Bloodless (Aloysius Pendergast #20)(43)

Still laughing, Brock extended a hand and Toby grasped it and was hauled to his feet. He checked his jeans and found a two-inch tear along the side. “Shit.”

Annoyed, he slapped away the dirt and leaves and looked around. “Creepy place.” A full moon hung in the night sky. Strings of low-lying mist drifted through the twisted oaks and ghostly shapes of tombstones stretching in front of them.

Brock managed to stifle his laughter long enough to pull a pint of Southern Comfort from his pocket. “Here, take a shot of this.”

Toby grabbed the pint and sucked down a couple of mouthfuls before handing it back. He could feel the heat of the liquor spreading through his gullet, and it restored his mood. “The grave is supposed to be at the far end, by the river,” he said.

“Lead the way, asswipe.”

Toby pulled out his cell phone—relieved to find it intact—and turned on its light. It cast a feeble glow over the white gravel path that led off into the misty darkness of Bonaventure Cemetery. He had a momentary shiver. “Gimme another hit.”

Brock handed him the bottle. Toby drained it and gave it back. Brock stared at it, frowning. “You bogarted all the Sudden Discomfort!” he said, flinging the bottle over his shoulder. Toby heard it shatter against a tomb and winced.

“Three points.” With a grin, Brock slipped out another pint. “Go easy on this one.” He cracked the cap and they each had another swig.

Now they walked down the path, lined on either side by massive trees hanging with moss, the gravel crunching under their feet. Toby had never seen tombs as elaborate as these: miniature Greek temples, life-size marble angels, huge obelisks and crosses and urns and slabs of marble. They passed a statue of a little girl with the saddest imaginable look on her face, seated next to an ivy-covered tree stump, all pale, glowing marble. Her name, Gracie, was carved on the base.

Brock lurched to a stop. “Will you look at that,” he said. “You know why she’s so sad?”

“No,” said Toby.

“Because she’s fucking dead!” And he howled with laughter as he continued staggering down the path.

“Jesus,” Toby murmured, shaking his head as he followed. He wondered if this was such a good idea after all.

Soon they were deep in the cemetery. Toby silently went over the directions he’d been given: Go to the far end, where the river is; turn right; count three alleyways and take another right. The tomb he was looking for would be on that path, just a ways down.

Or was it four alleyways?

“What’s the name of that statue we’re looking for again?” Brock asked.

“Bird Girl.”

“Bird Girl? What the hell does that mean?”

“Because she’s holding two bird baths, one in each hand. It was on the cover of that famous book.”

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s interesting, that’s all.” He paused. “We don’t have to find it. We can just wander around.”

The path they were on came to a T, with a mass of trees beyond. The mists were thicker here, and Toby thought he could smell mud. They must be close to the river.

“Here’s where we go right,” he said.

They were moving into a more out-of-the-way section of the cemetery, where the tombstones were smaller and plots unkempt, with weeds and cheap vases of plastic flowers, some toppled over, spilling their sad contents. That was all right with Toby: less chance of coming across a caretaker or, worse, a cop.

“Sure you know where we’re going?” Brock asked.

“Yeah.”

They passed the bottle back and forth again. Clouds had covered the moon. Now the flashlight of the cell phone barely penetrated the murk.

“Think we’ll see a ghooooost?” Brock said with an exaggerated moan.

Here was the third path. It was almost invisible, covered in grass, and it wandered behind a row of tombs into a still more overgrown section of the cemetery.

“This is it,” Toby said with a confidence he didn’t feel.

The path was hard to follow. They had to step over a few fallen tombstones. The Bird Girl was supposed to be on the right, but there was nothing like that around: just more broken tombstones.

“Admit it,” said Brock. “We’re lost.”

Toby ignored him and kept going. The cemetery was huge and Toby hoped they could find their way out again.

They came to a marble tombstone with a winged angel striding along with one arm raised, splotched with lichen.

“Now, there’s a zombie angel if I ever saw one,” said Brock. “Man, this is a perfect place to drain the main vein.”

“Jesus, don’t do that, it’s a cemetery—” said Toby, but Brock was already giving the angel a good hosing down.

“We’re lost,” said Brock when he was finished. “And you know it.”

Toby, feeling the liquor kick in, shrugged. “Totally.”

Brock laughed. “What the fuck time is it?”

Toby checked his cell phone, momentarily blinding himself with the light. “Three eleven.”

Brock took another long swig of Southern Comfort, then began singing, using the bottle as a mic.

Please allow me to introduce myself

I’m a man of wealth and taste