Best Kept Secrets(22)

death--nothing else. Not an epitaph. Not an obligatory,

"In loving memory of." Nothing but the barest statistical

facts.



The scarcity of information broke Alex's heart. Celina had

been so young and pretty and full of promise, yet she'd been

diminished to anonymity.

She knelt beside the grave. It was set apart from the others,

alone at the crest of a gradual incline. Her father's body had

been shipped from Vietnam to his native West Virginia, courtesy

of the United States Army. Grandfather Graham, who

had died when Celina was just a girl, was buried in his

hometown. Celina's grave was starkly solitary.

The headstone was cold to the touch. She traced the carved

letters of her mother's first name with her fingertip, then

pressed her hand on the brittle grass in front of it, as though

feeling for a heartbeat.

She had foolishly imagined that she might be able to communicate

with her supernaturally, but the only sensation she

felt was that of the stubbly grass pricking her palm.

"Mother," she whispered, testing the word. "Mama.

Mommy." The names felt foreign to her tongue and lips.

She'd never spoken them to anyone before.

"She swore you recognized her just by the sound of her

voice."

Startled, Alex spun around. Pressing a hand to her pounding

heart, she gasped in fright. "You scared me. What are

you doing here?"

Junior Minton knelt beside her and laid a bouquet of fresh

flowers against the headstone. He studied it for a moment,

then turned his head and smiled wistfully at Alex.

"Instinct. I called the motel, but you didn't answer when

they rang your room."

"How did you know where I was staying?"

"Everybody knows everything about everybody in this

town."

"No one knew I was coming to the cemetery."

"Deductive reasoning. I tried to imagine where I might be

if I were in your shoes. If you don't want company, I'll

leave."

"No. It's all right." Alex looked back at the name carved



into the cold, impersonal gray stone. "I've never been here.

Grandma Graham refused to bring me."

"Your grandmother isn't a very warm, giving person."

"No, she isn't, is she?"

"Did you miss having a mother when you were little?"

"Very much. Particularly when I started school and realized

that I was the only kid in my grade who didn't have

one."

"Lots of kids don't live with their mothers."

"But they know they've got one." This was a subject she

found difficult to discuss with even her closest friends and

associates. She didn't feel inclined to discuss it with Junior

Minton at all, no matter how sympathetic his smile.

She touched the bouquet he'd brought and rubbed the petal

of a red rose between her cold fingertips. In comparison, the

flower felt like warm velvet, but it was the color of blood.

"Do you bring flowers to my mother's grave often, Mr.

Minton?"

He didn't answer until she was looking at him again. "I

was at the hospital the day you were born. I saw you before

they had washed you up." His grin was open, warm, disarming.

"Don't you think that should put us on a first-name

basis?"

It was impossible to erect barriers against his smile. It

would have melted iron. "Then, call me Alex," she said,

smiling back.

His eyes moved from the crown of her head to the toes of

her shoes. "Alex. I like that."

"Do you?"

"What, like your name?"

"No, bring flowers here often."

"Oh, that. Only on holidays. Angus and I usually bring

something out on her birthday, Christmas, Easter. Reede,

too. We split the cost of having the grave tended."

"Any particular reason why?"

He gave her an odd look, then answered simply, "We all

loved Celina."



"I believe one of you killed her," she said softly.

"You believe wrong, Alex. I didn't kill her."

"What about your father? Do you think he did?"

He shook his head. "He treated Celina like a daughter.

Thought of her that way, too."

"And Reede Lambert?"

He shrugged as though no elaboration was necessary.

"Reede, well ..."

"What?"

"Reede could never have killed her."

Alex settled deeper into her fur coat. The sun had set, and

it was getting colder by the moment. When she spoke, her

breath fogged the air in front of her face. "I spent some time

in the public library this afternoon, reading back issues of

the local newspaper."

"Anything about me?"

"Oh, yes, all about your Purcell Panther football days."