A Corpse for Yew (25 page)

“Don’t you have video surveillance in the museum?”

“Not yet. But we’re working on it since this happened. It won’t happen again. Do you have some idea of who took it?”

“No,” she lied. It was for his own good, she reminded herself. He was right not to mention anything about Lois stealing the ring. He’d just gotten back into the ladies’ good graces.

Geneva put the brake down hard. “We’re here.” They all rocked back and forth in their seatbelts before they began piling out of the van. Each person had a backpack, and Mrs. Waynewright carried a small American flag that would be put on the grave to mark it once they had established it was truly Zachary Miller’s resting place.

Peggy looked at the hill they’d have to climb to reach the cow pasture where the grave was reported to be. Dorothy brought out her GPS locator and explained how they’d know when they found the grave.

“Of course that’s all new stuff,” Annabelle said. “There are plenty of other ways to find a grave.” She took out a tree branch that was stripped of its leaves. “I prefer dowsing for it. My willow wand never lets me down.”

“How does that work?” Peggy asked as she followed them up the hill.

“They say, or at least your father says, the graves fill up with water that’s retained by the clay,” Lilla explained. “Therefore, the wand is responding to the water being held underground. It’s like when Mr. Peters came to dowse for our new well when you were a girl and our old well went dry. Don’t you remember that?”

Peggy couldn’t say that she did. Being a scientist, she’d dismiss this kind of folklore out of hand. But being from the Low Country in South Carolina, she’d been raised with hoodoo and other superstitions that came true more times than her scientific mind could explain.

“Anyway, it works.” Annabelle’s voice was strained as the ladies threw themselves up the large hill. The recent rain had made the top layer of red clay muddy, leaving them all with red stains on their boots and jeans.

Jonathon caught up with Peggy and slowed his long-legged stride to match her shorter one. “I know it seems like a lot of nonsense, but sometimes folklore is accurate.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I was raised in the South. I know every superstition there is. Some of them I even believe. I wouldn’t dare disagree with any of them, for fear that would be the one that would come true.”

“Do you have some idea about the ring?” he asked. “I know you said you didn’t, but I kind of felt like maybe you did, but didn’t want to say anything.”

Peggy applauded his perception, but didn’t change her mind about telling him what she knew. “I felt the same way about you. You think Lois took it, don’t you?”

He glanced around before lowering his voice even more. “Yes, I do.”

She was thinking about the interview she’d hoped to have with Snook Holt. The interview that was dwindling away with the rest of the day while she looked for an old grave.

“I wouldn’t accuse her of that again even if she was alive. Not only was she on the board of directors for the museum, all of the remaining directors were her lifelong friends, like Mrs. Waynewright. Plus her nephew is the chief of police. I don’t want to know where an accusation like that would take me now.”

“Maybe one of the other ladies took it out there.”

He shrugged. “It’s possible. But why would they do that?”

“Why do you think Lois would do it?” she questioned. “Does that make more sense?”

Jonathon glanced around again, but the other ladies were yards in front of them. “There was a connection between Lois’s family and that ring. At least that’s what she said. I don’t have all the details. I don’t dare ask now. Maybe she took it from the museum because she planned to keep it. Or maybe she planned to sell it to Snook Holt.”

“Are you two coming or what?” Geneva demanded from the top of the hill. “We don’t have all day to do this!”

As Peggy and Jonathon hurried up the hill to reach the rest of the group, she considered his accusations. No wonder he didn’t want to voice them to the group or the museum board of directors. It was unlikely to bring him anything except a pink slip.

Still, what he’d said about Lois having some connection to the ring was curious. She tended to agree with him that Lois had taken the ring from the museum. But why take it out to the lake? That part didn’t make any sense. The idea that one of these ladies would sell an important family heirloom that would set her up a few more rungs on the historical ladder seemed ludicrous. There had to be a better explanation.

“We already found the cemetery, thanks to my GPS,” Dorothy told them.

“Yes, but my wand will help locate the graves that may have sunk since they were placed there,” Annabelle said.

Peggy looked across a pretty meadow that had thousands of red salvias, which were barely holding their heads up after the rain. Normally they would’ve been gone in September, but the drought had helped them linger into fall. And sure enough, there were at least a hundred cows munching grass in the pasture. Somehow the fence had come down near the hill, but the cows seemed to ignore that.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Geneva said. “I’ll take photos of the site. Peggy, you get the shaving cream for the upright headstones. I’ll put you in charge of the rubbings as well, but call me when you can read the tombstone. The rest of you know what to do.”

“Good thing I was out for my constitutional,” a man’s gravelly voice interrupted them. “I don’t take with no trespassers on my property. Law says I have a right to shoot first, and it looks like I might have to do just that.”

THE FARMER BIT DOWN ON the chewing tobacco that was lodged in his right cheek. He shifted his old shotgun as though it was too heavy for him.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Peggy stepped between him and the rest of the group. “We’re only here to look for Captain Zachary Miller’s grave. Is he an ancestor of yours?”

It must have suddenly occurred to Jonathon that Peggy had put herself between him and the shotgun. He did the noblest thing possible, and stepped between Peggy and the farmer.

The farmer, who’d been considering Peggy’s question, got riled up again when Jonathon moved. He motioned with the shotgun for him to go back to where he had been. “I don’t know what you all are talkin’ about. Just get off my land.”

Geneva stepped forward. “We can’t do that, sir. We’re from the Shamrock Historical Society, and one of our members is related to Captain Miller.”

Grace stood beside her. “So she has as much right to be here as you do.”

Mrs. Waynewright waved her hand. “Be off with you, old man. We intend to find the captain’s grave and honor it. He was a hero of the American Revolution and my ancestor, and deserves a better fate than sleeping in this cow pasture.”

The farmer spit on the ground. “Who you callin’ old? You look like you could’a been in the war yourself.”

Before the discussion got any hotter, Peggy encouraged all of them to step back. “My name is Peggy Lee. What’s your name?”

He chuckled. “Like the singer? Are you kin to her?”

“No. Your name?”

“Marcus Miller McWhirter.”

Mrs. Waynewright eyed him with a cold stare. “My great granddaddy was named Marcus Miller. I suppose we
could
be related.”

“You one of them Huntersville Millers, or part of the Miller clan from around Goose Creek?” The farmer looked interested instead of angry. Peggy thought it was a start.

While Mrs. Waynewright exchanged family information with Farmer McWhirter, the rest of the group moved closer to the headstones gathered under a huge, old oak tree. “This tree was probably here when they laid these people to rest,” Peggy told them. She put her hand against the rough bark and considered all the things the tree had lived through. Still, it was standing, protecting the dead who slept beneath it.

“Here’s the shaving cream and the squeegee.” Geneva handed Peggy her gear. “Let’s get to it in case our friend over there decides not to be so friendly. You never know if the Millers get along or not.”

Peggy took the equipment, watching Jonathon as he took photos and observed the graves. There were three headstones with a large sunken space between them. She stepped around that area and knelt on the ground to put the shaving cream on the first headstone.

“I’ll bet that’s Captain Miller’s grave,” Jonathon said. “Probably his wife beside him. That’s why there’s no headstone. People didn’t think wives needed to be recognized back then. It was enough for them to be laid beside their husbands.”

“That’s amazing.” Peggy shot shaving cream into her hand, then smoothed it on the worn stone. Her mother had told her about this technique for reading old tombstones years ago. The white shaving cream filled in the letters and dates so historians could read them. She brought the squeegee down over the stone to take off the excess, and sat back with a notebook and pencil to record her find.

“These are probably two of their children,” Jonathon said on the other side of the sunken grave area. “Probably older children.”

“I think I found Captain Miller,” Peggy called to the other ladies, who all rushed to her side. The tombstone inscription filled in with shaving cream read “Captain Zachary Miller, Revolutionary War Hero and County Judge for ten years. Born 1750. Died 1820. God loved him.”

“That’s him,” Annabelle said. “Everyone come and take a look.”

Peggy thought it was remarkable how quickly people could go from being enemies to blood relatives. Farmer McWhirter rested on his shotgun with the business end in the hard earth. “Well, I’ll be! I never thought much of this little cemetery bein’ out here. My daddy even thought about takin’ it all out, but the preacher told him he’d burn in hell if he did.”

Mrs. Waynewright brought out her bouquet of red, white, and blue silk roses. She placed them on the captain’s grave and stood the flag beside the tombstone because she couldn’t push it into the hard earth. Dorothy played a recording of “God Bless America” with her MP3 player. When the little ceremony was over, silence filled the wooded area.

Farmer McWhirter wiped his eyes on a dirty handkerchief. “That was beautiful. You all come up to the house for some lemonade. My wife just made some gingersnaps. I know she’ll want to meet you.”

Peggy’s cell phone rang, and she walked away from the group to answer it. It was Dr. Ramsey, in fine form. “Where are you, Dr. Lee? And why was my chain of evidence broken today?”

“Hello, Harold. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She watched as the others started toward the old white farmhouse in the distance.

“I’m talking about those yew branches you gathered from the lake. You had some delivery driver take them to the university, where he gave them to Dr. Dillard. What were you thinking?”

Peggy realized she hadn’t been thinking clearly that morning. She’d given crime scene evidence to Sam so she wouldn’t have to go to UNC Charlotte. The worth of the evidence was destroyed by her not taking them there herself.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She chastised herself mentally a million times before his response.

“Fortunately for you, the branches didn’t match the seeds he’s been looking at. Get over here to the lab as soon as you can.”

She started to protest that it was stupid for him to yell at her when the evidence didn’t match anyway, but he’d already hung up. She supposed he’d simply tell her the lesson was for the future. The forensic evidence could’ve made an important difference in the case, and it would’ve been botched because of her. As a scientist, she could certainly appreciate that fact.

Jonathon had remained behind with her. He was examining the other tombstones, taking pictures of them and using paper and charcoal to take rubbings from them. “Trouble?”

“Not really.” She put her phone away. “This has been interesting. My only question is how any of you manage to stay alive doing this. I don’t know why you were so surprised by Lois’s death. How many times do angry property owners come after you with guns?”

He laughed. “It’s never happened to me before. I can’t speak for the ladies. They seem determined to put themselves in harm’s way.”

Peggy walked beside him to the farmhouse, listening to him talk about history as though it had happened yesterday. A great deal of passion and pride was displayed by this group when it came to claiming their heritage. She certainly didn’t want to disparage the theory that Snook Holt had come across Lois at the lake and caused her death, but there were aspects to that idea that made no sense.