Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [77]
“We have that many cemeteries?”
“Want to go grave hunting?”
I hesitated. To be honest, although the thought of going with him anywhere was not the least bit appealing, the possibility of traipsing through graveyards was. I’d always been fascinated by graveyards, especially the old ones and to actually have a mission, the hunt for this mysterious tombstone with the lily of the valley carving, was tempting.
“Look out, she’s weakening,” he said, amused.
I glanced over at the phone, causing him to smirk.
“Need to call the chief and ask permission?” he asked. I glared at him. “No.”
“Then let’s go.”
I thought for a minute, then said, “Why don’t we split the list and get back with each other later? That would be the smartest thing to do.”
“No way, Detective Harper. With my luck, you’ll find what we’re looking for and then hold the information for ransom.”
“I would not! You make me sound like a criminal or something.”
“Outside of her own family, you are the only one involved in this case with personal ties to Cappy Brown.”
I stood up and faced him. “Look, Detective, if—and I’m saying if—Cappy did kill Giles Norton, I would never protect her from prosecution and I resent you implying I would.”
He dangled the sheet of paper in my face. “So, what’s keeping you?”
I grabbed the list and scanned it. “I have to be back by six o’clock.”
“No problem, I have a date anyway. Say, do you have a camera?”
I gave him an exasperated look while opening the bottom drawer of my desk and pulling out the small telephoto Canon I use around the museum. “For someone who claims to be so good at his job, you sure are unprepared.”
“But I always manage to get my man . . . or woman. My conviction rate was the talk of the Houston PD.”
“Right, and your mother trains tigers for the circus.”
“Actually,” he said, switching off the office light as we left, “Mother did work for Barnum and Bailey’s once. She was . . .”
I groaned loudly, trying to drown out the latest lie. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“A clown,” he finished.
“How appropriate. How utterly appropriate.”
He insisted on driving, reasoning that not only could he deduct mileage whereas I couldn’t, his truck was newer, had air-conditioning and a CD player. I didn’t like him being in the driver’s seat, literally or figuratively, but also couldn’t argue his points. The temperature was already in the high eighties, and some of the cemeteries were over the grade in North County where it would most likely reach the nineties. With Scout riding happily in back, we started with the biggest cemetery, San Celina’s.
In the cemetery’s parking lot, my eyes darted briefly over to the newer section where my mother and Jack were buried. A tinge of sadness struck me, like it always did when I came here. I hadn’t brought flowers to their graves for a couple of months. Maybe tomorrow after work . . .
“Everything okay?” Detective Hudson had obviously caught my glance. You couldn’t fault the guy’s visual acuity.
“Fine,” I said, closing the truck door. “Let’s check the Brown family section first. It makes sense that he’d be blackmailing them with something from their own family.”
He came around the truck and stood next to me. “Now, that’s right smart. Where is this Brown section?”
“I have no idea, but I know who will. And I bet I could show him the rubbing and he’d be able to identify it in two seconds if it’s anywhere in San Celina’s Cemetery.”
“You’re not showing that to anyone,” Detective Hudson stated flatly. “That’s the only lead we have in this case, and the less people who know about it, the better.”
“But it would make it so much easier—”
“No.”
“Fine, we’ll waste time traipsing around graveyards when we don’t have to. Makes sense to me.”
“Benni, you . . .”
I told Scout to stay in the truck and took off across the green expanse of the cemetery lawn toward the gardener’s stone building, not interested in hearing anything he had to say starting with the word “you.” Inside, Mr. Foglino was tinkering with an old