The Prophet

by Amanda Stevens

  “That’s quite a leap.”

  “It was the right decision for me. I would have been miserable otherwise, and I’m good at what I do.”

  She turned back to the road, and I covertly studied her profile. She was a gorgeous woman, but hers was a cool, remote beauty whereas Mariama’s had been fiery and exotic. Comparatively speaking, I felt a bit of a mouse. I had always thought of myself as a quiet pretty. A blue-eyed blonde with a clear complexion and a nice smile. Thin and fit from my years of working in cemeteries, but there was nothing extraordinary about me at all. Except that I saw ghosts.

  “How did you meet?” I asked.

  She took a moment to answer. “I killed someone. John was assigned the case.”

  I stared at her in astonishment, my mind conjuring an image. Her hands, covered in blood, clutching a dripping knife. I felt my own fingers curl around the armrest. “That’s…quite a meeting.”

  “Hardly the stuff of fantasies,” she agreed. “It was a very difficult time for my family. John was a saint. I hate to think what would have happened if another detective had shown up at our house that night.”

  “What did happen? Or should I not ask?”

  “I don’t mind you knowing. I would be curious, too, if I were in your place.”

  My place?

  “The victim—if one could call him that—was Clementine’s husband. It was a matter of me killing him before he killed her.”

  “He was abusive?”

  “We didn’t know for a long time. She hid it well. She married young against all our wishes and when things got bad, she was ashamed to come to us. It finally escalated to the point where she had to leave him. But he wouldn’t let her go. They never do. At first it was phone calls and emails. Then he started showing up at her work and at home, leaving little notes for her to find, all scented with her perfume.”

  “That’s why she doesn’t wear it anymore,” I said.

  “Despite all the precautions we took, he was able to get inside the house, into her bedroom. The police were useless because he was very careful about not getting caught. He knew our habits, our schedules, how to deactivate the alarm system. The love notes turned into threats. We were all terrified that it would end badly. And, of course, it did.”

  I was thinking about something else Clementine had said. She hated to think that anyone could come back from the dead. No wonder the notion of ghosts terrified her.

  “We were both living with Grandmother at the time,” Isabel said. “I came home one night to find him in the house. He’d cornered my sister with a knife, still insisting that he loved her, that he would do anything to win her back. All he wanted was another chance. On and on like that. When I saw how helpless she was—how helpless she’d been during that whole relationship—something snapped. I could have called 911 or even a neighbor for help. But I knew that, even if we managed to stop him that time, he would be back. He would keep coming back until one or both of them ended up dead. So I got my grandfather’s gun and I shot him.”

  “But surely that would be considered justifiable homicide,” I said.

  “I wasn’t the only one who shot him, you see.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Clementine took the gun from my hand and emptied the chamber in him. I believe the term is overkill,” Isabel murmured.

  I couldn’t quite reconcile that harsh description with the soft loveliness of Clementine Perilloux. “I thought you said you killed him.”

  “I guess that depends on whether or not he died from the first bullet,” she said.

  I was still gripping the armrest. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because there’s a bond between John and my family…between John and me that is never going away.”

  “I…see.”

  Her glance, I thought, was defiant. “He took care of us. He made everything go away, and my sister was able to get the help she needed. It took years of therapy and confinement, but she’s finally ready to move on with her life.”

  “Confinement?”

  “In a psychiatric hospital.”

  “I see.” I remembered my breakfast with Clementine—the trembling hands, those odd hesitations, her determination to stand on her own two feet. It all made sense now. “How did John make everything go away?”

  “The D.A. never brought charges even though he was under considerable pressure to do so. That was John’s doing.”

  I was shivering a little because I didn’t like where this conversation had been or where it was likely headed.

  “It’s important for you to understand how close we are,” she said, and I wondered if there might not be a hint of madness in her eyes. “I would do anything for him. If anyone ever tried to hurt him, I don’t know what I would do.”

  I said nothing, lest I set her off.

  She sent me another bold look, and then her expression softened unexpectedly. “But it is just friendship. Nothing more. And that’s what I wanted you to know.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her entirely, but I also thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie. “Did you know Mariama?”

  She inhaled sharply. “She was a very powerful, very beautiful woman, but she was evil through and through.”

  “Evil is a strong word.”

  “I don’t use it lightly. She could be utterly charming when she wanted or needed to be, but she wasn’t above using a young woman’s mental frailty to her advantage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She drew Clementine into her mind games. My sister was very vulnerable as you can imagine and she adored Shani. She had no idea she was being used. I don’t want to go into detail, but suffice to say, Mariama made John’s life a living hell.”

  “Because of her affair with Robert Fremont?”

  She turned in surprise. “You know about that?”

  “John told me.”

  She shrugged. “By then, I don’t think he even cared. He would have been well rid of her. What he did care about was his daughter. He lived in fear that Mariama would run off to Africa with her again and disappear for good. Or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “Why do you think he didn’t leave her?” Isabel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “He was afraid she would take her revenge out on Shani.”

  I stared incredulously. “Her own daughter?”

  “No one was sacred to Mariama.”

  But her own child. I could hardly comprehend it.

  I thought about that night at Devlin’s house when Shani had appeared at my side. The moment Mariama put out her arms, the little ghost had vanished, as if she was afraid of her mother’s spirit.

  “John cares about you,” Isabel said. “I think he may be falling in love with you. If Mariama was still around, I’d be worried for your safety. So I’m glad she’s gone. I’m glad she can’t hurt you or anyone else from the grave.”

  If only that were true. But I had a terrible feeling that Mariama was more dangerous to me dead than she ever would have been alive.

  * * *

  The moment I walked into my house, I felt the cold. The bone-frost of an otherworldly visitor.

  I walked slowly down the hall, calling to Angus. He came at once, and when I reached down to give him a pat, I noticed that his fur was icy and bristled.

  I’d left the kitchen light on, and it spilled into my office where the chill seemed to be concentrated. I moved to the door, hovering there for the longest time before I gathered the courage to enter.

  Shani sat cross-legged on the floor inside my office—inside my sanctuary—surrounded by a shimmering aura that cast her in the palest glow.

  As I stepped into the room, she looked up, dark eyes shining in that strange light.

  “Will you help me?”

  She spoke aloud this time. I was certain of it. Or maybe I could no longer distinguish between reality and the world that existed only in my head.

  My teeth chattered from the cold. I pulled my jacket tightly around m
e as I stared down at her. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

  She held out her hand, and I saw the glitter of a tiny garnet ring on her finger. It was the same ring she’d once left in my backyard. I’d taken it to her grave because Papa had told me I should get rid of it. It was the only way to get rid of her.

  Obviously, Papa had been wrong.

  I knelt in front of her. “What should I do?”

  Already, she was starting to fade. “Come find me,” she said, her words echoing as though spoken from the bottom of a very deep well. “Come find me, Amelia.”

  I put out a hand to her. She slipped off the ring and placed it gently in my palm. And then she vanished.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I headed south the next day into Beaufort County, the garnet ring glittering on the tip of my pinkie. Even after a few hours of sleep and a morning spent clearing brush in Oak Grove Cemetery, I was still reeling from the knowledge that Shani had found a way into my home. The heart on my bathroom mirror had been her first attempt, I supposed. And now if she could get in, others could, too.

  Since childhood, hallowed ground had been my one foolproof protection. My only escape. That was gone now. Shani’s manifestation had punched a hole in my illusion of a safe haven, and now, without Papa’s rules, without a sanctuary, I had nothing standing between me and the ghosts.

  My only hope was to help her move on before she led more spirits to me. And my only clue of how to find her was the garnet ring. She had brought it from her grave and placed it in my hand, so the logical place to start my search was in Chedathy Cemetery.

  But I had other business to attend to in Beaufort County before I drove out to the graveyard. Shani wasn’t the only ghost to whom I’d promised my assistance. Robert Fremont was still out there somewhere. He was keeping his distance for whatever reason, but I had no doubt he would materialize one morning on the Battery or next to my car at Oak Grove Cemetery expecting answers.

  I wondered if he even knew about Tom Gerrity’s murder. Was that the reason he’d sent me to the private detective’s office? He’d felt very strongly that I should go there. Maybe he’d had a vision or a premonition. Like his memory, his prophecies seemed to come and go, but then he was dead, after all. I supposed I should cut him some slack.

  My first stop was the Beaufort County Coroner’s office. I hadn’t yet figured out how to finesse my way into Garland Finch’s good graces, but I had the card from Regina Sparks in my pocket. I was fully prepared to pull it out if need be, along with a spiel about South Carolina’s open records law. But as it turned out, I needed to do nothing more than introduce myself.

  “Amelia Gray,” the woman behind the front desk mused as she scratched her head with a pencil. Her beehive was a thing of beauty. I might have thought it a cutting-edge fashion statement if I didn’t have the feeling she’d worn that same style since the sixties. “I have a note about you around here somewhere.” She scavenged through the papers on her messy desk to produce a manila envelope with a pink Post-it note attached. “Ah, here we are. You’re picking up some records for Regina Sparks. Garland said to give you whatever you needed.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” I perked up. This was going to be so much easier than I’d anticipated.

  The woman gave me a reproachful look over her glasses. “You didn’t need to make a special trip down here, you know. I could have emailed the reports to the Charleston County Coroner’s office.”

  “I had business in the area, anyway.”

  “Well, here you go, then.” She handed me the envelope.

  I took it reluctantly. “What’s this?”

  She lifted an overplucked brow. “The reports? That is what you’re here for, isn’t it? Check and make sure everything is in there before you leave. Be a shame if something is missing after you came all this way.”

  “But how did you know what I needed?”

  “Garland told me.” She eyed me curiously. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, I just…no.”

  I opened the flap and glanced through the pages, stopping cold when I saw the names. Now I understood. Regina had assumed the friend I’d referred to was Devlin. The autopsy reports she’d requested were for Shani and Mariama.

  “There seems to be one missing,” I said. “Didn’t Regina also request the report of a man named Robert Fremont?” I held my breath, hoping I hadn’t set off an alarm for her.

  “Garland didn’t mention him, but I guess it could have slipped his mind. He’s no spring chicken, although he’s not about to admit it.” She tapped a few keys on her computer. “Robert Fremont, you say? Why do I know that name?”

  “He was a Charleston cop who was killed down here a couple of years ago.”

  “I don’t remember the particulars, but that name sure rings a bell. Has something new turned up on his case?”

  “I don’t know. Regina didn’t discuss it with me. I’m just supposed to collect the postmortems.”

  She studied the computer screen. “You may as well take a seat. We’re slow as molasses today. Now, is that F-r-e-e-m-o-n-t?”

  “One e.”

  “All right, hold your horses.”

  I was afraid she would have to check with the coroner before she released the records or, worse, verify with Regina. But instead, I heard the whir of a printer, and a moment later, she handed me a single sheet of paper.

  “This is just the summary,” she said. “If Regina wants the full report, she’ll have to submit a formal request. But she knows that.”

  “I’m sure this will be fine,” I said, as I stuffed the page in with the others. “Thanks again for your help.”

  “No problem. Y’all take care.”

  I hurried out of the building and climbed into my car before anyone had a chance to stop me. Pulling out the reports, I scanned all three, then read back through them more carefully. Something niggled but I didn’t know why. Everything seemed to be in order. Nothing leaped out at me, so I put them back in the envelope and set it aside for the time being.

  Chedathy Cemetery—and Shani’s ghost—waited for me.

  * * *

  On my way to the cemetery, I stopped at the bridge where Mariama’s car had gone over the guardrail. I’d been there once before when Shani had first appeared in my garden because I thought I might find answers in the place where she’d drawn her last breath. Back then the heart on my window and the garnet ring had been our only communication. Now I knew that she wanted me to come find her and I dreaded what that might entail.

  I had no idea why I’d come back to the bridge, but the compulsion had been too strong to resist. Something or someone was trying to direct my actions, be it my instincts, the universe or my spirit guide. These impulses didn’t happen out of the blue, and according to Clementine, I needed to pay particular attention to whatever meaningful coincidences might be headed my way.

  Parking on the side of the road, I got out and walked up the incline to stand at the railing, gazing down at the water. It was a still day and the sun warmed my face. I could smell brine from the marshes and pine from the forest. The leaves of the hardwoods had already turned, painting the landscape in brilliant shades of russet, crimson and gold.

  It was very peaceful here. I’d noticed that on my previous trip. I wouldn’t have been surprised to sense some disturbance remaining from the accident. If a house could harbor the emotions of previous residents, then surely a place could capture a scream.

  I heard nothing.

  In that quiet setting, I thought of my conversation with Isabel. Devlin had remained with Mariama because he’d been afraid for Shani. It must have been a horrible situation, one I could hardly imagine.

  With his money and clout, he could have taken Mariama to court and sued for full custody. And if granted, he could have taken every precaution, installed the best security system, hired a full-time guard. But nothing would have kept Mariama away if she’d been bent on revenge. Nothing could keep her away now.

  I to
ok out my phone to check for messages in case Devlin had tried to call, but I couldn’t get a strong enough signal to connect with my voice mail. As I stood there contemplating the water, a patrol car from the Beaufort County Sheriff’s office eased alongside me.

  My first thought was those autopsy reports in the front seat of my car. The woman at the coroner’s office must have caught on to my deception. But then I remembered that, technically, autopsy reports were a matter of public record. Surely I’d done nothing to warrant an arrest.

  “Everything okay here?” he asked through his open window.

  “I’m just enjoying the scenery,” I tried to say casually.

  “Thought you might be having car trouble.” He nodded to the phone in my hand. “You won’t get a signal out here. Have to drive up the road a piece.”

  I turned to stare out over the bridge. “What about on the water?”

  “Nah. I ran out of gas not too long ago and had to wait all morning before anyone came along to give me a tow. Not enough towers in the area,” he said. “You’re out in the boonies.”

  “Well, thank you for stopping to check on me.”

  “I wouldn’t hang out here for too long,” he cautioned. “These swamps are full of meth heads. They’d knock their own mama in the head for a buck.”

  Suppressing a shiver, I nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

  He drove off slowly, and I tried the phone from both ends of the bridge before climbing back into my car. I sat there for a moment, staring at the guardrail as I dredged up Ethan’s account of the accident.

  According to him, Mariama had contacted 911 and then Devlin from her sinking car. How had she managed one call, let alone two, without a signal?

  * * *

  A little while later, I pulled around to the back of Chedathy Cemetery where I’d parked on my last visit. It was early afternoon, but the eerie tremolo of a loon tapped an icy tattoo down my spine as I jumped the ditch of brackish water and set out through the cemetery.

  In the Gullah tradition, personal mementoes decorated the graves, along with seashells and broken pottery. Every now and then the sun shone down through the heavy canopy to catch a mirror just right, and the flash of light simulated a spirit in flight. I loved these old seacoast cemeteries. Everything that had been left upon the mounds—lamps, clocks, bits of porcelain and glass bottles—was an acknowledgement that life did not end with death.