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I worked security. Observing things was half of my job. And I had noticed a few things about her.

She didn’t have the traditional girl-next-door look, but that’s not surprising given her choice of career. Her hair was so dark red it was almost black, hanging to her shoulders. Rather than dark black makeup, her face seemed completely bare. Everything she wore, from the boots on her feet to the coat around her shoulders was black, blending in with the night around her.

Luckily, Alden didn’t comment on my little slip.

“Look, I’m not going to claim to understand how people make money off social media or whatever, but she did all the paperwork required and has all the permission she needs from the county to be out there cleaning that site. We don’t have a leg to stand on to get her to leave. You two are just going to have to work around each other and not let her, what did you say? ‘Good looks’ distract you from the job at hand.”

I shot him a look. “The job is straightforward as fuck, and I’m bored out there, okay? You don’t have to worry about me getting distracted.”

He rested his elbows on the table, and flashed me a smile that said I was full of shit and he knew it. I grabbed the folder from in front of him, tucked it under my arm, and left the office.

Driving down the main drag of Woodbridge Falls on my way home, I had Briar on my mind. Maybe that was why I spotted her car parked in front of the library a half a block up. It was a nondescript silver sedan. There were probably ten just like it in any parking lot. I knew it was hers anyway.

I slowed to a stop at the next intersection, waiting at the red light. I should go home. Maybe do some more research. Maybe take a break from this case and sleep before going back to the cemetery tonight. Glancing in the rearview mirror one more time, I did none of those things.

“Fuck it,” I muttered and pulled a U-turn when the light turned green.

Chapter Four

Briar

“It’s me and you against the world,” I said to my iced coffee as I stepped out of my car. A cold wind blew over my skin, but I wasn’t giving up my iced coffee until the snow flew. I hustled into the library, the building warm despite the high ceilings and exposed beam design.

The woman behind the counter smiled. I returned the gesture, but didn’t stop to ask questions.

I was on a mission.

In the bag, under my arm, I had a piece of paper smeared with cemetery dirt. On it were the names of everyone buried there, along with the dates from the stones.

All of them, except for one.

If I did some research on the people I knew were buried there, maybe it would shed some light on the one with no name. It had been dark at the cemetery last night. Between that, the debris and the watchful eye of the cranky security guard, it had been after 1 a.m. before I’d collected the information I needed.

Tumbling into bed at dawn hadn’t led to a good sleep. There were too many questions running through my mind. Too many theories. I needed more information.

Hence, the library.

I bypassed the front desk with the intention of spending some quality time with the microfilm machine.

Vital statistics, here I come.

As I was moving in that direction, a display of Halloween books caught my eye. Mixed among the horror novels was a book on the Salem Witch Trials. I set my laptop and coffee on a table and pulled the book from the rack. The cemetery had dates from the 1800s, the Witch Trials were much earlier than that. They weren’t in this area either. They didn’t exist in isolation, though.

Did I want to know this person’s name? Of course. But the bigger question was why? Why go through the effort of creating then destroying the stone? What could this person have done, or not done, for them to be erased like that?

That, more than the name itself, had pushed me to pursue this project.

Superstition was one reason the grave may have been desecrated. There were enough examples of that throughout history. Maybe figuring out the motive behind the vandalism would fill in some blanks on this whole case.

Give the person back their story and name at the same time.

I collected every book in the building that had anything to do with the subject, then settled in to learn what I could. There was so much to it.

Religion, politics, gender stereotypes, misunderstandings of the natural world. If the mystery person in the grave had been suspected of witchcraft, would that have been a reason to erase them?

I was startled out of my research by a voice too loud for the space.

“Witchcraft? That’s a little too on brand even for you, isn’t it?”