Deeper Than the Grave by Tina Whittle Read Free Book Online

parked next to the chapel, a compact structure of quarried river rock twined with ivy, a flagstone path leading to its wooden door. As we got out of the car, I saw the path the twister had taken. The chapel looked unharmed, but a massive magnolia lay sprawled on top of gravestones, roots exposed. That wasn’t the only damage. The corkscrew storm had gouged a channel through the woods, ripping shrubs into salad and saplings into toothpicks. Raindrops plop-plopped in sloppy mud puddles, thick as soup, and the air felt too heavy to breathe.
    I buttoned my rain jacket and headed for the edge of the cemetery, leaving my car beside the chapel. Trey walked beside me, his umbrella over our heads.
    â€œDamn,” I said.
    Private Braxton Percival Amberdecker’s tomb was a ruin. The Corinthian columns that had once guarded the Confederate soldier’s final resting place lay cracked and split, the white marble dirt-pocked and filthy with scraps of vegetation. Stone blocks scattered like breadcrumbs across the rough grass, and the figure of a grieving angel had been toppled, one pale arm still curled around its head.
    I pulled the rain hood over my head. “This used to be twelve feet tall. Stone Mountain granite over brick. Cement fortified.”
    Trey didn’t reply. He was a little overwhelmed. His dry-clean-only trousers and leather lace-ups weren’t suited for slogging through mud and rain, neither of which he liked very much. Nor did he care for being in the woods with nature spilling its guts all around him. He was mustering through, though, probably because I’d seen his eyes light up at the words “search grid.”
    He nodded toward the tree line. “That’s Richard over there, yes?”
    It was indeed. Dressed in workingman’s jeans and a flannel shirt, Richard looked sweaty and hot despite the freezing temperatures, his thick sorrel curls hidden under a Ford truck hat. He had small eyes that held a cowboy squint, with high cheekbones and a sun-darkened complexion. The beard, however, was straight out of a Mathew Brady daguerreotype, even if his stocky frame wasn’t.
    He pulled his gloves off. “You got here fast. Considering.”
    â€œIt didn’t get bad until we got past Barrett.” I nodded Trey’s way. “You remember Trey, right?”
    â€œOf course.”
    He extended his hand, and the two men shook. Another man silently joined us. He wore overalls, and his lined forehead and mulish gaze gave him a look of profound contrariness. He ignored Trey and me, kept his eyes on the woods.
    â€œWhat got hit besides the tomb?” I said.
    Richard shoved his hat back. “The chapel lost some roof tiles, but that’s fixable. That magnolia was over a hundred years old, though. Rose is gonna split her seams.”
    â€œYou haven’t found her yet?”
    â€œNo. Best I can tell she took off for a walk this morning, probably down to the edge of the property.”
    â€œDo you think she’s all right?”
    â€œI’m sure she is. But I want to have those bones safe and sound before she gets back.”
    I looked around at the acres of pine and hardwoods, kudzu and meadow. “They could be anywhere.”
    â€œSo we’d best start figuring out where they ain’t.” Richard pulled out a terrain map, which he’d marked with an approximation of the tornado’s path. “There’s a tally of the burial goods on the other side. I pulled it from your uncle’s notes. Every button, every buckle accounted for.”
    â€œGot it.”
    Richard looked at me seriously as he handed me the map. “I need to warn you about the bones.”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’ve seen bones before.”
    â€œNot like these. These are red, mottled like they’ve been dipped in blood. Evie—you know, Rose’s daughter, the archeologist—she says it’s from being buried on Amberdecker land for a hundred