Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
R ose turned her car onto Ash Street, the main road that went through town. Before she departed last night’s family dinner, Broome asked her to drop by the cemetery to look at Magnolia’s headstone in the family plot. He’d been notified that the engraving had been completed.
She drove past the garage where Finn had his first job. The Ferris Garage sign still hung from the eaves even though Riley Pierce had purchased it years ago when Joel Ferris retired. A newer one beneath said Riley’s . Many a summer afternoon, she’d watched Finn work under the hoods of cars.
Hanover’s Hardware across the street was still the only place to buy generators in town. The lumber shop stood behind it.
Farther down, close to the river, the raised platform sidewalks showcased tourist shops complete with logo’d Smoky Mountains gear. She smiled as she drove past the old-fashioned ice cream parlor.
New shops and services had popped up on the northern edge. New housing and new residents had driven demand for a third gas station and a second grocery store. All stood a mile past the Center Street hub.
As the road curved, she thought of last night’s meal at Broome and Simi’s house. Everything had gone well until she told Aspen, Thorne, and Willow the truth of why she inherited Briar House.
Aspen hadn’t taken the news well. Her words were harsh.
How could she do this to me? To all of us. We’ll be the town pariah.
Then she’d broken down in tears.
Rose didn’t remind her what year it was, even though her words about the town were accurate. If this secret got out, there would be those who’d censure Magnolia’s past choices, and also censure Rose.
Beside Aspen, Gavin looked downright scandalized. Rose had hoped he’d be absent, but he attended most of their family meals. Hopefully, his fear of scandal and her fierce warning to keep the information private would silence him.
Thorne had shrugged, acting as if she’d shared a weather forecast. His lack of reaction concerned her. As they’d walked to their cars, she asked him if he was okay. He’d shared what he really thought.
It doesn’t matter who gave birth to you. You’re my baby sister.
And Willow was Willow. She’d looked pensive, but kept quiet. Rose knew how Willow’s mind churned. She tended toward slow digestion of information. The questions would come when she was ready.
She turned right onto Cemetery Road. Street names here weren’t creative. The road wound up toward the hills; a foggy mist permeated the trees on either side with the slow increase in elevation.
Rose’s black boots ground on crushed rock as she stepped out of her vehicle. Gentle slopes full of headstones bracketed the road she’d parked on. Farther up, mist clung to the trees that bordered the cemetery.
A text from Mr. Castor, a representative of the funeral home, told her he was on his way. She’d rolled her eyes when she read it. Old money and a generational legacy. As if she needed help to find Magnolia’s headstone. She knew well where the Everson family plot lay.
Rose locked her car and began her ascent up the hill. She tugged the hem of her black sweater down as she climbed. The Eversons were buried in the oldest part of the cemetery, which meant no path existed. Watchful of her footing, she stepped carefully. The older plots tended to be uneven.
Rows of headstones dotted the level areas of the slope, some small and some more elaborate with carvings. Debris and the first layer of autumn leaves lay in a random pattern over the ground after the recent storm.
The climb to the family plot took more than a few minutes. An odd sound made her stop partway and look up. She held her breath as she took in what she saw.
Someone, a man, crouched inside the low wrought iron fence that bordered their family’s section. It was not Mr. Castor who’d arranged Magnolia’s funeral.
From this distance, the man looked to be dressed in rags. A shock of white hair topped his head.
A sliver of unease went through her. This man was inside the fence of her family plot, on the ground, in the section that held Magnolia’s grave.
Disturbing sounds reached her ears. She took an automatic step back in reaction. He spoke words, tortured-like ones she couldn’t make out.
She shuffled another foot back. Maybe it would have been better to wait for Mr. Castor.
She needed to get back to her car and lock the door.
More unnatural sounds.
Another careful step back. Then another, afraid to take her eyes off the scene before her.
A twig snapped beneath her boot. She froze.
His head swiveled around, and he stood. Mud covered his face and the front of his clothes. His eyes, they looked straight at her. She felt cold.
Had he slept here? On Magnolia’s grave?
Then his eyes widened. A single word broke from his lips in a raspy voice. He jumped over the low fence and rushed towards her.
Instinct screamed.
She turned and ran. The wet grass was slick, her attempt precarious, a half slide with every step.
The smell reached her before he did. Human filth.
A desperate shout, “Maggie! Stop!”
Rose didn’t stop.
Pain spiked through her elbow as a hand grabbed her arm. A cry burst from her lips as he wrenched her around to face him. A wave of nausea hit.
Words fell out of him in a monotone. “Don’t be scared. It’s me, Maggie.”
Who the hell was Maggie? And where the hell was Mr. Castor? The legacy extras suddenly appealed.
With her free arm, she worked to break his grip the way Thorne had taught her. He grabbed that arm too, his fingers like manacles of ice.
“None of that now, pet. They tried to keep me from you, but we’re meant to be together.” His eyes were glacial, the sort of lifeless cold that couldn’t be reasoned with.
She forced the words out through clenched teeth. She wouldn’t cry out again. “I’m—not—Maggie.”
His eyes narrowed. He pulled her closer as if to check. His lips formed a garish smile, revealing decaying teeth. “You’re her all right. I’ve waited a long time. No escape this time.”
Who was this creep? Anger flared inside her. She yanked her arms in another move Thorne taught her. It didn’t work.
His grip tightened. A whimper escaped her.
His voice was harsh. “You hear me?”
Sudden shouts came from below. She dared to look, a glimpse before his hand twisted more, forcing her to look back at him.
Help had come, but would it be in time?
A well-dressed man, two others in security uniforms, raced uphill towards them.
Rage filled the man’s eyes.
Help might not make it in time.
Spittle hit her face, his breath was foul. He said, “You teasing bitch. It’s my turn. I’ve waited long enough.”
The suited man, the guards drew closer.
His eyes flicked back and forth between them and her, calculating. Unless he had a car within arm’s reach, he wouldn’t escape with her in hand. She tensed, though. He could still hurt her.
He snarled. More spittle. “I’ll be back for you. Next time I’ll bring a shovel.” He pushed her and ran. She didn’t have time to break her fall. Pain radiated through her left arm as she fell onto the damp grass.
The security guards changed direction to chase him.
The suited man reached her. It was Mr. Castor.
He paused a few feet away, his hands braced on his knees as he breathed heavily.
His mouth hung open in shock, his eyes wide as if he’d never seen a person on the ground before.
He didn’t offer his hand as she pushed herself to a seated position.
Instead, he mopped his brow with a handkerchief from a pocket before straightening.
Her attacker disappeared into the woods atop the hill. Both guards kept up their pursuit.
Mr. Castor wrung his hands. His speech carried a slight accent. She couldn’t place it. “I’m so sorry, Miss Finch. I had no idea. That man. I swear. My secretary saw him on the security cameras.”
Rose wiped her wet hands on her jeans, pushed her hair behind her ears.
“We’ve never had this happen before. I promise you.”
She doubted that. The cemetery dated back to the late 1800s.
“Your clothes. They’re muddy.” His disgust, as if she were covered in dog poo, assured her he would be no help. It was a struggle with the pain in her arm, but she got her legs beneath her and stood.
She looked down. Definitely muddy. Not for the first time, but her elbow hurt like hell. She cradled it against her as a cold drizzle began to fall.
The slim Mr. Castor began a fresh round of apologies.
He looked so clean, rain resistant in his light blue suit and white shirt.
Magnolia would have dressed him down for his lack of manners, but Rose couldn’t get a word in amongst his apologies.
She was tempted to flick one drop of mud his way even as she cradled her arm.
Rose glanced upward to the wrought iron fence that surrounded the Everson graves. She hadn’t seen the engraving on the tombstone. Once more, she wiped her hands on damp denim. It didn’t help.
“Mr. Castor, please stop. My clothes will be fine.” Magnolia despised effusive apologizers. Rose thought she might share the feeling.
He flinched as if she’d hit him and began again. “So sorry. Nothing like this has happened before. I don’t want to get fired. I love my job, working with people…”
Did he mean dead people?
Rose was tempted to give him a solid shake. She was cold, wet, and getting wetter.
Two police cars entered the drive below, lights swirling without sirens. Mr. Castor quieted at the sight.
Two uniformed officers climbed the slope. She waited where she stood.
Deputy Reggie MacShane reached her first, his long strides eating up the damp ground.
Dressed in a black uniform, with his badge and name on his chest, he looked her over, his eyes widening at her appearance.
He was older than her, Broome’s age, if she remembered correctly.
He was broad shouldered, tanned, and tall with an athletic build.
His hair was short, almost to his scalp.
Had he served in the military? She couldn’t remember.