Page 15 of Deadly Lineage
Sliding a soft, cotton t-shirt over my head, I stretched my arms high and filled my chest with air. My cargo shorts were next. I debated between flip-flops or tennis shoes and decided on the latter. I was headed to a cemetery I knew next to nothing about. If it wasn’t well tended, the weeds would be high and they’d get stuck between my toes.
Shoes in place, I shoved a Pop-Tart into my mouth, grabbed my wallet and keys, and headed for the door. My place didn’t have a garage like my momma’s, but it did have a covered parking area that kept the sun and weather off my car.
The drive to Oaklawn Cemetery and Mausoleum took a little over an hour. Thankfully traffic wasn’t bad, and I made good enough time that I got there before my client. This was my first visit to Oaklawn. Turns out, I could have worn my flip-flops. The grounds were well kept and the ashes in question were entombed inside an ornate mausoleum, the last name Randolph proudly carved above the door.
I whistled. I’d seen a lot of grave markers, headstones, and mausoleums in my time, and this was one of the largest and fanciest. It was also obviously maintained. The Randolph family was still going strong and hadn’t forgotten their ancestors.
Oaklawn was still taking in new customers, but it was one of the quieter cemeteries I’d had the pleasure of walking through. There was a disgruntled remnant voice here and there, but overall, the dead were a peacefully content group.
Sitting on the step, I leaned back against the cool stone surface and let the peace wash over me. The low background hum was welcome and eased the tension I’d been feeling since meeting Rebecca Mosely.
“It’s pretty here, isn’t it?”
Recognizing the voice, I cracked open an eye and I stared up at my latest client. She appeared as young as her voice sounded.A pretty, muted-orange sundress draped Alexandra Randolph’s lean, pale-ivory body. Her light-blond hair was pulled back at the sides while its length hung down to her mid-back. Besides looking like she could use a hamburger or twelve, Alexandra was a pretty young woman. The soft, welcoming smile she offered went a long way towards increasing her attractiveness.
“Mr. Boone, I assume,” she said, stretching out her arm and offering me her hand. I appreciated the gesture more than she knew. Most avoided direct contact, as if my necromancer abilities were a catching disease.
“Miss Randolph,” I replied in turn, taking the offered hand and rising to shake it.
Alexandra’s cheeks grew pink. She was about my height—the poor woman hadn’t been blessed in the vertical department either. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Boone.” Her southern drawl was very pronounced and soaked into me like warm honey.
“Feel free to call me Erasmus if you’d like.”
“Thank you. Likewise, you can call me Alexandra.”
I grinned while pulling my hand back and stuffing my fists into my pockets. “Would you like to chat a bit, or would you rather get down to business?” In this case, I was good either way. So far, Alexandra was proving good company.
Alexandra twisted a platinum band with a diamond that dwarfed her finger. I wasn’t sure who her fiancé was, but regardless, unless that ring was a fake, they were loaded. Alexandra glanced at the mausoleum door and said, “I suppose we should get to it. I…”
I didn’t have to be a genius to sense Alexandra’s hesitation. Some clients were like that. Others were eager to finally solve some mystery the deceased had taken to their grave. Three years ago, a woman hired me to bring back her mother’s soul so she could find out the secret ingredient to their family’s gumbo recipe. Evidently, her mother’s passing was unexpected, and noone could find the exact recipe. The deceased had been happy to answer her daughter’s questions. Traditional recipes might seem paltry compared to some of the reasons I’d been hired, but it had been one of my favorite jobs.
Given Alexandra’s hesitance, I doubted today would be so pleasantly heartwarming.
“Alexandra, we don’t have to do this if—”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly, tossing blond hair around her narrow shoulders. “This needs to be done. I need to know if I’m making a terrible mistake.” Alexandra worried her engagement ring even more.
“Okay.” I eased my posture, aiming for unassuming and harmless. I gave the young woman credit for coming alone. She was either desperate or had more steel in her spine than her small frame suggested. “Shall we go in?” I asked, sweeping my hand toward the door.
Digging through her purse, Alexandra pulled out a set of keys and, with only a slight quiver, unlocked the door.
Daylight poured in through a few narrow windows. The thick stone walls couldn’t keep out the Mississippi humidity, and the large room was musty with lack of air. The stone surfaces were covered in a layer of damp. The Randolph mausoleum might be pretty on the outside, but inside, it was like every other stone box I’d walked into.
Ignoring the odor and moisture, Alexandra purposefully walked deeper into the mausoleum. About two-thirds of the way in, she came to a stop in front of a plaque, a marble urn set in front and to the side. A bouquet of wilted roses was stuffed into a vase beside the urn, their once-beautiful blossoms decaying like the mausoleum’s residents.
“Daddy was cremated. You said that won’t be a problem.” All the timidity fled Alexandra’s voice, leaving that hint of steel along with a heavy dose of determination.
“That’s correct. Although without a body, you’ll only be able to hear your daddy. You won’t be able to see him.” Not like I would. Bringing back a soul using only the cremains was far more difficult, but not impossible. I could still trace their soul into the afterlife, but without a body, they returned as a hazy mist. I could probably amplify them enough for the mist to be seen, but I didn’t really see the point. It wasn’t like all those tiny, swimming particles resembled the deceased.
It was the voice that was important, and I was able to lend enough of my energy for the soul to answer questions that others could hear. I’d scheduled this appointment before my unexpected meeting with Rebecca Mosely. I hoped I’d recovered enough to do what needed done today without passing out. I’d only done that once before with a client. It had been beyond embarrassing waking up to my momma’s worried eyes. It had been even more embarrassing telling Pops what happened. I didn’t want my “in case of emergency call” card used again.
Alexandra gave a firm nod. “Hearing him will be enough.” She pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “Will he be able to see me?”
I wasn’t sureseewas the right word. Regardless, souls knew who was nearby. “He’ll know it’s you,” I reassured her.
Alexandra’s eyes shimmered as she blinked back tears. “I’m glad. I…I can’t figure out if it will be good to hear his voice, or if it’ll rip off the precarious scar covering my grief.”
I wanted to tell her everything would be okay. But I didn’t have enough information to know if that would be a lie or not, and so I kept my mouth shut and waited for her to give the word. I didn’t have to wait long.
