“Thank you, Aidan.”
Oh, God, had she taken his time just to say thanks? Not that he didn’t appreciate her feeling that she wanted to say something, but a few simple words on the phone would have done just as well. Still, what was she thanking him for? He’d proven that her husband was a cheat.
“Matty. You’re welcome. But…”
She sat. “Oh, I know he’s been a bastard. But, Aidan, last night, he asked me for help. He cried, Aidan. I’ve never seen him do that. He said he was sorry he’d gotten messed up with that girl, and that he knows he acts like a fool sometimes. But he said he was scared. Like the years were passing. And he hasn’t always gotten the promotions he wanted, and he just needed to know that someone else found him exciting. I guess that’s why most guys cheat, huh? I told him I wished he had just squandered our savings on a Porsche. But he’s scared now, really scared. He says that the girl he was seeing is missing, and that he had been out to her place. He swore to me that he’d never hurt anyone, and I believe him, Aidan. He may be in trouble, but he needs me now, and I’m going to stand by him.”
“Good for you, Matty,” Aidan said, then couldn’t help himself and glanced at his watch.
“I know you’re busy, Aidan, you don’t have to stay. I just wanted to ask you a favor.”
“What?”
“I need you to be his friend, too, Aidan. He thinks the world of you, always has, you know. He looks up to you. You—you just quit the Bureau. You walked away and made a success of your life. You never cared what anyone thought of you, just went out and did what you felt like doing.”
“Matty, I lost my wife. I had to change my life.”
She waved a manicured hand in the air. “I understand. Still, it would mean a lot if…”
“I’ll be his friend, Matty,” Aidan promised. As long as he doesn’t turn out to be a psychotic killer, he added silently. After all, who made a better criminal than a cop, someone who knew how to avoid leaving evidence behind?
They said goodbye after that, and he drove out to the plantation. He could hear the workmen banging away, and he waved to the contractor when he saw the man standing on the porch, talking to a painter.
He didn’t stop, though, but headed straight out to the graveyard.
He sat on the grave of Henry LeBlanc and studied the whole place. He could still see the mounds where he had recovered the old graves.
A cemetery. Where better to hide a body?
Would his brothers think he was crazy if he wanted to dig up the entire graveyard?
The cost might be astronomical. Could he even do it without a court order?
And what if he found nothing?
A weeping cherub nearby gave him no answer.
He stood and walked over to the family vault, pushed open the iron door and went in.
The cross on the small altar at the far end was catching the sun’s falling rays and reflecting them into the vault like prisms of gentle pastel color. The place felt peaceful. He ran his hands over the two marble tombs in the center. They were completely sealed.
He checked the seals on the tombs that lined the walls.
Nothing appeared to be cracked or open in any way.
Once again feeling that he was missing something, he left the family mausoleum and headed back toward the house.
As he walked, he looked up, and there, on the balcony, was a woman. A woman in a white gown billowing in the breeze, the same breeze that played with her deep red hair. She was pointing, and she seemed to be weeping with infinite sadness, just like the marble cherub in the graveyard.
He turned in the direction she was pointing, back to the graveyard, yet nothing had changed.
He looked back toward the balcony, but the woman was gone.
“If a man is going to see ghosts,” he said aloud, “then hell, they at least ought to stick around.”
What the hell? He walked back to the cemetery and stopped at the tomb that bore the name Fiona MacFarlane.
He ran his hands over every possible crack in the tomb, but the only damage he could find had been done by time, not man.
Swearing again, he started back for the house. He pulled out his phone and was about to call Kendall when he heard footsteps coming up behind him and spun around.
Jimmy Wilson was walking toward him along the trail to the slave quarters. He saw Aidan and waved, a huge grin on his face.
“Mr. Flynn, thank you. The electricity works great. And those fellows, they fixed me up with running water, too. I swear, Mr. Flynn, I’ll get you paid back.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Jimmy. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Night off,” he said. “I thought I’d stack some of them lumber scraps them fellows left lying around. Thought that would be helpful.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. Hey, listen for cars coming up the drive, will you?”
“Yes, sir, I sure will. And you need to think of more work for me to do, Mr. Flynn.”
“I will, Jimmy.”