“You know, Sergeant Parker may not be hanging around the cemetery,” Colleen told her sister.
Megan waved a hand in the air. “No matter. Thank you. I’ve heard about this cemetery and am just happy to take in its history! I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”
Colleen glanced over at Mark. A slight smile was on his face as he drove.
Megan leaned forward as far as the constraint of the back seat seat belt would allow. “Until Colleen became involved with the Krewe, I’d no idea there were so many people who were...weird. I guess some might even say creepy.”
“Hey! We are not creepy!” Colleen protested.
She shook her head with amusement. Megan had always felt as if they were weird. Then again, Colleen had worried about herself after the incident with the woman in the trunk when she’d been a child. While her father had protected her from the outside, she had managed to keep the secret, even from her siblings at first.
She hadn’t known about Megan—and then Patrick—until they’d been at the funeral of a beloved great-uncle. Colleen had seen Megan speaking with the deceased after he had given his daughter a comforting touch.
Maybe their aunt had felt that touch. She had seemed more composed.
But Colleen had seen Megan speaking with the ghost—who was then ready to move on—and she had joined them. And Megan had pretended she hadn’t been talking to anyone. Then Patrick had come over and the three of them had admitted the truth.
Patrick had thought it was all really cool.
Megan had been afraid at first and then in denial.
But she had embraced her ability when she realized it could enhance her favorite pastime in the world—reading.
She had once told Colleen how much she admired her, using her ability to help others, to save lives, and bring justice to those who had been cruelly taken from the world.
“I just don’t have your courage,” Megan had told her.
“Well, you still help people!”
“I help myself more than other people,” Megan had said. “I love what I do!”
Mark interrupted Colleen’s memory. “Well, we have a bit of time, and we all need a breather here and there,” he said. “So, hey, a little tour of the cemetery will be good.”
He parked the car along the path that curved around the section for police graves. It was adjacent to one of the oldest sections, and Megan ran out first to appreciate a towering angel over a nineteenth-century grave.
Megan then read aloud from a stone that had been carefully tended by the cemetery’s maintenance crew.
“James Hanson, speaker by trade,
A difference to others he made.
As all life must fade,
And pass,
So, here in peace he is laid.”
She turned back to Mark and Colleen.
“How lovely. Sounds like he was a good guy who lived a nice, long life. Born 1812, died 1899? That’s not bad. I hate seeing all the graves of kids from centuries past. So many were lost so young.”
“And we still tragically lose children,” Mark said.
“Ah, a newcomer!” they heard.
Turning, Colleen saw that the ghost of Sergeant Parker was coming their way.
“Sorry!” he said quickly. “Do I slip away, or...”
Megan answered the question for him, spinning around. “Sergeant Parker! Hi, I’m Megan Law, Colleen’s sister.”
“Well, I see the resemblance!” Parker said, beaming. “Lovely to meet you, dear. Sergeant Alfie Parker here, at your service. Are you in law enforcement too?”
“No, sir. I edit books. Science fiction, but I’m someone who loves history. And stories in general. I understand you have a tragic tale to tell?”
“I’m fine, young lady, so don’t give me your pity. I’ve been strangely blessed to roam the earth—even as I am—in hopes of finding answers,” he told her sternly.
“Oh, I don’t pity you,” Megan promised him quickly. “As I said, I love history and stories.”
“And you’ve come for the story,” he said.
She nodded. “Maybe we can find out something that will help, that will lead you to the young lady whose fate has kept you here, determined to find her?”
“Ah, then we’ll talk!” Parker said. “But first! Mark, Colleen, I have checked with every one of my colleagues. Barry Turner—retired after thirty-five years with the police department—still walks the beat often enough. He was in Carver’s neighborhood. He says he couldn’t swear an oath Carver never left the house that night, but if he did, Barry didn’t see him. And he believes he would have.”
Mark looked at Colleen.
“Well, we’ve been convinced there is a second would-be killer out there. And, of course, there’s more to the puzzle.”
Colleen nodded and turned to Sergeant Parker.
“We haven’t found any pine, and the boxes were all built out of pine. Carver has to have a place where he builds his coffins. I think he tortured his victims in his basement where he was holding and torturing Sally. But...”
“Miles and miles of land, acres and acres of forest,” Parker said. “So, you think this person knows Carver, and is an apprentice or fan, and maybe he knows where the coffin building might take place?”
“Unless he has his own,” Mark said.
“Carver hasn’t given you anything?” Parker asked.
“Not much,” Colleen began. “Except we think he’s angry this person acted without him. He goes between proclaiming his innocence—”
“You found the girl in his basement!” Parker said.