Page 12 of Murder on the Boardwalk

“Drea said Gidget’s grave is at the back, further east. We follow this pebbled roadway down the middle of the cemetery, then take a left at the statue known as Weeping Mary. That section is for children. I won’t lie. This place gives me the willies, makes me feel uneasy.”

“Who isn’t uneasy in a cemetery?”

“I’m having second thoughts,” Brogan admitted, clutching a white and yellow floral bouquet of lilies. “Um, Lucien, don’t look now, but isn’t that our ghostly Scott standing over a grave at the end of the road? Jeez, he might as well be flagging us down.”

“That must be where she is. That’s the approximate location where Gidget’s buried.”

“How did Scott know we were headed here? That is him, isn’t it, or am I hallucinating?”

“It’s him. His own grave is less than fifty yards away from that spot. I know because I came up here last summer to see it for myself. Maybe we should take this opportunity to ask him what he knows.”

“The day Scott isn’t in the mood to talk is the day I stop eating ice cream. He has been hanging outside the house lately, though. I’m not sure why he avoids popping in to talk. Never stopped him before. Let’s ask him about it.”

Brogan hopped out of the pickup carrying the flowers and walked to where Scott stood. It was a noisy approach as her footsteps crunched on the rocky pathway breaking the silence at the peaceful spot. She glanced down at the ground to read the grave marker.

Gidget Jane Doe.

Known Only to God.

Found Murdered August 13, 1978.

Gone But Never Forgotten.

When she bentdown to exchange dried, withered stems for the fresh lilies in the metal urn above the grave, Brogan noticed the string of miniature carved angels that resembled fairies surrounding the granite marker. “Who leaves these?”

Scott took a step back from the grave when Lucien joined them. “Who do you think? For some reason, Vera Lockhart started coming out here about three years back. Those angels represent her visits.”

“Those wood carvings look like the work of Hollis Crow,” Lucien noted. “That’s around the same time Hollis started making them.”

“Three years back, when his accident kept him off the job,” Scott added. “That sounds about right.”

Lucien squatted down to get a closer look at the angel carvings. “You know Hollis makes these out of any piece of wood he finds along his garbage route, upcycling any material he can use to make each one look slightly different. Some are carved from oak, while others are made from birch or maple. They’re unique pieces.”

Scott nodded. “Vera thought they were cute. Hollis made so many that he took to handing them out to people he saw every day on his route. Vera had quite the collection. She brought the more special ones out here to Gidget and stuck them in the ground. Why would she do that?”

Brogan stared at the ghostly Scott. “You don’t know?”

“I have no idea.”

“That’s disappointing,” Brogan muttered. But the comment was loud enough that Scott picked up on it.

“How many times have I said I don’t have the answers to everything?” Scott stated, sounding annoyed. “Don’t look to me to solve this case for you.”

Brogan held up her hands. “Hey, don’t yell at me. We’ve spent all day trying to figure out why Vera felt she needed to see a therapist to talk about Gidget—something that happened forty-five years ago. Any ideas?”

“Logan and Kinsey offered to go through Vera’s stuff,” Lucien shared, coming out of his crouch to stand at full height. “Maybe they’ll find something that explains her obsession with the girl.”

“Vera definitely had one,” Scott said in agreement. “I knew Vera when her snack stand was next to the bank on Main Street. I used to go there with my spare change to buy candy bars or bubble gum, especially during the summers, yet she never indicated to me she had a fascination with a murdered teenager.”

“She never mentioned Gidget?”

“No, not once in all that time. I didn’t know the woman was keeping a secret until she started seeing Marley Lennox.”

“Did you ever, you know, appear to Vera and ask her?”

“Scare the bejesus out of a seventy-something woman? No way.”

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Brogan wanted to know, practically shouting at him.

---