The Restorer. Amanda Stevens

to blow her off.

      I was nervous about seeing Devlin again—especially after Papa’s warning—but I had managed to disabuse myself of the notion that he’d somehow drained my energy while he lay sleeping in my office. Only a ghost could feed on human vitality and Devlin was no apparition. He was a flesh and blood man, handsome and darkly charismatic. The weakness I’d experienced in his presence was nothing more than a physical manifestation of my attraction to him.

      And I was attracted to him. I could admit that now, though I would never admit it to Papa. Devlin’s secretive eyes and brooding demeanor were powerful libations to a closet romantic like me. In spite of his modern trappings, he had an old-world air about him. An intoxicating fusion of Byron, Brontë and Poe with a modern twist.

      And like the fictional creations of the aforementioned, he had a deadly weakness. He was a haunted man.

      For obvious reasons, his ghost child had made a strong impression on me, but my thoughts turned now to the woman. I still wasn’t certain of her relationship to the little girl. I’d sensed a distance between them, an odd disconnect that seemed to belie a motherly bond. She seemed more guardian than maternal protector.

      It was all very mystifying and I had so many questions. Why had the little girl come alone to my garden? If she’d left the ring for me to find, what did it mean? And was Papa right? Should I find a way to return it?

      Now that some time had passed since her visit, the thought of a ghostly communication wasn’t as frightening as it had been. And that in itself was pretty scary—that I could ponder almost casually her motivation in trying to contact me. Even more disturbing, a part of me wanted to find out what she wanted instead of fortifying my defenses against her.

      I supposed like any nightmare, daylight had diluted its power, and as my natural curiosity about her rose to the surface, I had to remind myself yet again of Rules One and Four:

      Never acknowledge a ghost’s presence and never, ever tempt fate.

      If only I had followed those rules. If only I’d heeded my father’s warning…

      But on that balmy summer afternoon, it was a little too easy to shove aside those early misgivings as I pulled in behind a row of police cruisers and unmarked vehicles parked at the edge of the road.

      Oak Grove was well off the beaten track. At one time, a crude trail led up to the gates, but the ruts had long since been obscured by a thick tangle of scrub brush, vines and the thorny yucca that originally had been planted near certain graves to inhibit a spirit’s movement around the cemetery. Over time the prickly vegetation had spread outside the walls and now served to thwart would-be trespassers rather than ghosts, though apparently not murderers.

      Kicking off my sandals, I reached over the seat for my boots. I never tired of tramping around in old cemeteries, but they were not without hidden dangers. The sunken graves and fallen headstones made perfect sanctuaries for the eastern diamondback. Papa had once told me about finding a den of rattlesnakes in a small graveyard near Trinity. He’d killed twenty-three in one day.

      During the cleanup stage of restorations, I routinely came across all manner of snakes, lizards and newts. The run-of-the-mill creepy-crawlies didn’t concern me; I paid them little mind. But the poisonous snakes got my attention, as did the spiders. I was on high alert as I waded through the tall weeds toward the gates.

      A uniformed officer stood guard at the entrance and I gave him my name. Since I was early for my meeting with Camille and didn’t see her around, I asked for Devlin.

      “He’s expecting me,” I told the officer.

      “You’re the graveyard expert, right? Gate’s open. Keep to the paths and stay out of the cordoned-off area.”

      I nodded. “Do you have any idea where I might find him?”

      “No, but it’s pretty quiet in there. Give a holler. He’s bound to hear you.”

      Thanking him, I passed through the heavy iron gates and paused just inside to glance around. I didn’t see Devlin, or anyone else for that matter, but I had no intention of breaching the solemnity of the cemetery by calling out to him. Papa had taught me early on to treat each graveyard as though I were a guest. Respect the dead, respect the property. Take nothing, leave nothing behind.

      I thought about the basket of shells and pebbles I’d collected as a child from the hallowed ground at Rosehill. I’d never told my father about that stash just as I’d kept silent about the episode with Devlin in my office. Papa wasn’t the only one who had secrets.

      Clouds scuttled over the sun and a welcome breeze wafted across the graves, carrying the distant rumble of conversation somewhere along the wall, where I presumed the police were concentrating their search efforts. As I knelt on one of the mossy stones to tie my boot lace, a female voice drifted down the pathway, followed by the lower cadence of a familiar baritone.

      Why the mere sound of his voice should make me so uneasy, I didn’t know. My first inclination was to hurry away before he could see me. Instead, I ignored my instincts and held my ground, and I would later look back on that decision as a turning point in my relationship with Devlin. I would soon realize that was the moment when the door Papa had warned me about opened a little wider.

      NINE

      I was so caught off guard by Devlin’s nearness that it took me a second to recognize Camille Ashby’s voice and another moment to realize that I might be listening in on a private conversation. Even then, I didn’t make my presence immediately known, but took my time retying my lace.

      “…must be family or friends, someone who is missing her. Surely one of them will come forward now that the story is front-page news,” Camille was saying.

      “One would hope.”

      A pause. “Whoever she is, she can’t be associated with Emerson. I think you understand what I’m saying. The last thing we need is some nosy reporter trying to connect this murder to the other one.”

      “Both bodies were found in the same cemetery,” Devlin said. “A certain amount of speculation is to be expected.”

      A tiny thrill prickled at the base of my spine. Another body had been found in Oak Grove?

      The voices were closing in on me. I rose and made some noise on the stepping stones to give them fair warning. Even so, when they rounded the monument that had hidden me from their view, they both stopped cold.

      I didn’t know why they seemed so shocked to see me or why the sight of them together made me so uncomfortable. I suspected the latter had something to do with the way Camille touched Devlin’s arm when she saw me on the path. The familiarity of that gesture struck me most of all because Devlin had always seemed so remote, so untouchable, but apparently not to Camille Ashby.

      I pretended not to notice that touch or the glance they exchanged as I mustered up a pleasant greeting. “Oh, hello. I was just looking for you.”

      “Aren’t you early?” Camille’s voice sounded tense.

      Devlin glanced at his watch. “We said one so you’re right on time.”

      I nodded, unexpectedly pleased by his defense. “I see the search is already underway.”

      He cast a skyward glance. “It’s clouding up. We’re trying to beat the rain.”

      “Then I suppose we should get down to business, as well,” Camille said, her tone brusque. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a moment with Amelia.”

      “No problem.” Devlin stepped away and took out his phone.

      I tried to focus on Camille, but I could feel his gaze lingering on me. It was a little disconcerting to be the target of all that intensity, and I found myself wishing that I’d taken a little more care with my appearance. My ponytail hung limp in the humidity and the only cosmetics I’d bothered with were SPF 30 and a liberal spritz of insect repellent. A more pulled together look, even for the cemetery,