“Offer your services again, but not on camera—just to be a help, you know, with the research. You know so much. And of course you have an in with the local people that they don’t have. I’m sure you can make a good argument why you should continue helping them. Now that they’ve finished with the Montgomerie House, did they talk about what they were going to do next?”
“They mentioned shooting scenes involving the Savannah Vampire.”
“Perfect! Once I’ve made the preparations, I’ll call.” He paused. “You know, if you’re any more helpful to me, I may just have to name you coauthor.”
She blushed.
He waved the phone at her. “Would you mind if I sent these photos over to my phone?”
“Not at all,” she said, standing. “And might I perhaps warm up your tea?”
For a moment, Wellstone didn’t understand. Then he saw Daisy had walked over to a sideboard and was cradling a bottle of Woodford Reserve.
“Why, thank you, Daisy,” he said, taking his own phone out of his pocket and sitting back in his armchair. “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”
28
TOBY MANNING SHIMMIED UP the wrought iron fence and tried to swing his leg over the spikes, but his pants got hung up and he fell to the ground on the far side with a loud ripping sound. He lay there, a little shaken but otherwise unharmed, as his pal Brock Custis looked on, laughing uproariously.
“You bust ass like that again,” Brock said, “and half of the dead here are going to rise up and give you the finger.”
“Help me up, fagmeat,” Toby said.
Still laughing, Brock extended a hand and Toby grasped it and was hauled to his feet. He checked his jeans and found a two-inch tear along the side. “Shit.”
Annoyed, he slapped away the dirt and leaves and looked around. “Creepy place.” A full moon hung in the night sky. Strings of low-lying mist drifted through the twisted oaks and ghostly shapes of tombstones stretching in front of them.
Brock managed to stifle his laughter long enough to pull a pint of Southern Comfort from his pocket. “Here, take a shot of this.”
Toby grabbed the pint and sucked down a couple of mouthfuls before handing it back. He could feel the heat of the liquor spreading through his gullet, and it restored his mood. “The grave is supposed to be at the far end, by the river,” he said.
“Lead the way, asswipe.”
Toby pulled out his cell phone—relieved to find it intact—and turned on its light. It cast a feeble glow over the white gravel path that led off into the misty darkness of Bonaventure Cemetery. He had a momentary shiver. “Gimme another hit.”
Brock handed him the bottle. Toby drained it and gave it back. Brock stared at it, frowning. “You bogarted all the Sudden Discomfort!” he said, flinging the bottle over his shoulder. Toby heard it shatter against a tomb and winced.
“Three points.” With a grin, Brock slipped out another pint. “Go easy on this one.” He cracked the cap and they each had another swig.
Now they walked down the path, lined on either side by massive trees hanging with moss, the gravel crunching under their feet. Toby had never seen tombs as elaborate as these: miniature Greek temples, life-size marble angels, huge obelisks and crosses and urns and slabs of marble. They passed a statue of a little girl with the saddest imaginable look on her face, seated next to an ivy-covered tree stump, all pale, glowing marble. Her name, Gracie, was carved on the base.
Brock lurched to a stop. “Will you look at that,” he said. “You know why she’s so sad?”
“No,” said Toby.
“Because she’s fucking dead!” And he howled with laughter as he continued staggering down the path.
“Jesus,” Toby murmured, shaking his head as he followed. He wondered if this was such a good idea after all.
Soon they were deep in the cemetery. Toby silently went over the directions he’d been given: Go to the far end, where the river is; turn right; count three alleyways and take another right. The tomb he was looking for would be on that path, just a ways down.
Or was it four alleyways?
“What’s the name of that statue we’re looking for again?” Brock asked.
“Bird Girl.”
“Bird Girl? What the hell does that mean?”
“Because she’s holding two bird baths, one in each hand. It was on the cover of that famous book.”
“What’s so special about it?”
“It’s interesting, that’s all.” He paused. “We don’t have to find it. We can just wander around.”