The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Blanche Day Manos

  “Maybe we can do some family research while we’re there,” Mom said, pouring coffee. “Wouldn’t it be nice to discover some long-lost cousins?”

  “M-m-m,” I answered.

  “Hurry, now, Darcy. Shake a leg. I’ll take care of the dishes while you go get ready.”

  I gulped down most of the bowl of oatmeal and headed for the stairs. At least one of us felt cheery this morning.

  By the time I showered, tugged on blue jeans, a yellow t-shirt and matching long-sleeved top, I felt better. Lugging our suitcases downstairs, I found Mom waiting by the front door. She wore what she called her “city clothes”—a blue denim pantsuit with flowers embroidered on the lapel and hem of the jacket. Blinking, I looked twice. She was actually wearing makeup!

  “I’ll pull the car out of the garage and get as close to the porch as I can,” I told my mother while fishing in my purse for keys to the Passport.

  “I won’t melt,” Mom assured me.

  She sang “Amazing Grace” as we drove east toward Fayetteville.

  Laughing, I said, “If I had known a trip would do you this much good, I would have insisted we go a month earlier. As a matter of fact, I believe I did suggest it.”

  “I know,” she said. “I don’t understand why I’m so happy, unless it’s because this nightmare may soon be over. We just need to get out of the way now so Grant won’t have to worry about us, and let him find and arrest the perps.”

  Grinning, I said, “The ‘perps,’ Mom?”

  “Didn’t I say that right?” she asked. “I think it’s short for perpetrators. Isn’t that what they say on TV?”

  A conversation with my mother is never dull.

  As we crossed the Ventris River Bridge, rain came down harder. Switching my wiper speed to “fast,” I made sure the headlights were on. Driving in rain was never fun and the oily surface of the highway could become slick when wet. I didn’t want to hydroplane. However, to me, a dangerous road was much more preferable to the man-made threat that surrounded us in Levi.

  We both lapsed into thoughtfulness. The regular slap-slap of the wipers had a lulling effect and the rain seemed to be a curtain, shutting us off from the rest of the world. The shower, however, was increasing to a downpour and I slowed even more.

  Mom must have been concerned about road conditions too. “You know Deertrack Hill is coming up,” she cautioned. “That hill is treacherous enough in good weather.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I answered.

  “The highway department installed a heavy-duty guardrail a while back, but I don’t want us to be the ones to test it. This is not the time to mention it, but you do remember that a few people have rolled off that hill, don’t you?”

  Evidently, her euphoria of the early morning was evaporating. Driving in rain did nothing to help my nerves either.

  “Yes, Mom,” I said. “In fact, according to newspaper files, five cars have rolled off that hill. Two people survived. Three did not.”

  She sighed. “Well, just drive carefully.”

  “The only way to be truly safe is to pull off the road and wait for this rain to let up,” I said, “but I keep feeling that we need to hurry. Do you sense that too?”

  My mother was twisting her hands together nervously. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it.”

  Once again, the only sounds were the rain and the wipers and the hum of tires on the pavement. Not even one motorist had passed or met us since leaving the city limits.

  Lightning cut a jagged path across the sky in front of us. I strained to see through the torrent pelting the Passport. Even with the wipers turned to high, the rain obscured my vision.

  When I noticed fuzzy headlights in my rearview mirror, I felt a sense of relief.

  “I guess we aren’t the only goofy people out for a drive today,” I said.

  Mom craned her neck to look behind us. “Misery loves company,” she said. “That car must have pulled in from one of the side roads because I didn’t notice anyone following us out of Levi. Maybe they are going to Fayetteville too.”

  “The driver must be surer of the road than I am,” I said, noting the speed the car was traveling. “Seems to me he’s driving too fast. He’s coming up behind us pretty quickly.”

  A mile before reaching Deertrack Hill, those headlights moved up even closer. In the mirror, the car reminded me of a dark monster with glowing eyes. Lightning flashed and I got a better look. I gasped and Mom turned to look at me.

  “What is it, Darcy?”

  My throat felt dry. “That car following us, Mom; I can’t see it well, but it is a big car like the Buick Ray Drake drove.”

  My mother shook her head. “Surely it isn’t, Darcy. Maybe it just happens to resemble Drake’s car. There are lots of Buicks on the road.”

  I decided to check him out. “I’m going to slow down and give him a chance to go around me.”

  When I let up on the accelerator, the other driver did the same. A cold finger of fear traced its way down my spine.

  I increased my speed. Our follower increased his speed. Trying to keep my voice steady, I said. “My cell phone, Mom. Get it out of my purse and punch in 911.”

  Mom fumbled through my purse and flicked open the phone. She groaned. “Darcy, the battery is dead.”

  Gritting my teeth, I realized I had forgotten to plug it into the charger last night.

  “It’s all right,” I assured her. “I’ll look for a driveway and pull in.”

  My mother shook her head. “I don’t think we’ll find a driveway until we get down the hill.”

  With the next flash of lightning, I knew the car following us was not Drake’s. The silhouette was different. It was more square-topped with darkened windows. It appeared black in the eerie light. Something else seemed odd about the car. The windows looked recessed. But why would a car have recessed windows unless it was an armored vehicle? It looked like pictures of limousines used to protect dignitaries and government officials. Were we being followed by an armor-plated, bulletproof sedan? If so, for goodness sake, why?

  If the other car was not carrying an important personage, why was it so equipped? Who else would need such a vehicle? With a quiet certainty, a word popped into my mind: mobsters. The sophisticated explosive device yesterday, the three murders committed while leaving no clues to the murderer, this bulletproof car behind us, all pointed to one suspect—a member of the underworld. The only organized crime figure who had visited Levi lately, to my knowledge, was Ray Drake, alias Cub Mathers.

  But why drive a car so heavily protected if the driver’s enemies were two widows? My mother and I were not known to be dangerous, but that car would have been worthy of the likes of Al Capone. Whoever our pursuer was, he must be paranoid.

  The headlights following us which at first had seemed friendly now seemed ominous and threatening.

  Mom twisted around to look behind us again. “Oh, no, Darcy! It is coming too fast. It’s going to hit us!”

  The big car nudged my back bumper. Mom cried, “Oh, my Lord, help us!”

  The Passport fishtailed across the highway and I wrestled with the steering wheel until I finally got back into the right lane. My face felt stiff and I tasted blood where I had bitten my lip. Gritting my teeth, I muttered, “I can’t let him pass.” Newspaper articles of people being forced off the road raced through my mind.

  The pursuer’s headlights grew larger in my rearview mirror. The car was coming at us again.

  “Hang on!” I hissed and hit the accelerator. The Passport responded and we surged forward. A road sign cautioning that the speed limit was twenty-five miles per hour passed in a blur.

  Behind us, our tormentor came so quickly that we seemed not to be moving at all. The car was going around me, despite my best efforts. But then, I saw that the driver had no intention of passing. He pulled into the lane beside me. Now even with us, nose to nose, the sedan was pacing me.

  The heavy car
edged ever closer to the center line. Its passenger door was perilously close to my driver’s side door.

  Scooting farther toward the ditch, I glanced at my mother. She was praying as she clutched the dashboard.

  A bolt of lightning slivered the sky, hovering long enough to make trees beside the highway stand out for a split second like some eerie black and white photograph. In that instant, I saw inside the metal hulk beside us. The car contained not one man, but two.

  Struggling to stay on the pavement, we careened around the first curve down Deertrack Hill. Tires screamed. The guardrail was only a few inches away and below that was the Ventris River.

  The other driver closed the gap between his passenger door and my door. The first bump was a dull thud as he struck and we skidded. Then, he whammed us again. Sparks flew as metal struck metal and my Passport slid. We hit the guardrail with a rending sound.

  My forehead connected with the rearview mirror and Mom gripped her door handle as if it were a lifeline.

  Terror settled into a cold, hard knot of fury in the pit of my stomach. I would not continue in this crazy race that we could not win, but I would not be at the mercy of this evil being who was playing with us as if he were a cat and we were the cornered mice. We had one chance, a slim one. Praying that we would join the ranks of those who survived a tumble down Deertrack Hill, I determined that we would indeed go over; not sideways, but nose first.

  “Hang on!” I yelled. Stomping the accelerator, I wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The Passport lurched up and over the guardrail. The last thing I heard was the sound of that reinforced rail snapping like a popsicle stick.

  Chapter 22

  Something wet dripped onto my face. Very annoying. Did Mom know her roof leaked? Dad would never have allowed such a thing. My bed must be under a hole in the roof. Strangely, someone, somewhere, was groaning. Pain twisted my mid-section. Slowly, I raised my heavy hands and felt the seat belt stretched tightly around my waist. Horror gripped me as memory returned. I was the person groaning and my head, as well as my stomach hurt. This nightmare was real and I was not waking up safe and secure in my childhood bedroom.

  With a huge effort, I opened my eyes. As my blurry sight cleared, I saw that a large, leafy limb encircled the front of my Passport. Odd! Were we in a tree? And why was my seat belt biting into my stomach? Fumbling for the catch on the belt, my fingers felt cold and stiff. Where was that buckle?

  I remembered the sound of the guardrail snapping and then darkness closed in. We must be at the foot of Deertrack Hill. We had survived! My heart turned over. At least, I survived, but where was my mother? Twisting around, I saw that she was not in the front seat nor the floorboard. Had she been thrown out? Was she dead? My heart beat so hard in my throat, it nearly choked me.

  Moistening my lips, I croaked, “Mom? Where are you?”

  From the back seat, a faint voice asked, “Darcy? Darcy, are we alive?”

  Relief washed over me, leaving me limp. I would have laughed but my face hurt. Mom’s hands touched the back of my head. “I landed back here,” she said. “I’m sort of wedged in but I don’t think any bones are broken.”

  “Thank God,” I breathed. Tears slid down my face. “I’m going to try to unfasten my seat belt. This good little car protected us. It didn’t roll. It stayed upright.”

  Mom’s voice shook. “It wasn’t the car that protected us; it was an angel.”

  Pushing and tugging at the belt, I finally had enough slack to unbuckle and shrug out of it. Why hadn’t my air bag deployed? Did the drag from the thickets on the side of the hill slow us down enough to cushion our abrupt stop against a tree? My driver’s side window was completely broken out, but that was a blessing because my door wouldn’t open. This window would have to be our escape hatch.

  Feeling for my mother’s hand behind me, I asked, “Can you crawl to the front?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Good. I’m going out of this window, then I’ll reach back in and pull you through if you can push with your feet.”

  Three minutes later we stood on the ground beside my wrecked Passport. Rain dripped off the leaves of the giant oak which had stopped our downward slide. Wet, bleeding, and shaking, Mom and I hugged each other and tried to breathe normally.

  My mother’s face was scratched but she seemed to be all right. “Are you sure you are okay?” I asked.

  “After surviving that, I don’t think I’ll ever be afraid of anything again,” she said. “I must be a pretty tough cookie.”

  “And a pretty brave one,” I said.

  Mom touched my face. “Oh, Darcy, your poor head is bleeding.”

  Gingerly, I felt of my forehead. My hand came away red and sticky. “It’s okay,” I said. “It probably looks worse than it feels. Believe it or not, it doesn’t hurt much.”

  Shaking her head, she drew a deep breath and said, “At least we got away from that rat in the other car. Why on earth would anybody want to run us off the road?”

  “Why indeed, Mom? Why do you think?”

  She sat down on a wet, gray rock. “It’s the same person who killed Ben and Skye, isn’t it? The same one who sent that poison gas trap yesterday?”

  “It has to be. And it isn’t one. It’s two. I saw inside their car.”

  An alien sound broke the stillness. “Shhh,” I whispered. “I hear something.”

  At first, all we heard was the drip-drip of rain, then through the woods came the unmistakable murmur of voices.

  “Maybe somebody saw us go over the guardrail,” Mom whispered. “Maybe they are coming to help.”

  “Or maybe they are the guys in that thug car. Quick, we’ve got to get out of here.”

  Any attempt to run would be futile. Neither of us was fit for a fifty-yard dash. Tugging at Mom’s hand, I urged, “Let’s see if we can find a hiding place, something to cover us.”

  We limped downhill as fast as we could, until a dense sumac thicket blocked our way. I held my finger to my lips and pointed to the bushy clump. Sinking down to my knees, I crawled in as far as I could among the stalks. Mom followed. I motioned for her to lie down and spread some dead leaves over her, trying not to think of the ticks, chiggers, and possibly snakes who might call this thicket their home. At the moment, natural dangers dimmed in the light of deadly humanity.

  A man’s voice came clearly to my ears. “I tell you, there’s no use in tramping through these miserable woods looking for their bodies. Nobody could survive going down this hill at the speed they went over. Come on, let’s go.”

  The crashing in the underbrush grew louder. From my hiding place, all I could see between sumac stalks were the feet of the approaching men. One wore scuffed brown boots; the other, black lace-ups. Afraid to move so I could see better, I tried to breathe silently.

  A rough laugh and then a second voice asked, “What’s the matter? No stomach for a little blood? Help me open this car door. We’ve got to make sure they’re dead.”

  The door of the Passport creaked as the men wrenched it open. I heard a muffled exclamation. “Not here! Then, where —”

  “They must have been thrown out somewhere. Like I said, they’re dead. Come on, we’re wasting time. We’ve got to get out of here before somebody stops to examine the broken guard rail and alerts the police.”

  My stomach clenched. That guttural voice sounded familiar. It sounded like Ray Drake! So, he hadn’t been working alone but who was his partner? Jim Clendon? The second voice wasn’t Jasper’s—I was sure of that much.

  “Stop whining! You’re a big city boy and you’re soft. Me? I was born in these hills, know them like I know my own face. I’m going to look around. Go on back if you want, but I’m going to make sure those two didn’t survive.” He laughed, not a pleasant sound. “I don’t know how you’re going to go far, though. I’ve got the car keys.”

  Holding my breath, I heard footsteps nearing our hiding place. Mom’s hand on my arm shook. Trying not to blink, I saw throu
gh the thicket, rain-stained boots step ever closer. The owner of those boots must have bent over to shove aside some low-hanging branches. His hands were inches from my face. In his right hand, he held a big, black gun. On the third finger of his left hand, he wore a gold ring, a ring whose replica now resided in my mother’s recipe box.

  Feeling more than hearing my mother gasp, I knew that she saw the ring too. I prayed that she would not give away our hiding place.

  At last, these two moved away. Standing, I helped my mother to her feet, half expecting her to collapse from fright.

  However, another emotion gripped her.

  “That rat!” she hissed. “He’s wearing Ben’s ring. He cut it off Ben’s finger and now he’s wearing it! That low-down, dirty . . . .”

  Never had I seen my mother so furious. Through these past weeks, she had been sad, worried, frightened, and very stubborn, but now, I feared she was going to race after the killer and attack him with her bare hands.

  Holding to her arm, I cautioned, “I agree with your description, but we’ve got to get out of here. I don’t think we are able to climb back up the hill to the highway and if we try, we will probably run into those two. I don’t know where we are, but going down will be easier than going up.”

  Leading the way, I broke through briers and pushed aside saplings. Never again would I fear that the birds and animals were losing their natural habitat. Nature’s greenery was alive and well and most of it seemed to be growing on the lower slopes of Deertrack Hill. Tree limbs slapped our faces and thorns grabbed our hands and clothes as we slid, slipped, and fell through an entangling wilderness on our way down to the Ventris River.

  Finally, the hill ended in a dry stream bed. Sinking down on a large limestone rock, I tried to stop panting and breathe normally. My mother lay down on a bed of moss under one of the cottonwood trees.

  She groaned. “I’ve got to catch my breath.”

  I dabbed my bloody forehead with the hem of my shirt. “Same here. Looks like the rain is getting harder. The only good thing about that is it’ll wash away our footprints.”