I was staring at a Eliza Proctor.
“Oh my god,” I whispered.
“Oh my god!” someone yelled from somewhere behind me. “OH MY GOD!”
I heard the sound of running footsteps. Wrenching my eyes away from Eliza, I managed to turn around in time to see two female dog-walkers in workout attire approaching with a pair of leashed golden retrievers. The dogs were bounding at me, eager to make a new friend. The owners looked less thrilled to meet me. In fact, their expressions were contorted in utter horror as they looked from me to the lifeless body I’d been looming over, much like a criminal caught red-handed, and back again.
“What have you done?” one of the women cried, backpedalling a few steps, as though I was a knife-wielding maniac about to attack her. The once-enthusiastic dogs, following their owner’s lead, shifted into protective stances and began to growl at me when I took a few shaky steps toward them.
“Stay where you are!” The other woman fumbled in her fanny-pack and pulled out a small canister. “Don’t come any closer! I have pepper spray and I’m not afraid to use it!”
“It’s not what you think!” I held up my hands helplessly. “It wasn’t me!”
The woman merely lifted the canister, finger poised on the top. (Considering that she was accusingmeof being a psychopath, she seemed a little too excited by the prospect of dousing me with it.)
The other woman had already whipped out her phone. I could hear her shouting hysterically into the receiver as they both turned and ran away from me, their dogs galloping after them.
“Yes, we need police! Please, come quickly! We’ve just witnessed a murder at Charter Street Cemetery!”
Hellfire and brimstone.
* * *
I saton the grass with my knees pulled up to my chest, leaning back against the fence on the outer perimeter of the cemetery. My back was to the crime scene, but I knew if I turned to peer through the wrought iron rungs, I’d see a whole flock of forensics investigators moving around the tomb where Eliza’s body lay. Policemen in starched navy Salem PD uniforms were cordoning off the entire area with bright yellow tape, but that hadn’t stopped a crowd of curious onlookers from gathering in the adjacent alleyway. Some of them were snapping pictures. Many of them were staring at me with naked curiosity.
What’s with the redhead sitting inside the crime scene?
A sharp siren bleated from the main street. The crowd parted long enough to allow an unmarked police cruiser to nose up the narrow alleyway that abutted the cemetery. Through the windshield, I recognized Detective Caden Hightower, looking solemn as he parked, shut his engine, and ambled out of the vehicle. His intense eyes never shifted away from me as he approached, dropping down into a crouch less than a foot away, effectively shielding me from the onlookers with his body. His handsome face was creased with concern.
“Gwendolyn,” he greeted gently.
“Detective.” I tried a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “How’s your day going?”
“Better than yours, from the looks of it.” His gaze moved behind me, to the graveyard. “Care to tell me what happened here?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Two dog-walkers who called this in said they saw you standing over the body.”
“That’s true, I was. But I didn’t kill her! I swear, I didn’t!” A note of panic threaded through my words. “She was like that when I got here!”
He scanned me up and down, taking in my zip-up sports bra, fitted yoga pants, and sneakers. “Why were you here in the first place?”
“I’d just finished my morning run, and was stretching—”
“You stretch in a graveyard?”
I shrugged at his doubtful tone. I liked graveyards. I always had. So had Aunt Colette. When I was a kid, she’d taken me to historical burial grounds all up and down the Massachusetts coastline on summer days when the shop was closed for business. She’d pack a picnic basket full of sandwiches, spread out a blanket on the grass, and lay flat on her back, staring straight up at the sky, completely unbothered by the thought of long-dead Pilgrims entombed beneath us.
Whenever life gets too big to hold in your hands, plant your feet on old ground,she told me once, after my brand new bike got run over by a delivery truck and I convinced myself she was going to send me away from Salem forever in punishment for my carelessness.These gravestones have stood for three centuries, kiddo. They’ll probably stand another three after this — long after you and me are nothing but dust. You want to know a secret? No one remembers any of the crap you did wrong or any of the mistakes you made when you’re nothing but a name on an old stone.
Stop worrying so much.
Live your life.
I wished she was here. I could’ve used some of her sage wisdom right about now.
“Gwendolyn,” Caden prompted, snapping me out of my thoughts.