He arrived when the sun was setting, and despite all the wheelbarrows, cement bags and other paraphernalia left on the grounds, the house was beautiful on its little rise above the river. The dying sunlight hid the chipping paint, and the spots where the stucco and plaster had recently been repaired. She looked like the grand old dame that she was.
He parked in the graveled driveway and walked around the outside of the house. The workers were thorough; the windows and doors had all been locked at the end of the day.
He was about to take his key and open the front door when he looked across the grounds and through the trees to the burial ground.
With dusk at hand, there was something fascinating and forlorn about it. Rather than enter the house, he found himself walking toward the cemetery.
The family had planned it as a pleasant oasis. The trees were like a barrier—holding the living out or keeping the dead in—but it was the kind of barrier that defined the space attractively. As he entered the graveyard, though, he could sense that it was a place of loneliness and neglect. There were stones and slabs that were now illegible, and even many of the more recent aboveground tombs bore legends that had been erased by the wear and tear of time.
Tall grass, wildflowers and weeds grew at will, and the moss-draped trees added a bittersweet pathos to the scene. He judged the distance from the graveyard to the house, and from the graveyard to the outbuildings.
The river ran downhill from the rear of the house, past the parallel rows of trees that had once led to a magnificent rear entrance. At one time it might even have been considered the main entrance, since most visitors would have come from the river. The house sat well up on its little hill, and all the ground around it, including the cemetery, rolled toward the river.
It wasn’t that unlikely that a storm could have moved earth, branches, refuse and even human bones from the graveyard toward the river—right past the slave quarters and other outbuildings.
Aidan sat on one of the aboveground tombs, surveying the realm of the dead. Looking around, he found himself studying the ground.
It just didn’t look as if any of the graves here had been disturbed. Of course, maybe a grave had been disturbed during Katrina, and then new winds and rains had covered up what had been compromised before.
Still…
He looked toward the largest of the family vaults, then got up, strode over to it and walked in. He looked at the fresh engraving that identified the final resting place of Amelia Jeanine Flynn. He touched the stone. “You must have been quite a woman,” he said. “If Kendall felt so devoted to you…well, I wish I could have known you.”
He realized he’d spoken aloud and shook his head with amusement. At least he was alone in a family graveyard surrounded by fifteen mostly empty acres. There wasn’t even a car passing by out on the road.
He went back outside and looked around the graveyard some more, trying to ascertain why something just didn’t seem right. No matter how hard he looked, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
It was dark when he left the cemetery, swinging the gate closed behind him. It made no noise. Someone had oiled it, and not long ago, either. He turned to look back at the graves.
Darkness had fallen, and there was only enough moonlight to offer a trickle of illumination.
Still certain he was looking right at something and not seeing it, Aidan headed back for the house. He unlocked the door and went in, and turned on a few lights, then headed for the kitchen. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that one of his brothers had gone shopping. The refrigerator offered the basics: soda, water, beer, condiments, cheese and sandwich meat. There was bread on the counter. He made himself a sandwich, then went back out to the car and brought in his bags.
He spent part of the evening walking around the downstairs, checking the windows, which were all secure and in good working order, as were the locks on the doors.
There were only two doors to the house itself, at the north and south ends, and both were solid.
Upstairs, he went through the same ritual, then he pulled out the charts Jeremy had printed off and read through them. He decided he would follow Jenny Trent’s trail until he discovered the truth about her disappearance or came to a genuine dead end. And if that happened, he would hunt down someone who had known one of the other women who had apparently vanished off the face of the earth and start all over again until he figured out who was behind the deaths.
It was late. He set the Colt he was licensed to carry on one of the old mahogany tables near the bed, then stripped down to his jeans and lay down to sleep. Sleep wouldn’t come, though, and he realized he was just lying there, listening to the night.
It was impossible not to remember the previous night, which had been so close to perfection. Impossible not to remember the woman he had shared it with.
He’d been a fool to stay away tonight. It actually hurt to stay away. He didn’t know what the hell it was about her, but he felt a burning need to be with her, to protect her.