Grave Sight

four

WE'D already checked out of the Ashdown motel, so we drove straight to Sarne. Tolliver went directly to the sheriff's office, and seconds after we sat down in the chairs in front of his desk, the sheriff came in, yanking his hat off and tossing it on a table behind him.

"I hear you went to visit with Helen Hopkins yesterday," Harvey Branscom said. He bent over and switched on the intercom. "Reba, send Hollis in," he said. A squawk came back, and in a minute Hollis Boxleitner came in, carrying a mug of steaming coffee. I could smell it from my chair, but I didn't ask for any, nor did I look him in the face. Beside me, Tolliver stiffened.

"Mr. Lang, I want you to go with Deputy Boxleitner here. I'd like to talk to Miss, Ms. Connelly."

I turned to look at Tolliver, trying not to let my anxiety show on my face. He knew I would hate for him to say anything out loud. I like to keep my fears to myself. He gave me a very steady look, and I relaxed just a little. Without a word, he stood and left the room with Hollis.

"How'd you make contact with Helen?" the sheriff asked me. His face was set in harsh lines. I could see the shadow of white whiskers on his face, as though his cheeks had been frostbitten. Lack of sleep made the lines across his forehead even deeper.

"She called us," I said, biting off any color commentary. Tolliver had always advised me not to answer any extra when I talked to the police.

"What did she want?" asked the sheriff, with an air of elaborate patience.

"Us to come visit her." I read the expression on Branscom's face correctly. "She wanted to know who'd hired me, and why."

"Sybil hadn't told her you all were coming?" Branscom himself seemed surprised, and he was Sybil Teague's brother.

"Evidently not."

"Was she angry about that?"

We looked at each other for a long second. "Not that she said," I answered.

"What else did you talk about?"

I spoke very carefully. "She told us she'd had a bad life for a while, but that she'd been sober for thirty-two months. She talked about her daughters. She was proud of both of them."

"Did she ask you about their deaths?"

"Sure. She wanted to know how I knew, if I were sure how they were killed. She said she would tell their fathers."

Harvey Branscom had been lifting his mug to his mouth as I spoke. Now the mug was lowered back to the desk. "Say what?" he asked.

"She said she would tell the girls' fathers what I'd said."

"The fathers of the girls. Both of them. Plural."

I nodded.

"She never would tell anyone who Teenie's dad was. I always thought she just didn't know. And Sally's dad Jay left years ago, after she put the restraining order on him. Did Helen mention any names?"

"No." I was in the clear on that one.

"What else did she talk about?" the sheriff asked. "Be sure you tell me everything."

"She wanted to know how I do what I do, if I thought my gift had come from God or the devil. She wanted to be convinced I knew what I was talking about."

"What did you tell her?" He seemed genuinely interested to know.

"I didn't tell her anything. She made up the answer she wanted to hear, all on her own." My voice might have been a little dry.

"What time did you leave her house?"

I'd thought about that, of course. "We left about nine thirty," I said. "We went by the bank on the way out of town. We got to Ashdown and checked into the motel about two, two thirty."

He wrote that down, and the name of the motel. I handed him the receipt that I'd tucked in my purse. He copied it and made some more entries in his notebook.

"What time did she die?" I asked.

He looked up at me. "Sometime before noon," he said. "Hollis went over there on his lunch hour to talk to her about Teenie's funeral. He'd spoken to her for the first time in a year or two, when he went over to tell her what you'd told him about Sally. Which, by the way, I don't believe. I think you're just trying to mine for gold here, and I'm telling you, Hollis ain't a rich man."

I was puzzled. "He gave me money, but I left it in his truck. He didn't tell you that?" Maybe Hollis just hadn't wanted to tell his superior I'd asked for it in the first place—though why, I don't know. Sheriff Branscom didn't think much of me, and it wouldn't have surprised him at all that I'd wanted to be paid (for something I do for my living!). It would have confirmed his poor opinion. Yes, I expect even poor people who want my services to pay me. So does everyone else.

"No," the sheriff said, easing back into his creaking chair. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jowls. "No, he didn't mention that. Maybe he was embarrassed at giving money to someone like you in the first place."

Sometimes you just can't win. Sheriff Branscom would never join my fan club. It's lucky I'm used to meeting people like that, or I might slip and get my feelings hurt.

"Where's Tolliver?" I asked, my tolerance all used up.

"He'll be in here directly," the sheriff said. "I guess Hollis ain't finished up his questions yet."

I fidgeted. "I really need to go to the motel and lie down," I said. "I really need Tolliver to take me there."

"You've got some car keys," the sheriff observed. "Hollis'll bring him over when they're done."

"No," I said. "I need my brother."

"Don't you raise your voice to me, young woman. He'll be through in a minute." But there was the faintest look of alarm on the round soft face.

"Now," I said. "I need him now." I let my eyes go wide so the white showed all around the irises. My hands wrung together, over and over.

"I'll check," said the sheriff, and he could hardly get up from behind his desk fast enough.

Most places, I would've gotten thrown in the cage or taken to the hospital, but I had gauged this man correctly. Within four minutes, Tolliver came in, moving quickly. Because Hollis was watching, he knelt at my feet and took both my hands. "I'm here, honey," he said. "Don't be scared."

I let tears flow down my cheeks. "I need to go, Tolliver," I said softly. "Please take me to the motel." I threw my arms around his neck. I loved hugging Tolliver, who was bony and hard and warm. I loved to listen to the air going in and out of his lungs, the swoosh of his heart.

He raised me up out of the chair and walked me to the front door, one arm wrapped around my shoulders. The few people in the outer office eyed us curiously as we made our way to the door.

When we were safely back in the car and on our way, Tolliver said, "Thanks."

"Was it going bad for you?" I asked, taking my hands from my face and straightening in my seat. "The sheriff thinks I made up everything I said, but the motel receipt was pretty conclusive."

"Hollis Boxleitner has a thing for you," Tolliver said. "He can't decide if he wants to go to bed with you or slap you around, and he's full of anger like a volcano's full of lava."

"Because of his wife getting killed."

"Yep. He believes in you, but that makes him mad, too."

"He's gonna burn himself up," I said.

"Yes," Tolliver agreed.

"Did he tell you anything about Helen Hopkins' murder?"

"He said he found her. He said she'd been hit on the head."

"With something there, something already in the house?"

"Candlestick."

I remembered the glass candlesticks flanking the Bible on the coffee table.

"Was she standing when she was hit?"

"No," he said, "I think she was sitting on the couch."

"So the killer was standing in front of her."

Tolliver thought about it. "That makes sense," he said. "But the deputy didn't say one way or another."

"Being suspected of a murder isn't going to help business," I said.

"No, we need to get out of here as soon as possible." He parked in front of the motel and went in to get our rooms.

I really did want to lie down by the time we were in our rooms, and I was glad when Tolliver came through the connecting door and turned on my television. I propped up on the pillows while he slouched in the chair, and we watched the Game Show Network. He beat me at Jeopardy! I beat him at Wheel of Fortune. Of course, I would rather have won at Jeopardy!, but Tolliver had always been better at remembering facts than I was.

Our parents were brilliant people, once upon a time; before they became alcoholic, drug-addicted disbarred attorneys. And before they'd decided their clients' criminal lifestyles were more appealing and adventuresome than their own. My mother and Tolliver's dad found each other on their way down the drain, having shed their original spouses. My sister Cameron and I had gone from living in a four-bedroom suburban home in east Memphis to a rental house with a hole in the bathroom floor in Texarkana, Arkansas. This hadn't happened all at once; we'd experienced many degrees of degradation. Tolliver had fallen from a lower height, but he and his brother had descended with his father, too. He'd been our companion in that hole in Texarkana. That's where we'd been when the lightning struck.

My mother and Tolliver's dad had had two more children together, Mariella and Gracie. Tolliver and I watched out for them as best we could. Mariella and Gracie had no memory of anything better than the life we were living.

What had happened to our other parents: my father and Tolliver's mother? Why didn't they save us from the terrifying turn our lives had taken? Well, by that time, my real dad had gone to jail for a long string of white-collar crimes, and Tolliver's mother had died of cancer—leaving our at-large parents to complete their own downward passage, dragging us and their own children behind them.

So here we were, Tolliver and I, in a run-down motel in a seedy Ozarks tourist town in the off-season, hoping to dodge being charged with murder.

But by golly, we were smart.

We were playing Scrabble when we heard a knock at the door.

It was my room, so I asked, "Who is it?"

"Hollis."

I opened the door. Hollis saw Tolliver behind me and said, "May I come in?"

I shrugged and moved back. Hollis stepped in far enough to allow me to shut the door behind him.

"You're here to apologize, I assume," I said in the coldest voice I could summon. It was pretty damn cold.

"Apologize! For what?" He sounded genuinely bewildered.

"For telling the sheriff I took your money. For implying I cheated you."

"You did take my money."

"I left it on the seat of the truck. I felt bad for you." I was so angry I was almost spitting; I'd gone from cold to hot in less than five seconds.

"It wasn't on the seat of the truck."

"Yes. It was."

He fished his keys out of his pocket. "Show me."

"No, you look yourself, so you can't accuse me of planting it."

Tolliver and I followed Hollis back outside. The sky was gray, and the trees around the motel were beginning to whip in the wind. I was cold without my coat, but I wasn't going back in to put it on. Tolliver put his arm around me. Hollis opened the passenger door of his truck, began thrusting his fingers in the crack at the back of the seat, and in about ten seconds he came up with the bank envelope, still fat with money.

He stared at it in his hand, flushed red, and then went white. After a moment or two, he met our eyes. "You told Harvey the truth," he said. "I'm sorry."

"There now," I said. "Are we all clear about this?"

He nodded.

"Okay, then," I said. I spun and walked into my room. Tolliver stayed outside for a bit. Then he came in, too.

We finished our game of Scrabble. I won.

We drove to a little town just five miles away to eat supper. Tolliver didn't seem keen on going back to the motel diner, and I didn't tease him about the waitress. We had country-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and lima beans at a near-duplicated Kountry Good Eats, and it was actually very tasty. The ambience was familiar: Formica-topped tables, cracked linoleum floor, two tired waitresses, and a man behind the counter, the manager. The iced tea was good, too.

"You know someone followed us here," Tolliver said, as the waitress took our plates and strode toward the kitchen. He fished out his wallet to pay our tab.

"A girl," I said. "In a Honda."

"Yeah. I guess she's a deputy, too? She looks awful young. Or maybe they just deputized her for this."

"She's probably cold sitting out there in that little Honda."

"Well, that's her job."

We paid, tipped, and left. The threatened rain was finally upon us, and Tolliver and I ran to the car. He'd clicked it unlocked as we left the restaurant, and I dove inside as fast as I could. I hate being wet. I hate storms. I won't talk on the phone when it's raining hard.

At least there was no thunder this time.

"I don't understand," Tolliver had said once, exasperated at not being able to call me when he was a few miles away. "Why? The worst has already happened. You've already been hit by lightning. What are the odds of that happening twice?"

"What were the odds of it happening once?" I countered, though my real reasons were probably not what he supposed.

We drove slowly, and the red Honda stuck with us. The roads around Sarne were narrow and flanked by some steep terrain, and there was the ever-present possibility a deer would dash across the road.

When we got to the motel, we had a debate about whether to stop and let the unknown girl see where we were staying (which she'd already know if she was a cop) or keep riding around until she tired of following us. Going to the police station, we agreed, felt silly. After all, she hadn't threatened us or done anything other than ride behind us.

It was my bladder that determined our course of action. We pulled in, I dashed into my room, and by the time I came out, Tolliver reported, "She's trying to make up her mind to come over and knock on the door." He was concealed behind the curtains, and he hadn't turned on a light in the room.

I joined him, and it was like watching a pantomime. The girl's car was clearly lit up by the lights in the parking lot, and she was recognizable; that is, I'd be able to pick her out in a police lineup now, though her features weren't crystal clear. She had short brown hair worn in a longer version of a standard boys' haircut, which looked cute on her, since she was a petite thing. She was maybe seventeen, maybe younger, and she had a pouting lower lip. She was wearing enough eye makeup for three ordinary women. Her small face had that look so common in teenage girls from homes where all is not well—part defiant, part vulnerable, all wary.

Cameron had worn that expression on her face all too often.

"How much are you willing to put down on this? I think she'll give up and drive away. We're too scary for her." Tolliver put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.

"Nah, she's coming in," I said with assurance. "I'd be taking your money too easily. See? She's daring herself."

Rain began to pelt down again as she made up her mind to brave us. She launched herself from the car and dashed for my door. She pounded on it twice.

Tolliver turned on the lamp beside the bed as I answered her summons.

She glared at me. "You the woman that finds bodies?"

"You know I am, or you wouldn't have been following us. I'm Harper Connelly. Come in." I stepped back, and, shooting me a suspicious look, she entered the room. She looked around carefully. Tolliver was sitting in the chair trying to look harmless. "This is my brother Tolliver Lang," I said. "He travels with me. You want a Diet Coke?"

"Sure," she said, as if turning down a soft drink was unthinkable. Tolliver got one out of the ice chest and handed it to her. She took it with her arm extended as far as she could reach, to keep her distance from him. I pushed the other chair out to indicate she should use it, and I perched on the side of the bed.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"You can tell me what happened to my brother. I'm not saying I think what you're doing is okay, or even morally defensible." She glared at me. "But I want to know what you think."

I thought she had a good civics teacher.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Maybe first you could tell me who your brother is?"

She flushed red. She was accustomed to being a notable fish in a very small pond. "I'm Nell," she said, clipping off the words. "Mary Nell Teague. Dell was my brother."

"You can't be much younger than he was."

"We were ten months apart."

Tolliver and I looked at each other briefly. This girl was not only a minor, but the sister of a murder victim. And I was willing to bet she'd never been out of Sarne for more than a two-week vacation.

"Morally defensible," Tolliver repeated, as struck by the phrase as I'd been. He rolled the words over his tongue as if he was testing the taste of them.

"I mean, I think it's wrong, all right? Telling people what happened to their dead relatives. No offense, but you could be making all this up, right?"

No offense, my ass. I was sick of people telling me I was evil. "Listen, Nell," I said, trying my best to keep my voice under strict control. "I make my living the best way I know how. For you to assume I'm not honest is an offense to me. There's no way it couldn't be."

Maybe she wasn't used to her words being taken seriously. "Um, well, okay," she muttered, clearly taken aback. "But listen, can you tell me? What you told my mom?"

"You're a minor. I don't want to get into trouble," I said.

Tolliver looked as if he were mulling it over.

"Listen, I may be a kid, you know, but he was my brother! And I should know what happened to my brother!" There was a very real anguish behind her words.

We gave each other tiny nods.

"I don't believe he killed himself," I said.

"I knew it," she said. "I knew it."

For someone who'd been so sure I was a fraud, she was taking my word without a second thought.

"So if he didn't kill himself," she said, talking faster and faster, "then he didn't kill Teenie, and if he didn't kill Teenie, then he didn't..." She stopped with an almost comic expression of panic, her eyes popping wide and her mouth clamped together to block the crucial word in, whatever it might have been.

A pounding at the door startled Tolliver and me; we'd been staring at Nell Teague as if we could pry the end of the sentence out of her with our eyes.

"Wonderful," I said after I looked through the peephole. "It's Sybil Teague, Tolliver."

"Ohmigod," said our visitor, who suddenly looked even younger than her age.

I cursed very thoroughly but silently, wishing that Sybil had arrived five minutes earlier. I had a fleeting idea that we could sneak Nell out through Tolliver's room, but as sure as we tried that, we'd be caught. After all, we hadn't done anything wrong. I opened the door, and Sybil came in like a well-groomed goddess of wrath.

"Is my child here?" she demanded, though we were making no move to conceal Nell, who was sitting in plain view. It was like she'd preplanned the moment.

"Right here," Tolliver said gently, with an edge of sarcasm to his voice. Sybil flushed, her natural color warring with the carefully applied tints of rose and cream.

Sybil took in the sight of Nell sitting in the chair, unmolested and with a Diet Coke clutched in her hand, and she seemed to deflate. "Where have you been, young lady?" she asked, rallying almost instantly. "I expected you home two hours ago."

Fortunately for us, Nell decided to come clean. "I followed them. They went to Flo and Jo's for supper," the teenager told her mother. "They took their time. I followed them here, and then I asked them if I could come in."

"You drove back in the rain from that place, with the roads slick, in the dark?" Sybil Teague's face went even paler. "I'm glad I didn't know about it."

"Mom, I've driven in rain plenty of times."

"Oh, yes, in the two years you've been driving. You have nowhere near enough experience..." Sybil took a deep breath and made herself relax. "All right, Nell, I know you wanted to talk about what happened to your brother. God knows, I've wanted to find out, too. And I thought this woman would give me answers. I just have more questions than I started out with, now."

"This woman" felt like throwing up her hands in exasperation. "This woman" did not like being spoken of as though she weren't there.

Paul Edwards appeared in the doorway behind Sybil. His hair was dark with rain. He put his hand on Sybil's shoulder, I thought to move her farther into the room so he could get out of the weather. I also thought it would be nice if they shut the door, since the wind was gusting in. Sybil stepped forward reluctantly, but his hand stayed on her shoulder.

For the first time, it occurred to me that there might be more between the two than attorney-client privilege. I'm just not as sharp about the living as I am the dead.

Nell's face shut down completely when she saw Paul Edwards. All the youth slid out of her mouth and eyes, and she looked like a hooker with her heavy eye makeup and tight clothes, instead of a cute kid trying on her personality.

"Hello, Miss Connelly, Mr. Lang," Edwards said. He focused on Nell. "I'm glad we caught up with you, young lady."

I wondered if Edwards was related to Sybil Teague's deceased husband. His ears were the same shape as Nell's, though otherwise she looked more like her mother.

"Right," Nell said, in a voice as expressionless as they come. "Thanks for coming out to look for me, Mr. Edwards." You could have cut the sarcasm with a chain saw.

"Your mother doesn't need anything else to worry about, Nell," he said, with so much gentle reproof in his voice that I wanted to deck him. I had no doubt that Sybil Teague had suffered over the loss of her son, but I was pretty sure Dell's little sister had been missing him, too. If anything happened to Tolliver, I'd... I found I couldn't even imagine it.

I'd rather have been out doing "cause of death" for a whole cemetery than be standing in that room right then.

"Goodbye," I said, making a hostess gesture toward the door. I was sure no hostess actually indicated her guests should leave, but this was my room, and I could behave as I chose. Everyone looked astonished except Tolliver, who smiled, just a twitch of the lips. I smiled myself, and out of habit they all responded, though uncertainly.

"Yes, of course. I'm sure you're tired," Sybil said. Like a true lady, she was providing a reason for my discourtesy.

I opened my mouth to disagree, but Tolliver beat me to it. "We've had a long day," he said with a smile. Mary Nell Teague suddenly looked at him with more interest. When Tolliver smiles, it's so unexpected it gives you a pleasant surprise.

Within a minute, the mother and daughter and lawyer were on the other side of the door, which was exactly where I wanted them.

"Harper," Tolliver said, in a reproving way.

"I know, I know," I acknowledged, without any regret. "What do you think she was really here for?"

"I'm trying to figure it out. Wait a minute, which ‘she' do you mean?"

"I mean the mother."

"Good. Me, too. You think she was here to find out what Nell was saying to us? Or to keep us from telling Nell anything?"

"Maybe we should be wondering why Nell was so determined to talk to us. You think she might actually know something about her brother's death?"

"We're getting too wrapped up in this. We need to get out of Sarne."

"I agree. But I don't think the sheriff will let us leave." I drooped on the end of the bed, trying not to look at myself in the mirror opposite after one quick glance. I looked too pale and even a little haggard. I looked like a woman who needed a big mug of hot chocolate and about ten hours' sleep.

I could do something about that. I always carry powdered hot chocolate with me, and there was a little coffeepot in the room. After making sure Tolliver didn't want any, I had a steaming mug in hand. I scooted up against the headboard, pillows stuffed behind my back, and looked at Tolliver, who had slid down in the chair so that his long legs were fully extended. "What's our next appointment?" I asked.

"Memphis, in a week," he said. "Occult Studies at some university."

"A lecture?" I tried not to act as dismayed as I felt. I hated going back to Memphis, where I'd had the only easy part of life I could recall.

"Reading a small cemetery. I think they know the COD for most of the inhabitants." Cause of death. "It's a test. I could hear the professor gloating over exposing you, over the phone. Patronizing as hell. Is he going to be surprised or what?"

"Jerk," I said scornfully. "They paying us?"

"A nominal amount. But we should do it, because I figure the word-of-mouth on this one is gonna be great, and it's a private university, so some of the parents have money. Plus, we have an appointment in Millington the day after, which is real close."

Tolliver had arranged things very well. "Thanks, brother," I said, and I meant it with my heart.

He waved a hand to discount my gratitude. "Hey, what else would I be doing?" he asked. "Herding carts at Wal-Mart? Running a forklift in some warehouse?"

"Married with a couple of kids in a three-bedroom ranch, stable and happy," I almost said; but then I clenched my teeth over the words.

Some things I was scared to say out loud.