Dead and Buried

by Karin Kaufman

  “I wouldn’t think they’d waste their time,” I said.

  “Nor me. But that’s what the paying customers want to hear. Now, this one here . . .” We paused momentarily at small headstone crowned with a sleeping lamb. Cut in the shape of a bread slice, and rather thin compared to more modern stones, it leaned backward at a nearly forty-five-degree angle. “This is a child’s headstone, and it’s going to fall over in the next ten years. Some of the others—Brodie Campbell, Charlotte King—include children’s graves in their tours. I don’t.”

  “I’d rather go on your tour than theirs. How well do you know those two?”

  “I’ve been to the mansion and met them there, and in the cemetery, and they were all at my house for a morning coffee meeting a week ago, but we’re acquaintances, not friends.”

  We walked on, Emily gesturing at trees to our left and right. “Do you see the bats? They make them out of wire and black fabric and then paint yellow glow-in-the-dark eyes on both sides of the fabric.”

  There were twenty or so bats just within in my view, and though most were dangling from black strings tied to branches, as I got closer, I saw that a few were nailed to tree trunks. “Who added the bats? And would they have brought the hammer the police found to nail some of them up?”

  Emily left the path and went to the nearest tree on our left. “They weren’t supposed to nail them to the trees. Then again, they weren’t supposed to put them on graves, but obviously someone did that.” She traced a nail head with her finger. “We’ll lose our agreement with the cemetery if they see these nailed bats. The idea was to have a few on branches, swinging in the wind.” She dropped her hand and looked at me. “The hammer they used to nail these bats must have been from the historical society, which means they used the hammer the police found. Do you think the murderer killed Patti in the cemetery?”

  “I don’t think—” I stopped short. That hammer wasn’t the murder weapon, as I now knew, but I couldn’t tell Emily that. Anyway, before I could tell her about the murder weapon, I had to break the news about Minette, and I wasn’t going to do that standing in a cemetery. “We need to find out for sure if the hammer was the murder weapon. Then we need to know when and where Patti was killed.”

  “There it is.” Emily pointed ahead. “Dawson. The name’s on the back of the headstone too. As far as I know, none of the guides stop at that grave during their tours.”

  The Dawson headstone was about twenty-five feet off the path, and I could see how in the dark, any body parts jutting out from the dirt would be difficult to see. The police had taped off the headstone and the disturbed ground above it, making a rectangle about seven feet long and four feet wide, and what must have been the previously neatly mounded dirt now looked much as I’d imagined it would after a body had been yanked out of it by one or both arms. But more than that, the turf to one side of the grave had been shredded, as if a small drag-racing car had been dropped there to burn rubber—or in this case, grass.

  “It’s not a new stone, so why was the dirt mounded in front of it?” I asked.

  “Another good question.”

  “So you walked over here because you saw a bat on the headstone.”

  “I wanted to wander a little, and when I did, that’s when I saw it. And it’s against the rules, so I was curious. I shined my flashlight on it, and then I must have seen the glint of the watch. I didn’t tell Rancourt this, but I also didn’t tell anyone I saw arms because I didn’t want to get someone in trouble for decorating a grave.”

  “Where was the tour group when you were here?”

  Emily directed my gaze back to the path. “About fifty feet up that way.”

  “Everyone but Patti was there?”

  “Exactly. Now we know where she was at the time.”

  Hearing the shoosh of tires on wet asphalt, I turned to see a white SUV winding our way. As it neared, the driver rolled down the window and called a greeting to Emily.

  “Brodie,” she said under her breath.

  We trudged back to the path, the man in the SUV grinning broadly as we approached. Considering where we were, and that he must have heard about Patti, it struck me as an oddly cheery reaction. He was about forty, with dark, well-moussed hair cut in a fashionable style and bright, straight teeth.

  “Emily, I thought that was you under the umbrella,” he said.

  “Brodie, hi. Yeah. This is my friend Kate Brewer.”

  I gave him a chin nod and said hello.

  “Did you hear about Patti?” Emily asked.

  “That’s why I’m here. Can’t believe I didn’t see her last night. All the police said was she was partially buried. Someone saw her body during the tour but didn’t say anything. Can you believe it?”

  “Well, you know . . .” Emily bit her lip.

  I jumped in. “So you’ve talked to the police?”

  “They came to the Fairfield,” Brodie replied. “My guess is they’re still there. They interviewed me first, so I left. You should head over there, Emily. We’re debating whether to go on with the cemetery tours. We’re leaning toward no. Or Olivia is leaning that way. Know what I mean? Though we’re going on with the mansion tour. Everyone agreed.”

  Tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel with his right hand, he spoke in rapid-fire snippets of sentences, as if once he began a sentence he couldn’t wait to get on to the next one.

  “See ya.” Brodie got out of this SUV and, without another word or backward glance, started walking for the Dawson headstone.

  “He’s lively, isn’t he?” I whispered, watching him trek off in the rain.

  “Patti used to say he must have three kidneys.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that what they say about people with too much energy? That they have an extra kidney?”

  “That’s a new one on me. He’s very curious about that plot.”

  “So are we.”

  “But we’re trying to figure out who killed Patti. What’s he doing here?”

  “Maybe he’s paying his respects.”

  “At the place where someone shoveled dirt over her?”

  “Where someone murdered her, Kate. It’s a murder location.”

  “But was she murdered there? I didn’t see any blood on the surrounding grass, though the rain might have washed it away.”

  “If she wasn’t killed there, why bury her there?”

  “Excellent question.” The longer I stood staring out at the grave, watching a now very wet Brodie circle the crime tape like a dog on the hunt, the more puzzled I became. “If the purpose was to set you up, why would the killer murder Patti there, bury her there, and only then dig her up and leave her in your back yard? That’s an awful lot of dangerous trouble to go to. It makes no sense. We must be missing something.”

  “Let’s get out of the rain and go to the Fairfield Mansion.” Emily did an about-face and strode off for my Jeep.

  But I couldn’t take my eyes from Brodie, his head moving in a scanning motion, his legs shifting weight from one to the other like a little boy needing to visit the restroom. It seemed to me he was searching for something in the disturbed soil, but just as that thought entered my mind, he stopped his twitching, glanced up, and waved at me. Weirdly, I waved back. And I stopped gawking.

  When I got back to my Jeep, I saw Emily staring into my glove compartment, and when I opened the door and tossed my umbrella on the back seat, she held up her hand, calling me to silence. I hauled myself into the driver’s seat and shut the door.

  “Do you have mice in your car?” she said.

  “Of course not. I hate mice. Michael mouse-proofed everything.”

  “You can’t mouse-proof a garage.”

  “You can come close.”

  “Quiet. There’s something in here.”

  “There can’t be. I don’t leave my windows down.”

  “You rolled them down when we first got onto Birch.”

  “Because the windows were fogging. It’s not like a mou
se is going to fly—” Oh no, I thought. Oh no, she didn’t. Two hours ago I wasn’t supposed to breathe a word about Minette’s existence. Now the obstinate little creature was forcing me, on her timetable, to tell Emily about her.

  “Mice can leap great distances,” Emily said. “Relative to their body size.”

  I groaned and ran my hand down my face.

  “All right, let’s say it’s not a mouse. There are no mice involved in this. Or rats.”

  “Emily.”

  “I’m just joking about rats. I’ve never seen one in my house, though I have a friend in Rumford who had rats in her attic. She heard them late at night. Raccoons, too.”

  I turned and glared at her.

  “I mean it. She said it sounded like raccoons dragging rats across the attic floor. I don’t know how she slept.”

  I groaned again and looked down at the steering wheel, weighing the pros and cons of telling Emily about Minette.

  “Kate, I’m just joking.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have rats. Probably not even mice.”

  My eyes rose to the windshield. I searched the grounds ahead for Brodie and his SUV. “Did Brodie leave?” I asked, starting the Jeep and switching on the wipers.

  “He must have. I don’t see him.”

  “I don’t see anyone else, either. Do you?”

  “Um . . . no.”

  “Good.” Bringing my right knee up, I shifted sideways in my seat until I was facing Emily. “I have to tell you something.”

  “This sounds serious.” She too angled herself in her seat. “Is it bad news?”

  “No, it’s just strange.”

  “That could be fun. I’ll take strange. Go for it.”

  “Remember how Ray Landry used to talk about seeing fairies in the woods across from our houses?”

  Emily chuckled. “I miss talking to him. He was quite the storyteller.”

  “What if he wasn’t telling stories? I mean, what if his stories were true? What if there really are these creatures called fairies and he found one? And then, what if one of them found me?” As the words were coming out of my mouth, I kept telling myself to backtrack and make a joke of it all. If Emily was going to talk about rats, I was going to talk about fairies. Ha ha, I’m only kidding.

  But it was already too late. Emily’s eyes widened and she reared back, pressing herself to the car door. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to. But I have to tell you about her.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Are you asking me if I’m on medication?” I laughed halfheartedly. “I’m not. I’m trying to tell you that what you heard in the car wasn’t a mouse.”

  A tiny rustle from the back seat caused us both to jump.

  “This is freaking me out,” Emily said.

  “She wanted you to know about her.”

  “She?”

  “Her name is Minette.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “That was my reaction, too. I thought I was losing my mind, but Emily, I’m not crazy and neither are you. As Minette says, there are more things in heaven and earth than you dream of.” I smiled. “She likes to quote Shakespeare.”

  “Shakespeare? Ray used to say that line.”

  To Emily’s credit, she didn’t laugh hysterically or try to escape the Jeep—and I wouldn’t have blamed her for doing either. But there was now a slight catch in her voice, and a look of pain swept over her face, as though she were witnessing the disintegration of a once-healthy friendship.

  “Please don’t be afraid. Minette, come out now, but stay in the back, and don’t fly.”

  I heard the rustle again, and this time the fabric on my umbrella trembled.

  Emily pressed herself against the dashboard.

  A second later, Minette emerged.

  “No,” Emily gasped.

  “Emily,” Minette said, her voice soft and sweet. She smiled, rose to her full height, and unfurled her wings. “Emily, it’s just me. I’ve watched you.”

  “Don’t tell her that,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s creepy.”

  “Yes, Kate.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Emily breathed. “I’m losing my mind.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Emily and I talked for half an hour in my Jeep. That was how long it took for my friend’s breathing to return to normal. All the while, Minette sat quietly on top of the back seat, smiling whenever Emily looked her way. I explained how I’d found Minette, how she’d helped me solve Ray’s murder last month, and how he had taken care of her by letting her stay in his house during the winter months.

  “But her home is in the woods across Birch Street,” I added, “and her full name is Minette Plummery of the Smithwell Forest.”

  Emily’s eyes darted from me to Minette. “Yes, of course it is.”

  Minette giggled. “You sound like Kate.”

  “You have a human face,” Emily said, her tone almost reverential. “Like a little girl.”

  “She’s fifty-seven,” I said.

  “Really? But she’s so beautiful.”

  Minette brought her hands to her face and tucked in her chin, delighted but also a little flustered by Emily’s praise.

  “And you have such a tiny mouth, but I can hear you perfectly,” she added.

  “I speak English,” Minette said.

  “And very well,” Emily said.

  “Because I live here.”

  Emily was still a little on edge, I thought, and perhaps questioning her hold on reality, but now she was talking to Minette, leaning against her seat, her left arm slung across the top of it. Watching them converse, I began to feel better about giving in to Minette’s desire to make herself known.

  “I don’t understand this,” Emily said. “How can this be, Kate? I always laughed when Ray talked about fairies.”

  “So did I. He was testing me, to see if he could trust me with his secret, and I failed him.”

  “Don’t speak those words,” Minette said sternly. Her wings, which had been resting—almost drooping—at her sides, now stretched up and out, and as they did, they began to vibrate, lifting the creature until she was hovering a foot above the seat back. “You did not fail Ray of the Forest. You solved his murder. And now we will solve another murder so no one puts Emily in trouble.” She flitted back down, crossing her legs under her as she sat.

  “We’ll try, Minette,” I said.

  “Thank you, little fairy,” Emily said.

  I told Emily about the historical society’s hammer and Minette’s observation that, although it had lain under Patti’s body and probably had her blood on it, it was not the murder weapon. Thus there was one more layer of inexplicable deception to deal with. I hardly knew where to begin, but Emily suggested we drive to the Fairfield Mansion on Essex Street, just outside tiny downtown Smithwell. It struck me as a logical next step.

  Minette agreed to hide herself once more under a fold of my umbrella, and I exited the cemetery, driving first for Falmouth Street, Smithwell’s main road. As I made a right on Falmouth, Emily’s phone sounded in her coat pocket.

  “It’s the police!” she hissed, showing me the phone. “How did they get my number?”

  “They’re the police,” I said. “Look, I’m sure they asked someone at the mansion for your number. Answer it.”

  “No.” She hung up without taking the call and jammed the phone back in her pocket. “They’re going to tell me to call Laurence and make him come back, and I won’t do that.”

  “I’ll bet he’s about to leave Halifax,” I said, anxious to reassure her. “In minutes he’ll be over the Atlantic, and they’re not going to make the plane turn around. He’s not even a witness, let alone a suspect.”

  “Detective Rancourt thinks he is. What if they stop him when he lands in London and make him take the next plane back?”

  I shook my head. “You’re worrying over nothing. They probably want to talk to you again, not Laurence.”
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  That didn’t help.

  “Why?” Emily cried. “I’ve told them everything I know. How can I help it if someone dropped a body in my yard?”

  “We’ll figure this out,” I said, not having a clue as to how we were going to do that. “Between the three of us, we’ll figure it out.” On Falmouth, I entered downtown—several blocks of brick buildings and clapboard houses that had been converted to offices—and made a left onto Essex. Six blocks north, I parked in front of the Fairfield Mansion, an old, wood-shingle house, three stories high, with a Victorian-style turret on one end.

  “It doesn’t look like a haunted house,” I said. “A little in need of repair, but not spooky.”

  “Wait until you see the inside,” Emily said. “If I totally believed in ghosts, I’d never come back to this place.”

  “What do you mean by totally? Do you believe in ghosts?”

  “I believe there are things in this world we can’t explain, whether they’re ghosts or something else. Good grief, fairies are proof of that.”

  We got out, leaving our umbrellas on the back seat to serve as hiding places for Minette. Before shutting my door, I twisted back and whispered to her, reminding her to stay well hidden.

  “Do not be afraid of ghosts,” she answered.

  I froze, my hand on the door. “What does that mean?”

  “That means what it means.” She poked her head from under the umbrella. “Do not be afraid.”

  I stuck my head inside the Jeep and leaned over the back of the front seat. “Does that mean don’t be afraid because they won’t hurt me or don’t be afraid because they don’t exist?”

  “Kate.” Emily kicked my ankle and I lurched backward, smacking my head on the inside of the door frame. As I twisted back, I realized she had circled around and placed herself between me and what I now saw were a man and woman walking straight for my Jeep.

  Pretending I needed to tighten the laces on one shoe, I dropped to the driver’s seat. “Hide, Minette.”

  “Pocket,” she said, shooting for my coat.

  “You never listen, never,” I sputtered.