I suck in a breath and hold it, jogging with the shovel to the grave of John Rutledge first.
When I realized the new memorial slabs were lying on top of the ground, I knew there could be something beneath them. I became obsessively certain there was. Slabs could have been laid without the graves ever being touched. For the first time out of all the clues, something might be undisturbed. Even Nash and Cap agreed.
Reaching in my pocket for my phone for a light, I remember I left it in my car at Nash’s office.Damn. I’ll have to rely solely on the faint glow from the street.
I wedge the shovel under a corner of the stone slab and push down on the handle, trying to pry it up; it doesn’t budge.
Nash calls to me, but I ignore him. I have to dig at an angle from the side. In the dark. At a grave. Terror turns my blood ice cold.
An echo of laughter and deep-voiced conversations floats from the street. A car horn beeps. Loud music from a nearby bar dances around me.
Nash says something, but I can’t worry about him. I take a long blink and a deep breath.
I think of Bennie.
My mom’s brain.
The antique store I’ve spent the better part of my life in.
I raise the shovel, Nash calls my name, and I whisper, “I’m really sorry about this, John Rutledge.”
Before the shovel meets the earth, a flashlight shines in my face and makes me scream.
When a deep voice says, “Drop the shovel,” I do.
A police officer stands, stern voiced and broad shouldered, using the brightest flashlight ever created to blind me.
I put my hands up, palms facing him, and squint. Terrified.
“This—this isn’t what it looks like,” I stammer, looking toward the gate and Nash.
It’s open; he’s gone.
Oh no.
“I’m—” Screwed. “Do you know Leroy?”
Into the radio on his shoulder, the officer says, “Got her.” To me: “Afraid not.”
He spins me around and cuffs me—cuffs me!I’m going to jail. I’m going to jail and I can’t afford bail.Shit.
“What the hell were you doing in here?” the officer asks, making my brain break; I’ve never had a speeding ticket and now I’m about to do hard time. “You know desecrating a grave is a felony in the state of South Carolina?”
“I—I wasn’t desecrating it.” He guides me—in cuffs—through the dark cemetery. “I was—I was looking for something.” Adrenaline clears the muddied waters of my brain. “For the federal government. I was trying to return funds stolen from them in-in-in 1865. I only have $17.32.”
He makes a disbelieving noise as we approach the open gate leading out of the cemetery. “They ask you to do that?”
“Ha.” I say it like he’s funny and I’m funny and this whole thing is so damn funny. “No. I’m surprising them.”
“You’re surprising the federal government?” He doesn’t believe me. “By grave digging?”
“Yes. If you’d let me explain. I?—”
And just when I think things can’t get any worse, we step onto the sidewalk and I lose my ability to speak.
Not because Nash is standing with his arms folded over his chest, losing his battle with a smile.
Not because Cap is cough-laughing his ass off.
