The Visitor (Graveyard Queen, #4)(54)
“I don’t think Louvenia would stand for that.”
“Maybe not while she’s alive,” Devlin said.
I stared at him for a moment. “You don’t think her own grandson would try to harm her, do you?” But even as I played devil’s advocate, I couldn’t help remembering the visceral reaction I’d had to Micah Durant.
“All I know is that I don’t trust these people,” Devlin said. “There are too many coincidences and deceptions in the way they’ve made contact with you.” He rested his hands on my shoulders. “I wish you would wait until I’m free to go with you, but at least promise me you’ll keep your eyes and ears open. If there’s even a hint of danger, you call me.”
“I will.” I wanted to reassure him that I would be fine on my own and that he needed to stay focused on his grandfather’s health.
But truthfully, I also had a bad feeling about the Kroll family. Something dark had happened within their ranks. Something that had kept the ghosts of Kroll Colony restless for decades.
This was no simple visitation or restoration. I was being pulled to that walled graveyard by both the living and the dead, and whatever the outcome, I wouldn’t leave Kroll Cemetery unscathed.
Thirty-One
The next day, I left for Kroll Cemetery. I set out with my tools, camera equipment and a change of clothes because tramping through cemeteries could be a hot and dirty business during the spring and summer months. Dr. Shaw and his associate were already in place and I kept the map he’d drawn for me nearby in case the navigation system couldn’t deal with the country roads. The three keys were safely stored in a zippered compartment of my backpack. I wished that I still had the stereoscope and card because I felt certain they were important clues, but I’d left both with Nelda Toombs.
Surprisingly, my mood was lighter than it had been in days. For one thing, I felt relieved to finally be taking action, and for another, I’d had no visitations since my talk with Papa. I hadn’t heard scratching in the walls or witnessed any manifestations, which I hoped meant that I was on the right track. So long as I did as the entities wished, they would leave me alone.
With so many things swirling around in my head, the miles sped by. Soon enough, I left the coastal area behind and entered a dark green landscape of hunting forests and timberland. Aiken County was known as Thoroughbred country, and the horse farms I passed along the way ranged from modest clapboard houses and outbuildings to stately plantation homes and elaborate stables reminiscent of the estates where the Vanderbilts, Astors and Hitchcocks had once summered.
The sunshine streaming in through the windshield lulled me, allowing the lush landscape to captivate my imagination. Before long I started to relax and enjoy the journey. I often traveled to the far corners of the state and beyond for work, and I’d come to appreciate the solitude of those long drives.
Just outside Isola, I put in a call to Dr. Shaw to let him know when he could expect me.
“I’ve been hoping to hear from you,” he said with cautious excitement. “Where are you?”
“I’m still a few miles outside town. Why? Is anything wrong?”
“No, quite the opposite, in fact. I’ve made a rather extraordinary discovery on Rose’s headstone.”
My own excitement surged. “What is it?”
“I think it would be better if you see for yourself.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel and I found myself leaning forward as if I could somehow will away the remaining miles. “You can’t just leave me hanging! At least give me a hint.”
He paused. “Very well. The last time we spoke you mentioned some markings that you’d noticed at the top of Rose’s headstone. You thought they might be imperfections in the stone or a photographic artifact. But your first instinct about them was right.”
“Meaning?” I asked on a breath.
“The markings are an inscription, possibly even a message written in braille.”
“In braille?”
“I don’t know how I missed it when I toured the cemetery the first time. But the placement is discreet. Easy to assume they’re blemishes or anomalies in the stone if one doesn’t take a close enough look.”
The discovery was indeed fascinating, but also disturbing given what Nelda had told me about Rose’s passing. She’d blinded herself right before she took her own life. The bloody key had still been clutched in her hand. Why a braille inscription if she had only lost her sight a few moments before her death?
Somehow it had been easier to believe that my great-grandmother—my look-alike and namesake—had succumbed to a temporary madness that had driven her to commit such a horrifying act. But a braille inscription on her headstone, one that she had undoubtedly arranged for herself, suggested that she had been planning the grisly mutilation for quite some time. But why?
“Do you know what it says?” I asked.
“Not yet. I’ve photographed the inscription from various angles and emailed the images to my assistant to look up the translation for me. I also sent a scan of a rubbing I made of the stone. I should hear back by the end of the day.”
“It’s a very interesting find, Dr. Shaw.”
“Yes, I think so, too. I would imagine a headstone inscription in braille is rather rare.”