As they’d gotten deeper she’d moved the flashlight to the edge of the pit. Weston moved in and out of the light as he shoveled, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. A strand of hair stuck to his cheek.
She tried not to think about Poe or Zee, but with every shovelful of earth that she dug they ran through her mind like a litany. Poe would be fine, she told herself, even as she imagined someone breaking into the empty store and carrying him away, or worse. Flashbacks of her last glimpse of Zee were even worse. Over and over she saw him wounded and fighting, falling beneath the onslaught of foes.
Thoughts of revenge kept her going.
Thunk. Her shovel hit something solid. She heard Weston’s make a dull thud. Reality of what they were engaged in settled on her shoulders as she stopped to catch her breath. She, the doctor, the healer, the upstanding citizen without so much as a misdemeanor to her name, was about to rob a grave. And for Weston, this was personal. His little sister was in this coffin.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I’ll do.”
He wiped his face with his sleeve and turned away, back to what needed to be done. For the next few minutes they focused on digging a trench that would allow them to stand beside the coffin. They scraped the earth away until the wood was visible and then stopped once more, hesitating.
Weston’s head was bowed, lips moving. Vivian waited, partly out of respect, but also out of dread. Whatever lay within the coffin would not be pretty. But they had to look.
After only a moment, Weston looked up and nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Vivian tugged at the lid. It was stuck tight. “You’re going to have to help. Might have to pry it.”
A new voice demanded, “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Her heart convulsed and she looked up in alarm. The speaker stood above the grave, behind the flashlight, his face obscured by the dark.
“Put down the shovels.” The voice was familiar, and Vivian’s heart resumed beating.
“Deputy Flynne? What are you doing here?”
A heavy sigh. “What am I doing here? Put down the shovel and explain yourselves.”
“We’re kind of busy. You want to help?”
“You want me to help with a felony—”
“It’s important. Related to things like giant penguins and dragons.”
He paused, then said. “Doesn’t matter. I can’t allow this. For so many reasons that you ought to know, Dr. Maylor.”
She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, knowing she was leaving a muddy streak and not caring. “I don’t have time for this. I’m sorry, Brett.”
“I could arrest you—”
“Or you could make yourself useful.”
“I am not helping you dig up a body.”
“You don’t have to help. Just go away. Pretend you didn’t see anything.”
“I can’t. Do you have any idea how much trouble I’ve been in since the dragon thing? All those gaps in my report, combined with the fact that they already think I’m insane. FBI is involved, Vivian, do you understand? And Homeland Security. They’re trying to hush it up, like it never happened.”
“I’m sorry, but this is bigger than you. It’s important, Brett.”
“You can’t just dig up a grave. Besides being illegal, it goes against nature—the dead should be left alone.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You can’t do that,” he mimicked. “Of course not. Care to tell me why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Of course it’s complicated. You know what I wonder? I wonder why in all the years I’ve worked in this town there has never been a grave robbery. And now, not only are there two within a couple of weeks, they are apparently all interested in the same grave. You know anything about that, Vivian?”
She exchanged a quick glance with Weston and then shook her head. “Honest. I don’t have a clue.”
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t know anything either. Who was grave robbing, Brett?”
“It’s—classified.”
“What—like FBI again?”
“No, like an embarrassment to the police force. If people find out and it comes back to me, I’ll be tarred and feathered.”
“We’re not going to say anything. Right, Weston?”
“I can keep my mouth shut. Don’t plan to be around to do much talking, anyway.”
Deputy Flynne sighed. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Round about a week ago—Mr. Lawrence was here visiting his wife’s grave. Comes in every evening to tell her good night. That’s over in the new part of the cemetery. He’s a martinet, Mr. Lawrence—anything out of place bothers the hell out of him. So he saw a light over here, and he couldn’t figure out who would be visiting the old cemetery. He called 911.”
“And?”
“And Kim and Olivera show up, and lo and behold there’s a mound of dirt piled up and a lantern in the grass. Not a flashlight, mind you, an old-fashioned hurricane lamp. Footsteps take off across the grass, but they’re blinded by the light and can’t see. They yell ‘Freeze’ and all that, but the person keeps on running. Olivera runs after the perp and does a tackle move from behind, and it turns out to be this nutjob old woman.”
The dark seemed darker all of a sudden, looming outside the beam of the flashlight. Vivian’s hand went to the emptiness at her breast.
“What did she take?” Weston asked.
“Is your friend okay?” Brett said. “You don’t look good, buddy. She’s a doctor, let her check you out.”
Weston raised his voice. “Tell me what the woman took from my sister’s grave.”
“Your sister’s grave?” Brett’s face was still hidden, but Vivian recognized the tone. Obviously, anybody old enough to be Grace’s brother should be lying in his own grave somewhere, not engaged in digging up bodies.
“We’ll explain later,” she said. “Please answer—what did she take from the grave?”
“Only some old book. Amazing, but it was still in readable condition, wrapped up in layers of what I’m told is oilcloth. Not that I’ve ever seen oilcloth, but that’s what the tech called it.”
Vivian’s own knees went weak. “She dug up the grave for a book? That’s it?”
“I know, right? Bizarre. Wasn’t even a diary or anything valuable. Just some old book of myths.”
“And this was a week ago?”
“Round about. One week, maybe two. I was still at Sacred Heart hallucinating penguins and freezing my ass off. My partner told me about it.”
“Is there an investigation ongoing? Why isn’t she in jail? Felony offense and all . . .”
“That’s where the embarrassment comes in. She got away. Little old thing like that, and she escaped from two armed deputies.”
“How did she get away, exactly?”
“Well, Kim and Olivera swear they had her in handcuffs and put her in the back of the car. You know, once she’s in she’s secure—locked from the inside and all. They swear they stood right outside the door for a minute discussing strategy. See, they figured there was no way someone of her age and weight could have dug that hole all by herself. They were wondering if maybe they should call in reinforcements to search the graveyard. Kim got in the car to radio for extra bodies, and she was gone.”
“That sounds far-fetched,” Vivian said, but it wasn’t.
“Well, that’s what the rest of the cops think, too,” Brett said. “They figure one of those guys left the door open, that they turned their backs a little longer than they were letting on. Figure they’re covering for each other. She could have slipped the cuffs; that’s been done before. They deny it. But policy was to keep it hushed—doesn’t do for the community to know the cops screwed up and let a criminal loose. Nobody’s seen her since. Figure she must have had an accomplice and he or she helped her make the slip.”