“But she’s never worked a spell with you, right? Or seen you conjure anything?”
She shakes her head. “No.” Wringing her hands, she continues. “But I can’t be awake all day and night. There’s no telling what she might have picked up while I was sleeping.”
My pulse thumps in my chest. “So what can we do?”
“I’m not sure. Yet.”
Chapter Fourteen
It took almost two weeks for the coroner to release Missy’s body, partly because of all the tests that needed to be conducted, but also because Beau didn’t seem in a hurry to pick it up. After all the X-rays, toxicology reports, and tissue and body fluid samples, her death was listed as natural causes because there were no discernible injuries and no unusual substances found in her system. Even the stinky, sludgy black stuff was inconclusive. The lab reported it was made of organic matter of unknown origin so their best guess is it was some sort of wacky, dead-plant-and-fertilizer-based skin mask she planned to apply but never got the chance.
Even though I’ve read the report a hundred times, something still doesn’t feel right. I suppose it’s technically possible for a healthy twenty-two-year-old to just drop dead, although it’s seems pretty unlikely.
But there’s no sense in questioning the facts anymore. Jack thinks I’m emo enough and it would definitely rub Cooper wrong. He’s already on edge, what with his birthday just four days away and no viable cure for the Beaumont Curse in hand. To keep his mind off his potential tragic destiny, he’s been lying low at the Big House helping my dad clean and repair the rooms Missy trashed. In the meantime, Miss Delia and I have been frantically searching for a Break Jinx, only taking this morning off so I can attend Missy’s funeral.
Dad, Jack, and I take a golf cart to the Beaumont family cemetery at the far northeastern corner of the plantation, along the banks of a salt marsh. Usually, this place is off-limits. During our first summer on the island, Jack and I ventured here once, with Cooper, because he wanted to leave flowers on his mother’s grave. But we never found it because I fell down an old dry well and nearly broke my neck in the process. After it took all day to fish me out and seal the hole, Dad banned us from visiting this part of the plantation unsupervised.
Though I remember that day with perfect clarity, I barely recognize this place. It’s overgrown and wide swaths are choked with kudzu, the clingy, invasive vine that’s the scourge of the South.
Which is totally weird considering how pristine my father keeps the rest of the plantation. As far as the eye can see, every shrub, ornamental tree, and flower, even the blades of grass are pristine and perfectly manicured. High Point Bluff is my father’s pride and joy and the perfect outlet for his anal-retentiveness and neat-freakism. So why has the cemetery been allowed to grow so wild and out of control? It looks like it’s been forgotten. Or willfully neglected. It would make a pretty awesome, though slightly deranged, painting.
I turn to Dad. “This place is a total mess.”
He stiffens. “This is the way Beau wants it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Beau’s the boss and the boss gets what he wants. Simple as that.”
I want to push it, protest that this is not the way to treat your dearly departed ancestors, but it’s no use. Dad’s not interested in debating the finer point of Beau’s management style. My only solace is knowing that, like so many other things, it’ll be different when Cooper is in charge. So long as we break the Beaumont Curse in time.
We pass Cooper’s parked golf cart and walk deeper into the cemetery, past old, gothic-looking gravestones, to a tent that covers the open gravesite and offers needed shade. Even though it’s still morning, the sun is already baking. A hot breeze blows off the marsh, carrying the scent of briny water, mucky earth, and dead fish, which doesn’t help matters.
At the front of the tent, the reverend from a local church comforts a heavily made-up blonde woman in a spangly, purple minidress, who can only be Missy’s mother. She’s weeping and stroking Missy’s closed casket that lies waiting to be deposited into the earth. I say a silent prayer of thanks that the lid is shut. I don’t know if I could deal with seeing her again, especially since I have to make nice with my other least favorite person, Taneea who’s apparently hitched a ride with Cooper. She’s dressed for the occasion in a black, see-through crocheted minidress with a neon pink bra and sparkly hot pants beneath. Way to class it up.
“Emma, Jack! Come sit next to us.” Taneea grins as she pats an empty folding chair next to her. She and Cooper are perched in the middle of the second row, amid a sea of empty seats. Despite Missy’s gaggle of friends, none of them have shown up. Even Beau stayed back at the Big House claiming he couldn’t take the pain of watching his beloved laid to rest.
Taneea’s crazy if she thinks I’m not sitting next to Cooper. Jack reads my mind. After shooting me a quick glance, he takes the spot next to her and I squeeze past them, climbing over her outstretched legs. She’s too busy slathering her skin with her stinky hand cream to tuck them in. Which is rude, but not as rude as polluting the air with that horrible musky scent. I don’t know why she likes it so much. It’s not exactly feminine.
When I take my seat, Cooper leans over and kisses my cheek. “Hey, Em.” He seems stiff, almost robotic. We’ve barely seen each other over the last ten days. After so much time apart, I’d expect him to be a little happier to see me. I can’t help but wonder if he’s still mad about what I said about Beau. Or is it just the funeral thing? Or whether something else is up…
He and Taneea did look pretty cozy. An itchy sensation works its way up the back of my neck and a nasty thought worms its way into my brain. Is it possible there’s more going on between them than meets the eye?
“Hey.” Wary, I search his gaze but his light gray stare is open and unguarded. Which makes me want to kick myself for being so stupid and jealous. This is Cooper Beaumont we’re talking about. The sweetest, kindest guy I’ve ever met, and my best friend for the last eight years. There’s no way he’d hurt me like that. I exhale a sigh of relief. “It was nice of you to pick up Taneea.”
“He wouldn’t let me hitchhike. How cute is that?” She grips, then rubs his biceps.
Jeez, what’s with her and all the squeezing? You’d think she’d get enough of that with the other guys she hangs out with.
“Way cute,” Jack says, only he doesn’t sound the least bit amused.
An acidic, unspoken insult burns my tongue. Ten seconds in and I’m already sick of her. But I remind myself this is a funeral and try to be positive for Cooper’s sake. Better to change the subject. “How’s your job at the museum?”
“Great.” Her tone is clipped, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the stifling air. Her piercing sparkles, mocking me.
“So what does a personal assistant do anyway?” I might as well collect a little intel of my own for Miss Delia.
“You’d be surprised.” She flashes a prissy smile that lets me know that’s all I’m getting out of her.
As expected, it’s the world’s shortest funeral. What is there to say about someone so mean no one besides her mom showed up to pay their respects? Not much it turns out, so after a few compulsory prayers, a short eulogy that proved the reverend had never met Missy, and a few words by us, it’s over. We watch the gravediggers slowly lower her casket.
Taneea fans herself. “Can we go? It’s so frigging hot out here I’m sweating to death.”
If only.
Lost in his thoughts, Cooper doesn’t move. He spent most of the service staring out at the Beaumont family tombstones. Some look ancient, their words nearly worn away from the elements and salt in the air from the adjacent salt marsh. Others are broken, slanted, and vine-choked. A few are carved in the shape of a cross, and one looks like a miniature version of the Washington Monument.