"Bad business, this," he said to Jonah. "Poor Derek. Such a talented young man."
Cringing, Jonah nodded, even as he hoped that his lack of verbal response would make Sumner go away. Interacting with people made him uncomfortable. Jonah was having enough trouble dealing with his conflicting emotions about Derek without having to worry about giving appropriate social responses to Sumner. With most people he'd just walk away, but he didn't want to be rude to the funeral director and he definitely didn't want to lose his job.
"See him?" Sumner inclined his head to a middle-aged man in a rumpled grey suit, jacket slung over an arm, lurking near the cemetery's gated entrance and then whispered, "Police. Georgia Bureau of Investigation."
Jonah noticed the gold badge attached to the man's belt, and his breath caught in an automatic jolt of fear. The sight of the police reminded him of blood and bodies and...
"The city council finally called in the big guns. The County Sheriff can't handle what's happening," Sumner added, breaking into Jonah's thoughts. Sumner gave a heavy sigh. "I hate when the deceased is so young,"
Jonah turned his gaze to the ground and nodded again.
"These tree decorations are quite interesting." Sumner examined one with squinting eyes. "No electrical wires. Must operate on batteries."
"Um..." Jonah began, not knowing what to say before Sumner interrupted.
"Anyway, my wife would love these for our backyard. Got them at Target I bet."
Giving a half nod and half shrug, Jonah muttered something unintelligible.
"You should get more to hang on this tree," Sumner continued. "They brighten the place up."
"I'll try," Jonah responded, suppressing a smile.
"You're doing a good job with the cemetery, boy." Sumner slapped Jonah on the back.
"Thanks."
"The city made a good decision appointing you to be caretaker after your grandpa died two years ago. I thought you were too young at the time, but—”
Before Jonah could respond—or fail to respond—a cry erupted from amongst the mourners.
"My boy," the voice screamed.
Jonah realized this must be Eliza Devoe.
"My boy shouldn't be in no grave."
The pastor offered a consoling arm around her shoulder. "Be at peace, Mrs. Devoe. Derek is with God now."
"What kinda God allows somethin' like this to happen to a good boy? Derek shoulda been startin' with the Yankees next year, not rottin' in the ground all alone." She jerked out from under the weight of his hold.
"We can't know God's plan," the pastor said.
"If this is your God, you can just keep him," she wailed. "I don't want nothin' to do with him." Eliza pointed at her bandaged hand. "See this? I'll get my justice on his killer and I'll get it my own way."
"Oh Lord," the funeral director said. "I'm needed."
But as Sumner stepped toward the mourners, Derek's mother broke from the crowd, dodged around the funeral director and bolted down the small path. She pushed past the GBI agent before hurrying away down the street.
A low murmur began among the funeral party.
The pastor quieted them with a gesture of his hands as he announced, "Thank you for coming, everyone. I'm sure Mrs. Devoe will appreciate your honoring her son with your attendance when she's more herself."
As the mourners wandered away, Jonah moved to the grave and began to shovel dirt. The first clump hit the gleaming walnut casket with a thump. Glancing up midshovel, his eyes met the stare of the GBI agent. They gazed at each other for a few seconds before Jonah turned back to shoveling. When he glanced up again, the agent had gone.
* * * * *
The scissor blades clicked as Jonah snipped an uneven line around the tabloid magazine article. The sensational headline stood out in bold capital letters: “Secret Link Between UFO Sightings and Mass Murder Revealed.”
Intent on his work, Jonah hunched over a wooden table in the corner of the room. The table contained an eclectic assortment of objects, including a cameo positioned next to a glowing, glass ornament.
The caretaker's cottage occupied exactly eight hundred square feet of the cemetery's grounds and hadn't been refurbished since its construction in 1875 except for the tiny kitchen and even tinier bathrooms carved out of the interior in the late 1950s. And its furnishings weren't exactly modern vintage either. Over the years the only supplements came from the local thrift shop.
Sir Fluffybottom peered at Jonah from where he knelt on the back of the threadbare sofa that at one time had been red but had long since faded to pink.
Once he'd finished separating article from page, Jonah stood. Grabbing a thumbtack from a glass on the desk, he then pinned up the article next to other clippings about murders, hauntings, and government conspiracies peppering the bulletin board mounted on the wall. The light from the desk lamp glinted off the plain gold band Jonah wore on his pinkie finger.
"I'm going out,” Jonah called just as he jerked open the front door. The "Caretaker" sign clattered against the door's pine planks. "I'll get cat food on my way home."
Outside he bent to pick up a folded newspaper from where it lay next to the one brick step down, before heading off down the dirt path past raised gravestones and monuments toward the front gate. Jonah paused as he passed the majestic live oak, which stood at the heart of the cemetery, many of its branches adorned with lengths of lacy Spanish moss. Together with the glowing glass balls, the moss had the appearance of tinsel on a Christmas tree. With a brief, satisfied nod, Jonah headed out again.
As he turned the corner onto Main Street, Rocco's Diner came into view. Jonah's staccato heartbeat tripled when he saw Belinda in the side alley crouched at arm's length from a scraggly tabby cat. Her chestnut-colored hair cascaded down her back from a ponytail, just as it had when they were kids. But her body was no longer childlike. The pink polyester skirt of her uniform only accentuated the curves that almost caused him to drool. Seeing her made Jonah feel as if the sun had suddenly come out to chase away a cloudy day.
Jonah wished for the courage to tell her. Better yet, he wished he had the balls to grab hold of her, tug her to him and kiss her so hard she’d see stars. But if he did any of that, she’d probably have him up on assault charges. Did she even remember they’d been friends? No. She’d probably forgotten him long ago. But he hadn’t forgotten her, his Bunny.
Belinda placed a dish of food on the pavement. "Sometime soon you're going to let me get close enough to touch you. Then you're coming home with me.”
She straightened and Jonah's breath caught.
A drab grey dress suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking the sun. "No more funerals today, eh Jonah?"
With a frown, Jonah focused on the middle-aged woman in front of him, recognizing one of his former teachers, Mrs. Blake. "So sad about Derek Devoe," she said.
Mrs. Blake had never liked him. Jonah had been in her class the year after his parents died. He hadn't yet regained the ability to speak and ended up being blamed for every prank or misbehavior that happened in her classroom. Today she no doubt wanted to inspect his reaction to Derek's death. Under her bug-eyed gaze he felt like an ant burning under a magnifying glass. "Don't you think it's sad?" she asked insistently.
Jonah shrugged and nodded.
Mrs. Blake gave a huff, but before she could speak again he pushed past to escape into the diner.
A waitress, Kerilynn Rakowski, with blonde hair she wore in a purple-streaked bob, poured coffee into the mug in front of a customer at the counter. Jonah recognized the sour-faced Austin Lawrence and hurried to the last booth hoping to avoid his notice. Jonah wanted to throat punch Austin when he started his bullying, especially when the douche started in on Belinda, but somehow Jonah could never seem to break through the invisible barrier around him that had entombed him since his parents’ death, keeping him from saying the things he wanted to say and doing the things he wanted desperately to do.
Jonah slid onto the red leatherette bench
with a sigh.
Made it. Austin hadn’t even glanced his way.
He opened the newspaper and spread it out on the Formica table and read the headline: “Police Stumped As The Slicer's 5th Victim Laid To Rest.” Jonah's finger traced the same photo he'd seen at the funeral earlier. Then he began reading.
Local star athlete Derek Devoe, 18, was found with his throat cut Thursday morning in his car at the side of Old Victory Highway. Sources close to the investigation link the death with the serial killer dubbed The Slicer since the neck wound almost severed the head. The wounds are consistent with those suffered by other victims.
Images of red—spattering, seeping, soaking—flashed through Jonah's brain. The sound of past screams battered his ears. A metallic smell filled his nose and mouth with a remembered scent.
* * * * *
"Come here, sweetie." The tabby cat shrank away from Belinda's outstretched hand. After gobbling down the plate of food, the cat apparently felt no obligation to indulge her. When she took a step forward, the cat arched its back, hissed and then ran off out of the alley.
"Someday," Belinda yelled in the direction of its disappearing tail.
Oh well, her break was over anyway. No need to unnecessarily piss off Rocco. She'd only had this job for two weeks and she needed to work the whole summer in order to afford to return to college in the fall. Hell, even the books would be a stretch. She’d attended one full year at UGA, but it had exhausted her savings. When her roommate moved away and the summer job she’d lined up fell through, Belinda had to find something quick. A return to Ambrosia seemed perfect. Her aunt lived here so Belinda had a place to stay for free. She could have gone back to Miami, but overprotective was too mild a word for her dad.
Entering through the side door led directly into the kitchen with its sizzling grill, greasy meat smell and Rocco dashing about as the only short order cook in the place. He looked up from flipping a burger. After a glance at the clock, he frowned and grunted but said nothing. She hurried through the swinging doors.
Belinda scanned the dining room and found it pretty much the same as before she'd gone on break. Kerilynn was on her way to a booth with water refills for the couple there. That asshat, Austin Lawrence, sat at the counter sipping coffee between his scowls. Only one new customer had arrived: Jonah Morrison. He sat there, head down, hair falling forward to obscure his face. His hands clenched into fists atop the newspaper spread out before him.
She'd had such a crush on Jonah when they were kids. He was so athletic, cute, funny. And he had the most amazing hazel eyes with blue flecks in the iris. That boy was gone and Jonah had turned into a handsome, young man. He'd grown even taller, at least six feet. And he'd filled out into a muscular leanness, probably from all the manual labor at the cemetery. The sun had given his skin a golden tan and lightened some of the strands of his chin-length brown hair. But even with his model looks, anyone could tell that inside something was fractured and possibly broken.
Tears sprang up and Belinda had to blink them back. Comparing the awkward, unhappy young man Jonah was now to the popular, smiling boy he'd been eight years ago made her almost sick.
Kerilynn nudged her elbow and then nodded in Jonah's direction. "You take him today. He's as nutty as Rocco's pecan pie."
"Shhh. He'll hear you," Belinda said with more than a touch of anger in her voice. "Jonah's not nutty. Just quiet."
"Quiet?" Kerilynn chuckled. "If his words were hair on a dog, that dog couldn't give anybody fleas."
Belinda usually laughed at Kerilynn's fractured idioms, but today they just made her mad.
"Hey, Belinda, honey," Austin piped in, slurring his words. "When you gonna refill my coffee?"
Austin was either hung over from last night or drunk before 3:00 p.m. Pursing her lips, Belinda gave an irritated huff and turned to the coffee pot. Kerilynn followed.
"You just moved back to town so you don't know what he's like," Kerilynn said. "Jonah can make a body more nervous than a long tail cat in a room full of vacuum cleaners."
Belinda grabbed the coffee pot, turned away and took the few steps to the counter to refill Austin's mug. Kerilynn stayed at her heels.
"I know I should feel sorry for him, but what if he did it?" Kerilynn added.
"Don't talk about him like that," Belinda hissed. "Of course he didn't. The police proved the neighbor killed Jonah's parents."
"I meant, what if he's the Slicer?" Kerilynn said, insistently.
Belinda shook her head. "Stop. Jonah's my friend."
"He was your friend when you were twelve. Until two weeks ago you hadn't seen him in years."
With another disgusted huff, Belinda went to Jonah's booth and took out her order pad and pen. "What can I get you today, Jonah?"
"Ummmmm. I...uh...I..." He grabbed a menu from behind the napkin holder and pointed to an item. "I'll have this...with onions...lots."
Jonah glanced up at her with the most amazing hazel eyes. The flecks of blue were like little stars in a golden brown sky.
Austin swiveled on his stool. "I'll have a slice of lemon pie, Belinda."
Behind the counter, Kerilynn headed toward the pastry case. "Keep your pickle in the fridge, Austin. I'll get you the pie."
"I want Belinda," Austin growled out.
Kerilynn stopped, and with hands on hips, said, "She's busy. You want the pie or what?"
Belinda kept her attention on Jonah. "You want a cheeseburger with lots of onion. Got it." She jotted down the order. "Fries?"
Jonah nodded and then his eyes fell to the table. "And...um...Coke," he mumbled.
After putting the slip on the order wheel Belinda started to get the Coke.
"Belinda," Austin shouted. "You deaf? I want pie."
Ignore him, she thought. You need this job. Besides, not all the customers acted like assholes.
While Belinda delivered the drink to Jonah, Kerilynn placed a slice of lemon pie in front of Austin. His lip curled into a snarl and he swiped it with his hand, sending the plate skidding along the counter. "I don't want that!"
"What's going on out there?" Rocco called from the kitchen.
"Nothing we can't handle," Belinda answered.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Austin? You said you wanted pie." Kerilynn demanded.
"I said I wanted Belinda to bring it," he shouted.
"Well, Mister Jerkface. I wanted to win the lottery today, but it looks like neither of us is gettin' lucky."
"If I have to get your pie, you'll be wearing it and not eating it," Belinda muttered.
Austin jumped up from the stool, coming to his full six-foot-two height. His face reddened to match his hair. He prowled toward Belinda and made a smoochy sound. "If you're not gonna give me pie, how about a little Mexican sugar?"
Although her legs wanted to buckle in the face of his imposing girth, Belinda straightened her back and locked her knees.
"I'm not Mexican. My father's family came from Cuba about fifty years ago, dumb-ass."
Jonah chuckled.
With an angry glare, Austin lunged at Jonah's booth, slapping both palms against the table's surface with a bang. "What you laughin' at, freak?"
For a moment Jonah’s eyes blazed with anger. His fists clenched and Belinda thought he might jump up and knock Austin into the next State. But then Jonah’s hands went slack. He shook his head and turned his gaze down.
Austin marched to the exit. "Retard," he tossed over his shoulder. Just before Austin reached the door, it swung open and Jessica Bundy swanned in. Jessica at only seventeen had porcelain skin and hair that hung in long golden curls. She seemed like a doll next to Austin's hulking presence.
"Hi there, sweet cheeks." Austin shot Jessica a leering smile. "Finally, there's a lady in this crap joint."
Rocco emerged from the kitchen wiping his hands on a grimy towel. "Hey, Austin. You didn't pay your bill."
"Screw you." Austin flipped a one-finger salute in Rocco's general direction as he stalked out
.
Rocco jabbed an accusing finger at Belinda. "Austin's tab is coming out of your pay. And the next customer you piss off...you're fired."
Placing a hand on Rocco's arm, Kerilynn said, "Come on. It wasn't her fault. I'm the one who called him a jerkface." Then she chuckled. "Although, I did call him Mister first."
Rocco shrugged off her hand. "Ain't you heard? The customer's always right, even the jerks."
"Oh my God," Belinda said. "Really? That racist swine?"
"You want this job?" Rocco asked.
After a few seconds, Belinda grimaced and her eyes went to the ceiling. "All right. Fine. I'll pay it."
Once Rocco stormed into the kitchen, Kerilynn put an arm around Belinda's shoulder. "That's almost twenty dollars. You're saving for college next term. Why don't I pay it?"
"You've got money troubles too." Belinda shook her head.
"Order up," Rocco shouted from the pass through. "Try not to lose this customer.”
Belinda retrieved the plate and took Jonah his order. When she placed it in front of him, he peered at her from his amazing eyes, his face stoic. Jonah removed the cap from the jar of peanut butter on the table, scooped out a generous glob and slathered it on the bun.
Behind her, she heard Kerilynn talking to porcelain-skinned Jessica.
"I called in an order," Jessica said.
"Two burgers, two fries and a shake to go. Is all this for tiny you?" Kerilynn asked.
"Heavens no. This is lunch for Daddy. I'm living on salad and chewing gum these days. I'm in training."
Jonah took a huge bite out of the burger and chewed with gusto, making Belinda's smile broaden before she turned away to return to the counter.
"You're already as cute as a bug's booty," Kerilynn said to Jessica. "You'll win Miss Peach Blossom this year for sure."
"Aw. Bless your heart,” Jessica replied.
"I'll get your order," Kerilynn said before crossing to the kitchen pass through. "We need the take-out order, Rocco."
As Belinda wiped down the counter, Kerilynn nudged her arm.
"Look at that." Kerilynn inclined her head at Jonah in process of adding more peanut butter to his burger. "What'd I tell you? Weird."
Caught Dead Page 2
