Page 10 of Ebbing Tides
Melanie.
I sat at my desk, facing the computer monitor that was almost as big as my TV at home. Tiled videos covered the screen, live footage from the two dozen cameras set up around the cemetery. My job was to watch them, to listen for the alarm tosound. Normally, I did my job well and took it seriously. These hallowed grounds were sacred and deserved to be protected.
But tonight, shamefully, my attention was repeatedly pulled back to the pack of cigarettes and lighter taking up residence beside my mug of coffee.
Melanie had trusted me—a total stranger to her—with these cherished items. Why? Had she been that desperate to hide them from someone that she’d give them to just anyone? I didn’t think so, but what had made her think she could ensure their safety withme?
“Probably Chuck,” I muttered, glancing at Lido lying on the floor beside me.
No, not Chuck.Charlie.
Of course, Charlie had mentioned me to her before, had assured her we were friends. That was the only thing that made any kind of sense. And still, it felt strange to have these things here. Another man’s belongings. Her husband’s.
Luke.
What was the name of that guy from the auto repair shop?
I sighed. It was only ten o’clock. There were another seven hours until I could clock out and head back to Dad’s house. Being the night watchman at a cemetery wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but most days, I enjoyed it. I liked my solitude. I liked the time to think, read, sometimes play a video game if the mood struck. But nights like this, when my mind would rather wander than find contentment in the quiet …
These were the long ones.
The ones that trudged by at a snail’s pace.
I looked at the clock again—10:04.
With a groan, I spun in my chair and scooted the six feet to the mini fridge to grab a cold can of Dr. Pepper.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound on the door startled me, as it always did. Visitors weren’t ever expected—and, yes, if you were wondering, occasionally, someone who wasn’t there would play a friendly, albeit slightly annoying and unnerving, game of Ding-Dong Ditch. Tonight wasn’t one of those times though, I quickly learned, as I opened the door to find Charlie standing on the other side.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I teased my friend, stepping aside to let him into the office that was really no bigger than a medium-sized shed with a powder room.
“I can’t stay long,” he said.
Lido stood to greet our guest, and Charlie answered with a pat on his head.
“What can I do for you, brother?” I asked, closing the door to the cold night.
Let me take this moment to describe Charlie.
Tall, about my height—six foot three or so, give or take an inch. Long, dark hair that seemed to always be pulled back into some kind of ponytail or knot at the back of his head—or at least whenever I was in his presence. He had a beard and a slender face and build. A little gaunt maybe, but not in such a way that you’d consider him unhealthy, with an obvious penchant for wearing black—andonlyblack—clothes.
Basically, if you had to imagine a gravedigger, Charlie Corbin was it, and the only thing about his appearance that suggested he’d done anything with his life but live within the walls of a cemetery were the spiderweb tattoos sprawled over his arms and hands, creeping up from the collar of his jacket to travel halfway up his slender neck.
“Stormy told me to come by,” he went on as I sat back down in my chair.
I nodded, glancing at the screen. “Okay …”
“This might be out of left field, but do you have anything going on this week?”
Slowly turning back toward him, I replied, “Well, uh … apart from work …”
He sighed like the conversation was already too much for him. The man liked socialization about as much as I did. He dropped down into the only other chair in the office—there wasn’t any room for more than two, and besides, what would be the point? His palms scrubbed over the sides of his face as he seemed to prepare himself to continue.
“All right. So, in a nutshell, Melanie is here for a week. She doesn’t get much of a chance to do stuff without the kids when she’s at home, so Stormy thought that, while she’s here, maybe we could take her to do some more … you know … grown-up stuff.”
I furrowed my brow. “Grown-up stuff,” I muttered dryly. “So, what are we talking about here? Strip clubs? Porn shops?”
