The Abandoned (the graveyard queen series)

by Amanda Stevens

  She forced a wistful tone to her voice. “Miss Violet was also one of my favorites.”

  An elegant brow shot up. “Was?”

  Now it was Ree’s turn to gauge his reaction. “Oh…you haven’t heard? Miss Violet passed away a little while ago.”

  No more than a flicker of emotion crossed his handsome countenance. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place—”

  “Was she alone?”

  Before tonight, Ree wouldn’t have given his query a second thought, but now the question seemed fraught with subtext.

  “No. As a matter of fact, I was with her when she died.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  Fraught with subtext. “She went quietly in her sleep.”

  “That’s that then,” he murmured and Ree could have sworn she heard genuine regret in his voice.

  But what she saw in his eyes chilled her to the bone.

  A strange disquiet followed Ree down the stairs and through the maze of soft green corridors. In the sections where security was more stringent, the patients had already been confined to their rooms for the night and the hallways were eerily silent.

  As Ree hurried back to the south wing, she reminded herself yet again that nothing she’d overheard was her concern. Best to just put the whole sordid mess out of her mind. Dr. Farrante had an almost godlike standing in the field of developmental psychology. The last thing Ree needed was an enemy so powerful he could quash her career before it even started.

  But she was nothing if not Jack Hutchins’s daughter. He was one of the best private detectives ever licensed by the state of South Carolina and there was a time not so long ago when Ree had wanted more than anything to follow in his footsteps. She’d dreamed of the two of them starting their own agency, but that was before he’d fallen for one of his clients and left her mother heartbroken. Before he’d quit his old firm and moved to Atlanta to pursue his new life.

  Even after the divorce, Ree had privately nursed those same aspirations, but then she’d come to realize that teaming up with her father would seem like yet another betrayal to her mother. So she’d enrolled at Emerson University as a psych major and here she was at twenty-four, in hot pursuit of her master’s.

  Still, it was hard to suppress her natural tendencies. She had an innate curiosity and a flair for detective work. That overheard conversation was like a dangling carrot and Ree found herself anticipating some alone time so that she could sort through the puzzle pieces—Miss Violet…Ilsa Tisdale…Oak Grove Cemetery…a secret society called the Order of the Coffin and the Claw.

  Strange that out of all the curiosities she’d overheard, Ree’s thoughts kept returning to one name. Amelia Gray. So familiar and yet so hazy. A memory that floated just out of her grasp.

  And then as she pushed through the double doors into the south wing, she finally had it. She’d gone to school in Trinity—a small town north of Charleston—with a girl by that name. That Amelia Gray had been a few grades ahead of her so they hadn’t known each other well. But now that Ree had tapped into her memory, an image of a quiet, pretty blonde formed in her head. And with it came other recollections. Something about a graveyard…

  Yes, that was it. Amelia’s father had been a caretaker and they’d lived in a white house near Rosehill Cemetery.

  When Ree was little, her grandmother had loved old graveyards. Rosehill was one of her favorite destinations and sometimes after church on Sunday, she and Ree would take a picnic lunch out there and eat in the shade of the two-hundred-year-old oaks that ringed the grounds. On those lazy summer afternoons with the sun shimmering on the statues and headstones and the air redolent with the climbing roses that spilled over the fences and down through the trees, the cemetery had seemed like a place of enchantment.

  On one particular afternoon, Ree had skipped away while her grandmother dozed in the shade. The old section of the cemetery was normally closed to the public, but the gate was open that day. Always intrepid and not a little curious, she’d slipped inside and wandered along stone paths that meandered through a primordial forest of cool, lush ferns and thick gray-green curtains of Spanish moss. In that gothic fairyland, amidst an audience of stone angels, Ree had stumbled upon Amelia Gray holding court.

  She was dressed in some flowing garment that looked fashioned from an old silk dress. The gossamer fabric fluttered like fairy wings when she moved, and atop her golden head, she wore a crown of rosebuds and clover. She must have been about ten at the time and to Ree’s seven-year-old sensibilities, the most mystical creature she’d ever encountered.

  Ree had made an inadvertent sound—a surprised, little gasp—but Amelia wasn’t startled. Moments ticked by before she slowly turned, her gaze seeking Ree’s. Her eyes were very clear, Ree remembered. She’d thought them blue at first, but as the girl came toward her, she realized they were gray. Or were they green?

  “Where did you come from?” Amelia had asked in a feather-soft voice.

  Finding herself unaccustomedly tongue-tied, Ree pointed toward the gate.

  Amelia bit her lip. “I must have forgotten to shut it. I’d better go lock it before Papa finds out. Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

  But Ree held her ground, her curious gaze taking in all the stone angels. She’d never seen so many. It was like a silent, weeping army.

  “They’re magic,” Amelia said. Her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway look. “Sometimes just before dusk, when the light hits them just right, they come to life.”

  Ree finally found her voice, and much to her chagrin, her practical side emerged. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

  “Of course there is. There’s magic all around us. You just can’t see it.”

  “Can you?”

  “Sometimes.” Amelia’s smile disappeared and she glanced away. “But I’m safe here.”

  “Why?”

  She waved an arm, encompassing the crumbling angels and the surrounding cemetery. “Because these are my guardians,” she said. “And this is my kingdom….”

  The memory faded as Ree rounded a corner and almost skidded into Trudy McIntyre. She was escorting Alice Canton, a young woman with paranoid schizophrenic tendencies, back to her room. Alice was pale and fragile with an emaciated body and wide, tragic eyes.

  She stopped dead in her tracks to gape at Ree as they passed in the hallway.

  “Come along, Alice,” Trudy coaxed. “Let’s get you settled in for the night.”

  But Alice refused to budge even when Trudy urged her forward. “Who’s she?”

  “That’s Ree,” Trudy said. “Don’t you remember? She brought you a new book last week.”

  “Not her,” Alice insisted. “The other one.”

  And then Ree noticed that she was looking—not directly at her—but at a point just beyond her shoulder.

  A chill shot through Ree as she resisted the urge to glance back.

  “There’s no one else here,” Trudy said. “Just us three girls.”

  Ree smiled reassuringly and took a step forward so that Alice could see her better in the dimmed lighting. Alice flinched away, bunching her shoulders and drawing her fists up to her face as if trying to protect herself. Or hide herself. “Don’t look at her,” she whispered.

  Trudy patted her arm as Alice peered over her fists. “Can you see her?” Her voice rose in agitation. “Why can’t you see her? Why can’t you see any of them? They’re everywhere!”

  There’s magic all around us. You just can’t see it.

  Ree shivered again though she tried to put on a good face for Alice.

  “This one’s angry,” Alice warned. “She scares me.”

  “You’ll be safe in your room,” Trudy soothed as she took Alice firmly by the arm and pulled her down the hall.

  Alice went reluctantly, muttering under her breath, “That poor girl. That poor, poor girl…”

  Ree had the discomforting notion that Alice was talking about h
er.

  Abruptly, she turned and made her way up to the front desk. A couple of orderlies milled about in the lobby, but other than a quick nod, they paid Ree little attention. She didn’t know how long Trudy would be busy with Alice, but she was tempted to slip behind the desk and access the computer. If she could locate Violet’s file, she might be able to figure out why Dr. Farrante felt so threatened. What kind of power could Ilsa Tisdale—long dead, no doubt—still have over the living?

  Wisely, Ree tempered the impulse. Not only was the blackmail scheme none of her business, but also hacking into patient records could earn her jail time. She pacified herself by returning to Miss Violet’s suite. Not to snoop, she told herself firmly, but to pay her final respects.

  No one had been in yet to collect the body, and as Ree stood at Miss Violet’s bedside, the strangest feeling came over her. The old woman looked peaceful in repose, but Ree found no comfort in the viewing. She wasn’t squeamish about death and she didn’t believe in ghosts. But as she gazed down at the corpse, she felt the chill of something unnatural in that room.

  Which was crazy. She was just letting her imagination get the better of her.

  Ree tried to shake off the sensation as she picked up the book from the nightstand where she’d left it earlier. Flipping the cover open, she ran her thumb over the inscription. And the hair at the back of her neck lifted.

  She wouldn’t look behind her. She wouldn’t. No one was there. She was alone in the room with a dead woman and the dead couldn’t hurt her. Nor could they come back. There was no such thing as ghosts. No such thing as magic of any kind. A stone angel couldn’t come to life and neither could a corpse.

  An icy draft blew down her neck and unable to resist, Ree half turned. From her periphery, she caught a slight movement in the farthest corner of the room. Heart pounding, she watched it for the longest moment before she realized that what she’d spotted was nothing more than the shadow of a tree branch moving outside the window.

  Faint with relief, she put a hand on the bed to steady herself. What a strange, strange night.

  Her nerves were shot. That was the only logical explanation. The stress of finishing her master’s thesis coupled with her work at the hospital and her mounting student loans had taken a toll. Now Miss Violet’s death. The blackmail scheme. Dr. Farrante’s secret. A woman named Ilsa Tisdale who apparently had the power to destroy lives even from her grave. It all sounded so melodramatic and sensational, and Ree told herself she’d be laughing at her overreaction come morning.

  But she wasn’t laughing now. As she replaced the book on the nightstand, something cold brushed against her hand. She gasped and jerked back.

  “Go home, Ree.” She spoke the command aloud, hoping the sound of her voice would chase away that unnamed fear.

  Forget about the blackmail. Forget about Miss Violet. None of this is your concern. Just…go home.

  She might have done exactly that if not for the swoosh of the outer door. Reacting purely on instinct, Ree tiptoed to the bathroom and slipped inside just as Dr. Farrante stepped into the bedroom. And for the second time that night, she found herself eavesdropping on the formidable psychiatrist.

  He went immediately to Miss Violet’s bedside and stood gazing down at her. The light was lowered in her room, but Ree could see his face clearly. She still thought him the most handsome, charismatic man she’d ever met, but now there was something aberrant about his too-perfect features. Something cold-blooded about the way he clasped his hands behind his back and observed the remains so passively.

  And suddenly one of the blackmailer’s taunts came rushing back to her. The Farrantes have always taken such good care of my aunt.

  As she watched the psychiatrist with the body, she became more and more convinced that some atrocity had been committed and a cover-up perpetuated for generations. Something terrible had happened to Ilsa Tisdale. Ree was certain of it.

  And she wondered if, after all this time, a clue might still be buried in Oak Grove Cemetery.

  It was misting when Ree left the hospital a little while later. She hurried across the damp parking lot to her car, turning only once to glance back at the stately white columns and gleaming façade. She’d always thought the historic building a fitting symbol of all that three generations of Farrantes had accomplished in the field of developmental psychology. Now she saw only darkness and secrets.

  Shivering in the wet gloom, she climbed into her car and started the engine. Once she left the parking lot, the security lights faded and a canopy of live oaks shrouded the sky. It was a very dark night.

  At the entrance, she flashed her badge and waited for the gates to slide open. Then waving to the guard, she drove through and eased into the flow of traffic on the busy thoroughfare. Exiting the secluded grounds was a little like crossing over into another dimension. The hospital was located inside the city, but it seemed so isolated behind those walls, a world unto itself, and never more so than tonight.

  A few blocks east, Ree entered the Emerson University campus, a lovely and only slightly less insular world than the one she’d just left behind. Despite the mist, she rolled down the window and let the lush scent of a Charleston evening flow through her car. There was nothing more southern—or more intoxicating—than the mingled fragrances of jasmine, magnolia and sea. The heady perfume tugged at her senses like a memory. Like the eerie melody that drifted through the stereo speakers.

  What was that song? It seemed so familiar and yet so strange. So…haunting.

  Ree hummed along even though she was certain she’d never heard the tune before. The dreamy notes were almost hypnotic and with no clear destination, she found herself at the back of the campus where the grounds were edged by a thick forest. Somewhere hidden inside the woods was Oak Grove Cemetery.

  She had a vague sense of where the graveyard was located. A drunken trip to the creepy necropolis was almost a rite of passage at Emerson, and during her freshman year, she’d been game for almost anything.

  Looking back now, Ree could see her reckless behavior was a manifestation of her parents’ divorce. Luckily, the thrill of her sudden independence and the need to act out had waned in time and now she dwelled almost exclusively at the other end of the spectrum, unable to recall the last time she’d gone out with friends, let alone on a date.

  Ree made the turn onto Cemetery Road, but she had no intention of exploring an abandoned graveyard alone at night. There was curious and there was stupid. Mostly, she just wanted to satisfy herself that she could find it again.

  As the woods pressed in from either side, she leaned forward, peering anxiously through the misty darkness. Spotting a break in the trees off to her left, she pulled to the side of the road and let the engine idle while she surveyed her surroundings. Yes, this was the place. She could just make out the primitive trail that led to the entrance. It was too dark to see the gates, but Ree remembered from her previous excursion that they were kept chained. Not that a padlock was much of a deterrent. All one had to do was shimmy up a live oak and drop down on the other side.

  Someone might be in there right now, she thought with a shiver. A homeless person, perhaps. Or a serial killer looking to dump a body…

  What was that?

  For a moment, Ree could have sworn she saw something in the swirling haze of her headlights.

  It was nothing. Just a shadow. Or a darting animal perhaps…

  It was nothing.

  Putting the car in gear, she eased forward. If anything had been lurking in the mist, it was gone now.

  She laughed nervously. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. No such thing as magic.”

  And as she muttered the words aloud, another memory from that day at Rosehill Cemetery came back to her.

  “That girl is a strange one,” her grandmother had said ominously when Ree told her about Amelia. “She has the kind of eyes that can see right down into your soul. My cousin Lula had them, too. She was born with a caul, you know.”

&nb
sp; “What’s that?”

  “It’s like a veil of skin. When they remove it, the baby is sometimes left with second sight.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It means they can see things we can’t, child.”

  “You mean like magic?”

  “Magic? I guess you could call it that.…”

  Ree shook off the memory and glanced around. While she sat there reminiscing, her windows had frosted and a preternatural chill crept into the car. The hair at her nape prickled and it took her a moment to work up enough courage to glance in her backseat.

  No one was there, of course, and she laughed at herself again.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  But she had to say it twice more before the conviction returned to her voice.

  Hayden Priest checked the reading on the electromagnetic field detector and frowned. No fluctuation whatsoever. This was his second night in Oak Grove Cemetery and he’d yet to pick up so much as a flicker despite assurances by one of his colleagues at the Charleston Institute for Parapsychology Studies that the abandoned graveyard was a hot spot for paranormal activity. The area around the Bedford Mausoleum—the oldest monument in Oak Grove—was supposedly known for its orbs. But Hayden had seen nothing. Maybe it was time to pack up and head to another cemetery.

  Truth be told, his belief in the unknown was running on fumes these days. For the past nine years—since his sixteenth birthday—Hayden had dabbled in ghost hunting. The closest he’d come to a supernatural finding was an indistinguishable sound that might have been a growl captured on his digital voice recorder in a rural Kansas graveyard dubbed one of the seven lost gateways of hell. Puny evidence for all his effort, but Dr. Rupert Shaw, the institute founder, resident guru and man behind the curtain, had a favorite saying: the field of parapsychology was not for the faint of heart or the impatient.