The Cemetery Club (Darcy & Flora Cozy Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

At last, Emma spoke. “All
three deaths are, of course, related, and, in my opinion, there is but one
murderer.”

“That’s what we think,” Mom
interjected.

Recovering my enthusiasm, I
added, “The gold medallion that I found on Jason Allred proves that the
murderer, at least, hadn’t found it. I don’t know if he was looking for it or
for information about the hidden gold he thought Ben had given Allred.”

“Maybe both,” Emma said.

I nodded. “The Oklahoma City
police said there was no evidence of a robbery. To my way of thinking, the
killer wanted badly to know the location of Ben’s hidden treasure and Minda
Stilley may have given him the directions to Mr. Allred.”

“And, Mr. Jason Allred would
not tell his killer what the man came to find out, the location of the hidden
gold. That is, if he actually knew,” murmured our hostess.

Again, Emma seemed lost in
thought, as if she were seeing the violent person who laid the shop to shambles
and killed its owner.

Finally, she spoke. “Yes,
these deaths are all tied together, all by the same person. Anything else would
be just too much of a coincidence to be coincidental. The man who is behind
these murders is extremely violent and will stop at nothing to attain that
gold.”

A nice phrase, that, “too
much of a coincidence to be coincidental.”

Emma gently placed the cat
on the floor. “This equation has one common denominator—the stash of gold.
Somebody knows just enough about it to believe it exists, whether it does or
not. Didn’t you tell me that Ben bought some oil lands several years ago?”

I nodded. “He gave them to
his daughter.”

“Perhaps he used the gold
for that,” Emma went on. “Or perhaps there is more gold. Anyway, this person
who wants it, as I said, is desperate and has already killed three people. By
the way, I hope you two know that he wouldn’t hesitate to add more victims to
his list, if he found it necessary.”

My mouth felt suddenly dry.
I took a sip of tea.

Emma placed her glass on the
tray. “And this map you brought is supposed to point the way to buried
treasure.”

“Yes,” Mom and I said
together.

Next, Emma launched into
what would have been a very effective classroom delivery, if we had been
students. “Over the ages, every culture has produced many legends of hidden
treasure. In most cases, that’s truly what they are—just legends. But the story
surrounding this sounds authentic. Maybe there is truly a hidden cache that one
or more of Ben’s ancestors brought when he or she came to Indian Territory.
Evidently, our killer believes this is true. But he hasn’t seen your map, I
hope.”

I hesitated. “I hope not.
I’ll bet, though, that he knows there is a map somewhere. Maybe that’s what
he’s most interested in. Maybe Ben wouldn’t give it to him and Ben was killed
for being so stubborn. Same for Skye and Jason Allred. The topography along the
creek and river has changed a lot in recent years. Without a map, I don’t think
anyone could begin to locate a certain spot that might or might not contain
gold. But this map is so vague that I don’t think it’s much good. There
are hundreds of trees and rocks and one pretty
much looks like the
other.”

“Yes,” agreed Emma, “but
your killer might not know that. He just may know that somewhere, there’s a
map. Now, let’s see how that affects the rest of your problem.”

Grabbing a small notebook
and a pen from my purse, I proceeded to take notes.

“Many early people had some
rather unusual beliefs and customs about death,” Emma told us, looking from Mom
to me. “One of the strangest was the idea that the spirit lingered after it
left the body. Some thought that a body must be buried in a proper place with a
proper ceremony in order for the spirit to gain entrance into another world.
Yet, although that belief is similar to what about half the world’s population
believes, it’s really quite different in this point: the spirit was thought to
be capable of doing actual harm to a living person; especially if that person
had anything to do with the deceased’s death.”

So the murderer could be in
trouble? He might be haunted by the person he had killed? What a strange, new
possibility.

“So,” I said, thinking
aloud, “if the killer believed this, he would want to make sure that Ben and
Skye were disposed of in a manner that wouldn’t bring their spirits back to
haunt him?”

“Uh-huh,” Emma said.

How silly that anybody
should believe such a horrible thing! Is that where the idea of ghosts and
haunts came from? How awful it must be, to be governed by such superstitions.
But then, on the positive side, a person who believed this might be a little
more cautious about taking the life of another.

Chewing on the end of my
pencil, I asked, “But why dump them in Goshen? That is a little far-fetched,
even for a superstitious killer.
Would it
fit the bill for a proper place for the killer to dispose of his
victims?”

Emma cleared her throat. “Actually,
yes. He would consider the cemetery to be hallowed ground.”

I forgot note-taking as Emma
continued. “I think you will have to believe that the killer is someone who
knows about these old beliefs and is still governed by them. Maybe his
conscience is not quite seared over and he is counting on the fact that he put
Ben and Skye in a sacred place to outweigh the fact that he is guilty of
murder. I’m sure that he tries to justify what he has done, maybe he thinks he
needs the gold worse than they did. I would guess that, in some strange way, he
is trying to absolve his conscience.”

“Wait a minute.” I dropped
my pencil and notebook back into my purse. “This killer knows the old beliefs,
knows about the story that Ben’s family might have brought some gold out of
Georgia and buried
it somewhere. I would
say he knows an awfully lot about the Ventris
family.”

Emma nodded. “It does sound
like it.”

Mom shook her head. “Ben
didn’t have anybody else except his daughter. I know that for a fact. And he
didn’t have any sisters, just a brother. His brother Sam didn’t have any
children. Of course, Sam let that boy, Hammer, use his name, but he wasn’t
related. I also know that Ben couldn’t have any more children after Skye
because, as an adult, he had mumps, and that took care of that! When Skye died,
she was the last of the Ventris family.”

Emma looked intently at my
mother. “Are you sure Ben had no other children?”

Mom snorted. “Of course he
didn’t. He and his wife only had Skye.”

Emma surprised me by
chuckling. “And you are positive? I know that Ben was a good man, but sometimes
temptation hits us when we least expect it and, before we know it, we’ve done
something completely out of character.”

My mother said not a word.
Her face paled and she looked as if she were going to faint.

I took
the glass of tea out of her hand. “Mom, are you all right?” I
asked.

Emma
James reached out to her. “Would you like some water? An
aspirin?”

Mom’s reply was a hoarse
whisper. Her mind seemed somewhere else. “The winter after I married Andy,
that’s when he got the flu and it turned into pneumonia. That was before Ben
got married.”

“Who, Mom? Did Dad get
sick?” How strange that she should revert to talking about my father in the
middle of a conversation that had nothing at all to do with him.

“No, no, not Andy. It was
Ben. Ben got the flu and then pneumonia.”

My mind was whirling, trying
to follow what she said. Should we persuade her to go lie down? Should I call a
doctor?

But her next words let know
that her problem wasn’t physical. When she next spoke, I had to strain to hear
her. “Ben got sick and couldn’t get up and take care of himself for a long
time. As I said, he wasn’t married at the time. That’s when his brother sent
the girl who was staying with him over to help Ben. Her Cherokee name was
Spotted
Fawn, but I think she was known as
Ella. Anyway, I thought at the time
. . . I mean, I had the
feeling that . . . .” Her words trailed away.

I took her hand. “Yes? So
she took care of Ben while he was sick. But, I don’t understand, Mom. What does
it mean?”

She refocused and looked at
me in the same way she did when I was a teenager and she was explaining why
certain things were off limits for me.

“You still don’t understand,
do you, Darcy? Spotted Fawn was Hammer’s mother. That much we already knew.
Hammer was born less than a year after she stayed at Ben’s house, taking care
of him while he was sick. Darcy, that young man who grew up to be a bad apple
might actually be Ben’s son.”

Words failed me. If that
were true, then certain things began to make sense. Emma looked intently at my
mother and then at me.

Reaching for her glass of
tea, Mom quickly took a sip then set it back on the tray. “I just never made
that connection until now. Looking back, I remember Hammer’s eyes; the same
shape and color as Ben’s. The shape of his nose, I can see that there could be
a resemblance.”

Emma nodded. “Such things
happen.”

I reached for my purse.
“We’re jumping to conclusions here which might not be true. Growing up with
Sam, Hammer would still have heard something about that legend of gold. And,
why couldn’t his father have been Sam?”

“It stands to reason
. . .” Mom began. “Emma, we’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank
you. You have certainly given us something to think about.”

“I wish I could have done more,”
Emma said. “That map is ancient and the topography of the area has changed
since the dam went in. Much of it is covered by water. But meeting you both has
been a joy. You’ve brightened my day. Please come again.”

Neither of us said a word on
the drive back until we reached the outskirts of Levi.

“Talk about not seeing the
forest for the trees,” I said. “We’ve got to look at this from a different
angle. Maybe Grant should be looking for Hammer instead of Drake.”

“Somehow, I just can’t
believe that Hammer is related to Ben,” Mom said. “He is just too different.
Ben was a good man; honest, upstanding. Maybe Sam was Hammer’s real father.
Wouldn’t Ben have known that Hammer was his son?”

“I don’t know. Would he?
Would Ella have wanted him to know? Is Ella Spotted Fawn still alive?”

“No, she isn’t,” Mom said.
“I remember when she died. It was when Hammer was in grade school.”

“So he grew up with Ben’s
brother, Sam?”

Mom nodded.

“Maybe Hammer felt that
nobody wanted him,” I mused. “Maybe he got into trouble because he was acting
out his feelings of rejection.”

“And maybe you took too many
psychology courses in school,
Darcy. We all
make choices in this life. Hammer made a lot of wrong
ones.”

My mother, the lenient one,
so kind to Jasper, sure wasn’t cutting Hammer any slack. That was another facet
of her character that I hadn’t known. Time and circumstance bring out
characteristics that perhaps none of us know we possess.

Chapter 15

After the drive to Uvalda
and the visit with Emma, exercise sounded like a good idea. I hoped that
increased blood flow and a fresh supply of oxygen would clear my brain of all
but the essential facts, the pertinent parts of this mystery. Slipping on my
oldest, most faded blue jeans, and a red T-shirt, I went to the storage shed
behind the house. I pulled out Mom’s gardening gloves, a spade, and some
snippers. Taking a page from Emma James’s playbook, I hadn’t bothered with
shoes. The grass felt cool and comfortable under my bare feet.

A few weeds dared to raise
their heads among the peonies by the front gate. That would never do! Getting
down on my knees, I began pulling up those offensive upstarts, and before long,
the pile of weeds had grown to a respectable height. My muscles complained
about the sudden exercise, the sun was as relaxing as a heat lamp as it beat
down on my back and head, and I felt a nap coming on. I deserved it! Leaning
back against the fence under the peonies, I closed my eyes.

I slept and dreamed. In my
dream, the fragrance of flowers surrounded me and I stood by the gate, watching
someone walk up the street toward me. I knew the figure was a man, but I could
not see his face clearly; however, I certainly welcomed him and couldn’t wait
for him to reach me. The person must be Jake, I decided. Jake had come back to
me. At that moment, the gate squeaked and a voice spoke. My dream evaporated
like a mist.

“Hello, Sleeping Beauty.”

My eyes popped open and I
saw scuffed brown cowboy boots. My gaze traveled upward over snug blue jeans
and a short-sleeved blue-checked shirt, to a smiling face topped by a white
Stetson hat.

Shading my eyes, I said the
first thing that popped into my mind. “Oh! You’re not Jake.”

Grant’s smile disappeared.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Squirming uncomfortably, I
glanced down at my bare feet sticking out in front of me. Dirt smudged my arms,
but it was too late to run into the house and wash up. I must look a sight.

“Grant, you didn’t
disappoint me. Um, I mean . . . I didn’t know you were coming.”

His grin returned. “I didn’t
mean to disturb you. You look relaxed.”

Had my mouth hung open in my
sleep? Had I drooled? Quickly
wiping my
face, I realized too late that I still wore Mom’s dirty gardening
gloves.

“Don’t get up,” Grant said.
“I’ll sit here on the grass. I just wanted to talk to you or Miss Flora about
these murders. I can talk as well out here as in the house.”

He dropped his hat to the
ground, and sat facing me. To my disgust, my heart began to beat faster. What a
shallow person I must be. Jake had not been gone a year and here I was feeling
drawn to an old flame. I scooted back to put some distance between us.

Grant broke off a grass stem
and absentmindedly rubbed it between his fingers. “Have you had any more
encounters with bad guys? Any prowlers? Any suspicious people hanging around?”

Jasper Harris popped to
mind, but Mom and I had decided to keep his moonlit visit to ourselves. Jasper
couldn’t really be considered a prowler. He wasn’t prowling, just lurking.

“Darcy?”

“Prowlers,” I repeated. “No.
No prowlers. We have a new burglar alarm system. That makes us feel safer.”

Grant flipped the blade of
grass toward the sidewalk. “Glad to
hear
it. You would have called if anything had happened to scare you.
Right?”

“Sure. You can count on
that. Thankfully, we’ve been comparatively fright-free.”

Never had I seen anybody
with more piercing blue eyes than Grant Hendley. They seemed to probe my guilty
thoughts. Quietly, he asked, “So, what’s going on, Darcy?”

Had he seen into the depths
of my secretive soul? Did he know that I was being a little less than honest?

“I don’t think I know what
you mean, Grant,” I muttered.

“Sure you do. I remember you
well, Darcy. I have never met anybody who is as nosy as you are. If there’s
something you don’t understand, you won’t be happy until you ferret it out.
You’d never be any good at playing poker.”

Nosy? Curiosity and a
healthy interest in seeking the truth should never be misconstrued. This man
could irritate me like no other.

“I don’t remember that you
were quite so blunt when we were in high school, Grant. Didn’t that law
education include a class in diplomacy? Ferret out? Aren’t ferrets those sneaky
little weasels?”

He actually laughed. “Now,
don’t get your back up, Darcy. I just
want
to be sure you’re telling me everything you know about Ben’s
death and
that so-called cache of gold. You’ve been poking around, and don’t deny it. You
wouldn’t be you, if you didn’t. I’d sure hate to think, though, that you’re
withholding information and obstructing justice.”

Knowing that my eyes
squinched up and my forehead wrinkled when I frowned, I frowned anyway. “So,
are you going to haul me off to jail, Sheriff?”

Chuckling, he said, “Now
that would be just plain silly, wouldn’t it? No, I’m just wondering if you’ve
glimpsed Ray Drake, the person the good folk in Chicago call Cub Mathers. He
seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“If I had seen him, believe
me, you’d be the first to know. People like Drake seem to have a short life
span and lots of enemies. Maybe one of them got to him.”

“That’s possible. I’ve been
asking around the county and I found out some things about Ben that I didn’t
know. Would never have guessed, in fact. You haven’t seen any strangers, have
you?”

Emma James had mentioned
coincidences. Seeing a suspicious stranger around Levi at this time would be
too coincidental.

“No,” I answered. “Nobody
except Drake. But then, you remember, I’ve been away for a good many years.”

Grant was silent for a
moment, finding something interesting in the top of the oak. “I don’t suppose
you’ve heard tell of Jasper? I just came from his mother’s house. She swears
that she has no idea where he is.”

“If anybody knows Jasper’s
whereabouts, it should be Pat. Mom says they are close,” I evaded.

Grant reached over and wiped
a fleck of dirt off my nose then he stood and dusted off his jeans. I stood
too.

Glancing at the peonies, he
broke off a stem. “I hope Miss Flora won’t mind if I take this with me. I’ve
always had a soft spot for that pretty bush.”

He climbed into his white
Ford Ranger. With a wave in my direction, he drove off down the street. For
some reason, the sun’s brightness seemed to dim.

“Was that Grant?” Mom called
from the front porch.

Walking slowly toward her, I
said, “One and the same.”

“Has he found out who killed
Ben?”

“No,” I said. “He asked if
we knew anything that could help him solve these murders. I hate keeping
secrets, Mom. I should have told
him about
Jasper and I should have told him about the map and Ben’s
will.”

Drawing a deep breath, Mom
said, “If it worries you, Darcy, go ahead and tell him.”

I shook my head. “No. It’s
too late now. I don’t want him to know I’ve kept things back.”

Mom’s face registered
surprise. “Darcy! I didn’t know you felt that way. We aren’t lying; we just
aren’t volunteering information.”

“Maybe,” I said, climbing
the steps to the porch. “Would you like for me to help you with supper?”

She turned to go back into
the house. “No. We’re just having vegetable soup and it’s almost ready.”

While my mother was occupied
in the kitchen, there was a little chore I needed to do. Going to the telephone
in the living room, I dialed a familiar number.