Grave Intent (2 page)

“This,” Ephraim said, pausing for the crowd
to be silent. “This will make certain that my little Thalia has
payment for other side. It was created for her alone so that even
in death she will have place of honor. All spirits, dark and light,
will hold her in high esteem.”

A roar of approval impaled the night, and
Anna peered nervously at her child. Thalia looked back at her with
large, dark eyes that seemed to ask, “Why, Mama? Why?”

Ephraim handed the coin to Lenora who took
possession of it reverently, her face flushed with pride. Then he
leaned over and whispered something to her. Lenora nodded and began
to toss the coin from hand to hand as though it had suddenly grown
hot to the touch. All the while she chanted in the Roma tongue
curses on anyone daring to take the token of passage from her
grandchild. She did this seven times, then carried the coin to the
pewter dish and swiped it repeatedly through the flame. An
explosive report sounded each time the gold piece touched the fire.
Oohs and aahs swelled from the crowd.

“Kimbrala,” Lenora said loudly, and with a
flamboyant snap of her wrist, the coin came to rest upright in her
palm. It started to spin, and Anna watched dumbstruck as it twirled
into a golden blur. After a moment, Lenora waved her free hand over
the coin, and it immediately fell flat and still.

With the task completed, Lenora took her
place beside Ephraim. He kissed his mother’s cheek, then presented
the remaining object. It was a gold ring mounted with four thick
prongs. Ephraim slipped the ring on the first finger of his right
hand, then took the coin from Lenora and placed it over the prongs.
The intensity of his gaze seemed to be the only soldering tool
necessary, for metal quickly sought metal, and the two objects
melded together.

Ephraim raised a ring-clad fist in the air
and proclaimed to the onlookers and heaven, “There will be no
mistaking my daughter’s right to this gift.” He dropped his fist
and after eyeing Anna warily, thrust the affixed coin toward her
lips. “You will bless this.”

Anna shivered. Up close the embossed eagle
became all too vivid, its talons raised and defined, every detail
of the creature obvious. With a small whimper, Anna leaned forward,
kissed the surprisingly cold signet, then silently cursed the man
who wore it.
Please, God,
she thought fervently,
don’t
let her feel anything.

Apparently satisfied with her approbation,
Ephraim turned away from Anna and walked over to the flaming bowl,
where he waited for Lenora. His mother hurried to his side and
promptly spat on the elevated flame. She mumbled something Anna
couldn’t decipher, and before them all, the blue-white torch split
into three fiery arrows, one pointing north, another east, and the
third west. A collective gasp rose from the onlookers.

Ephraim aimed the ring at the western tip of
fire. When its blazing point struck the center of the coin, a
deafening
pop
rang out. Pain wrinkled Ephraim’s face, yet he
stood fast, his fist trembling slightly. His teeth guillotined as
the coin began to glow bright red.

“Anna,” Ephraim called sternly.

Oh, Jesus, please, sweet Jesus—don’t let
him. Make him change his mind.
Anna searched the sea of faces
around her, begging with her eyes for someone, anyone to stop this
madness, all the while knowing not one soul present would dare
interrupt Ephraim’s self-appointed moment of glory. How could she
possibly go through with this? She would die. She
was
dying.

Anna stumbled to her husband, and the sphere
of people drew in closer. Their faces were fevered with
restlessness, their eyes shining with anticipation. Someone thumped
on the metal tub again, and the hollow, thudding sounds seemed to
energize Ephraim. He raised his head high and squared his
shoulders.

“Hold her tightly,” Ephraim said.

Upon hearing the command, Anna felt milk leak
from her breasts. Thalia, evidently smelling supper, rooted against
her, and Anna cupped her daughter’s small head and pulled her
close.

“You are all witness,” Ephraim shouted in the
language of his people.“You are all witness that my Thalia has full
birthright to what is given to her today.” With that, he removed
the fiery coin from the flame and pressed it to Thalia’s left
thigh.

Anna screamed when the hissing sound reached
her ears, the sound of scorching metal touching cool flesh.
Thalia’s back arched in shock, her eyes freezing wide and round.
Her body appeared to search for a reference scream, one equal to
the pain she was experiencing, but found none. Only silence fell
from her tiny open mouth as the bird’s image burned into her
flesh.

CHAPTER ONE

Cradling a large spray of roses and larkspur,
Janet Savoy forced herself across the empty parking lot toward the
funeral home. She concentrated on the
tap-clop, tap-clop
of
her black pumps against the concrete and the weight of the summer
heat on her face. Despite it being late afternoon, the Louisiana
sun offered no relief. She had walked less than a block, yet
perspiration soaked the back of her white cotton blouse.

As she drew closer to the mortuary,
gooseflesh galloped along her arms. “What?” she muttered
warily.

The one story, I-shaped structure gave no
answer. It stood as it always did with its flat, beige brick
façade, wide porticos, and neatly trimmed lawn, as innocuous as a
rural bank building. Janet had been inside the place hundreds of
times without qualm. Why the case of jitters now? She looked back
to check on her five-year-old daughter, Ellie, who was nearly
jogging to keep up with her.

“Mama, if you keep making me walk too fast,
I’m gonna drop the coronations,” Ellie said, scurrying to Janet’s
side. Dressed in a lemon-yellow sundress, red, glittery sandals,
and a bright purple fanny pack, Ellie looked like a tie-dyed pixie
with bangs. She had an arm linked through the handle of a
boat-shaped floral basket that leaned precariously to one side.

“
Car
nations, sweetie,” Janet said,
coming to a halt. She balanced the spray across her left arm and
with her free hand, helped Ellie right the basket.

Ellie shrugged. “That’s what I said . . .
cor
onations.”

Janet smiled and tipped her daughter’s
freckled nose with a finger. So far she’d been able to hide her
growing apprehension from Ellie. It hadn’t been easy, though,
especially this morning when Janet had changed their normal
routine. When Ellie wasn’t in school, she usually stayed with their
babysitter, Laura Trahan, while Janet and her husband, Michael,
were at work. This morning, however, Janet woke with a gnawing,
nameless worry in her chest that grew so heavy by the end of
breakfast, she decided to scratch the sitter and keep Ellie close
at hand. She’d nearly asked Michael to stay home from work as well,
then decided against it. He was a grown man, more than capable of
taking care of himself, and she didn’t want to sound like a
neurotic paranoiac. Fortunately, other than it being a busy day,
nothing out of the ordinary had happened to give substance to her
worries. But Janet had a feeling that something in the funeral home
would soon change all that.

Determined to gain some control over her
swelling jitters, Janet tweaked Ellie’s chin. “Hey, did I tell you
what a terrific helper you’ve been today?”

“Really?” Ellie beamed.

“Yep.”

“Better than Miss Bertha Lynn even?”

Bertha Lynn was a pudgy, fifty-five-year-old
widow with frizzy salt-and-pepper hair and a natural flare for
floriculture. She’d been Janet’s assistant for six years.

“Hmm,” Janet said, pretending to ponder the
question. “Hard to say. I think it’s probably a tie between the two
of you.” She grinned as Ellie did a little hop of joy.

When they reached the service entrance of the
funeral home, Janet pulled it open, grateful that someone had
remembered to unlock it. She motioned Ellie inside, then brought up
the rear, her body immediately registering the twenty-degree drop
in temperature. Janet juggled the rose spray to her other arm, then
shut the door behind her.

“Quiet, remember?” Janet whispered to Ellie.
Judging from the empty parking lot, she didn’t think any visitors
had arrived yet for calling hours, but she’d been fooled
before.

Ellie nodded, then began to hum softly to the
violin concerto that drifted down from overhead speakers. She
tiptoed beside Janet, the plush maroon and beige carpet swallowing
the sound of her footsteps.

As they headed down the hall toward the
intersecting corridor that led to the viewing rooms, a shiver
caught Janet unawares. Her steps faltered, and she glanced over her
shoulder. She saw nothing behind them but a hallway bathed in soft
fluorescent lights, a drinking fountain, and the door from which
they’d entered. Janet turned back, feeling her heart beat faster
and her mouth grow dry. She took Ellie’s hand in hers and surveyed
the space ahead.

A mahogany occasional table draped with a
runner of damask cloth stood at the end of the hall. Beside it, a
black leather, roll-back chair. The same chair and table she’d seen
many times before. Nothing seemed out of place, yet her anxiety
continued to escalate, nearly cutting her breath with its
weight.

Janet struggled to keep her walk casual,
leading Ellie farther down the hall and past a white metal door
marked PREP ROOM. From the minuscule seams along the door’s casing,
Janet caught the faint scent of formaldehyde. The smell beckoned
images of naked bodies, their veins washed of blood by watery, pink
fluid while they lay atop stainless steel tables. The vision
weakened her knees.

Biting her bottom lip, Janet willed herself
forward. They rounded the intersecting hall, and the floral spray
resting across her right arm seemed to grow bulkier with each step.
The cool air she’d found so inviting when they’d first entered the
funeral home now felt stifling and thick. Janet wanted to drop the
spray, grab Ellie, and bolt from the building. But she pressed on,
rationalizing against the waves of paranoia. This was her husband’s
funeral parlor—well, her father-in-law’s if she had to get
technical—and she knew this place as well as she did their own
home. What could possibly hurt them here? The dead?Another
involuntary shiver hastened Janet’s pace.

With Ellie still humming beside her, Janet
hurried past walnut side tables, a glass curio cabinet filled with
miniature ceramic birds, a settee newly lined in beige velvet, and
straight-back chairs upholstered in gold and maroon striped fabric.
Janet gave little notice to the furnishings, however. She kept her
eyes trained on her delivery point, which was marked by a small,
black marquee standing fifty feet or so ahead to her left. The
white block letters stenciled across the marquee read: THOMAS
RASMUSSEN.

Ellie pulled her hand from Janet’s and
pointed to the sign. “Over there, right, Mama?”

Before Janet could answer, Ellie broke into a
run toward the viewing room. Though her daughter had been in the
funeral home numerous times and knew the routine of Janet’s flower
deliveries by heart, the sight of her child free from the safety of
her grasp sent Janet’s heart slamming against her ribs. She watched
Ellie run around the corner of the viewing room—and straight into a
pair of arms that seemed to appear out of nowhere. They scooped
Ellie out of sight.

Janet only had time to gasp before Ellie
reappeared, giggling in the arms of Chad Thibodeaux, her husband’s
apprentice.

“Mrs. Savoy, look here,” Chad said, grinning.
“Seems like I caught me a . . .” His grin faded as his eyes met
Janet’s. “Something wrong?”

Janet managed a weak smile. “N-no. You just
startled me a little, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry,” Chad said, and quickly lowered
Ellie to the floor. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right, really.” Janet had known
Chad a little over eight months; long enough to know the tall,
slender young man was as harmless as a roosting pigeon. She
silently admonished herself for allowing her imagination to run
rampant and lifted the floral spray, eager to change the subject.
“Last delivery of the day.”

“Me, too,” Ellie said. She showed Chad the
basket of carnations. “Mama let me help, and she said I was a very
good helper.”

Evidently relieved that he hadn’t scared the
boss’s wife into cardiac arrest, Chad said, “Wow!” a little too
loudly. Blushing, he squatted beside Ellie, giving her his full
attention. “So you really got to help out at the flower shop all
day?”

“Yep—no—well, almost all day,” Ellie said.
“Miss Bertha Lynn’s still over there ‘cause she wasn’t finished
with a flower thingy. Me and Mama had to bring these now ‘cause
I’ve gotta go get ready for my dancing receipt.”

“Dancing receipt?” Chad peered up at Janet
quizzically.

“Recital,” Janet said.

“Yeah, that,” Ellie said. “I get to be a
butterfly dancer.” As though to prove her point, she twirled and
flapped her free arm at her side. “See?”

“I sure do,” Chad said, chuckling.

Ellie gave him a satisfied grin, then bounded
into the viewing room, carnations in tow.

Chad stood and brushed a hand over the jacket
of his black, tailored suit. “Can I help you with that?” he asked,
offering to take the spray from Janet.

She gladly handed it over to him. “Where’s
Michael?”

“Out running an errand. I’m the only one here
right now,” Chad said, standing a bit taller. “Sally’s supposed to
be here in another thirty minutes or so, but honestly I don’t know
why she’s coming in at all. We’re not expecting a big crowd, just
immediate family, and they only want a two-hour viewing. Mr.
Rasmussen goes to the crematory as soon as we’re done.” He lowered
his voice to a near whisper. “I think Sally wants to be here
because she doesn’t trust me to handle any of the families on my
own.”