Agony of the Leaves: Tea Shop Mystery #13 (32 page)

But it’s not a deserted cemetery
, Theodosia told herself.
It’s an abandoned cemetery.

That realization was enough to raise the tiny hairs on the back of her neck and chill her to the bone. Were there really such things as abandoned cemeteries where old graves were simply forgotten? Or was that only in spooky British movies? Or vampire movies?

But a film of ground fog was seeping in, rolling across tilting markers and vague humps like a living, squirming
thing. And it would appear no one had brought flowers or tended these graves for a good many decades.

So, clearly, this place was abandoned!

Theodosia clenched her jaw and bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to dissipate her nervous energy. Now what? She was running out of time and tiny little spurts of adrenaline were being insinuated into her bloodstream, triggering even greater feelings of unease.

Standingstock-still in the middle of this overgrown graveyard, with Spanish moss hanging down like rotting cloth, Theodosia decided there was only one thing to do. Call Majel.

Luckily, Majel answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Majel,” said Theodosia. “Thank goodness I got you.”
And good reception, too.
She drew a deep breath. “Believe it or not, I’m a little lost. I passed through Early Branch and made it as far as Hopper Road. I
thought
I’d ended up at Angel’s Rest, but the directions didn’t quite work out. So now…believe it or not…I’m standing in the middle of an old cemetery!”

“Oh, my gosh!” exclaimed Majel, “it sounds like you took a
really
wrong turn and came in the back way.”

“There’s a back way?” said Theodosia. Her voice sounded squeaky and small among the ghostly, moldering tombstones. “You mean there’s another road?”

“Absolutely,” said Majel, “Hopper Road also winds around to the front gate of our camp.”

“Oh dear,” said Theodosia. “That explains it. So I really did miss a turn.” Her front teeth nibbled at her lower lip. “And the deadline’s in something like ten minutes!”

“Listen,” said Majel, “I’ve got an idea. If you’re not entirely creeped out, just continue walking straight through that old place. Go for like another sixty or seventy yards and you’ll come to a tall wooden fence…”

“Uh-huh,” said Theodosia, not liking the idea, but willing to go along with it.

“It’s kind of rough-hewn, like an old stockade fence,” said Majel. “Anyway, once you hit that fence you’ll see a gate. Just pop through the gate and you’re at the camp.”

Some place for a camp.

Theodosia glanced around as the darkness and night sounds seemed to close in around her. “That’s all I have to do? You’re sure it’s the quickest way?”

“Really, it is. And simple as pie.”

“Okay then.”
I guess.

“I’m sorry you’re out there all alone,” said Majel. “And probably feeling a little intimidated by that old place.”

“Yes,” said Theodosia.

“But, believe me, you’re close. So it’s really no big deal.”

“Okay,” said Theodosia, “talk to you later.” She snapped her phone shut and stood there for a long minute. The ground was spongy and damp and she could feel moisture seeping through the soles of her shoes.

Damp. Damp from what?

She didn’t want to think about it.

Picking her way
between tilting gravestones and around sunken graves, Theodosia walked slowly and carefully. She didn’t want to twist an ankle or get caught by the vines that snaked all around her. The ground was mushier here, too, practically swamplike. As if nature were trying to reclaim its due.

Off in the distance came the low, mournful hoot of an owl. And a rustle of branches.

Somebody there?

Theodosia paused in her tracks. No, nobody there. Just the little nocturnal critters. The ones with the yellow, glowy eyes. But they were more afraid of her than she should be of them, right?

Hope so.

Threading her way through a stand of buckthorn that had sprouted up in the graveyard, Theodosia saw the wooden fence loom up directly ahead of her.

Thank goodness something was going to work out. Like Majel had said, just pop through the gate and you’re there. All she had to do was take the photo, send it back to the City Charities website, and she’d be out of here.

But when Theodosia arrived at the fence, aseven-foot-high structure of sodden, half-rotting logs that did look like the outer perimeter of some fortress, there was no gate to be found.

Huh. Did I screw up again?
she wondered.
Did I not walk the right way?

Theodosia stretched a hand out and let her fingertips brush against the rough wood, as if to confirm it was really tangible and not just a mirage.

A fence, but no gate. Something changed?

Okay, Theodosia decided, she was going to go off script and switch to plan B. By hook or by crook she was going to hoist herself over that fence and shoot her photo.

Over the fence. How am I going to manage that? Go back and fetch Drayton?

Then she remembered, there wasn’t enough time.

Theodosia walked haltingly along the fence line until she saw a possibility. An old gravestone, a square marker almost six feet tall, had heaved out of the ground and tilted toward the fence. If she could scramble up…then vault over the fence…she’d be home free.

The gravestone was old and crumbly and covered with damp moss. It felt distasteful and furry, but it also gave her some needed traction. She eased up the monolith, half crawling, half climbing, until her hands were able to grasp the top of the fence.

With one mighty heave, Theodosia lurched forward and pulled herself upright so she could peer over the fence.

Success.

But all she saw was…swamp. Brackish water and tupelo trees as far as the eye could see.

A swamp?

Theodosia’s heart lurched in her chest as she blinked rapidly, not quite believing her eyes. Where were the cabins? Where was the camp with the flag and the campfire circle? What kind of wrong turn had she made this time?And—

There was another more terrifying question, too. Why had she been sent out here on this horriblewild-goose chase?

Behind her, soft footsteps. Like someone walking stealthily through sucking mud. Panicked, Theodosia tried to spin around, struggling to maintain her precarious balance.

But before she could turn completely around, she was struck hard from behind. A terrible crashing blow to her ribs and lower back that brought tears to her eyes and sent a hot, searing pain through her entire body.

And then, like a dream sequence in a horror movie, Theodosia was falling, falling, falling…

She came to
rest with abone-shattering thump. Aware only of darkness. And then dampness, an oozing, moldering, putrid dampness, that chilled her to the bone.

Can I move? Am I paralyzed? No, I can feel pain, searing pain.

Struggling to move her foot, Theodosia thought she’d managed to twitch a toe. Groaning, trying to fight her way to consciousness, Theodosia concentrated hard on opening her eyes. They fluttered tentatively for a few moments, and then, finally, she was able to focus.

She was staring at a pair of legs.

Whose legs?

“Hello, Theodosia,” said Majel. Majel Carter peered down at her from above. A funny, crazy light twirled in her eyes and her mouth was twisted into a feral snarl. “Fancy meeting you here.” Majel tossed aside the hunk of wood she held in her hand and dug in her shoulder bag.

“Majel?” said Theodosia, in a quavering voice. She moved
slightly and felt something springy beneath her shift and crack. Like old wood splintering.

Wood? Oh no!

Theodosia twisted around and discovered she’d landed flat on her back, six feet down, in a sunken grave. On top of a coffin? Was that the splintering noise she’d heard? Had to be. She tried to lift her head but was overcome by a wave of dizziness and a flash of shooting pain.

“Oops,” said Majel. “Take a bad fall, did we? Isn’t that a shame. And look where you landed. Oh well, I suppose there’s room for two in that moldy old grave.” There was a look of supreme triumph on Majel’s face, and then her brain seemed to skip into hyperdrive and she screamed out, “You had to go snooping all over town, didn’t you? Sticking your nose where it didn’t belong! Asking questions! Now do you see where it got you? What it’s forced me to do?”

Theodosia stared up at Majel, who was wailing like a banshee, and knew in an instant, almost like a revelation from on high, that Majel was the one who’d killed Parker. That was what had been bubbling around in Theodosia’s brain these past few days like some crazy, unknown pot of stew. She’d seen a poster in Parker’s office for afund-raiser that Parker had done for Tuesday’s Child. Only it hadn’t clicked, the connection just hadn’t registered.

But now the pieces were tumbling into place likewell-mannered dominoes.

If there was no camp, thought Theodosia, then there was no charity, either. Had that been Parker’s sin? His death ticket? Had Parker found out that Tuesday’s Child was simply a ruse? That Majel’sfund-raising was aimed only at siphoning off funds to feather her own nest? Had to be!

Which meant Majel had lured Parker to his death?

Oh, dear Lord, she must have! What a horrible, murderous, evil person she was. And now Theodosia knew that she,
too, had fallen victim to Majel. She had been lured out here to this hideous, godforsaken place. But for what end?

All these thoughts spun crazily through Theodosia’s muddled head as she lay sprawled in the stinking grave. But this was no time to comb through information. She had to act! She had to…

Majel was pointing a small, gray revolver directly into the hole. And although her hand appeared unsteady, she was aiming squarely at Theodosia’s chest.

“There’s not much to say, is there?” said Majel. She bared her teeth. “Except have a nice rest!” She held the gun out straight in her right hand, hunched her shoulders, and half closed her eyes.

Theodosia flung herself to one side and screamed, just as a tremendously loud explosion ripped through the air and the gun bucked wildly in Majel’s hand. There was a splash of gunk and a nasty spray of wood splinters. Then nothing.

Dead? Am I dead?
wondered Theodosia.

And then she smelled the fetid stench of the grave and knew she’d somehow escaped being mortally wounded.

Majel missed. She missed me and I’m still alive. In her crazy, twisted, amateur gunslinger mind she thinks she killed me, but she didn’t.

And directly on the heels of that thought was,
Is Majel still up there? Is she watching me right now to see if I’m still breathing? Wondering if she should try to drill me with another shot?

So Theodosia played a game she’d played with Earl Grey. She played dead. She lay in the dark and the rot and the damp until she was pretty sure she heard Majel’s footsteps retreating.

When she was fairly sure Majel didn’t have another trick up her sleeve, Theodosia pulled herself slowly out of the grave.

She was smeared head to toe with mud and her ribs felt like they were on fire. Broken? She reached around and poked at them. No, but probably cracked.

Theodosia drew a shaky breath. She had to somehow…

But another thought quickly interceded. Drayton!

Oh no!

Majel was headed for the cemetery gate. And there was Drayton, scrunched in her Jeep, waiting, a veritable sitting duck!

Theodosia stumbled forward, then broke into a trot. She was disoriented, angry, and in pain, but the thought of Majel taking a shot at Drayton drove her forward. She ran, stumbled, and finally pounded her way across the soft, squishy earth, dodging tombstones, as if she were being chased by seven devils.

Have to get to Drayton!
she told herself.
Have to push harder…

Theodosia dodged a tombstone, skipped over a cracked tablet, and spun around a rusted iron cross. She drew upon her grit and fortitude as a lifelong runner and focused on one thing alone. The cemetery gate that loomed directly ahead of her. If she could just make it to…

A loud metallic
thwack!
suddenly sounded.

What the… ?

Theodosia redoubled her efforts. She stumbled forward, grasping her aching side, pushing and pumping her legs as though herlife—or Drayton’s—depended on it.

Now the cemetery gate was just ten strides ahead! She raced toward it as branches reached out to grab her clothing and rip her hair. Still, Theodosia ran in anall-out sprint.

Bursting through the cemetery gate, she spotted a lone figure standing by the side of her Jeep!

“Majel!” she cried, in an anguished wail. “Don’t!”

“Theodosia!” came the return cry. “Help!” A male voice. Clearly Drayton’s!

“Drayton!” she cried. “What’s…are you okay?”

She stumbled up to him, her breathing reedy and high like an overwrought teakettle. Drayton’s face was tense and drawn.

Then Theodosia saw Majelspread-eagled on the ground. Seemingly out cold.

“You got her!” Theodosia shouted. She hugged Drayton tightly and pounded him on the back, relieved, still scared, delirious that he was on his feet and very much alive.