“Why does it matter to you? Jake thinks I did it. He's hated me since everything that happened.”
“What happened? Why would Jake hate you?”
“I'm not going to talk about that. I told you, I don't want to talk about John, and I don't want to talk about Jake. I don't want to talk about any of this. Just leave.”
He moves to close the door again, but I step forward and push my hand against it to stop it.
“Fine. We don't have to talk about it. What about the disappearances?”
Cole looks at me strangely.
“What about them?” he asks.
“If you didn't dig up Jake's father's grave and stash his bones behind your house, somebody else did. Do you think you could have anything to do with the people who have been murdered?” I ask.
“Now you're accusing me of murder, too? I already faced that enough with all the whispers after John died.”
“No. But somebody's trying to get people to look at you again. What do you know about Police Chief LaRoche?”
As soon as the name is out of my mouth, Cole recoils. A look of fear crosses his face.
“That's enough. I'm done. You need to get on out of here now and don't come back. Just leave me be.”
“What can you tell me?” I ask. “I know his father was Chief before him. What happened back then?”
“You need to leave. Now. I'm not answering any more questions. Just leave me in peace.”
Cole slams the door shut, forcing me back. The encounter tingles on my skin. I struck a nerve. Seeing Cole again only confirmed my doubts, he couldn’t have managed the desecration on his own. It would take a strong, young man hours to dig up a grave. Someone Cole's age, with his obvious ill health, would never be able to pull something like that off as quickly as it would need to be for no one to see what was happening.
Someone was finishing what they started… or what was started for them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I want to knock on the door again and try to pull more out of Cole, but I doubt he would open it. The look of terror on his face and what he did say will be enough for now. I move back down the driveway at a faster clip and hop into my car. Riding on the slight high of getting closer to the truth, I head out to the edge of town and the cemetery on the hill.
It's quiet now with the police cars gone and the ground strewn with scattered snow rather than officers. Parking in almost the same place as Jake did, I walk through the iron gate and follow the same path toward his father's grave. It wasn't until Cole said it that I realized I hadn't heard Jake's father's name yet. His tombstone lay in pieces around the gaping hole of his grave the last time I was here, so I didn't get a chance to read it. Now I know his name had been John. John Logan. That’s the kind of name people called a solid name. The kind attached to the successful, honest businessman Jake told me about.
I stop at the edge of the grave and stare down at it. It's filled again, the dirt dark and damp where it's mounded slightly above the level of the frozen grass around it. I didn't think they would refill the grave until the bones were released to be re-interred. Something feels unsettling about the idea of them having to open up the grave yet again to put John's body back inside when all this is finally over. I hate the thought of Jake having to go through the trauma of choosing a casket for his father for a second time. The one originally buried with him was destroyed, and there was no way they could salvage it to bury him again. Part of me wonders if it’s still down there. They could have just left the remnants sitting in the ground and put the dirt back over it.
The headstone hasn't been replaced, and the fractured base still sits in its original spot. It's a scar and a testament. If something this horrific happened to my mother's grave, I don't know what I would want to do. Part of me would want that jagged, broken piece of stone gone as soon as possible, so I wouldn't have to look at it or think about what happened. There's another part of me that believes I would keep it in place. Even after adding a new stone to mark the grave properly, leaving that piece behind would just be another way to honor the story and legacy that continues.
I look to the grave closest to one side and see it is one of the older ones of the cemetery, dating back several decades before John's death. The one to the other side is slightly more recent but still older, like his grave was wedged in a free space between two unrelated plots as space became limited. I walk behind the headstone and look at the next stone. It's from only a few years before John, but the name doesn't ring any bells. It's not until I get another grave to the side of that me that something stands out to me.
“Melanie Logan,” I whisper, slowly crouching down over the grave and reading the beautifully scrolled tombstone.
Jake's wife. I can still hear the tremor in his voice when he said her name the day he told me about her. The day he told me about how he fell in love with her and their short, loving marriage. The day he told me about her horrible, sudden death. I look beneath the etched image of an angel in the center of the stone to the birth and death dates. The date on the stone is just a year before John's death.
“Who do you think you are?”
The voice suddenly booming through the cemetery makes me jump to my feet and whip around defensively. My muscles tighten, ready to lash out if I need to. Chief LaRoche's eyes burn into mine as he stalks through the tombstones toward me, and my muscles don't relax.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he repeats with embellishment.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Did you just drive around looking for me?”
I want him to slip. If I can just get him to admit something, I can end this.
“You best fucking believe I came looking for you. I should have known you'd end up here. Can't keep your nose out of anything that has nothing to do with you,” he growls.
My heartbeat quickens, but I keep my face calm and under control. I focus on the outline of my phone in my pocket. It might not have the best reception this far out, but it's enough that I can contact somebody if LaRoche gets violent.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “I was here the day Jake found out someone dug up John's grave. With Jake. He brought me here.”
“John? You're on a first name basis with him now?” LaRoche spits.
I refuse to give into him. I'm not going to rise to his bait and give him the satisfaction of riling me up or seeing me afraid.
“You need to tell me what you're doing here. The last time I checked, I'm not a suspect in any crime, and you don't have me under investigation for anything. Unless that's changed for some reason, you have no right to be on my ass like this. And if it has changed, now would be a fantastic time for you to tell me that,” I state flatly.
“You know exactly why I'm here,” he fires back angrily.
“Enlighten me.”
“What were you doing going up to Lacy's?” he asks.
LaRoche's voice lowers until he’s almost whispering, like he's trying to keep the words away from anyone who might be too quiet among the tombstones for us to know they're there.
“It's a nice spot, don't you think? I heard the potato skins were amazing, and I just needed to find out for myself,” I offer.
“Don't give me that shit. You went in and started asking questions. I want to know why,” he snaps.
I narrow my eyes and toss my head to the side, searching his face and keeping my expression as open and innocent as I can.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I say.
“Stop playing stupid. You went up there and started poking around, trying to find out more about Andrea,” he hisses through his teeth.