Blackberry Winter. Cheryl Reavis

saw her abruptly stop at another grave, and he knew whose it was because it was the only one made of black marble. The grave belonged to Tommy Garth’s son.

      Meyer suddenly got out of the truck because he’d forgotten to give her the flashlight. He crossed the road and called to her, but she didn’t hear him.

      “Ms. Kimball?” he called again.

      She looked around and he came at an easy run toward her with the flashlight.

      “Here you go. You might need this,” he said, handing it to her.

      He made no attempt to leave, and she went back to looking. He glanced toward the church—and saw Estelle bearing down on them.

      “Damn,” he said and Maddie Kimball turned around.

      “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

      “The cemetery police,” he said as the woman neared.

      “The what?”

      “Meyer Conley, what are you doing out here?” Estelle demanded before he could answer.

      “He’s with me,” Maddie said and he couldn’t help but grin.

      Estelle looked at her, clearly annoyed that a stranger would put herself forward like that, especially on his behalf. Then, she gave a sharp intake of breath. Even in the waning daylight, Meyer could see the range of emotions that crossed her face, the self-importance giving way to confusion and then to denial and, finally, to what he could only describe as fear.

      “I was just looking at the graves—like that one,” Maddie said to her, gesturing in the direction of the black marble headstone that bore Estelle’s last name.

      Estelle didn’t say anything. There was only the sound of her rapid breathing, clearly audible in the stillness of the cemetery.

      “You ain’t supposed to be out here,” she said abruptly, finally finding her voice. “We ain’t wanting people who don’t belong here messing with the graves—”

      “Well, that’s a little harsh, Estelle,” Meyer said. “Ms. Kimball, there’s no reason why you can’t look around out here if you want to.”

      “No, it’s my mistake,” Maddie said. “I shouldn’t be here. Isn’t that right?”

      A question formed in spite of all Estelle could do. “You ain’t that Kimball,” Estelle said, twisting her hands.

      “Yes,” Maddie said quietly. “I am.”

      Estelle began to back away. After a few steps, she turned and walked rapidly in the direction she’d come, stumbling once when she reached the edge of the road.

      Maddie Kimball stared after her, the flashlight clenched tightly in her hand.

      “Well, that was interesting,” Meyer said after a moment.

      “I…have a favor to ask you,” Maddie said.

      “Go ahead.”

      “If…Bobby Ray Isley is—if he still lives here, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell him I— Tell him Maddie wants to see him. As soon as you can.”

      Meyer stood looking at her. “You’re not going to hurt him or anything, are you?” He was serious.

      She smiled slightly. “No. I’m not going to hurt anybody. I just want to see him. It’s…personal.”

      “Personal,” he repeated. “How personal?”

      “I…don’t want my daughter to know anything about it. Will you tell Bobby Ray? And tell him not to come to the house. If you let me know where, I’ll come to him.”

      “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

      “I’m not answering any more questions, Meyer,” she added when he was about to say something else.

      “No, ma’am. No more questions. I was just going to say…welcome home.”

      CHAPTER 5

       L oran saw Meyer’s truck parked in front of yet another church with a cemetery. As helpful as the kitchen staff at Lilac Hill had been in telling her that her mother had found it necessary to go look at a local graveyard, nobody had bothered to mention that there was more than one.

      She pulled sharply into the church drive, making no effort to repress the exasperation she felt at having to chase Maddie down. Again. And while she was at it, she was annoyed with the man who had made it necessary this time. She knew perfectly well that there was no point in being angry with Meyer, that he was the hired help and that he couldn’t possibly know that her mother was ill or that it was becoming a full-time job of late just to keep up with her. Even so, he would do well not to get in her way. Maddie had to be exhausted—and hungry. And besides all that, she would have taken Maddie any place she wanted to go.

      Her head hurt. She needed a couple of aspirins, and a long bath. Some peace and quiet just so she’d be up to cornering Maddie once and for all and finding out what this was all about. She was beginning to think she couldn’t take her eyes off Maddie for a second without her wandering.

      Ain’t nothing but a stray-away.

      She had only just heard the quaint expression while she’d been waiting in the checkout line at the little discount store where she’d bought her impromptu travel wardrobe. Two old women in sweatpants had been talking about someone’s granddaughter, one who apparently frequented places where she had no business being. And it wasn’t that the girl “hadn’t been raised” and didn’t know better, they had assured each other. It was that she apparently was just like Maddie. She knew better—but she did it anyway.

      She parked the SUV behind Meyer’s truck and got out. The church door was standing ajar, and she walked in that direction. The sconce lights were on in the alcove behind the altar, but Loran didn’t see anyone around at first. She entered quietly and walked down the carpeted aisle toward the front, noting immediately that the place smelled like a church, even though she would have been hard-pressed to say exactly why she thought so. It was a kind of mixture of things, she supposed—mildewed hymnals and candle wax and furniture polish or something. There were candles on the altar table, but they didn’t look real to her.

      She turned her head at a small repetitive sound—a woman vigorously rubbing the back of one of the pews with a folded cloth. A stack of hymnals sat on the floor at the end of the row.

      “Excuse me,” Loran said, startling the woman so much that they both jumped. “I’m looking for…Meyer?”

      “Well, he ain’t in here,” the woman said shortly. “And you ain’t supposed to be in here, either.”

      “Really? I thought it was all right to come into a church—especially when the doors are standing open.” She hadn’t intended to sound so confrontational, but it had been that kind of day.

      “Strangers don’t belong in here unless they’ve been invited,” the woman said bluntly. “And I told you Meyer ain’t in the church.”

      “Did you happen to see him around anywhere?”

      “I’ve got better things to do than keep up with Meyer Conley,” the woman said, going back to her pew polishing.

      “Oh. Well. Thank you so much for your help,” Loran said. “Such as it was.”

      “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t go getting mixed up with that Conley boy,” the woman called after her. “All them Conleys is liars.”

      Loran gave her a look and went back outside—and she immediately saw Meyer and her mother in the cemetery across the road. She had to wait for a car to go by before she could catch up with them. The person on the passenger side waved, and Loran waved back, wondering if she’d been mistaken for someone else. Or maybe people here either waved at you or threw you out of their houses of worship.

      Or