“For one thing, I can tell you that Miss Goody Two-shoes is nothing but a lying, slutty little bitch.”
“Who are you talking about?” Caleb asked her.
“Oh, my God! Do you think this was really written by her—by Martha Tyler?” Sarah demanded.
Caroline had brought a book she’d found in the archives. It wasn’t a spell book but a grim record of the mortuary’s activities. It listed the dead and which room they were in, and, often, how they had died. Caroline had found a picture of the housekeeper, as well. The woman had been stunning, with proud, strong features and large dark eyes that would have been able to seduce any man whose heart was beating. She had worn the plain clothing of a servant as if she were a queen and they were robes of the finest satin.
“Of course it was written by her,” Caroline said, excited. “And isn’t the picture amazing?”
Absently, Sarah took another swallow of her coffee and stared at the picture. All of a sudden, it seemed to move.
“Look at her dancing,” Caroline said.
She was dancing, Sarah thought, and beckoning to her.
“Sarah? Sarah, are you all right?” Renee asked, as if from a great distance.
No, she wasn’t all right, Sarah thought, but she couldn’t seem to get the words out. Everything in the room was moving, and her limbs were growing heavy, her vision narrowing, as she slid to the floor.
All she could see was Caroline, smiling.
“Sarah?” Renee was leaning over her, looking worried. Sarah tried to answer Renee, and then she tried—and failed—to warn her when, to her absolute disbelief, she saw Gary pick up the fireplace poker and slam it against Renee’s head.
Renee fell to the ground with a startled expression and her lips forming a silent O.
Gary? Gary was the killer?
And not just Gary.
Caroline. Her best friend, now completely insane. Standing there and smiling benignly as she said, “I found all this history, Sarah. No one ever thought I was as good a historian as you are, but I am, and I proved it when I found all these documents—documents you missed—in this house. It should have been my house, you know. And one day, it will be. I found Martha Tyler’s book—not this book, her spell book—and she said if we drink the blood of the young and healthy, we can live forever. Oh, Sarah, I really am sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you, and we tried to scare you off, but you wouldn’t go away. And you and Caleb are so ridiculously good at finding bodies and figuring out the truth.” She sighed sadly and went on. “Now, when he comes looking for you—and we both know he will, especially because sooner or later he’ll check your phone and see the text message I left you saying I found a reference to the old Rebel cemetery when I was going through the archives—he’ll die, too. But we’ll make sure he looks guilty of killing you and Renee first, and if we’re lucky, maybe he’ll take the fall for Winona, too.”
“It’s still daylight, what do we do now?” Gary asked.
“We take them out to your truck in burlap bags, and then we dump them. We’ll have to use another cemetery, though, which sucks. I really liked using Martha’s final resting place, but we can use that old one out by the highway. Now get moving,” Caroline snapped. “We have to move quickly. And we’ve got to be on our game tonight. It has to look as if I barely escaped Caleb before I managed to kill him. You have the knife—and a gun, right?”
Gary nodded, and then they left the room, presumably in search of burlap bags and God only knew what else.
Paralyzed as she lay on the floor, Sarah tried desperately to think of a way out, a way to at least leave a clue for anyone who came looking for her. A way to warn Caleb and save his life, even if it were at the expense of her own.
She couldn’t move or speak, but she could still see.
And what she saw was a man in nineteenth-century clothes.
It was Cato, and when he hunkered down next to her and swept his plumed hat from his head, he looked at her with deep sorrow in his eyes.
Help me, Sarah thought.
The floor was still coated in plaster dust. If she could just move a finger, she could write a message, but though she tried, her muscles remained stubbornly paralyzed.
Help me, she pleaded to the apparition again.
Somehow he understood, and though it seemed to be difficult for him, he reached for her hand and started to write. She tried to think, but the world was beginning to fade. She heard Gary and Caroline come back in, saw them reenter the room carrying huge burlap bags that had once held cement. She could still see the ghost as he followed while she was dragged across the floor.
No, stay here, she ordered him silently. You have to lead Caleb to me.
But she knew he was still with her, even as she was tied into the bag and tossed into the back of Gary’s work truck.