Page 146 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

She stood by the dais and coffin where Ethan Robertson lay,a frown furrowing her brow.

“What is it?” Jackson asked.

The tomb’s air held a strange stillness, and the faint scentof decay and decomposition remained, even though the recently murdered andghoulishly displayed victims were gone and at the morgue for their autopsies.

“Did they miss anything?” Jackson asked her, wondering ather expression.

Angela shook her head. “It’s not that... I mean, our peopleare good, and the city’s people are good, too. I’m sure they went over theinside of the tomb with a fine-toothed comb, so to speak.”

“Then what is it?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Something about the tomb itself isbothering me,” she told him. “I have no idea what it is, but...”

Angela paused, shrugging. “Maybe it will pop into my head atthree a.m. or something. But... well, I’m sure we’ll be back here. I think Imay study up on the architect who designed the mausoleum. You never know.Something in its history might—”

“Maybe,” he told her. “Remember, we’re just beginning thisinvestigation, and answers never really come easily.”

“I know. And it has been a successful day. At the veryleast, we have a contact now in Colonel Clayborn. Agood contact.”

“That is true. And I don’t know if it will mean anything ornot, but I found a cigarette butt just outside the entrance.”

“It will be interesting if we can match it up to one of thepeople on our radar. Or if we see in the videos—those we found of thefuneral—that no one was smoking. That would likely mean that someone was hereat a different time. Again, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it couldmean something. Every little detail matters,” Angela said.

“I think we should head back, find out how the interviewshave gone, and get the writer into headquarters.”

“Right.”

She remained, that strange frown knitted into her forehead.

“Angela?”

“Yep, yep.”

But instead of heading out, she turned around and approachedthe side of the coffin in the center, moving from the door to walk around therectangular inside of the tomb.

Jackson followed her.

In most modern mausoleums, coffins were sealed into thewall, the names and dates of birth and death recorded on the marble slabs thatsealed the dead into their slots. But the Robertson tomb was very old. Coffinslay on shelves. And deteriorating shrouds covered other remains that had beenreduced to little more than bones, dust, and bits of fabric. Pieces of metalwere here and there, maybe a watch, a pendant, or something worn and cherishedby the deceased that had been left with their remains.

“I’m thinking of New Orleans, I guess,” Angela said. “Youknow, how remains are set in family vaults. The sun is so hot it naturallycremates a body in a year and a day. There can be horrid heat in this area,too, but they don’t sweep the remains into holding cells at the end here soanother body can be put in its place. I guess they were out of shelving room. Maybe that’s why they created a dais forBenjamin’s father next to Ethan’s.”

“Possibly,” Jackson agreed, studying each of the shelveshimself.

He didn’t see anything that appeared to be anything but whatit should be.

At last, Angela threw up her hands.

“Let’s go. We may have to come back. Or whatever is drivingme nuts might come to me later. Besides, you’re right. We need to question theliving.”

Colonel Clayborn was not sitting on his tomb when theyexited the Robertson mausoleum.

“Maybe he’s seeking help from a friend,” Angela murmured.

“Let’s hope. We’ll look for him again tomorrow. I think hewas probably a fine and ethical man in his day—and he has remained behind inhopes of being useful.”

“Colonel Clayborn said that many stay to watch over theirfamilies, which we knew. But I feel bad. I forgot to ask if he has family inthe area,” Angela said. “I noted the date of death on his tomb. He survived theRevolution and died in the early 1790s.”

“He’s been gone for over two hundred years,” Jackson noted.