The Prophet

Chapter Twenty-One

“Amelia, this is—” Temple turned with a narrowed gaze. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name is again?”

“Ivers. Jimmy Ivers.” He fished in his pocket and handed me a business card.

“Mr. Ivers is a reporter for the Lowcountry Chronicle. It seems he’s doing a story about Oak Grove Cemetery.”

He glanced around appreciatively. “This place is creepy as hell. You ladies don’t get spooked working out here all by your lonesome?”

The way he looked us over made my skin crawl. I tried to commit his features to memory just in case I ever needed to pick him out of a lineup. Other than pale eyes and that flaccid jaw line, his appearance was completely nondescript. “I’m sorry…how do you know who I am? And how did you know we’d be here today?”

“You’ve heard of having sources, right? With enough incentive, anyone will talk. You’d be surprised,” he said, and I thought to myself that if he winked at me again, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions. “As to the first question, I know who you are because I’ve done my homework.”

“Then you must know that without written permission from the university, you’re trespassing on private property,” I said. “If you don’t leave of your own accord, I’ll alert the campus police and have you escorted out of here.”

He looked affronted. “No call for that. I’m just trying to do my job.”

“As are we. Now if you don’t mind…” I nodded toward the gate.

“You can’t just answer a few simple questions for me? It won’t take a minute.” He turned to Temple. “How about you?”

“How about no.” She handed him her card. “Call my office next week, and I’ll see that you get a statement.”

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” he grumbled. “You ladies have a great day.”

He sauntered off, snapping a few shots with his phone, and I glanced at Temple. “That was weird.”

“No kidding. That guy’s about as much of a reporter as I am.” She glanced at his card. “Probably had these printed up on his way over here.”

“What do you think he really wanted?” I asked nervously.

She shrugged. “I’ve seen people like him before. I call them gore junkies. He was probably hoping for a look at an open grave. Maybe even to glimpse some remains.”

“He knew who I was, though.”

“Well, you were in the news last spring during the heat of the investigation. I must say, everything considered, you handled that extremely well.” An errant curl fell across Temple’s face, and she tucked it back. She was dressed much the same as I—cargoes, dark jacket and boots—but she’d left her hair down to blow artfully in the breeze while I’d scraped mine back into a ponytail. “I’ve never seen you so assertive.”

“Maybe he just caught me on a bad morning.” I watched Ivers—or whoever he was—disappear through the entrance. “I should probably go lock the gates,” I said on a shiver.

“Good thinking. I’ll come with you just in case Mr. Creepypants gets any wild notions.”

“There is no excuse for such wanton neglect,” Temple said a little while later as we gazed down a row of overturned headstones. “I’m ashamed something like this happened on my watch.”

“It’s not like you could be here every second of every day,” I said. “The excavations went on for months.”

“I realize that, but the blatant disrespect is like a slap in the face.”

“I wouldn’t call it disrespect. The police tried to observe proper protocol, but after the scope of the investigation became evident, priorities shifted.”

The killer had been very clever about hiding the bodies of his victims in old graves marked with meaningful inscriptions and images. Once the perpetrator had been identified, it then became a matter of recovering the remains. Dozens of sites had been exhumed, disturbing original interment. After the dirt had been sifted for evidence, the graves had been hastily filled in to prevent further exposure to the elements. As the state archeologist, Temple had authority over any human remains older than a hundred years. Her job at Oak Grove was to ensure the reburials had been conducted properly and that any artifacts such as personal mementoes, scraps of clothing and bone had been returned to the appropriate graves.

I went over to kneel beside one of the fallen headstones. Using a soft-bristle brush, I cleaned away dirt and dried moss to reveal the artwork—a winged face symbolizing the flight of the soul. “I don’t see any fresh cracks or chips. Maybe they were afraid of breaking them, so they left them where they fell. Which was a good call, actually. You know how fragile these old stones are.”

Temple’s eyes snapped. “You’re far more charitable than I am. I think it more likely that in their zeal to dig up the next headline, they just got careless. But I’ll admit my contempt for the Charleston Police Department may have something to do with the speeding ticket I got on my way over here. That’s why I was late.”

I squinted up at her. “And you couldn’t talk your way out of it? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I know. I must be slipping. Old age is hell,” she said with a grimace.

“Oh, yes, you’re so decrepit.”

“Speaking of…” She cocked her head, giving me a sharp scrutiny as I straightened from the marker. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier in front of that creep, but you don’t look so good this morning.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” I asked with a frown.

“Could be those dark circles under your eyes. Or those hollow cheeks. And you look like you’ve lost weight since the last time I saw you. What on earth is going on with you?”

I’m being haunted by Devlin’s dead daughter. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Nightmares about this place?” Her tone was sympathetic. “I have to admit, I was a little concerned when I heard you’d agreed to come back.”

“Why? It’s just another cemetery.”

“Your stoicism is admirable, but you don’t fool me one bit. You and I both know that Oak Grove isn’t just any cemetery. It’s a place where some very bad things happened. And some of those bad things happened to you.”

“I’d rather not think about that.”

“But you will think about it. How could you not? I saw how shaken you were by Ivers.” Her gaze traveled over the murky terrain. “Oak Grove may be small compared to contemporary cemeteries, but you still have a lot of ground to cover here. It’ll take weeks just to clear away the brush and debris. Are you prepared for all those long days when you’ll be working out here alone?”

I gave her a hard stare. “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to scare me away?”

“I’m not at all. I’m relieved a historic cemetery will be in such capable hands. But you went through an ordeal here. It must have taken a toll. You can’t just will away those memories. Something like that can haunt you forever.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “Or I was until you brought it all back up. Can we please change the subject?”

She gave me a benign smile. “We could talk about your love life, but I have a feeling that would be even more depressing.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. How about we just get to work?”

“You don’t want to hear about my running into Detective Devlin at dinner last night?” She gave me a sidelong glance as I pretended to study the site map. Butterflies danced in my stomach as they always did at the mention of Devlin’s name.

“He was with the most gorgeous brunette,” she added.

“Where was this?” I asked casually.

“A little Italian place I discovered on King Street. I stopped by their table to say hello. Naturally, Devlin pretended not to remember me at first. He does like to play his little games, doesn’t he?” It was unfathomable to Temple that Devlin or anyone else would ever forget her, even if only momentarily.

“That’s nice.” I turned to look out over the headstones and monuments. “The next excavation is over by the mausoleum. We should get all the photographing out of the way, and then you can tell me how you want to proceed.”

“Wait a minute. Don’t you want to know about the brunette?”

“Let me take a wild guess. Was her name Isabel?”

Temple gave me a wide-eyed look. “You know about her? Well, I guess Ethan was right, then. Things didn’t work out between you two.”

“You talked to Ethan about Devlin and me?”

“Is the subject taboo?” she asked innocently.

“It makes me a little uncomfortable,” I admitted. “I’d rather not be the subject of gossip.”

“Well, you know Ethan. He’s worse than any old woman. He was positively salivating to give me all the juicy details.”

“What on earth did he say?”

She made a face. “Not much, unfortunately. I guess Devlin isn’t the kiss-and-tell type.”

I shrugged, but the nerves in my stomach were still bunched. “There’s really nothing to tell, but I don’t know why that should surprise you. You’re the one who warned me about him, remember?”

“Did I?”

“Yes. I believe the implication was that I could never live up to Mariama.”

“No one can ever live up to the dead wife,” she said dryly. “But Mariama was…”

“Yes, I know.”

Temple shivered as we headed toward the mausoleum. I kept my eyes on the ground because those gothic spires invoked a very different kind of chill in me.

“She really was something,” Temple said on a blissful sigh. “I’ve never met anyone quite like her. She was so extraordinarily beautiful and so blatantly self-indulgent.”

I turned in surprise. “You talk as if you knew her, but you only saw her that one time, right? At a crime scene, I think you said.”

She looked a little flustered and fanned herself. “Well, yes, but that one time made an impression.”

“Because of the argument?”

Confusion flashed in her eyes, and then she said quickly, “Oh, right. The argument between her and Devlin. Heated and very passionate. The whole blowup was extremely titillating.”

My gaze strayed to those spires in spite of myself. “Did Ethan ever mention why his father brought Mariama to Emerson?”

“I’m sure he saw potential in her. As I said, she was extraordinary, and Rupert used to be quite the philanthropist before he got so caught up in the occult. Then all his time and energy and, I would assume, money went into the Institute.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.

“Rupert? A day or so ago. Why?”

“I went by the Institute yesterday. He was acting very strangely.”

“How could you tell?” she asked dryly.

I folded the site map and tucked it away. “I know he’s always been eccentric, but this was different. And he has a new assistant.”

“Layla?”

“So you’ve met her, too.”

“Beautiful woman,” Temple murmured. “I found her quite fetching.”

“Really? Because I found her a little strange. I got the impression she’s definitely taken charge of the office. She gives off this sort of territorial vibe that’s extremely unsettling.”

“I didn’t notice anything strange about her,” Temple said.

“No, you wouldn’t,” I grumbled. “Maybe territorial is the wrong word. She’s more like Dr. Shaw’s caretaker.”

“He’s always needed someone to look after him, if you ask me,” Temple said. “I’m as fond of him as you are, but I’ve always been concerned about his stability, particularly after his wife died. That’s when his interest in the afterlife became an obsession.”

“He seemed perfectly fine when I first arrived. Then Layla brought him tea and he stirred something into it. An herb of some kind, I think. That’s when he started zoning out.”

“How do you mean, zoning out?”

“He just drifted off in the middle of our conversation. Then later, he had a dizzy spell. If I hadn’t been there, I think he might have collapsed.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Temple mused. “At his age, one worries about strokes and heart attacks. Have you talked to Ethan about it?”

“No, I thought I might mention it at dinner tonight. Dr. Shaw asked me not to say anything, but I’m really worried about him. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“What else was going on when he had this episode? Did something happen to upset him?”

“No, I don’t think so. At least not while we were talking. We had this long discussion about rootwork.”

“Rootwork?” She gave me a look. “Don’t tell me he thinks someone has put a root on him.”

“A root? You mean like a spell or a hex?”

“Did you notice anything else out of the ordinary about him? Any peculiar smells in his office?”

“Now that you mention it, I did notice a sort of musty, herbal odor even before he had his tea. And someone had sprinkled a line of salt outside the terrace doors. I assumed it was to keep the garden slugs away from the plants.”

“Did you see any iron or silver lying around?”

My mind flashed back to the iron bolt beneath his desk and the silver letter opener in his hand. “Yes, as a matter of fact. Why? What does all this mean?”

“The herbs he put in his tea? The salt line at the door? He’s trying to protect himself.”

“From what?”

“Probably nothing more than his imagination. Rupert can seem perfectly reasonable at times, but he has always had strange notions.”

“Just for the sake of argument, if someone did put a root on you, how would you go about removing it?”

“You’d go to a root doctor for a protection spell. In essence you’d be buying nothing more than illusion, but in the hands of a true believer, the power of persuasion can be a potent tool,” she said. “I once had an interesting experience with a root doctor.”

“What happened?”

“We were called out to move an old cemetery where a highway was going through. There was a woman…I’ll never forget her…Ona Pearl Handy. She lived just down the road from the property and her ancestors were buried in that cemetery. She was convinced they’d come back to haunt her if she allowed those graves to be disturbed. Our first day on the job and there she was, planted in a lawn chair at the entrance with this white powder sprinkled all around her. She’d put it on the graves, too. Called it law-keep-away dust.” Temple chuckled.

“Did it work?”

“Of course not. But she was convincing enough that it played with our heads. All sorts of weird things happened on that job, and it really started to freak people out. Phones wouldn’t work. Car batteries died. Equipment malfunctioned. The worst thing, though, we dropped one of the coffins. The lid popped open, exposing the remains, and Ona Pearl went into hysterics. She was terrified that once the remains had been desecrated, her great-aunt Bessie would come back at night and try to mount her.”

“Eww.”

“Sounds kinky, but in that context she meant possessed.”

“Did you get the graveyard moved?”

“Eventually, yes. Her roots weren’t strong enough to keep us from doing our job, albeit shoddily. But she had us all wondering there for a while.”

“Sounds like an experience.”

“Oh, it was.” Temple shook her head on another chuckle. “Poor Ona Pearl. Last I heard, she got busted for drugs and was doing some time. So much for her law-keep-away dust. Which proves my point. Rootwork is all about smoke and mirrors. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Rupert’s affliction turns out to be nothing more serious than the power of suggestion.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

But I didn’t think the scene I’d witnessed between Dr. Shaw and Tom Gerrity had anything to do with perception. From what I’d heard, it was straight-up blackmail. And that, I had a feeling, was the real source of Dr. Shaw’s affliction.