The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1

by Coates, Darcy

  Zoe piled the bags back into the basket and shoved it behind the desk. “You can pick this up on your way back through. Oy, Lucas, take over for me.”

  “What?” A skinny teen standing in line startled at the sound of his name.

  Zoe snagged the boy’s collar and hauled him behind the counter. “Just cover for me for the next half hour, okay?”

  His eyes bulged with dawning horror. “But I don’t work here.”

  “You’ll be fine! Just scan stuff and take people’s money.” Zoe caught Keira’s sleeve and dragged her through the door. The sudden sunlight made Keira squint. She had all of half a second to inhale the brisk air, then the pressure on her arm was pulling her toward the intersection.

  Zoe didn’t even check that their path was clear before striding onto the road, forcing a car to swerve to avoid them. Keira had no choice but to follow at a quick trot. Zoe was a head shorter than her but could have entered the Olympics for competitive power walking. As they reached the curb, she shot Keira a huge smile that was equal parts manic excitement and zealous determination. Keira tried to smile back, but it came out as a grimace.

  I think she might just be insane.

  Chapter Six

  The café occupied the corner opposite the general store. Keira only had a second to read the bright-yellow wooden sign above the door—Has Beans—before Zoe jerked her inside. It was a welcoming sort of café, with big, squishy chairs spaced around the various nooks and a bookcase half-full of worn paperbacks near the window.

  “Oh good, the corner’s free,” Zoe said. The café wasn’t quite full, but a small crowd had gathered, and the chatter blended in with the whirr of a coffee grinder. “That’s the best table. What d’you want? My treat.”

  “Uhh—” Keira squinted to read the smudged chalkboard above the counter. Zoe had offered coffee, but it would be all right to get something else, wouldn’t it? Something with a lot of sugar and fat for energy. “Hot chocolate?”

  “Oy, Marlene!” Zoe bellowed over the queue of patrons waiting to order. A sallow woman behind the counter looked up. “Bring us a hot chocolate and a caramel latte, okay? And two of those disgusting, overpriced muffins. I’ll pay you back later.”

  Marlene gave a thumbs-up. Zoe shooed Keira toward a four-seater table in the corner between the window and the bookcase, then pushed her into one of the couches. The constant manhandling was grating on Keira’s nerves, but she purposefully kept her demeanor calm.

  Play it casual. She can’t prove I’m not a tourist. And if I can redirect the conversation to the thing she saw outside her window, she might forget to ask too many questions.

  Zoe took the seat opposite and shuffled it as close to the table as it would go. “Okay, spill the beans. Who’re you running from?”

  “Running?” Keira laughed airily. “I’m sorry for getting your hopes up, but I’m honestly just passing through.”

  Zoe gave her an intense deadpan glare. “Cut the crap. Tourists don’t buy a lifetime supply of rice and potatoes. And you could have been following the CIA’s training manual for how to not draw attention to yourself. I didn’t even see you until you were standing in front of my counter.”

  Damn. She’s quick. Keira’s smile faltered, but she fought to keep her voice light. “This is going to be a disappointment, but I really don’t have any answers. You said something about a face outside your window?”

  Zoe folded her arms on the table and leaned closer. It was a mirror of the pose she’d adopted in the store, and Keira had to sink back into the couch’s cushions to preserve her personal space.

  “C’mon,” Zoe said, her eyes intense under lowered eyebrows. “I’m not a moron. You twitched when I asked who you were running from. Is it an ex? Your parents? Interpol?”

  Keira didn’t answer. Her heart thundered and her clenched palms were sweaty. She glanced toward the door. It was close. I could run.

  “Hot chocolate,” a flat voice said, and a large mug hit the table in front of Keira, making her jump. “Caramel latte. And two reasonably priced muffins that are in no way disgusting.” Marlene, the sallow barista, dropped the food on the table, then tweaked Zoe’s ear. “You’re being weird again. Stop scaring my customers away.”

  Zoe glowered at the barista’s retreating back. “I am not being weird.”

  You sure about that? Keira glanced at the door again. Running meant she would have to abandon her food at the general store.

  “Hey, hey, I’m sorry.” Zoe tilted to block Keira’s view of the door. Her face had lost the fanatical glow, and an awkward, apologetic smile took its place. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Don’t go.”

  “I don’t like being accused of lying.” The edges of Keira’s voice wavered, but she managed to keep her tone even.

  Zoe exhaled. “Sorry. I can get carried away when I’m excited. Is there any chance we could start this whole interaction fresh?”

  After all that? Keira searched her companion’s face, but the apology seemed sincere.

  “I’m Zoe Turner.” Zoe’s wide smile was back in place, and she stretched a hand forward. “Nice to meet you…?”

  Keira hesitated for a second, then swallowed. “Keira.” She shook Zoe’s hand for the briefest second possible, then drew back to pick up the hot chocolate. It smelled delicious, and she was hungry enough to swallow a scorching mouthful.

  Zoe leaned back into her seat and picked up her own mug, though she made no move to drink it. “Look, I don’t know your deal, but I might be able to help. I know Blighty like the back of my hand, and at least half its secrets too. Take this place. Has Beans is run by Myrtle Kennard. Her sister, Polly, owns the florist’s down the road. Wanna know what she calls it? Two Bees. Get it? Has-been and to be. Isn’t that just the worst set of puns you’ve ever heard?”

  Keira couldn’t stop a smile from cracking her expression. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad.”

  “Well, get this. The two sisters opened their businesses twenty years ago with money they ‘inherited’ from a ‘benevolent’ and ‘extremely wealthy uncle.’” Zoe made air quotes around the phrases. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, “Except the uncle never existed. I’ve been right through the family records—he’s fictional.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. But incidentally, Myrtle and Polly are near-perfect matches for the description of a bank-robbing duo from the eighties.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Zoe lifted her shoulders in a carefree shrug. “I can’t prove anything. And I wouldn’t want to if I could. Myrtle and Polly are nice people. And the bank robbers never held hostages or did shoot-outs or anything; they just passed a note over the counter demanding money, took the cash, and ran. They hit eight banks over a three-month period, then disappeared about two months before the sisters moved to Blighty.”

  Keira glanced back at the counter, where Marlene was somehow pouring three coffees at once. That’s too crazy to be real. Isn’t it?

  “Anyway, my point is, I can keep a secret. If you want to tell me what’s happened, I can maybe even help.”

  Keira couldn’t smother a laugh. “You just shared a secret. I can’t say it’s done much to build my trust in your restraint.”

  “Ah, but think about the hundreds of secrets I haven’t told you!” Zoe winked. “Yet.”

  She’s ridiculous. Against her better judgment, Keira was starting to warm toward the strange, energetic woman. Taking a long drink of her chocolate, she considered how much she should share and decided on the safest option. “You said you saw something outside your window. Tell me about that first.”

  “Fair enough.” Zoe shoved both muffins toward Keira. “Eat. You look like Skeletor and that guy from The Machinist had a baby, and that’s not a compliment.”

  Keira made a show of grumbling about it but broke off an edge of one of the muffins. Warm, gooey sugar filled her mouth, and she had to stop herself from shoving the whole thing in.

  Zoe had leaned back in h
er seat and was staring at the ceiling. “You were here for that crazy storm last night, right? Blighty’s a pretty wet town, but it’s been a while since we’ve had something that heavy. My whole backyard flooded. Anyway, I woke around two in the morning. It was toward the tail end of the storm, but it was still loud enough to keep me from falling back to sleep. So I turned on a lamp and started to read my novel. I was about ready to try napping again when I heard a branch snap outside my window.”

  Keira’s plate was empty. The second muffin waited nearby, but she stopped herself from reaching for it. “Go on.”

  “Well, I didn’t think it was weird at first; it was a storm, and plenty of branches were breaking everywhere. But I looked out my window anyway, just in time to see this…thing walking past. He was so close and looking right at me. I sort of froze. Then lightning flashed and he disappeared.”

  “You said it looked like a dead person.”

  “Yeah.” Zoe spread her hands. “I know it sounds crazy. And it was dark, and my window was foggy. He was only there for a second, so I guess you could argue I didn’t see him clearly…but his face was bone white and all angled and narrow and horrible. Just like a skeleton.”

  “Huh.” Keira scratched a hand through her hair as her mind whirled. It was an odd description, but the idea of a man slinking through the storm, on private property, peering into windows… They were looking for me.

  “And before you ask, it wasn’t a nightmare.” Zoe rolled her eyes. “That’s what everyone has been trying to tell me. But I swear, I was awake. I can even remember where I stopped reading. It was one of the steamy parts in my book; the duchess was just about to take Lord Frederick’s—”

  “I believe you,” Keira said quickly. “I was just thinking. The face…could it have been a mask? Or paint?”

  “Yeah, that’s a definite possibility. But I’m not sure if that would make it better or worse. Either way, there was something or someone in my backyard at two in the morning. I would have called the police, but they’re bloody useless and never answer the phones at night.” She snorted. “Plus, they’ve blacklisted me for too many complaints. If I’m going to get answers, it’s going to have to come from somewhere else.”

  Keira could see where this was going. “Like from me.”

  “It’s as I said: no one just passes through Blighty.” Zoe propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms. “And even if they did, they wouldn’t buy survival rations or look like they’re expecting to be jumped any second. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how many times you’ve looked at the door.”

  Keira was about to insist she hadn’t, but then the bell above the door jingled as it opened, and her eyes flicked toward it. It was a reflexive action.

  Zoe raised her eyebrows to make her point, and Keira adjusted her hold on the mug. She wasn’t sure she liked the panicked, overcautious person she seemed to be. Prudence told her to hide how she’d arrived in Blighty, but did she really have anything to lose by sharing her story? The men who had chased her were a threat, but they clearly hadn’t come from the town; otherwise, Adage would have recognized them. Zoe seemed harmless, despite her intensity. And Keira hated to admit it to herself, but she really wanted another ally.

  She looked back at Zoe’s expectant, hopeful face and wet her lips. “Don’t share any of this, okay?”

  “Of course.” Zoe’s expression instantly switched to one of solemn duty, and Keira failed to smother a chuckle.

  “Okay. This is going to sound a bit crazy.”

  “Oh good. That’s my favorite kind of story.”

  Keira quickly covered the events from the previous twelve hours, starting with waking in the forest clearing and finishing with walking to town. She skipped over parts of the story that would raise too many questions—particularly the ghost outside her window, her shortage of money, and Mason’s visit—but didn’t hold anything else back. When she’d finished, she pushed her empty mug to one side and said, “So now I’m wondering if your skeleton man might be related. The end.”

  “Wow.” Zoe’s face was placid, except for her eyes, which were as round as marbles. “You might just be the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m glad you think so because I feel decidedly uncool. I’m basically stuck waiting for my memories to come back or to be matched to a missing-persons report.”

  “Stuck in Blighty,” Zoe added. “You poor soul.”

  She snorted. “What’s so bad about it? It’s a cute town.”

  “It’s boring as hell. Seriously, you’re the most interesting thing I’ve seen since aliens abducted my dog when I was eight.”

  “What?”

  Zoe waved the tangent away. “You’ve given me plenty to think about. I’d talk more, but I really need to get back to the store. Lucas will only put up with my shenanigans for so long.”

  “And I need to head back to the parsonage,” Keira replied. “Adage might be home by now.”

  “Eh, don’t bank on it if he’s making house calls. He’d talk a deaf man’s ear off.” Zoe took the napkin out from under her mug, wrapped the second muffin in it, and shoved it into Keira’s jacket pocket before she could object. “If you do figure out who you are, would you do me a huge favor and let me know before you leave town? This world’s got too many mysteries in it; I’d like to know that at least one is solved.”

  Chapter Seven

  Keira collected her groceries from the store while Zoe rescued a miserable Lucas from the checkout. The bags were heavy, but the walk to the shops had taken less than ten minutes, so Keira figured her muscles were up to the challenge.

  Just like earlier, she put her head down and made herself small. She still attracted a handful of curious glances, but if Zoe had been right about Blighty’s isolation, it would be impossible not to.

  A teen exited the bakery ahead of her, a partially eaten frosted pastry in one hand, and turned into Keira’s path. She tried to duck out of his way but was a second too late. They collided, Keira stumbled into the wall, and the teen made a choking noise as he stepped back. “What the hell!”

  Keira struggled to draw breath. The impact hadn’t been hard enough to do more than rob her of her balance, but it had been accompanied by something else. Something stronger. An emotion, like a punch to her stomach. Dread.

  She blinked at the strange man. He seemed a year or two younger than Keira, but he had the height advantage and used it to glower down at her.

  “You nearly made me drop my lunch.” His lip curled up, disturbing the fuzz of a barely there mustache. “Are you going to apologize or what?”

  She’d only felt it for the split second their bodies were in contact, but remnants of the sensation clung to her, like a thick, tacky oil she would never be free from. Her insides were cold, her palms sweating, every hair on her body raised.

  The boy was scrawny, his overly fussy bleached hair matching a set of designer clothes. He didn’t look dangerous. But her subconscious both feared and hated him.

  His disgust was growing thicker, and he took a step closer. Keira reflexively moved away, putting her back to the bakery’s brick wall.

  “I know you heard me,” he said. “Apologize.”

  It was a power play. He wanted to see how easily he could bend her to his will. Her subconscious had soaked in every detail about the stranger—the way he held himself; the cold, intense light in his eyes; the twist in his lips—and warned her the man blocking her path was uniquely unhinged. It would be stupid to challenge him, especially when she was trying not to draw attention to herself.

  “I’m sorry we bumped into each other.” It was a compromise, and the truth.

  The angle of his mouth suggested he didn’t appreciate her concession, but she wasn’t about to let him demand more. She ducked around him and increased her pace as she walked toward the end of the main road.

  He didn’t follow, but she could feel the man’s eyes on her back for several long moments. His stare made her skin crawl. />
  As she retraced the path toward the church’s driveway, Keira couldn’t resist glancing into the florist’s. The pince-nez-wearing owner, Polly, was wrapping a bouquet for a customer. Keira found it impossible to imagine the tiny lady with permed hair and manicured nails as a vintage bank robber. Zoe had to be wrong about that, just like her subconscious was probably overreacting about the hostile man. She tried to put both thoughts out of her mind, no matter how resiliently they clung there.

  It was still a chilly, damp day, but the sun had topped the trees, and Keira was sticky with sweat by the time the parsonage came into sight. She looked through the windows as she passed, but the rooms were dark and empty. As Zoe had predicted, Adage was still in town.

  When Keira crossed the border into the cemetery, a slow, creeping chill slid over her. She knew it was because of the way the towering forest trees smothered the sunlight and dropped the temperature, but she couldn’t repress a shudder.

  Is the ghost still here, somewhere out of sight? Are there others like her? There must be at least four hundred graves here… Surely she can’t be the only spirit that lingered after death.

  An unnatural silence filled the space, as though stepping through the graveyard’s gate moved her into another realm—somewhere she wasn’t sure she was welcome. Trees elsewhere in Blighty thrived. In this space, most had either lost their leaves early in the season or long since died.

  The most direct route to the cottage involved following the ragged, age-formed pathways that wound through the stones. The only alternative would involve walking through the forest, and even there, she wouldn’t be able to avoid the graves. The stones spilled beyond the bounds of the clearing. She couldn’t tell how far. Either the cemetery had long since run out of room, or it had once been larger and trees had gradually encroached on the space, consuming grass and graves alike.

  Keira kept her eyes focused on the little stone cottage against the forest edge and only started breathing properly again once she was inside, with the door firmly bolted behind her. Not that she expected wood and stone to do much to stop a ghost…but it felt good to be somewhere familiar. Like coming home.