Page 63 of Deja New
THIRTY
She couldn’t stop staring. Her father’s grave consumed her world, which was probably a metaphor for... something. “Jesus. And you don’t think it’s random.”
“No. I don’t think it’s random. I think it was specifically targeted.”
Her father’s grave had been—there was no other way to put it—brutalized. Someone had come along and smeared black paint over the name. Then they’d hit and gouged the hell out of it with a hammer or hatchet or something—and had shoved it off the base so it was off-center but hadn’t fallen over.
“Any other graves? Or just my dad’s?”
“Just his. As I said, I think it was targeted.” He pointed at the scrawls, the signs of violence. “They weren’t just after any random gravestone—we had to walk past, what? A few hundred others?”
“At least.”
“There are hundreds of graves closer to the entrance, or concealed better so the vandals wouldn’t be as exposed. But they walked past all those forthisone. And see the name? Completely and deliberately obliterated, but they left the dates alone. And when they’d made as much of a mess as they could with the paint, they started kicking it—see the tread marks? Kicking the name over and over? That’s focused negative emotion, not ‘Jeepers I feel destructive, let’s go trash a random tomb.’”
“Okay, first: ‘jeepers’? And second, good point. And third, what the hell?”
“That was my literal thought when I saw it: What the hell.”
“And you just happened to be here and found it like this.”
“Yes.” She saw his shoulders stiffen. “I understand why you might wonder if I have anything to do with it, but if you’ll notice the soles of my shoes—” He hiked up one pant leg and she grinned to seeMona Lisastaring back at her from his ankle. “There’s no paint. Of course, I could have changed shoes, but if you check with the dispatcher, I can prove I was on duty—”
“I like your Monet ones the best, but these are pretty good, too.”
He froze in the act of rolling his pant leg back down. “You noticed. My socks?”
“Yeah.” Busted. “It’s unsettling, right? Me noticing them and then creepily commenting about how I stare at your legs a lot? Yeah, it is. Forget I said anything. Your socks are boring and even if they weren’t, I sure didn’t notice them.”
“The Monets are your favorite?” He had an odd expression; part surprise, part hopeful.
“Well. Yeah. He’s my favorite artist, though, so that follows. Right? But listen, I don’t think you did it. I certainly don’tthink you did it on purpose so you’d have an excuse to call me because you’re secretly a stalker.”It’s wrong that I would have no problem with that. Very, very wrong.
“I would— I would never do something like that to you. To anyone,” he corrected. And yep, hewasblushing. No question this time.Eh. It’s a warm day and he’s in a suit.
“I know.” Wasn’t that strange? She barely knew the guy, but she would have bet five figures he had nothing to do with blacking out her father’s name. “But the timing is interesting, don’t you think? Dad’s case is back in storage. You’re turning your attention back to your regular workload and buying weird socks. And I’m only working Dad’s case part-time.”
“So why do this now?” he finished. “Yes. Those were my thoughts also.”
“Well, thank God you found it first. I’d have hated for Jack or Jordan or any of the others to see it like this. And we’re gonna have to clean this up, I’m not sure the cheapie package covers it. I’ll check with the office.”
“That’s another thing. I don’t understand why the office didn’t call you. The paint’s dry, it doesn’t even smell. This happened at least two days ago.”
“I can tell you why—my mother. She told Graceland years ago that she was paying for minimum coverage and didn’t want updates and don’t call her, she’d call them.” Which, again, Angela had chalked up to the pain of widowhood. How it had hit her so hard she couldn’t bear to be reminded of it by anyone, and certainly not the boneyard where her husband rested.
Again, she wondered if she hadn’t been reading Emma Drake completely wrong all this time.
Stop it. Your mother did not murder your father. Okay?
Okay?
“Are you going to notify your mother?”
That brought her back. “No. And she’ll never find out, either. She’s never been here.”
“Your mother strikes me as a rather vengeful mourner.”
Angela laughed, a short humorless bark. “That is the perfect phrase.”
