Echoes among the Stones

by Jaime Jo Wright

  Sam pulled back as if she’d struck him. “Heck no! Never. I would—never.” There was enough vehemence in his voice that any other time, Imogene would have believed him.

  He raked his hand through his dark hair, strands sliding between his fingers. “Gahhhhh!” His growl was fierce. He banged the back of his head against the boxes behind them.

  “You need to let me go, Sam.” Imogene edged an inch away from the man. Ida’s brother had shifted dramatically from the charming, grief-stricken widower, who seemed to try to hide behind flirtation, to a troubled, agonized man that angered Imogene, but also—for some twisted, unexplainable reason—tugged at her empathy. It was like the man was trapped. Cornered. Fighting his way out of a battle he couldn’t win.

  “I-I can’t let you outta here.” Sam shook his head. “Not now.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Imogene pressed. “What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Nothing. And neither did Hazel—but she’s dead too.” Sam leaned his head against the boxes again and this time closed his eyes. “I loved her so.”

  The declaration struck Imogene like a fist to the side of her face. She lurched away from him, staring in disbelief.

  Sam held both palms to the sides of his head, his eyes still squinting shut. “It all got so messed up.” He groaned.

  Imogene shifted, positioning her feet beneath her. She was going to run. She had to. Or else her fate wouldn’t be unlike Hazel’s, and she had no intention of dying today. But questions raced through her. Sam loved Hazel? Then if he had, why had he killed her—unless his denial was true?

  “You blew up the post office, didn’t you?” Imogene distracted him from Hazel.

  Sam opened his eyes and studied her face but didn’t seem to notice she was perched on the flats of her feet, knees bent to spring upward.

  “Didn’t you?” Imogene pressed.

  Sam laughed then. A sobbing, defeated type of laugh. “You learn all sorts of stuff when you fight in a war. Dumb thing is, you’d think you’d learn to love what you’re fighting for. Like your own country.”

  “Are you—are you a—?”

  “A Nazi?” Sam’s eyes went wide. He curled his lip in derision of the thought. “Those beasts deserve what they got. Now and in the afterlife.”

  “But you blew up the post office. And the arson? You set the town hall on fire too, didn’t you? You could have,” she realized. “Your shift ended before Ida’s and mine, before we got back to town.”

  Sam sniffed, rubbing his fingers in a violent sweep back and forth beneath his nose. He leaned toward her, his eyes narrowing. “I came home like all the boys. Slack happy the war was over. We’d fought for a cause, and dang it, we’d won.”

  “And that was swell of you,” Imogene assured him. Maybe if she was nice, maybe if she used honey and sugar instead of sour . . .

  “My aunt didn’t write to me and let me know they took the farm.” Sam rolled his lips together, then sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. “I came home to a dead wife and no farm. Nothin’!” He gave his arm an exaggerated wave, indicating the building surrounding them. “This here warehouse was built right where my barn stood. That tree outside the administration building?”

  Imogene nodded. It was all she could do.

  Sam gave a short laugh. “I planted that tree when I was a kid. Planted it right outside my mama’s bedroom window. I was a mama’s boy, see? And I thought if I put a tree there, she’d never forget me. Well, the tree’s still there. House ain’t, though. Guess it wasn’t even good enough for an office. The United States government had to tear it down.”

  Imogene swallowed hard. She wanted to argue with him. Wanted to ask what choice had the government? On someone’s property an ammunitions supply plant needed to be erected. The soldiers needed weaponry. Weaponry needed firepower. But she dared not argue with Sam. He didn’t seem like a killer, but then that was probably why Hazel had trusted him and let him inside the house.

  She sensed the color drain from her face. Good heavens above, Hazel had taken Sam to her bedroom.

  “What were you doing in Hazel’s bedroom?” She’d accused him, still balancing on her feet.

  Sam looked to the ceiling and gave another brief laugh. “You’ll never believe me anyway.”

  Imogene tilted her head to study him. “Why do you say that?”

  Sam met her gaze. “’Cause you’ve already decided I killed her. Well, I didn’t. I loved your sister. She saw something in me. In this broken shell of a man who came home to nothing.”

  “You came home to a son,” Imogene argued.

  Sam’s expression darkened. “I came home to nothing. Leastways, that’s what I thought. Hazel, she was all flowers and dreams. Perfume and imagination. She was shy and yet she could tell it like it was.”

  Yes. That was Hazel. Imogene’s eyes teared.

  Sam continued. “I didn’t mean to love her.” He sounded apologetic. “I didn’t mean to involve her in this. She was someone I could talk to. She knew what it was like—having the land taken. Hazel told me about your little brothers your mama buried here, Billy and Tom. Some of your other relatives too. Heck of a thing to lose your family graves, and for a pittance. The government thinkin’ they can offer money to relocate us? You can’t relocate memories. They stick to the place they were born in.”

  Sam was right. Imogene realized it was partly why she was drawn time and again to Hazel’s dollhouse. To the scene she’d re-created there. Every nuance she could remember in the vivid details of her mind. It was the most startling memory of all her memories. One she would carry with her until death, no matter what happened to their farm decades from now.

  “Hazel would never have condoned your damaging public property like that. Endangering lives? She never would have gone along with it.” Imogene couldn’t help the protest that squeezed from her. She couldn’t believe that of Hazel. Couldn’t believe Hazel—good Hazel—would be sucked into a homemade vendetta of hate. Especially after the war. Especially after seeing what violence did to families.

  Sam tipped his head back once more, closing his eyes as if to watch some scene play out in his mind. “You’re right,” he muttered. “She didn’t go along with it. It’s why she’s dead.”

  “She was going to rat you out, wasn’t she?” Imogene hissed. “You killed her for it.”

  Sam didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t shift his expression. Didn’t even bother to move when Imogene stood, accidentally hitting a wooden crate with her elbow.

  “You just go on believin’ what you want. If you think I killed her, then fine. Doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”

  Imogene stared down at him. Sam’s entire body sagged in resignation. Maybe even in relief? She couldn’t tell. But she only had two options now. Run, or kill the man who sat on the floor beside her. Kill him with her own two hands and become no better than he was. Exacting deeds out of vengeance and demand for restitution. But no amount of bloodshed, no amount of gasping as she strangled the breath out of him would satisfy her. Hazel was dead. Sam’s death wouldn’t bring her back.

  Nothing would bring her back.

  CHAPTER 36

  Aggie

  Hello?” The front door of Mumsie’s house was open. Aggie entered, glancing around. The late afternoon was cloudy, the leaves rustling in the autumn breeze. “Rebecca?” she called out. There wasn’t any reason for Mumsie’s caregiver to be at the house, yet she was the only other person with a key.

  “Hello?” Aggie took a hesitant step toward the kitchen.

  “Aggie?”

  “Ahhh!” Aggie startled at the voice behind her, spinning, clutching at her throat—as if that would do something miraculous in an emergency—and leveled eyes on the caregiver. “Rebecca!” she gasped. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”

  The younger woman winced. “I’m sorry. I left my book here from the other day and I wanted to retrieve it. I didn’t want to call you since I figured you were at the hospital with Mrs. Ha
yward.”

  It made sense. Silly, but it made sense.

  Rebecca dug in the front pocket of her hoodie sweatshirt. “This was at the door when I arrived. I was just heading to put it on the kitchen table for you.”

  Aggie eyed Rebecca as she reached for the envelope, then opened it. She glanced down and came just short of launching it across the room. “Call the police,” Aggie said. She heard the graveness in her voice. Felt the sensation of urgency, mixed with the necessity not to panic, flood her body.

  “What is it?” Rebecca’s eyes went wide.

  “I said, call the police.” Aggie spun away from the caregiver once she saw Rebecca fumbling for her phone. She hurried into the kitchen and placed the envelope on the table.

  More bone fragments.

  No note this time.

  Just—

  Her phone trilled. Aggie jumped, squelching a squeal, and answered it.

  Collin’s voice sounded harried and urgent. “You need to come straightaway.”

  “Where?” Aggie clutched the phone tighter, glancing at the envelope with bone fragments as if it were going to fly away.

  “The cemetery, Love. I need you to come straightaway.”

  “I-I can’t. I . . .” This was surreal. She didn’t even know what to say.

  “There’s something here you need to see.” Collin wasn’t giving up.

  Neither was she. “Collin, there’s something here you should see.”

  “Bone fragments,” they both said in unison.

  “What?” Again in unison.

  Aggie waved her hand to shut Collin up, even though he couldn’t see her. “No, no, I have bone fragments here. At Mumsie’s. In an envelope.”

  “Same, Love. Left on the desk in the office. Left there while we were at the grave we exhumed.”

  “I’ve called the police,” Aggie announced.

  “I have them here.” Collin had bested her. “I’m guessing by the looks of it, it’s probably pig—just as before. But I’ve no clue what you’re holding there. Oh. The detective says not to touch it.”

  Aggie nodded. It was why she’d set it on the table. It’d been tampered with enough as it was.

  “They’ve dispatched a unit,” Rebecca said from the doorway, looking about as worried as Aggie had to assume her own face showed.

  “Collin, the police are on their way.”

  “Fine. Finish there, but then you still need to come. There’s—more.”

  “More?” Aggie frowned. “What do you mean ‘more’?”

  Hesitation. Then, “Just come as soon as you can.”

  “I came as soon as I could.” Aggie arrived breathless, which made little sense since she’d driven. Still, it felt like she’d run a marathon.

  Collin looked up from the desk in the cemetery office. Dusk was settling. The police had left Mumsie’s home with the bone fragments after interviewing herself and Rebecca. It appeared they’d left the cemetery as well.

  “You’ll want to sit down for this.” Collin’s ever-present twinkle was gone from his eyes. The depressions in his cheeks were shallow, not deep from the impact of his smile.

  Aggie plopped onto a nearby chair, ignoring the hardness of its plain wooden frame. “What is it?”

  Collin turned back to the desk and slipped on cotton gloves. He reached for something, turned back to her, and extended his hand.

  A ring lay in the middle of his palm. A gold band. No jewels. No diamonds. Aggie knew instantly that it was meant to be a man’s ring. It was dirty, almost tarnished, as if it’d been dug up from some hole in the . . .

  Aggie blanched. “Please tell me you did not take that off the skeleton.”

  Collin shook his head. “On the contrary. I uncovered it in the grave. Underneath where the body had been disposed of.”

  She raised a brow, eyeing the ring with suspicion. “And why do I need to see it?”

  Collin paused, then lifted the ring between his index finger and thumb, holding it out for Aggie to see. “The inscription, Love.”

  Aggie leaned forward, squinting to read the finely etched lines on the inside of the ring.

  Forever Yours

  Aggie locked eyes with Collin.

  He tipped his head. “One more word.”

  One more word? Aggie looked back at the ring.

  Hazel

  The quietness that stretched between them felt thick.

  Finally, Collin cleared his throat and dropped the ring back onto his gloved palm. “There were few remnants left in the grave. The decomposition indicates it’s been several decades, if not longer, that the body was left there.”

  “I-I don’t understand. Did you dig up—did you dig up Hazel?” Aggie couldn’t help that her sentence ended in a slight screech.

  “No. No, I don’t believe we did. There is very little chance that someone would place a marker over the wrong grave. Not to mention, we can confidently assume Hazel was properly buried in a coffin. This woman was not.”

  Aggie drew in a shuddering breath. She had no words as Collin twisted in his chair and set the dirty ring on a piece of clean cotton. He reached for something else and turned back.

  “I found this too. It appears to be part of a shoe heel, perhaps one the woman was wearing when buried.”

  “A shoe heel?” Aggie pushed out from her tight throat.

  “Yes. From what I can tell . . .” He let his sentence hang as he swiveled back to the desk and deposited the piece of shoe heel there. He hit a key on his laptop’s keyboard, bringing up a software program with pictures of shoe heels. “It appears to be from what women called an oxford.”

  “Like a short-heeled loafer?”

  “Exactly.” Collin clicked on a photograph. “If so, the style dates the shoe to the forties, maybe fifties.”

  “Around when Hazel died?”

  “Likely, yes.” Collin scratched the back of his neck, arching it to examine the heel on its cloth. “There’s no manufacturer imprint. It’s possible they were handmade. Still, the style—”

  “The style looks like some shoes I have in my own closet!” Aggie interrupted. For some reason, Collin’s line of thinking irritated her. “You can’t say that body was from the forties because a bit of a shoe heel has somehow evaded the merits of time and earth to imply a date.”

  “Actually, Love”—Collin spun on his chair to face her—“I can. Of course, I’ll have the remnants tested in a laboratory, but this is where common sense may be used to build a case. A ring from Hazel—”

  “Assuming it’s our Hazel,” Aggie cut in.

  Collin gave a short nod. “Very well. A potential ring that Hazel gave to someone, a body, a partial shoe consistent with the style and making of a 1940s cobbler, and the pieces fit. Somehow this body was dumped just plots away from Hazel Grayson, with her ring.”

  “It’s a man’s ring, though,” Aggie protested.

  “Did your grandmother’s sister have a lover?”

  Collin’s question was simple and, in this day and age, shouldn’t have been shocking. Even so, Aggie felt a blush creep up her neck. She looked away. “I highly doubt it.”

  “Why? It isn’t farfetched. We should find out.”

  “But you said the skeletal remains were that of a woman?” Aggie frowned. “Why was a man’s ring buried with an unknown woman’s body?”

  Collin nodded. “I didn’t say this wasn’t still a monster of a mystery.”

  Aggie rolled her eyes as her phone trilled. Stifling a growl, she dug in her jeans pocket for it. “Hello?”

  “I’m just calling to check in!” Mrs. Donahue’s airy voice was the last straw to Aggie’s worn patience.

  “If she’s not dead, then don’t call me!” Aggie snapped.

  Collin’s hand shot out to her knee to calm her down.

  Mrs. Donahue cleared her throat nervously. “Oh . . . well, I—and if she’s awake?”

  “What?” Aggie batted Collin’s hand away.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Donahue affirmed, “yo
ur sweet Mumsie is awake now. She’s asking for you.”

  Aggie bolted from her chair, hanging up on the elderly woman. “It’s Mumsie! She’s awake.” She left Collin behind, but as she slipped into the driver’s seat of her car, he surprised her as he hopped in the passenger side.

  “What?” He met her surprised stare. “I happen to like your grandmother. The dead woman can wait.”

  “Where’s the ring? The shoe?” Aggie asked as she started the engine.

  Collin patted the leather messenger bag he carried with him. “In here. As wonky as this day has become, I’m not leaving it behind to mysteriously disappear.”

  “Or to be sprinkled with the dust of bone fragments?” Aggie joked, but didn’t feel any humor as she said it.

  Collin’s jaw was covered in reddish whiskers. His crease deepened as he tossed her a smile. “Ahh, Love, you’re such a pessimist.”

  “I’m a realist.” Aggie shifted into drive and pressed the gas pedal, pulling out of the cemetery drive. “And the realist in me says someone didn’t want us to exhume that body—or find that ring and shoe.”

  Collin twisted his face in a grimace of agreement. “A seventy-year-old ghost perhaps?”

  “I’m going to find out.” Aggie’s tires squealed a bit as she turned onto the main highway in a beeline for the hospital. For Mumsie. For the truth.

  “You mustn’t stress her, the doctor said so.” Mrs. Prentiss was hot on Aggie’s heels as she marched past the waiting area down the hospital corridor toward Mumsie’s room. She didn’t know when she’d grabbed Collin’s hand, but she had. She was holding it, and she liked that she was holding it.

  “Imogene is a bit disoriented,” Jane hollered from behind Mrs. Prentiss.

  “Ohhh, and she hasn’t had her supper!” Mrs. Donahue added.

  Aggie spun, hauling Collin around with her. She glanced at him. He looked about ready to chuckle at her intensity. She tempered herself.