The Whispering Dead: Gravekeeper Book 1

by Coates, Darcy

“No! That’s okay!” Keira, concerned by the turn the conversation had taken, jogged to keep up with the sales assistant. “I can meet you there later.”

  Zoe’s shoulders slumped. “Ugh, but I won’t be free again until my lunch break, and that’s literally hours away.”

  “Work on your doomsday plans until then,” Keira suggested. “I want to get this food back to the cat. Besides, I’m expecting a visitor, and I don’t know how early he’ll come.”

  “A visitor?” Zoe’s miserable expression morphed into keen interest. “And it’s a he? Who? Is it your handler? If you squint your eyes, does he start to look like a reptile?”

  “Nothing like that. He’s just one of Adage’s acquaintances.”

  “Ahh.” Zoe nodded, as though this answered everything. A mischievous smile pulled at her bright-red lips. “Good old Adage. Must be playing matchmaker again. Is the guy cute at least?”

  Keira hated the direction the conversation was turning, but Zoe had leaned one arm against the opposite aisle, blocking Keira’s access to the door. “Don’t make such a big deal out of it. He’s just seeing if he can help with the lost memories. Mason’s studying to be a doctor.”

  Zoe’s smile vanished. “Mason Corr? You’re kidding.” She frowned but didn’t move out of Keira’s way. For the first time, Keira thought she’d genuinely caught Zoe off-guard.

  “Is there something wrong?”

  “Eh.” Zoe rolled her shoulders, squinting toward the ceiling. “I guess it makes sense that Adage would call him. Adage hates the doctor—like, really, really hates him—and he’s always had a soft spot for Mason. But, Keira, do me a favor, okay?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You might want to watch your back around him.”

  Keira glanced toward the window. The street was starting to fill with early morning traffic. Some of the couples talked and laughed as they went to open their stores, but the pleasant atmosphere didn’t reach inside the general store. “Why? He seemed nice yesterday.”

  “Yeah, he always does. He’s the town’s darling; he could probably charm the saltiest old maid if he tried.”

  “But…?”

  Zoe glanced about the store, as though there might be curious ears listening in. “Do you know much about him?”

  “Almost nothing.”

  “Well, he spent the last four years working toward becoming a doctor. First an undergraduate degree, then med school. Consistently at the top of his class. He was Blighty’s brightest shooting star, destined to make a name for himself in a fancy city somewhere. Then, near the end of the year, he dropped out.”

  Keira shifted the shopping bags uneasily. “Why?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question.” Zoe raised her hands in a shrug, then dropped them again. “People asked, but he either changes the subject or gives vague excuses like ‘taking a break’ and ‘considering my options.’ I heard he even got letters from his professors asking him to come back, to complete his degree—but he’s been home for eight weeks now, with no signs of leaving.”

  “Huh.” Keira chewed that over. “That is weird. Maybe he got burned-out?”

  “And couldn’t have survived a couple more months after four years?” Zoe made a noise that was somewhere between derision and annoyance. “Look, I’m not telling you to shun him or anything, but…just be cautious. He’s hiding something. And in my calculated opinion, there’s an extremely high chance that he’s a serial killer who had to flee the campus in fear of being caught.”

  That was a segue and a half. Keira spluttered a laugh, hoisted her bags, and ducked around Zoe to reach the door. “I don’t know about that. But thanks for looking out for me.”

  Zoe huffed a sigh, then waved Keira out of the door. “Whatever. My lunch break is at one. Meet me at the café. And remember: I will be extremely displeased if you get yourself murdered by any would-be doctor before then.”

  “Same to you,” Keira called over her shoulder as she turned toward the cemetery.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blighty was waking up. Shop doors were opening and bleary-eyed townspeople were shuffling about their early-morning errands, though the roads were still near empty. Keira noted there were very few cars. She supposed most people lived close enough to the town center to walk there.

  The Two Bees florist, Polly Kennard, was setting out buckets of flowers at the front of her store. Keira lowered her head and set her gaze on the ground, intending to pass the shop quickly, but she had to pull up short as a bunch of daisies was thrust across her path.

  “This is the third time I’ve seen you,” Polly said, leaning into Keira’s field of vision. The sunlight sparkled off the florist’s glasses and bleached-white teeth and made her permed hair look like cotton candy plopped on top of her head. “Are you staying in town, dear?”

  “Just passing through!” The excuse was carrying less and less weight the longer Keira stayed in Blighty, but she hadn’t prepared any alternatives.

  “Visiting family, perhaps? How lovely.” Polly’s wide smile seemed both genuine and grandmotherly, and Keira tried her hardest not to visualize the woman fleeing from a bank heist. “Who are you staying with?”

  “Um, with Mr. Adage.”

  Polly nodded as though that wasn’t at all surprising. “He’s a good fellow, the pastor. Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to say hello and welcome you to our town. Why don’t you take these? They match your pretty eyes.”

  To Keira’s shock, the bunch of flowers were dropped into her shopping bag before she could reply. “Uh, thank y—”

  “Of course, dear. And if you get lonely while you’re here, I’d be glad to introduce you to Harry, my son.” Her sharp eyes scanned Keira in a flash. “He’s about your age, and he’s really quite a charming gentleman.”

  Aha. She has a motive. Keira kept her tone light. “That’s really kind of you.”

  Polly’s eyes scrunched up as she smiled. “Anytime, dear, just pop in anytime.”

  Keira waited until she was out of earshot, then exhaled. So that was Zoe’s fearsome ex-outlaw. She seems sweet. Even if she’s trying to set me up with her son. Keira peeked at the flowers in her shopping bag. They were fresh and bright, but she couldn’t imagine how Polly thought they matched her eyes. The daisies were pure white, save for their dark centers. Maybe she meant they match my pupils? Keira had to squeeze her lips together to contain the laughter.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted the flowers in the cottage. It felt too permanent, like she was transforming the temporary shelter into a home. She had another idea for them, though, and quickened her pace as she turned into the driveway that led to the church.

  Despite the chilly wind and subdued bird chatter ringing from the trees, Keira spent most of the walk buried in thought. Be careful around Mason. The warning hung in her mind, but she found it hard to feel any conviction in it—partly because Zoe’s theories tended toward the bizarre, if not downright ridiculous, but mostly because Mason’s easy, open smile had felt too warm to be fake.

  There’s no reason to think he has anything to hide. Surely it’s not that unusual to drop out of school, even late in the year? He was probably burned-out or realized it was the wrong career for him. And as for Zoe’s theory…

  Keira huffed and readjusted her grip on the bags. They were heavy; Zoe must have collected more cat food than Keira had thought. That would be okay. She’d just return the surplus once she found the cat’s owner.

  As she entered the graveyard, she caught sight of a figure leaned against the stone wall. She recognized the long legs and dark-chocolate hair from a distance, and quickened into a jog. Mason had his hands in his pockets and had left his medical kit beside his crossed ankles. He grinned and pushed away from the wall as she neared him.

  “I’m sorry for making you wait!”

  “Not at all. I was admiring the view.” He motioned toward the gravestones. “It’s quite…morbid.”

  She laughed, opened the cottage door, then stepped back s
o Mason could follow her in.

  He shed his coat and hung it over the chair’s back before turning his smile onto her. “How’s your arm?”

  “I kind of forgot it was a thing, actually.” Keira flexed her shoulder and felt a twinge of pain but nothing distracting. “You can have the painkillers back.”

  “Huh. You’re a tough cookie, aren’t you?” He set the kit on the wooden chair’s seat. “Mind if I have a look at it?”

  “Sure, but give me a second first. I’ve been shopping for a cat that came in last night, and he’s probably hungry.”

  As if on cue, a muted mewl came from the room’s corner. Keira peered into the shadows above the wardrobe and smiled as two liquid-amber eyes blinked back, watching the humans with great interest.

  Mason chuckled as he stretched to retrieve the cat. “It’s cute. Looks young too.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Keira put her shopping on the kitchen counter and fetched a plate from the cupboard. “You don’t know who he belongs to, do you?”

  “I’m afraid not. But I’ll keep an ear out for news of a missing cat.”

  “Thanks.” Keira was sorely tempted to laugh as Mason cradled the cat like a baby, with one hand scratching behind its ears. The cat clawed at his shirt buttons as its tail twitched eagerly.

  “My parents owned a cat when I was growing up,” he said. “He passed away while I was in med school, and honestly, he’s one of the things I miss most since coming back.”

  “You’re a cat person, huh?”

  “Oh, definitely. So many people think they’re aloof, but Ruffles could have beaten a lot of dogs in the affection department. What about you? Cats or dogs?”

  “Uh…” Keira took a moment to sift through the deepest parts of her mind she could reach. “I think I’m a cat person. I’m going to miss this guy when he goes at least. It was nice having him around.”

  “Looks like she’s a lady actually.” The black creature was gnawing on Mason’s thumb, but he didn’t seem to mind. “And a very friendly one at that.”

  “A girl, huh? I should’ve checked. She certainly seems to like you.” Keira was having too much fun watching Mason play with the cat and turned back to the shopping before it became obvious that she was staring. She picked out the closest can and frowned at the label. It advertised pickled beetroots.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” As Keira dug through the shopping, she found the reason for why the bags felt so heavy. At some point between picking up the basket and handing Keira the filled bags, Zoe had managed to sneak half a dozen cans of vegetables and fish into the shopping.

  “Everything okay, Keira?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s fine. Just coming to terms with the fact that I befriended a ninja.” Keira let her words drop into grumbles as she pulled the cans out. I have my own food. All I needed was something for the cat.

  Mason gracefully ignored her mutters. He came up beside her, still cradling the feline in one arm, to fill a bowl with water. Keira picked out one of the cat food cans and pulled open the lid. The cat turned from a malleable lump of squishy fur in Mason’s arms into a writhing ball of energy. It squirmed out of his grip and dropped to the ground with a loud thump before bouncing to its feet.

  “Yikes,” she said, shaking the food onto the plate as the cat weaved around her legs. “You must be hungry. Poor thing.”

  She put the plate on the ground, and the cat buried its face in it. The sight sent a gnawing sense of guilt digging into her stomach. How long has she been without food?

  She looked up and realized Mason had been watching her. His expression had lost its warmth and seemed to hold something deeply sad and dissatisfied. It was an unpleasant contrast to his usual cheerfulness, and she clutched around for something to distract him with. “I’ve been wasting your time. You didn’t come here to feed my cat.”

  He smiled at that, and some of the warmth returned. “Ha, don’t worry about it. This is hardly a waste. But let’s have a look at that war wound.”

  They took the same seats as they had the day before. Keira pulled off the sweaters, and Mason burst out laughing.

  “What?” She blinked, surprised, as Mason’s whole body shook with his chuckles.

  “Oh, you’re definitely a cat person. How can you not be with a shirt like that?”

  She looked down at her chest. The bug-eyed cat design stared back at her, and she sent Mason a wicked grin. “Don’t laugh. It’s the best T-shirt I’ve ever seen. I fully intend to wear it around town and make everyone jealous and start a fashion revolution.”

  Laughing too hard to focus on her shoulder, he had to lean his forehead against the chair’s back. The mirth was infectious, and Keira couldn’t resist watching him as his cheeks turned pink and his shoulders shook. But as his chuckles subsided and he straightened to examine the stitched cut, she couldn’t wipe away the memory of how dark his eyes had looked just moments before. As though he truly was hiding something.

  “This is looking good,” Mason said. His hands were warm against her skin.

  Keira didn’t know where to look—at the fingers gently prodding around the stitches, at Mason’s face, or at the cold fire grate. She settled on the final option but couldn’t stop glancing at the man leaning close. “There’s no sign of infection, so I’m really happy about that. Keep it clean, rest up, et cetera. We can take the stitches out in a few days.”

  He poured antiseptic onto a cotton ball and dabbed around the area before reapplying the bandages. “How are you finding Blighty? Not too dull, I hope?”

  “I kind of have the opposite problem.” Gunmen, conspiracy theorists, ghosts—there’s not much room for boredom here. Keira licked her lips. She’d been looking for an opening to ask about the cemetery’s resident spirit. Mason’s question didn’t offer a perfect transition, but it was close enough for her to try. “Actually, I was browsing the graveyard yesterday…”

  His eyes brightened with barely contained amusement. “Browsing? Like a library?”

  She snorted. “Okay, that came out wrong. I was exploring the graveyard. Better?”

  “Much.”

  “I found one name that sounded familiar: Emma Carthage. I’m sure I’ve heard it before. You don’t know who she was, do you?” She instantly felt guilty about the lie as Mason’s expression lit up.

  “Really? Recalling names is a very good sign. Can you try to feel around it and pick up on any emotions or memories attached to it?”

  “Uh—” She hoped she wasn’t turning red from the shame. “I mean, it’s not like a memory or anything—it just seemed a bit familiar. I was wondering if I might have heard it somewhere. Maybe in town…”

  His head tilted to one side as she backpedaled. She was learning to associate the gesture with curiosity and knew he didn’t fully believe her excuses. To her surprise, though, all he said was, “Emma Carthage is a bit of a local legend. It was before my time, but I can tell you what I know if you like? It’s somewhat of a long story.”

  “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mason closed the lid on his kit and set it beside his feet. He leaned back in the chair and tapped on his lip, apparently absorbed in thought. “I’ve heard the story a few times, but mostly when I was a child, so the details are muddy.”

  “Take your time.” Keira pulled her sweater back on over the bug-eyed cat shirt and settled in for the tale.

  “I think I need to give you some context first. Blighty was founded by a gentleman called Mortimer Crispin. He built a wool mill and bought the farmland surrounding it, then tempted people to settle in the area with lucrative job offers. It turned out to be a profitable idea, and his already considerable wealth increased substantially before his death.

  “The company was eventually closed, and the mill abandoned. Because Blighty had relied heavily on the Crispins’ business, most people expected it to become a ghost town within a few years. But for one reason or another, a large section of the
population decided to stay. Some commute to the cities, others set up their own small or home businesses, and Blighty is… Well, thriving is a bit of a strong word, but surviving sounds too dire. It’s existing, I guess, pretty much the same as it has for several generations.”

  Keira kicked off her boots and pulled her feet up underneath herself as she leaned forward. “Do the Crispins still live here?”

  “Only one: Dane Crispin. He still lives in Mortimer’s old house near the abandoned mill. He doesn’t work, and there are rumors that the Crispin fortune has run low. Dane’s sold several parcels of the family’s land over the last decade.”

  Licking its lips, the black cat appeared beside Mason’s chair. It arched its back, then leaped into his lap. Mason waited for the cat to settle before continuing. “In the seventies and early eighties, the family consisted of a gentleman named George and his three adult children. I never met him, but people have described George as arrogant. He seemed to truly believe his family was superior to those in the town simply because they had money. Out of his three children, he favored the eldest, Frank.

  “From all accounts, Frank was a hardworking and kind person. If people ever talked about his faults, it was that he was too easily swayed by his father’s iron will. George expected his son to marry into one of the larger cities’ tycoon banking families, but his plans were scuttled when Frank fell in love with one of the local girls.”

  It was easy to see where this story was heading. “Emma Carthage.”

  “Bingo. She was beautiful, but George was livid when he found out. The Carthages were a poor family, descended from a worker in Mortimer’s mill. To George, tying the families together would be a humiliating debasement, and he did everything possible to prevent it, including threatening to disown his son and promising to ruin the Carthage family.

  “When Frank and Emma realized George would never relent, they planned a secret wedding. George discovered the plans and locked his son in the house on the day they were supposed to elope. He then went to see the Carthage family with an offer: he would give them a small fortune if they removed their daughter from the town.”