“It says ‘Jane Doe,’” he said. There was no birth date, and the only date of death was the year.
“I know what it says.”
“Then where’s your grave?”
“You’re standing on it.”
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“It’s been a while since you’ve been here, right? And the circumstances that night were pretty much tailor-made for making you forget the exact location.”
“I’m sure. A person doesn’t just forget something like that!”
She stayed there while Mark wandered over toward the neighboring graves, hoping to find the correct one, but there was no Estelle Boyd. Eventually he came back to where she was still standing.
“Maybe your mother moved you somewhere…” He stopped before saying nicer. “To another cemetery.”
“She wouldn’t have moved me and left Daddy here. I was a Daddy’s girl from the day I was born—she wouldn’t have separated us.”
“Well, maybe nobody realized you were already here. I mean, you said there was no tombstone.”
“Are you saying my own mother didn’t buy me a tombstone?” she said, an edge in her voice.
“No, I’m just saying—Hell, I don’t know what I’m saying.” He looked around helplessly, but there was no night watchman to bespell and question. “Let’s go back to the hotel. I’ll hit the web and see what I can Google about Jane. Okay? We’ll find out what happened.”
Fortunately they’d already fed, so they could go straight to their hotel, where Mark immediately booted up his laptop. By searching for “Allenville, NC” and “Jane Doe,” he found a hit on the Allenville Sentinel’s website archives.
“Here we go,” he said. “Story dated a year and a half ago. Jane Doe to be buried in Spivey family plot. Unknown murder victim. Believed to be between sixteen and nineteen years old. Found raped and strangled in Allenville six months previously. No funds in the budget for burial, so Officer Norcomb offered room in his family plot. He must be a relative of yours.”
“I suppose so. The Spiveys always were a fertile bunch. Mama would have had a house full if Daddy hadn’t died so early.”
Mark continued reading. “Ongoing investigation. Norcomb still hopes he’ll be able to identify her and her killer. There’s a photo of the funeral, complete with locals paying their respects.”
“Nothing about relocating the previous inhabitant of the grave?” she asked.
“Nope. Shouldn’t they have found your coffin?”
“There wasn’t much left of it when I broke out of it.”
“Vilmos didn’t dig you up?” he said, appalled. Stella had arranged it so that he’d never been buried, but sometimes it was necessary to placate the human world. In those cases, the vampire’s sire dug up the coffin as promptly as possible.
“He was late. It took him longer than expected to find some men to bespell to do the digging. I could have waited, but I panicked.”
“No wonder. Why didn’t he dig for you himself? He could have done it faster than bespelled humans.”
“Vilmos get his hands dirty? Please!”
Mark supposed it wasn’t surprising that he disliked Stella’s sire so intensely.
“At any rate,” Stella said, “the coffin was broken up pretty thoroughly. Vilmos splintered the rest, tossed it back into the grave, and had it buried again. I don’t know how long it takes wood and cloth to rot, but I don’t expect they found anything when digging Jane’s grave that would have told them I’d been buried there. Only there should have been a marker of some sort. Let me see that picture.”
He moved the screen so it was aimed toward her.
“No tombstone, no fieldstone, no nothing,” she said. “I don’t understand. Why would Mama have moved the marker? Why didn’t she get me a real tombstone? I know they’re expensive—she had to save for a year to pay for Daddy’s—but…I guess she decided not to bother.”
“Hey, don’t make assumptions! Tell you what—tomorrow I’ll go back and see what the story is. There must be records of who’s supposed to be where.”
“Probably not. When Daddy died, Mama just picked a spot and buried him. I’m not even sure who owned the land then, let alone now.”
“I bet Officer Norcomb will know. I’ll track him down and ask him.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. You were right. It was stupid to come back.”
“I didn’t say it was stupid—I said it was morbid. And I’m going to find that guy tomorrow and see what happened.”
She shrugged, saying only, “I am a little curious.” Then she reached for the TV remote control. “I wonder what they’ve got on pay-per-view.”
They picked out something violent and mindless, and when it was over, Mark produced the birthday present he’d hidden in his suitcase. Stella demonstrated her appreciation for the sapphire pendant ardently, proving once again that her years had given her skills beyond safe driving. Still, Mark could tell her unbeating heart wasn’t in it, though he certainly enjoyed her efforts on his behalf.
As the night ended, Stella got into bed, and after making sure the door was locked, the windows thoroughly curtained, and the DO NOT DISTURB sign was in place, Mark joined her. An instant before dawn arrived, he felt her start to cry. Then they both stiffened in death.
At some point, Mark shifted from a vampire’s death-sleep to human sleep, and he woke when it was nearly eleven. Stella would remain cold and unmoving until dusk, but his body was still fighting off the vestiges of humanity.
Normally he stayed nearby while Stella rested, especially when they were away from home, but finding out about Stella’s grave took priority. His first target was Officer Norcomb, the one who’d given permission for Jane Doe to be buried in the Spivey plot. While en route to Allenville, he used his cell phone to call the police station to find out if Officer Norcomb was in. According to the cop who answered the phone, Norcomb was on his lunch break, and he directed Mark to Benny’s Truck Stop near the highway.
Mark had noticed Benny’s the night before, admiring the glamor of the chubby neon chef and his flashing burger. In the daylight, it was less glamorous, but the gas and diesel islands were doing a brisk business. As Mark got out of the car, he tried for a deep breath of fresh country air but instead breathed in a horrible mix of ammonia and general nastiness coming from the buildings a field away. He stepped inside quickly.
As the only police officer in the place, Norcomb was easy to spot. A skinny man, despite the remains of gravy-soaked meat and mashed potatoes left on his plate, and as far as Mark could tell, he didn’t bear the slightest family resemblance to Stella.
Mark approached his booth and, with his friendliest smile, said, “Officer Norcomb?”
Norcomb gave him such a suspicious look that Mark used his tongue to make sure his fangs weren’t out. “You the one who called the station looking for me?” he said.
“That’s me. Can I join you?”
“If this is about a traffic citation, don’t bother. I don’t fix nobody’s tickets.”
“Nothing like that,” Mark assured him. “I’m here about Jane Doe.”
Norcomb sat up straight, and before Mark could put rump to the sticky vinyl of the bench, the cop said, “Do you know who she is?”
“No, I’m afraid not, I just wanted to—”
“Are you a reporter?”
“Why don’t we start over? My name is Mark Anderson.” He offered his hand, and Norcomb reached over his late lunch to take it. As they shook, their eyes met, and Mark exerted the force of will a vampire used to bespell his victims.
A moment later, Norcomb said, “You going to let go of my hand anytime soon?”
“Sorry,” Mark muttered. Stella assured him he’d develop the ability to bespell victims before too much longer, but so far, nothing. Since his compelling gaze hadn’t worked, he’d have to rely on his backup plan. “I believe you and I are related,” he said.