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Bree was waiting on her porch. She held out her hand. “Welcome to my home, and to the US. What would you like me to call you?”
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony. Since you’re Elphyra’s best friend, why don’t you call me Grams, like she does? If that makes you uncomfortable, feel free to call me Morgance.” Grams shook Bree’s hand. “I was telling my great-granddaughter that I might ask you about day trips with an easy hiking trail. I’d love to see the area by foot.”
“Sure, we can do that,” Bree said. She turned to me. “Are you going out to the graveyard, then? I’m still spooked.”
“Walk us to the gate, and you can wait there. We’ll be fine.” I motioned for the others to follow me and we headed toward the gate that divided Bree’s property from the cemetery. “Hopefully, the fact that we’re in a group will prevent the serial killer from coming after us.”
“Serial killer?” Grams asked.
“Yeah, we have a serial killer in Starlight Hollow right now,” Bree said. “Nobody’s been able to pin him down. The cops think he’s a wolf shifter, and so far, he’s killed…what…five victims?”
“And he’s left no trace of who he is?” Grams asked.
“No.” I shrugged. “I’ve talked to one of the ghosts and was able to verify that the murderer is definitely a shifter of some sort.”
“You said a wolf shifter?” Grams gave me a sideways look.
“Daisy Parker—the sheriff—has checked out Faron’s Pack. That’s how Faron and I began talking. He wanted me to help exonerate one of his lieutenants, who was under suspicion. Hewasexonerated but they haven’t found the killer yet.”
“What did Faron want you to do? You’re not an officer.”
“No, but he asked me to help by talking to the ghosts of the deceased. While that didn’t provide the name of the murderer, at least Elroy was able to provide an airtight alibi for the third—I think it was—killing. They’re the main Pack in the area, so unless someone in the Pack is harboring a deep secret, it can’t be one of them.” I frowned. I didn’t for a second believe that anyone in Faron’s Pack was to blame. In the time I’d gotten to know him better, I came to understand how strong of an honor code he embraced for his Pack.
“Do you think there might be a rogue running around?” Grams asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know much about shifter society, except what I’ve learned from him. Anyway, Daisy calls me out to talk to ghosts now and then but she said to otherwise keep out of it. She doesn’t want me to end up dead like the others.”
“Very good advice,” Bran said.
Grams pointed to the graveyard. We were at the gate now. “There are old spirits there, in that cemetery.”
“That isn’t surprising. It was established in 1865, I believe. There hasn’t been a new occupant for seventy-some years. And yes, there are ghosts in there, but my instincts tell me that whatever is watching Bree, isn’t a spirit. Maybe a demon or some other astral creature, but the spirits seemed oblivious to the living, as far as I can tell.”
I stepped through the gate and held it open for the others. Bree stayed at the gate, on her side of the lawn, as Bran, Grams, and I crossed into the cemetery. Once again, I was overwhelmed by a feeling that something wasn’t right.
I turned to Grams. “What do you think?”
“You’re right—not a spirit,” she said. “The spirits here are so old they’re nearly memories. They’re oblivious, for the most part. But Idofeel what you were talking about—it’s an invasive presence. Male, I think. And I honestly don’t think that he’s from the outer planes.” Grams looked around, then walked over to one of the trees.
The graveyard was small—about two acres. Yew trees were scattered throughout the grounds, as were a couple of mausoleums. Yew was the wood of the dead, of the underworld. The grass between the headstones was knee-deep and ivy had begun to wind it’s way around some of the stones. I had no idea when the lawn had last been mowed.
In the center of the cemetery, stood a large fountain that had long gone dry. Gothic in nature, a grim reaper tenderly held the skeleton of a baby and it looked like the water had poured out from the scythe. I leaned against the base, but the only chill I felt was from the marble cooling from the day.
Grams poked around the yew tree nearest the gate. “Come here, please.”
I headed over, with Bran following. “What did you find?”
“I don’t know, but this is the center of the disruption.” She stood back and crossed her arms, tapping her index finger against her left elbow. She eyed the tree as though she might be getting ready to cross-examine it. “Check the hollows.”
Bran and I peeked into the notches caused by the burls and whorls of the trees. If we were in Eastern Washington, I’d use a stick, rather than poke my hand in a dark hole. Over there, they had rattlers and black widows. But here, there were few venomous creatures, so while we might find a spider or bug or a snake, bites seldom resulted in much beyond a mild pain.
Bran paused, his hand inside one of the holes near the crotch where a big branch met the trunk of the tree. “I feel something.”
“What is it?”
He withdrew his hand, holding a cord. “Where the hell does this lead? It’s pinned to the trunk. Here, move so I can climb up.”
I stood back as he took hold of the branch overhead and swung himself up like a gymnast. He was built, all right, and he moved lithely. It was becoming harder to avoid thoughts of what he looked like naked, and what he might be like in bed. But the next moment, all thoughts of sex vanished as he pulled the cord away from the tree.
