The Kingdom

“How did you get involved in the cemetery business?” he asked.

“My father was a caretaker for many years. He taught me early on an appreciation for old Southern graveyards. When I was a kid, I used to think the cemetery by our house was enchanted. It was my favorite place to play. I called it my kingdom.”

“Is that why you’re known as The Graveyard Queen?”

“How in the world did you find out about that?” I asked in surprise.

“I looked you up.”

“And?”

“You’re accomplished for someone so young. Undergraduate degree in anthropology from the University of South Carolina, a master’s in archeology from Chapel Hill and you spent two years in the State Archeologist’s office before opening your own business. All very impressive.”

“It seems you’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to check me out,” I said coolly.

“Not really. It was all there on your website.”

“Oh. Right.”

He grinned, and I couldn’t help noticing how young and appealing he looked when he smiled. He should do more of that, but then…the same could undoubtedly be said about me.

“Were you worried about my credentials?” I asked.

“No. I was curious about you.”

That silenced me. I wasn’t looking at him, but I knew his eyes were on me. I could feel that gaze just as surely as I felt the sting of all those scratches.

“Actually, I did a little more than read your website,” he confessed. “I came across a newspaper account of the cemetery restoration in Charleston last spring.”

“Oak Grove,” I said and felt the familiar hitch in my breath when I remembered.

The knife scar from my struggle with a killer tingled on my upper arm even though the cut had healed months ago. But the wounds on the inside ran deeper. The fear had subsided, at least during daylight hours, but the memory of my entrapment would fester for years, gnawing at me relentlessly on nights when sleep was hard to come by.

Thane must have sensed my reluctance to dredge up that particular nightmare because he said nothing else on the subject. But his gaze on me was soft and so gently inviting that I found myself wanting to confide in him. I suddenly had an intense need to let everything that had happened all those months ago come pouring out, but I barely knew the man. I couldn’t talk to him about personal things. Especially not about Devlin.

We didn’t speak again for several long moments. Thane continued to stroke Angus’s back, and I felt myself slide even more deeply into relaxation. Maybe after the ordeal in the thicket, I was simply too bone tired to fight it. Had it not been getting on dusk, I would have been content to remain as we were, but it was long past time I learned the real purpose of his visit.

“You didn’t come here to talk to me about Thorngate, did you?” I asked. “Why are you really here?”

The hand stilled on Angus’s back and he glanced up. “I need a favor.”

I frowned. “What kind of favor?”

“What are your plans for the evening?”

I hadn’t anticipated that question. The amity I’d felt moments before vanished, and I found myself pulling away. “Early dinner, early bedtime,” I said stiffly. “I get up at the crack of dawn.”

“Could you make an exception just this once? I’d like you to come to a small dinner party at Asher House tonight. We have them every so often. My grandfather started the tradition a long time ago when the community first fell on hard times. Jobs were drying up, people were moving away. He wanted to find a way to show solidarity with the townspeople. A noble enough sentiment, I guess, but over the past few years, the evenings have degenerated into the same handful of guests. It’s become tiresome. We’re in dire need of fresh blood.”

The chill in the breeze made me shiver. “Thank you, but I’m not much on dinner parties. And even if I were, I don’t have anything suitable to wear. I packed mostly work clothes.”

His gaze drifted over me. “You can come as you are as far as I’m concerned.”

I gave an awkward laugh to cover my uneasiness. “I think I could at least manage a shower.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

I shook my head. “Sorry. I’m really not in the mood for a party. It’s been a long day.” And I needed time alone to digest everything that had happened in the laurel bald.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to be a little more persuasive,” he said slowly.

“Meaning?”

“I believe I have something you want.”

My pulse quickened at his ominous tone, even though I suspected he was teasing me. “And what would that be?”

“A lot of the old cemetery records are stored at Asher House. I could arrange for you to have a look at them.”

“Luna told me the records were stored at the library in town.”

“Some of them are, but not the ones you’ll want to see. If you come to dinner, I’ll make sure you have full access.”

“That sounds very much like a bribe,” I accused.

He grinned. “Would it pique your interest to know there are pictures—actual photographs—of the cemetery from the late 1800s? The original site map should still be around, too, and who knows? We may even be able to dig up the family Bible.”

I thought about that hidden grave once again and wondered if any record of it might be included in the Asher family archives. I wanted to know who was buried there. In fact, I had to know. Unidentified graves were anathema to me.

“You drive a hard bargain,” I said with a sigh.

The green eyes gleamed. “Shall I pick you up at quarter of eight?”

“No, thank you. I’d rather drive.”

He gave me a knowing look. “So you can leave whenever you want?”

I shrugged.

He nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll see you at eight, then. You can’t miss the house. It’s just past the cemetery. Cross the creek and you’re there.”

Eleven

If the cemetery statuary was a tribute to Asher ego, then I could only surmise the house must pay homage to the family’s hubris. The place was massive, a towering cliff-top behemoth with three stories of verandas and half a dozen gleaming columns that seemed at least a mile high. I had expected something large but nothing quite so grand. Nor was I prepared for the floating illusion created by moonlight and clever illumination.

A circular drive swept me up and around to the front of the house, and my first inclination was to make the arc and keep going. For some inexplicable reason, I found myself intimidated, and I didn’t understand why. Status meant nothing to me. I’d been brought up by a gentle mother who embodied the more refined qualities of a Southern belle, but also by a father who came from the mountains of North Carolina and worked with his hands. I was a product of both and proud of it.

So why the nervous hesitation? Why that foreboding that warned me to stay away from this house and the Ashers?