Page 14 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

She burst out laughing. “In Pelican Pointe? The only place I’ve seen a camera is on Main Street in front of the bank’s ATM machine.”

“A security guard then,” Daniel revised.

“I believe the website mentioned a caretaker living at the back of the property.”

“As long as he doesn’t carry a shotgun.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t worry too much about someone breaking in,” she added, playfully punching him on the arm. “You should know things like this. How long have you lived here?”

“Normally, I don’t make a habit of disturbing the peace, let alone the dead. Right now, I’m just ticking all the boxes, wondering what time this caretaker makes his rounds,” he explained, shooting a U. After pulling the car to the shoulder of the road, a sense of foreboding came over him. “A graveyard at midnight isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“Second thoughts?” she prodded.

“No. You?”

“Let’s do this, get out of here, and get back home.”

“I’m all for that. I’ll lift you up and over first,” Daniel offered, gathering up their flashlights. “That’s the plan. Then I’ll pull myself up and over to join you.”

Rowan nodded and opened the car door.

The air was chilly for late spring and windless as the two made their way toward the darkest corner of the wall.

He cupped his hands, creating a place for her to step and lifted her closer to the top until she found something she could grab onto and pull herself over. Once she was on the other side, he hoisted himself up and over, dropping down to join her.

They started walking, the only sound was the crunching of leaves beneath their feet.

He decided the place was surprisingly small for a cemetery, especially the only one in town.

Rowan dragged Daniel across the grounds, silently counting each row until she reached her grandparents’ plots. From that reference point, she began heading in a diagonal, south-easterly direction toward the smaller plot. It didn’t take long before she arrived at the one Scott had shown her. Aiming the flashlight onto the granite, she highlighted the name Rowan Avery Eaton for his benefit.

For several long seconds, Daniel simply gaped at the inscription while Rowan danced in place in the cold, waiting for his reaction. She wasn’t prepared when he blurted out, “My God, hearing you talk about it is one thing. Seeing a photo doesn’t do it justice. Seeing it for myself makes an impact. It makes for an eerie sight, Rowan, seeing your name and birthdate like this. Something is definitely wrong about it.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “That’s why Scott practically forced me over here, so I’d know about it.”

Daniel began to pace. “We need to come up with a next step, a plan. We need to find your birth certificate, see if anything’s wonky about it. You know, like maybe you were adopted and never knew it. Is there any way you could ask your mother?”

“Daniel, I thought I mentioned my mother is in a nursing home in San Sebastian. Gran chose the location because it takes half an hour to get there from here.”

“You did mention it, but you didn’t elaborate on her condition.”

“Nine years ago, she suffered a stroke from one too many overdoses. She’s basically comatose.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Like you said, it’s not something you bring up in conversation. My birth certificate is in a box somewhere. So are most of my possessions right now. I’d probably need to go through each one to get my hands on it.”

“I’ll help you.” He took another long look at the headstone. “But I’m beginning to think the only way to learn why there’s a gravesite with your name on it is exhumation. But how do we exhume a four-year-old we have no connection to? And who owns this plot? Who put her here? Who’s buried here?”

Rowan shivered in the chilly night air and tugged her jacket tighter. “All relevant questions. But ones we should ask by a fire with a hot drink in hand.”

“Agreed. Let’s get out of here. There is someone we might turn to for help. Two someones actually. I used them to solve a twelve-year-old missing person’s case.”

“You never mentioned that.”

He took her arm and headed back to the car, trying to avoid bumping into other granite markers and headstones. “It’s not something you bring up in conversation. It happened back in high school. My girlfriend went missing the night of the prom. Lyssa Mayfield. I thought I was in love. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch but I was eighteen. Turns out she was seeing an older guy, a construction worker from out of town. But I didn’t know any of the details until I hired private investigators—Brogan Cole and Lucien Sutter—websleuths they call themselves. Long story short, they dug a little deeper, did some research, contacted the police chief back home, called in a search and rescue team who found that Lyssa and her new boyfriend had driven off the road into a lake that night. They’d been sitting there for a dozen years at the bottom of the lake, their car stuck in mud. Mystery solved.”

“Her going missing haunted you.”

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