“If it’s a code, someone would surely have figured it out by now,” Devlin said.
“Not necessarily. The cemetery is located on private property. How many people have even been allowed inside those walls?” Spreading the remainder of the photographs across the desk, I stared down at the final image, the headstone of the last person to be buried in Kroll Cemetery. Amelia Rose Gray.
Seeing her full name—my full name—on the headstone rattled me.
Devlin put a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
It was all I could do not to move away from him. Maybe it was just nerves, but I felt an unpleasant sensation where the scar in his palm touched my bare skin. I looked up, probing his face, scrutinizing those tiny new worry lines around his mouth and eyes, but his expression revealed nothing more than concern for me.
“I’m fine,” I said.
He tilted his dark head, observing me carefully. “I don’t think you’re fine. You look upset.”
“Maybe a little. First I find a photograph of a woman who looks enough like me to be my twin and now a headstone with nothing but my name on it. No date of birth or death. Nothing. It’s almost as if that grave has been there waiting for me all these years.”
“That’s nonsense,” Devlin said with a scowl. “The headstone doesn’t have anything to do with you. The woman buried in that grave has been dead for decades.”
“Laid to rest in a cemetery of suicides.”
Was the cause of Rose’s death the reason she couldn’t move on? Did her cryptic message have something to do with the tragedy at Kroll Colony? After all these years, had she found a way to reveal the truth through me?
So many questions...
“Maybe she just wanted to be near Ezra Kroll,” Devlin said. “Did you notice that her headstone is different from the others? No number or key symbol.”
“You can just make out something at the top of the marker,” I said. “See? Right there.” I pointed to some faint etchings in a shaded area of the stone.
“Doesn’t look like much to me,” Devlin said.
I gathered up the photographs and placed them in a neat stack on my desk. “These images only tell part of the story. I’m more convinced than ever that I need to see that graveyard in person.”
Devlin looked worried. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The cemetery is remote. No houses or roads for miles.”
“All I know is that I’m drawn to it,” I said. “There’s so much about my background I still don’t understand. So much of my family’s history that remains unknown to me. I’m not like you. You can trace your roots back centuries. You know exactly where you came from and who your people are.”
“That’s not always a good thing,” he said obliquely.
“Still, can you blame me for being curious?”
“No, but try to keep some perspective. Just because you never knew about Rose doesn’t mean there’s some great mystery behind her death.”
“I really hope that’s true.” But the signs and visitations told me otherwise. I could no more ignore Rose’s clues than I could stem the tide of ghosts that came through the veil at twilight.
She had sought me out for a reason. Not to latch on to my warmth and energy or because she wanted to be human again. She needed me to find a key. Unless and until I could give her what she wanted, she wouldn’t go quietly back into the afterlife.
And the logical place to start my search was in Kroll Cemetery.
Twenty-Three
Devlin and I had an early dinner together downtown and then a brief stroll along the Battery to watch the sunset. As we walked along the waterfront, I slipped my arm through his and, for a short time, pretended that neither of us had anything more pressing on our minds than watching the sailboats glide into the harbor.
The shimmering water reflected an exotic palette of ruby and cerulean, and I could smell gardenias in the warm breeze that ruffled Devlin’s hair. I closed my eyes, drawing a deep breath as I rested my head against his shoulder. It was one of those moments that seemed already imprinted upon my memory, tugging loose a dreamy nostalgia that I knew from experience could too easily turn into loneliness.
Devlin had fallen prey to his own thoughts. His eyes were distant and brooding as he looked out over the sea, and I knew that he’d gone to a bad place—here or in the past—where I had no business prying. But he wasn’t entirely oblivious to our surroundings. I felt him tense at the sound of a child’s laughter drifting out from White Point Garden. The echo of joyous innocence would always be bittersweet to him.