Page 103 of Veil of Lies

“If he’s trying to draw my attention to Mom’s grave, then perhaps he has left something there for me to find.”

“Then let’s find out,” Harley said. “Where is your mom’s grave?”

“A cemetery in Ohio, near the small town where she grew up. I haven’t been there in a long time.”

Quinn dug out his phone. “What’s the name of the town?”

“Silver Creek.”

“OK, so you can catch a flight to Columbus and then drive from there. It’ll be a full day’s worth of traveling, but doable.”

I hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious, i.e. that I had no fucking money for airfare or car hire. Harley picked up on my discomfort and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. “He means you and I, Stella. You’re not doing this alone.” I blinked away an unwelcome tear. “Not anymore.”

“I’d come too but I have a class I can’t skip.” Quinn looked sad, but Harley just grinned.

“Never mind, I get Stella all to myself! Maybe we can stay overnight somewhere. I like the idea of spoiling my girl…”

Quinn scowled and I rolled my eyes.

“No, I can’t take any more time off. One day is enough.”

“Great, I’ll book some flights and a hire car for you both.”

Chapter 79

Stella

The air was cooler here in Ohio, although still warm. The scent of honeysuckle hung heavy in the air. Vibrant red flowers adorned the wrought iron railings surrounding the small cemetery, attracting colorful butterflies.

Harley held my hand tightly as we passed through the gate. There was nobody around, although some tools stood propped up against a small shed. It didn’t seem like the cemetery saw much in the way of traffic. Most of the plots looked old and neglected, aside from a couple of more recent ones to the left.

I glanced at the granite headstones. One was for a woman named Muriel, the much-loved wife of Frank, who had passed away aged 89. The other was for a man called Oscar, aged 78.

Both old, so while sad for their loved ones, not unexpected.

We walked on, following the main path. The deeper into the cemetery we walked, the more my memory snagged on various landmarks.

The tall angel statue beneath a broad white oak caught my eye. I had a sudden recollection of sitting at the foot of the statue reading while Dad tended Mom’s grave.

The path circled around, and I stopped. This was her grave. It had been a while, but subconsciously, I knew exactly where to find it.

Grass grew long around the headstone, choked with brambles and wildflowers. I reached out to move them away and hissed when a sharp thorn drew blood.

A small drop of crimson fell, a brief splash of color amidst the greenery.

I sucked the small wound, silently wishing I’d thought to bring gloves and a few gardening tools. Mom’s grave was a mess.

Dad clearly hadn’t spent much time here in a while, although if I was right, he must have stopped by at least once before everything turned to shit.

Harley stood back slightly, giving me space to think. In among the weeds and brambles sat a small stone urn with a perforated metal lid.

I vaguely remembered pressing wildflowers into it when I was a kid. Now, it was empty, except for a few dry twigs. I reached for it carefully, trying to avoid the thorns.

A couple snagged at me but left only faint pink scratches this time.

The urn was small but heavy and I needed two hands to remove it. Small insects scurried away as I lifted it and I grimaced. If there was one thing I hated, it was bugs. Spiders in particular.

I sat back on my haunches and placed the urn on the ground. Now it was time to find out whether our trip had been a complete waste of time.

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