Cemetery Club (10 page)

Instead, he was currently a suspect in multiple murders, murders that were eerily similar to the ones from his childhood. And that wasn’t all. For the first time since that hot, steamy summer after junior year, all four members of the Cemetery Club were back in town. In fact, one of them was upstairs scrubbing years of accumulated filth and disease from his rancid body in the spare bath.

The other two were due for dinner in a few hours.

“Mister Todd?”

Todd opened his eyes to find Abigail Clinton, his mother’s home health aide, standing in the entranceway. Her dark, West Indian eyes were full of concern.

“Yes?”

“The Missus is almost out of the medicine. Only a few more days. You want I should get?”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll take care of it.” He held back a smile. Abigail was overcautious and prone to exaggeration. If she said it was going to storm, it meant they were going to get some showers. Two days ago she’d said her nephew was on his death bed and she might need to take time off; it turned out he had a stomach virus. So Todd knew that if she said his mother’s medicine would run out in a few days there was probably close to two weeks of pills left in the bottle. Still, he made a mental note to check the next time he was upstairs.

“Okay then. I see you on Monday. I leave dinner in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks Abigail. Have a good weekend.”

Todd waited until she left and then opened the Tupperware bowl on the top shelf of the ‘fridge. Soup of some kind; thick and full of a brown meat he assumed was beef, although with Abigail you could never be sure. He’d come home one day and found her boiling a big pot of pig’s feet. From then on he’d never been entirely comfortable eating the meals she prepared. Luckily, his mother never complained.

She’d always been good at keeping her feelings hidden though. Maybe if she’d been different...

Todd sighed and pushed away unhappy childhood memories before they could take a firm grip on him. A metallic squeal from upstairs announced the shower faucets shutting off. His cue to get dinner started. He put the soup back and instead grabbed a package of ground beef from the freezer. He’d be feeding four adults tonight, so it had to be something fast but filling, and something he knew how to cook.

Which meant either hamburgers or meatloaf.

“Meatloaf it is,” he said to the package of dead, minced frozen cow. “Nothing but the best for old friends.” He placed it in the microwave and hit defrost. While the machine hummed and buzzed, Todd gathered the rest of the ingredients he’d need: breadcrumbs, eggs, an onion, salt, pepper and A1 Sauce. He allowed himself a little smile. Who’d have thought the hospital’s kitchen training program would actually come in handy for entertaining?

He was browning the onion in olive oil when John’s voice came from the entrance to the kitchen.

“Damn, that smells good. I don’t suppose you’ve got something to hold me over until dinner? All I've had today is McDonalds.”

“Sure. Grab a chair and I’ll make us a couple of sandwiches.” Todd turned away from the stove and had to pause; it took a moment for him to register that the man sitting down at the table was the same person he’d brought home.

Washed, shaved and wrapped in Todd’s bathrobe, John Boyd looked a lot more like the friend Todd remembered, albeit with some changes. He’d been skinny in high school. Now he was practically emaciated. His limp, sandy hair had faded to mostly gray thanks to malnutrition, and a web of red capillaries created mystical patterns on a nose that leaned slightly to the left.

His nose was straight in high school,
Todd thought.
He must have broken it after I got locked away.

One thing hadn’t changed: John’s lips still avoided smiling the way a religious man avoided swearing. You could occasionally tease or surprise one out of him but more often than not he maintained a stoic expression that would make a poker player jealous.

“So.” Todd opened the ‘fridge and checked the meat compartment. “Bologna and American cheese okay?” He hoped so. It was either that or peanut butter and jelly.

One of John’s eyebrow’s went up, a typical Boyd expression of self-deprecating humor. “Hell. Half my meals come from dumpsters. Anything where you don't have to scrape the mold off is a treat.”

Todd cringed internally. How easy it was to forget the man had been living on the street for years. He made two sandwiches for John and one for himself, opened two more cans of soda and set everything on the table. After giving the onions another stir, he turned the burner off and sat down.

“What happened, John?”

John took a big gulp of soda, washing his mouth clean of white bread and lunch meat, and let out a soft belch. “You mean at the cemetery or to me in general?”

“Both, but hold off on the cemetery story until the others get here.”

“I guess that just leaves the rise and fall of John Boyd. You sure you want to hear it?”

Todd shrugged and took a bite of his sandwich. “I spent the last two decades in a mental institution. Any conversation with another sane person is welcome.”

“I don’t know how many people would classify me as sane, but okay. I’ll do us both a favor and give you the summation. After high school, I did the college thing, got my degree in marketing. Opened an insurance business. Did well too. Got married. You remember Susie Mellick?”

Todd nodded. “Cute girl, lived over on Balsam Street.”

“That’s her. We had a son, Kyle. A great kid.”

“Sounds nice.” Todd smiled but he was already regretting his insistence that John talk. Something bad had to be lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

“It was. In the beginning. But then business started getting crazy. Meetings, conferences, training programs, wining and dining clients. The more money I made, the less I was home to enjoy it. To enjoy my family.”

Oh shit. Here it comes.

John chugged more soda. “I started gambling to relieve the stress. It was easy. I didn’t even have to go to Atlantic City or Connecticut. Maybe if I had...instead, I just hit the local OTB. Betting a few races on a Friday afternoon turned into four or five nights a week. I lost more than I won but I didn’t care. The money was rolling in and I was only twenty-nine. And then...”

“Then what?” The words came out before Todd could stop them.

“I lost ten grand in one week. The same week Susie wrote some checks, big ones. New washing machine. Mortgage. The usual home owner shit. They bounced before I could transfer money from another account. That’s how she caught me. We had a fight, I stormed out. I’d never been a big drinker but I went to Gus’s and really tied one on. And on the way home, I fell asleep. Or maybe I passed out. I honestly don't remember and it doesn't make a difference anyhow. Next thing I knew I woke up in the hospital. I had a broken rib and a concussion.”

“You were lucky.”

“No, I wasn’t. And neither was the kid I killed. Sixteen years old. Found out from the cops that I ran him over as he crossed the road.”

“Oh Christ.”
There it was. The turning point in John’s life. Mine was getting locked away. Do all of us have one? Are they all just as bad?

Was that the ultimate curse of the Cemetery Club?

“I did six months in jail. Would’ve been more but my lawyer pulled some strings and I called in all my favors. Plus, it turned out the kid had been just as drunk as I was. The judge lowered the charges to negligent homicide. Susie divorced me. Took Kyle and left town before I got out. When I did, I had nothing. No family, no money, no house. I threw myself into Lake Alcohol and I’ve been drowning my sorrows ever since.”

John reached for his soda with a shaking hand. The trembling grew worse as he brought the drink to his mouth.

“Are you all right?” Todd asked, thinking his old friend overcome with emotion.

“I got the shakes, real bad.” He held out his hands which were doing a good imitation of Parkinson’s disease. “I haven’t had a drink since yesterday afternoon.”

“I don’t have anything here,” Todd said.

“Good.” John’s face hardened, his previously morose expression transforming into solid determination. “If the creatures really are back, I need to be sober.”

Rather than get started on a track he wasn’t ready for, Todd opted to avoid it completely. “Why don’t you lie down and rest for a few hours? I have to get dinner finished and take care of my mother. You can use my room. Help yourself to clothes too. I’ll wake you up in a couple hours.”

The tiniest of smiles touched John’s lips, a rare flower blossoming in a desolate landscape. “Thanks. I haven’t slept on a real bed in...I don’t know how long.” Soda in hand, he headed for the stairs.

Todd watched him climb the steps like an old man, arms and legs quivering, planting each foot solidly before lifting the other.

Dear God. Twenty years and the curse I initiated is still hurting people.

Nick Travers watched the tow truck lower the squad car to the ground. As soon as the winch unhooked, he motioned towards the waiting lab techs. “Hop to it. I want every inch of this car dusted, tested and photographed. And I want it done yesterday.”

The forensic team moved in like jackals approaching a corpse. A blue glow filled the interior of the car as ultraviolet lights danced across the seats and console.

“What do you think Chief?” Lieutenant Bobby Mallory asked.

“I think the Mayor’s gonna have my ass for having two cops go missing, that’s what I think,” Travers said, his voice rougher than usual. “I—”

“Chief!” One of the techs stood up. “I’ve got positive traces of blood.”

“Here too,” said the woman examining the inside of the trunk. “And fingerprints all over.”

“Get ‘em to the lab, quick. I don’t care if they have to work overtime.”

“Chief, do you think—”

“Shut up Mallory. Right now I don’t feel like thinking.”

“Marisol!” Denny Rankin burst into the lab just as Marisol Flores was unbuttoning her lab coat.

“What?”

“Priority samples. From the police car that belonged to the missing cops. Chief Travers wants the results ASAP.”

“Give ‘em to Carlson. My shift is over.”

Rankin shook his head, his long hair flipping back and forth. “OT baby. Carlson’s running fiber samples. Chief said no one goes home ‘til the tests are run.”

“Fuck.” Marisol took the sample tray. “Are they all blood?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. There’s enough here for multiple tests. All right. Tell him I’ll have the results in about...two and a half hours.”

Rankin nodded and exited in the same frantic fashion as he’d entered, which had more to do with his four-can-a-day energy drink habit than the sudden emergency assignments. Marisol turned on the DNA analyzer and quickly prepared the samples, purposely doing two of each. Once the tests were running, she went to the phone and dialed Cory Miles’ cell.

“Hello?”

“Cory? It’s Marisol. Where are you?”

“County records room,” came the tinny reply. “What’s up?”

“I’m stuck here in the lab for at least three more hours. We’re gonna have to skip lunch.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. They’d had plans to grab a late lunch and continue their ‘catching up’ before going to Todd’s house for dinner.

“That’s okay, I’m knee deep in files right now anyway. I’ll swing by your house on my way to Todd’s, how’s that sound?”

“No, you go ahead without me. I’ll meet you at Todd’s.”

“You sure?” He sounded concerned.

Or maybe worried I won’t show? Is he that eager to see me?

“Crosses.” The word came out unexpectedly; it was what they’d said back in high school, short for ‘cross my heart.’

She thought he might make fun of her for using their old slang but Cory just laughed and said goodbye.

Marisol hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. Only four minutes had passed.

It’s gonna be a long afternoon.

The soft beep of the DNA analyzer finishing its run startled Marisol from her crossword puzzle. She hurried to grab the report as it printed out.

One glance brought her completely awake.

“Hol-ly shit.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Chief Travers looked from Marisol to Dr. Edwin Corish, the County Medical Examiner, who also doubled as Rocky Point’s coroner. “What kind of bullshit is this?”

Marisol clenched her jaw to keep an angry retort from slipping out. They were standing in the Chief’s office. She’d expected him to question her results. After all, she was the new girl. It was the reason she’d run the samples twice. Of course she hadn’t expected
these
particular results. She’d just wanted to be extra thorough. However, as soon as she’d seen them, she’d gone straight to her boss.

Corish hadn’t believed her at first either. But at least he’d been diplomatic enough not to chew her out in front of other people. And after careful review of her work he was ready to back her up.

“There’s no doubt Nick,” Corish said. “Five different DNA donors. Foster and Harris, plus Pete Webster and two unidentified contributors.”

“And the two unidentified samples came from inside the trunk?”

“According to the labels on the samples sir,” Marisol answered the police chief. “Foster and Harris came from the front seat, Webster from the back and the other two from the trunk.”

“You’re sure you didn’t screw up the order when you loaded them into the machine?”

“I didn’t screw anything up. As long as they were labeled correctly...” She let the implication hang.

“My fucking guys didn’t fuck this up!” Travers shouted. Then he took a deep breath before continuing in a more normal tone. “All right. So we’ve got something weird going on. We knew that already. At least now we know Foster and Harris drove out of the cemetery. Maybe...maybe Webster attacked them and they subdued him. They put him in the back seat, and—”

“And what?” a new voice interrupted.

Marisol and the others turned as Deputy Mayor Jack Smith entered the Chief’s office. Marisol gave a silent groan.
Oh great. This day just keeps getting better.