked together last spring. You’re a celebrity in Samara, Georgia, you know. They think that ghost video put them on the map.”

“Even after it’s been so ruthlessly debunked?”

“They don’t care. They believe what they want to believe.”

The video in question had been shot by a news crew that had come to interview me during a restoration, and for months the clip had made the rounds on ghost-hunting sites. Paranormal aficionados were convinced that lights floating over the cemetery behind me were otherworld entities. I’d known better, of course. There were no ghosts in Samara Cemetery, but it had taken a digital imaging analyst to convince the diehards that the lights were, in fact, reflected glare from embedded glass in one of the headstones.

“I thought everyone had pretty much forgotten about that video,” I said.

“Not in Samara. My aunt was so excited when I mentioned your name, she and her Bunko cronies actually talked about catching a bus to Charleston just so they could meet you. No worries, I put the kibosh on that little scheme. Bless their hearts, they mean well, but I can only take Aunty Bitty in small doses and Loretta is a dipper. The whole crew reeks of Bengay and Youth-Dew. Need I say more?”

“I get the picture.”

“Anyway, I don’t mean to keep you. Looks like you’re heading out.”

“You aren’t keeping me. I still need to lock up.”

She stepped up to the gates and peered through the rungs. “I don’t mind saying, I’m happy to have seen the last of this place.”

“I can imagine.”

“Helluva way to spend a summer,” she muttered.

“At least it’s over now.”

“Is it?” I saw a shudder go through her. “I don’t know what it is about Oak Grove. This place still gives me chills.”

“There’s a rural cemetery in Kansas known as one of the seven gateways to hell. I’ve been there. The atmosphere in and around that graveyard feels a lot like Oak Grove.”

“Remind me never to go there,” she said. “A gateway to hell is just asking for trouble.”

We were both silent as we gazed out over the cemetery. The sun hovered just at the horizon, and the shadow of one of the angels fell sharply across our faces. The breeze died away, and there was no movement in the trees or among the graves. No darting silhouettes or gathering mist, but somehow the absolute stillness unnerved me far more than a manifestation.

The days, weeks, months of working in that cemetery alone unfolded before me, and I experienced a moment of intense panic before I quickly squelched it. I wouldn’t let myself dwell on the nightmarish claustrophobia of Oak Grove or the dark haven of the surrounding woods. I had other things with which to occupy my mind, Devlin foremost among them. But I was also fixated on Shani’s visitations and, of course, the Fremont murder investigation.

As we stood there peering through the wrought-iron bars at that shadowy necropolis, it occurred to me that Regina might be able to help me. Even though the murder had happened in Beaufort County, I felt certain she would have access to the autopsy files. How I could convince her to allow
me
access, I had no idea, but the longer I stood there thinking about it, the more convinced I became that something important could be gleaned from those records.