“Mother,” shouted Ruby. “You killed Jared and Gunner? Because they loved each other?”
Max explained, “We suspect Gunner began to remember. Maybe he saw you, Alizon, with the blade? Or Jared had told Gunner that he’d confessed his love for him to Alizon? Either way, you had to kill them both. Didn’t you?”
Alizon struggled as Steele pulled her to her feet, pulled her arms back, and cuffed her. “It would ruin us all. I’m queen. If word got out, I’d be a laughing stock. You had one more circle to form, Ruby, and then you’d be queen too.”
Ruby spat at her mother, “I never cared about being queen! I care about healing.”
“You’re mad!” said Gregor. “Maybe that’s historical too. Your father told me they named you after Alizon Device—remember her—one of the Pendle witches hanged in 1612. If memory serves, she trigged the event. Half a dozen were hanged.”
Ruby added, “And you’ll follow in her footsteps, Mother.”
Drew put an arm around his daughter. “I’m sorry you felt that you needed to lie to me. I’m so sorry.”
Crystal said to Ruby, “Ruby—I’m nothing like my mother. And you are nothing like yours. Let her go in peace.”
Gregor squeezed Crystal’s hand.
Joy could not resist sharing a final thought. “Alizon, remember our discussion about light and dark at war within us? For all of your open-minded upbringing, your free-wheeling spirit, your unrestrained lifestyle—you prevented two men from living their lives their way. Rather than allow it, you took their lives.”
Steele gripped Alizon by the arm and whisked her out of the room. Max and Joy followed them outside into the cool, black night.
“We all have demons,” said Max.
Joy stopped and faced him. “And as Gregor rightly told me, we figure out a way to live with some. And we banish others. You know, Max. For a split second, I’d considered trying the Ayahuasca to help me banish my demons. Gregor made it sound like it had helped Gunner.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You stepped back into the room with Crystal, and I realized right there, you are my spirit vine, the rope to my soul.”
Max stammered. “Uh, okay. Not sure I get that deep-thought. But if it means I’m your drug of choice, I got your back.”
“That’s what it means, bro.”
“You said it to Gunner—how it’s friends who pull us through. Friends,” Max paused, “and family. You’re my drug of choice too.”
24
Max, in a black shirt and suit, black boots, and his father’s silver bolo tie, strolled through the break in the hedge of the Tranquil Heart at the center of Wine Valley Cemetery. He headed toward Mercy’s crypt. Joy walked beside him in a sleeveless black dress that hugged her figure, flat black shoes, and a broad-brimmed black hat with a white rose. She held hands with Steele, who wore a black suit, a white shirt with a preacher’s collar, and black shoes. Steele wore his long hair pulled back.
The sun would soon set. The trees cast long shadows.
The black granite obelisk, repaired and reset, once again rose at the southern end of The Tranquil Heart—James III did not have the audacity to replace the final stone selected by his ancestor. To Max, it represented James Summerfield’s hard-heart and unbendable will. He hadn’t fed Mercy the arsenic, but he poisoned her by locking her away and ignoring her love for Little Wolf and the child they’d conceived.
Max realized one could not judge people from another time and place so easily, as they’d shared values that contradicted modern times—but he could condemn James Jr., a brother who had killed his sister and her child.
Murder crossed all time barriers—it could not be justified.
The triangular white marble pediment of Mercy’s crypt rose above ground at the northern end of The Tranquil Heart. Two columns flanked the staircase leading down to her final resting place. That’s where the crowd gathered.
James Summerfield III, his wife Lydia, and Jaxon stood beside the left column. Otis stood beside them.
Belle, Paul Lopez—President of the Golden Earth Casino run by Belle’s tribe—and, it seemed, a horde of twenty or so tribal members, including Bear, the groundskeeper, assembled on the right.
A few Native Americans had dressed in dark suits, like Paul Lopez, but most dressed in traditional regalia—but updated with an explosion of bright colors, fringe, feathers, and metal rods that created a jingling sound as they moved.
Belle wore a fringed dress with a heavily beaded bodice and metal cones. A beaded headband held two Eagle feathers that dangled beside her determined face.
Max, Joy, and Steele stood beside the Franciscan priest, who wore the same brown robe, tied with a white rope at his waist, as the priest who had counseled Mercy and Little Wolf and slipped Little Wolf into Mercy’s bedroom.
Sophia and Elwin Hansen approached and stood beside Otis. They waved at Max, and Max waved back.
Captain Jayda Banks and her tall and stout Marine husband, the latter wearing dress blues, each held hands with their four-year-old as they stepped forward and stopped beside Max.
“Hi, Captain Banks.” Max reached out to shake hands with her and then the captain’s husband. “Marcus, good to see you.”
“You too, Max,” said Marcus.
Max knelt down to the pretty girl with twirls of hair that fell from a center part to her shoulders. Imani had her parents’ strong, handsome features but more playful eyes. She wore a black lacy dress with a satin bow.
“Hi, Imani. How’s my girl?” asked Max.
Imani giggled and swiveled her hips to and fro. “Goooood.”
While Max spoke to Imani, Joy and Steele chatted with Captain Banks and Marcus.
Captain Banks nudged Imani. “Ask Max how he is, Imani.”
“How are you, Max?” Imani kept up the hip swivel.
“I’m happy to see you. That’s a pretty dress.” Max rose to his feet. He turned to the captain. “Thanks for coming.”
Jayda’s cheeks tensed. It was all she could do to keep her composure. She stood more rigid than her husband. Max realized how much change Jayda had seen too. A little over a month ago, she’d stood in the new cemetery saying goodbye to David King—her mentor. “Your father was a friend of the tribe, Max. Solving Mercy’s case would mean a lot to him.”
Max faced forward. “That it would, Captain Banks.” A gust of wind made Max believe David King was nearby.
The padre had bronze skin and calm, brown eyes, like two pebbles in a gentle stream, secure in their place despite the water trying to push them aside. As the padre spoke, he enacted the funerary rites, bestowing solemn words and gesticulations.
The Summerfields and Otis, Belle and her people cast glances at one another. James III let out a yelp of sorrow. He tried and failed to conceal it. Lydia held tightly to one arm and Jaxon to the other in a show of familial support.
Father Santiago raised his voice to recite the prayer of St. Francis:
Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console;
The be understood, as to understand;
To be loved, as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
And it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Everyone followed with “Amen.”
Father Santiago drew to a conclusion and instructed the crowd, “Please, those who wish to pay respects to Mercy may step down into her crypt individually or in a small group. Please wait for others to emerge before you enter, to give the families and loved ones ample time.”
James III, Lydia, and Jaxon stepped down first.
Joy noted, “It looks like they’ve resolved their differences.”
“Honesty will do that,” said Steele.
Max and Joy sent each other a cautious but biting glance. Their half-sibling secret still remained good and buried, the DNA report that proved it, burned to ashes.
Max walked over to say hello to Paul Lopez. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Lopez.”
“Call me Paul, Max. You too. We owe you a debt of gratitude for solving this case. I can’t even imagine how Little Wolf made it through the rest of his life. At first, I didn’t understand why he left the tribe, but I get it. He could not stay near the Summerfields. He set out on a journey of peace.”
“I like to believe he found it. Joy and I wanted the truth as much as you did.”
“I’ve spoken to the chief. The next time the elders convene, he will propose that we honor you and your partner with the same ceremony we performed for your father. It would take place at our Pow Wow next summer. Times have changed—nowadays, it’s more of a food fest with dancing and singing, but it’s our way to initiate and welcome you.”
“I’d be honored, Paul. Tell me when and where, and we’ll be there.”
“In the old days, we’d have you drink a beverage made from jimson-weed, a poisonous plant from the nightshade family, and keep you up all night long singing and dancing. I don’t know how they did it.”
“Kinda smart, though—to sing and dance at nighttime when it’s cooler. It’s the sun that wears you out.”
“True. Lights changed the world.”
The sound of a flute shot into the twilight, like a melancholy bird. Someone added a brisk rattle. And another struck a drum.
Belle and the people of her tribe began to dance, twirl, and chant in a ritual of their own. Belle mostly stayed in one place, where the others moved around her. Belle tapped her toe to the grass and hopped, hopped and tapped, moving forward or taking an occasional step back. Her long gray braid whipped to and fro.
It struck Max that Belle, too, had her family around her.
“Excuse me, Max,” Paul walked over to Belle. He danced beside her until the song came to an end. When the next song began, Belle stood still, and Paul stood behind her. One of the chanters handed Paul a pair of scissors. Paul chanted some words in his native language. Belle chanted them too.
Joy and Steele joined Max.
As the Summerfields exited the crypt, Jayda, Marcus, and Imani descended the stairs.
“I’m overwhelmed and overjoyed,” said Joy. “Such a lively way to send a spirit off.”
Steele put an arm around her shoulders. “Life is precious.”
Bear, the cemetery groundskeeper, dressed in ceremonial garb with feathers that fanned out from each shoulder, stepped over to them. “They chant the death-songs. There are many. Paul calls to the sky three times, ‘spirit, spirit, spirit.’ In the old days, songs would be chanted all night long and into the morning, the deceased’s house was burned, and the clothes and other belongings burned too. Also, an image of the deceased, a doll, was burned and buried.”
“What are the scissors for?” asked Max.
“It was customary for the mother or grandmother of the deceased to cut off her hair.”
Max’s eyes flew wide. Joy’s jaw dropped. Steele sighed.
Bear continued, “She would use this the next day in the image ceremony I mentioned. The hair was placed on the clay or wooden figure that represented the deceased. Belle insisted she cut off her hair for Little Wolf to give him a proper send off to the spirit world.”
Max’s heart leaped in his chest as Paul opened the sheers and scooped Belle’s long gray braid between the blades.
Belle continued to chant. She raised her arms to the sky. Together, she and Paul blew three times, and Paul closed the sheers and severed Belle’s braid at the nape of her neck.
Bear said, “They blow to aid the spirit’s departure, to send the spirit off.”
Paul handed Belle the braid.
As much as she struggled to hold back tears, a defiant drop cascaded down the soft wrinkles of Belle’s cheek. She quickly wiped it away and continued to chant and sing.
The sun sank ever lower, casting longer shadows that warned the dancers that light would soon be swallowed by darkness.
Jayda, Marcus, and Imani approached Max, Joy, and Steele. Sophia and Elwin descended the stairs to the crypt.
Jayda said, “We’ve got to go. I’m glad we came. You should know that James Summerfield III personally contacted the mayor this afternoon. He’s funding a renovation project for Wine Valley Cemetery. New irrigation, lights, granite benches, walkways, flowers and shrubs, even a covered patio for memorial services. He’s also installing security cameras. And the groundskeeper talked him into sectioning off an unused portion of the grounds just for pets. Bear, James III, and his attorney are even submitting legislation to allow pets to be buried with their owners.”
Joy said, “That’s great news.”
Max added, “You know, I admire James III. He could have kept his mouth shut. Let the secret die with him. Maintain his family’s spotless reputation. But he did the right thing by all, even if it smudged the Summerfield name.”
“That he did,” said Jayda. She and her family turned to leave.
Sophia and Elwin stepped up. Sophia’s brown hair feathered in sweeps around her face. She had doe-brown eyes, a delicate nose, and a genuine smile. Elwin was handsome, but for his nose that veered right due to the beating from bullies he’d taken in high school, and an unsettling, overly-wide smile.
Max, Joy, and Steele shook their hands.
Max said, “We did it! We bloodhounds. Thanks for your help, Sophia.”
Sophia smiled. “Anytime you need some digging, you know where to find me.” She and Elwin departed.
Belle and Otis approached.
Belle said, “We’d be honored if you would all go with us to see Mercy.”
Max held out his arm, and Belle scooped hers through it so that she had Otis on one side and Max on the other.
“I’m honored, Belle,” said Joy. She and Steele fell in behind them.
The five descended the white staircase. Their shoes and boots tapped on the marble. They strolled through the open gate, which had been cleaned up, repaired, and painted so that it looked new.
A new, gleaming white sarcophagus encased Mercy. It sat on a new raised pedestal. Max, Belle, and Otis climbed the single step and stared down upon Mercy. Steele and Joy climbed the other side and likewise gazed down.
Max ran his hand over the engraving on the lid—a relief of Mercy and Little Wolf the moment she died, a relief of the image drawn by Phillis Washington. Below that, it read, “Here lies Mercy Summerfield. 1871-1888. Love conquers all.”
“And heals all.” Steele wrapped his arm around Joy’s waist and squeezed it.
Joy met Steele’s gaze. She then traded a nod and a smile with Max.
Belle said a few words in her native tongue, then added, “Now they can rest.”
Otis wiped his teary eyes on his coat sleeve. “In the end, Mr. Summerfield did right by these kids.”
Max sighed. “So did all of you. Without you, the truth would have stayed buried. Jaxon knew it too. He sensed that his father knew something, and that if he didn’t get the truth out before he died, it would die with him.”
Belle ran her hand over the relief. “Their spirits are together. I feel it.” She turned.
Max hopped down to give Belle a hand, which she took.
Max led the way out.
As everyone walked toward the break in the hedge that led to the parking lot, Max lagged behind. When he reached the break, he turned. What looked like a wolf more than a coyote trotted through the hedge behind the tomb. It trotted to the stairs, stopped, and turned. It stared at Max and Max stared back.
The twilight illuminated the creature. It had a gray-white head, a solid-white face and chest. Its e
yes lit up in the darkness.
The animal turned and trotted down the stairs.
Max turned and walked away.
A howl pierced the night.
25
Max and Joy strolled across cement path of the Tranquil Acres Cemetery.
They left the path and ambled between flat grave markers, plain ones, and artistic ones in all colors of granite: pink, brown, beige, gray and black. The shapes of the headstones varied as much as the colors, a final attempt to capture the essence of the man or woman buried in that space.
Max and Joy strode past engraved hearts, winged angels, headstones with urns, others with pillars. They walked past crosses, bench-like headstones, free-formed rough-hewn rock, and even a headstone with a granite cat perched atop it. Etched faces of the deceased or scenes from their lives adorned some. Glimmering gold adorned others.
Max soon spotted the old oak tree on the hill where he had first seen Joy. “Our meeting tree.”
Joy smiled. “It is our tree. Our first roots.”
Atop a grassy hill, Max came to a sudden stop.
Joy’s voice rang out with shock. “How did we not know this? Did you know?”
“Hell, no! Oops. Probably should not say that word here—but what the heck is going on?”
Max and Joy glared at two headstones, side-by-side. Both in shiny black granite etched in gray. David King’s to the left, a rectangle beside which sat bronze cowboy boots—not his handmade Tony Lamas, which he’d passed down to Max. And Sam Burton’s headstone to the right, a rectangle atop of which sat a granite ship.
Joy pointed to David King’s stone. “When Sam was buried, your father was still alive, and that gravestone wasn’t there. I had no way to know they’d be laid side-by-side.”
Max added, “And when I was here for my dad’s funeral, I didn’t know anything about Sam Burton. Or you.”
“And I only showed up here to find you. I didn’t pay any attention to the location. I never got close enough. I stayed over there by the tree.” Joy read Sam Burton’s headstone. “Sam Burton, father and mother. The ship is ready. Anchors up! Soar o’er swells to secret shores and open doors to the three. Undivided, with Joy and Trinity.” She let out a sigh. “Sam—I mean, Dad—I’m not afraid to call him that anymore.”
Grenache and Graves Page 16
