Dead to Her(16)

“Oh no, there’re no new graves here. Eleanor’s resting in Bonaventure with Lyle, God rest that boy’s soul. Eleanor was born to end up there, if that doesn’t sound too strange. It’s so full of beauty and grace, just as she was. A lot of the old families have plots and mausoleums, bought up years ago. That’s a place you really should visit—not Eleanor’s grave if it makes you feel too uncomfortable—but the cemetery. This one has historical significance, but Bonaventure has a life of its own, if you’ll excuse the pun. So much atmosphere. People come from all over to wander through it. So peaceful. And the monuments and statues are definitely something to see.”

“Not for me,” Keisha said. “I don’t like to spend time with the dead.”

“That’s a shame. It’s quite the wonder. I like to go sometimes and just sit and think. I’ve seen Zelda there too on occasion. All walks of life are welcome in Bonaventure. Death is a great leveler, isn’t it?”

“Does your family have a tomb there too?” Keisha asked and Elizabeth let out a tinkle of amused laughter.

“No dear. My family isn’t originally from this part of the South. And we’re not really mausoleum people.”

Marcie could imagine. Elizabeth still had a mother somewhere—she’d gone visiting her for a while when William was in Europe—but her father’s grave was probably in some gaudy cemetery, like those ones that advertise “a whole afterlife package” on late-night TV.

“I don’t think I need to see any more gravestones,” Keisha said as Elizabeth’s phone began to ring. “My auntie Ayo says it’s bad luck to disturb a dead man’s bones.” She smiled, but there was a definite sense of unease in her confidence. A crack in her armor, perhaps.

“Then let’s go and wander along River Street and see the Waving Girl statue. There’ll be more of a breeze there too, and you’ll love the cobbled street and all the little stores and restaurants. But oh my, the steps. With those shoes you’re wearing we may need to ride the elevator down. Just let me take this—it’s William.” Elizabeth smiled apologetically, turning away to answer and leaving the two women standing in awkward silence as she talked behind them.

“God, I need a drink,” Marcie muttered eventually.

“Hell yes.” Keisha flashed a grin at her, and Marcie was once again struck by her youthful beauty and she ached with envy for that power. She’d been as glorious as Keisha at that age. Before she’d started to fade.

“So sorry,” Elizabeth said, tucking her phone back into her sensible purse. “I’ve got to go run an errand for William that can’t wait. Virginia and Emmett are at the house and he’s organized a late lunch for y’all, so Marcie, why don’t you drive Keisha back and I’ll meet you when I’m done? I’m so sorry to cut our tour short. We can pick it up another day.”

“Can’t wait,” Keisha said drolly, and much as Marcie didn’t like her, she did almost laugh.

Marcie watched as Elizabeth bustled off, untouched by the humid heat, and then pointed down the street. “My car’s about five minutes away.” They started to stroll, Keisha’s hips rolling confidently with every stride. Even the way she walked made Marcie feel inferior, awkward. Be her friend, Jason had said. Like it was that easy. Men knew nothing about the tricky waters of mutual mistrust women swam in. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Marcie forced herself to talk. “I take it you’re not a great fan of museums and history?”

“Am I that obvious?” Keisha asked. “I’ve lived in London since I was five years old and not even made it to the Tower of London. Only seen it from outside.” She shrugged. “I guess that must seem pretty ignorant.”

“Oh, I’m the same. I’m all about the present and the future, not the past.” It was pretty close to the truth, Marcie thought as she led them into Wright Square. “You’ve moved to the wrong city if you don’t care about history though. ‘The most haunted city in America’ is on the tourist advertising. And apparently this is our most haunted square. Jason brought me down here one night when we first met and we picnicked at midnight. It was very romantic.” Jason. My husband. Never to be yours. Keisha needed to learn that Marcie wasn’t the sort to give up her possessions easily, that she was a force to be reckoned with under her newly acquired demure exterior.

“Why’s it haunted?” Keisha asked. “Who by?”

“The first woman executed in the city was hanged here for murdering the farmer who employed her. She was Irish. They left her up there for three days after she was dead.” She paused and looked up at the trees. “The story goes that Spanish moss doesn’t grow here because it won’t grow where innocent blood has been spilled.”

“She didn’t do it?” Keisha asked.

“Who knows? Probably. Maybe he deserved it. But,” she continued, “tourists say they’ve seen her spirit running through here looking for her baby. But then if you believe everyone who says they’ve seen a ghost here, there’d be more dead people on the streets than live ones.”

“Don’t you believe in ghosts?” Keisha asked.

“No,” Marcie said. “No, I do not.” She paused. “Only the ghosts of our past selves and even they stop breathing when we do.” She hadn’t meant it to sound so weighty, but she noted Keisha’s face tightening. Marcie had put her past in a box where she could control it. It looked like Keisha carried hers inside. What secrets did she have?