Since You've Been Gone (36 page)

Blue streaks ran like spilled paint across a slate gray sky as Rebecca pulled into Shady Mount Cemetery. The car headlights sparkled on the dewy, perfectly trimmed grass. Many of the granite headstones still gleamed with night moisture, and recently placed fresh flower arrangements burst with damp color.

She slowed as she neared the Ryan mausoleum. Its black granite lines didn't look imposing in the early light—it looked menacing, a perfect site for unhappy ghosts. Rebecca shivered and suddenly decided that when she died,
she wanted to be buried on that rise overlooking the brook Mr. Hale had described to Clay. Maybe she'd even be buried
with
Clay if he wouldn't mind since neither would be with their families—

“Oh for crying out loud!” Rebecca exclaimed in exasperation. She was procrastinating because she was scared. She'd come flying out here like a superhero to the rescue and now she sat in the car dithering about where she wanted to be buried. She had no time for this.

She looked around and didn't see anyone. She checked her watch. Six-fifteen. Far too early for gardening work to begin in the cemetery. She could always go to Mr. Hale's cottage a quarter of a mile from here and have him accompany her to the mausoleum—but if there was nothing wrong, she'd look like a nut, not to mention the fact she'd have disturbed his morning.

Rebecca took a deep breath and emerged front, the car, Sean scrambling behind her. He immediately lifted his leg, and suddenly Rebecca was glad she hadn't gone for Mr. Hale. He was a good-natured man, but a tyrant when it came to the appearance of his cemetery. He would not appreciate a circle of dead grass.

“Sean, must you do that
everywhere?
⁹
she hissed.

Sean gave her a look that said clearly, Yes I
must.
I
will.
She sighed, grateful that humans didn't feel the need to mark territory in this manner.

Slowly they climbed the three steps to the columned portico of the mausoleum. Of course her offering of roses was missing. They were lying in front of her house. Wrought-iron gates, always kept locked, protected the carved wooden doors of the mausoleum. Rebecca twisted an iron handle, and the gates swung open. Next she pulled on the brass handles of the wooden doors. They opened without a squeak.

The first thing that hit her was the music. Low, haunting: “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” The hair on her arms raised and her neck felt icy. She forced herself not to run out the door.

Inside, soft lights burned in lavender glass sconces. In
spite of them shadows lay everywhere because there were no windows. Rebecca felt the coldness of the floor beneath her thin-soled shoes. She suddenly felt as if someone were going to walk out of the shadows, offer her a skeletal hand, and say, “We've been waiting for you.” She shivered and shook off the image. Lights and music did not equal welcoming skeletons. And she would not be a shaking, hallucinatory coward.

Bracing herself, Rebecca walked to the end of the first row of plaques. First she saw Rusty's. The dog had died searching for his beloved master, and Suzanne had insisted he be buried in the crypt, no matter how outraged some family members had been. “If that dog didn't have a soul, then no one does,” she'd said staunchly, and Rebecca had been so proud of her. Next to Rusty's crypt was Jonnie's, on which Suzanne had allowed no date of birth or death to be added, as if the missing dates alone could change reality:

Rebecca's eyes filled with tears. Then she looked below the copper plaque to the polished granite beneath it. There, in chalk, someone had inscribed a symbol:

“Oh God, an inverted cross,” she gasped, backing away. “Is it meant to be the sign of Satan?”

But Sean was paying no attention to his horrified mistress.
At the back of the mausoleum sat a small altar covered with white lace. A crucifix hung above it, and candles burned in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary. Sean was not interested in the altar itself, though. He nudged something lying on the floor in the shadows a few feet in front of the altar. He pawed at it, whining loudly.

Rebecca's heart skittered in her chest and she turned away from the inverted cross to face Sean, who whined again, louder. She stood still for a moment. Then she walked toward the dog and kneeled beside him.

The object was a bit over five feet long, slender, and wrapped in a thin, white blanket. Rebecca extended a shaking hand, feeling as if the world might fall away if she unrolled the cloth. Still, she could not stop herself.

She pulled the edge of the blanket and the cloth spun open, rolling toward the altar. Sean drew nearer to her, his body tense yet shivering. Rebecca remained motionless, still balanced on the balls of her feet, until she saw a limp hand fall free and land against the altar.

She drew a deep breath. Finally she stood and walked around the edge of the blanket, picking up a lit candle. Then she kneeled, holding the candle low and squinting in the semidarkness.

Rebecca's mouth opened but no scream emerged when she saw the white, twisted face of Matilda Vinson.

Rebecca felt oddly calm as she stared into the still face of Miss Vinson. She even gently touched her cheek. It was cold. The woman had been dead for hours.

When she stood, her legs felt stiff and old. She almost groaned with the effort. Then she walked to the front of the mausoleum, down the steps, and all the way back to the Hale cottage, ignoring the car. She never took Sean's leash, but he remained within a foot of her, whether from fear or an instinct to protect she didn't know.

On the road to the cottage, she didn't think. It seemed perfectly normal to be walking briskly in this beautiful blue and pink dawn, breathing deeply, swinging her arms at her sides to burn off extra calories.

As soon as Chloe Hale opened the door swathed in a yellow wraparound robe, though, Rebecca felt tears flood her eyes. Chloe's dark face showed surprise, then concern before she said, “Why, child, what are you doing out here so early? What's
wrong?”

“The mauso-mausoleum,” Rebecca managed.

Tears ran down her face. Chloe took her arm and drew her inside. Sean marched in without being invited and stood staunchly by her side. “Now what's wrong with the mausoleum? No, don't answer now. You come right in the kitchen and have a fresh cup of coffee. Lord, you look like you're gonna faint.”

Rebecca followed dutifully into the kitchen. Mrs. Hale nearly pushed her into a chair, poured a mug of coffee, and set it in front of her along with a pitcher of milk and a sugar dish. Then she sat down across the table from her, her amber eyes full of curiosity and a bit of alarm.
“Now
tell me about the mausoleum.”

Rebecca took a sip of hot coffee. “I had a… dream about something being wrong at the mausoleum.” No sense shaking everyone up with talk of visions. “It wasn't the first one, and I just had to come check out the place.”

Mrs. Hale stared at her. “Honey, if you thought something was wrong out here, you should have called Avram. That's what he and the staff are here for. My goodness, young thing like you wandering around in the dark, and you weakened by all the awful things that have happened to you this week.”

“I didn't think. And I didn't want to seem silly.”

“Child, my grandmother taught me to have respect for second sight. I've believed in your visions since you were a little girl. If you'd called at three in the morning and said you thought something was wrong out here, Avram and I would have been out to that mausoleum in a shot. But you didn't. You found out something for yourself.” Chloe Hale covered Rebecca's cold hand with her own. “Honey, what is it?”

“The doors of the mausoleum were unlocked. I went in. There was an inverted cross marked beneath Jonnie's plaque.”

By this time Mr. Hale had appeared at the door wrapped in a terry-cloth robe, his hair wet. “What!” he exploded. “Some hooligan broke into that mausoleum—”

“Not broke in, Mr. Hale. The doors were unlocked.”

Avram Hale disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a gigantic ring of keys. “My keys stay with me at all times during the day. At night they're locked in a drawer, just like they were this morning. My spares are in a safe-deposit box. There's got to be an extra key to that mausoleum out there, because no one in the Ryan family would commit such a sacrilege. It just makes me burn—”

“Mr. Hale,” Rebecca said, trying to make herself sound calm. “That's not the worst of it.” His white eyebrows rose. “Matilda Vinson's dead body is lying in front of the altar.”

THURSDAY
, 5:00
P.M.

The early morning had been a haze of police cars, photographers, an ambulance, the crew of Shady Mount standing around watching what for the police was the routine of homicide. After intense questioning by Bill, Rebecca had been allowed to return home just as the ambulance left the cemetery taking the small body of Matilda Vinson to the funeral home. At least she won't be worrying about her father tonight, Rebecca thought.

The rest of the day she'd felt oddly numb. Since last night her mother had been planning a coming home celebration for Frank. Betty fretted about the appropriateness of a celebration in light of Matilda's murder, but Rebecca was determined they would not spoil the first positive step her mother had taken in months. They would not talk about Matilda. She had said the mausoleum was broken into and she hadn't told the family about the inverted cross in the mausoleum. That was one horror Suzanne would not be able to ignore for the evening.

Now, however, Rebecca talked quietly with Bill on the phone in Frank's study. Clay was off at six and had volunteered to bring Frank home and then stay for dinner. Rebecca was relieved there would be a doctor in the house to make sure Frank was doing all right on his first night home. Molly and Esther were coming. Molly had barely left her house for five days. Esther felt a couple of hours away in a social setting filled with loving people might help her. Rebecca and Bill had agreed.

“About Matilda,” Rebecca said. “Was there any evidence about who killed her?”

“The broken neck was the only injury. There may be hair and fibers, DNA evidence, but I won't know anything about that for a couple of days.”

“Was she killed at the mausoleum?”

“I don't think so. Her car is at Grace Haven Nursing Home. No one saw her there. Maybe she got a call to go there about her father, and someone was waiting for her in the parking lot.”

“The person she saw in the cemetery.”

“Seems to make sense. I believe the killer used his or her own car to transport the body because there was too much chance of leaving some incriminating evidence behind in Matilda's—his hair, fibers, that kind of thing.”

“What about fingerprints on the boom box or the CD?”

“None but yours. I didn't expect to find any. Our killer is too organized.”

Rebecca sighed. “I wish Matilda had said more at the funeral.”

“She didn't get a chance. Someone was watching her. But the killer doesn't know how much she told you. Obviously she didn't reveal his identity or he'd be under arrest, but maybe he's afraid she said enough to give you a clue. So now he's trying to scare you away before you make any damaging connections in your mind. That's why he put her in the mausoleum and left your bouquet on your porch. It was all staged for
you
so maybe you'd be so frightened you'd leave town. After all, you're quite a threat with your ESP.”

Rebecca raised her gaze to the ceiling. “I haven't been much of a threat yet.”

“You
have
had visions and given us help. And maybe the next time your vision will tell us exactly where Todd is and who took him.”

“Oh God, if only that were true.” Rebecca shook her head. “Bill, look at this nightmare. Skeeter and Matilda dead. Sonia attacked with intent to kill. All of this because of Todd. There wasn't so much mayhem when Jonnie was kidnapped.”

“Maybe it was a different kidnapper. Or …”

“Or what?”

“I hate to bring up a painful subject, but you weren't as much of a threat when Jonnie was taken as you are now.
You weren't seeing anything. Now you are and that puts you in real danger, Rebecca.”

Suzanne wore a pale blue dress, pearls, and high heels. Her makeup, applied by Rebecca, was perfect. She'd had one glass of wine “to steady my nerves,” but she definitely had her wits about her. With her blond hair gleaming in a loose pageboy and small diamonds sparkling at her ears, she looked beautiful when Frank walked in the door.

“Darling!” she cried. “I'm
so
glad to see you!”

She kissed his cheek, giggled, then wiped away a trace of cherry-colored lipstick. Frank looked taken aback by his wife's beauty and open affection, but extremely pleased. “How do you feel?” she asked.