Ghosts of Graveyards Past by Laura Briggs Read Free Book Online

foundations in some of my projects. I’ve seen family graves but never more than two or three at each place.”
    “I see,” she murmured.
    She looked disappointed, making guilt ripple through him. He felt the need to justify his ignorance. “I’ve only lived here—as in this part of town—for a few years. My, uh, wife and I…we moved here after she finished college.”
    A subtle change flickered over her expression with the words. Her gaze went to the hand where his ring finger was currently hidden by the bandage. He knew it was empty beneath the fabric, a faint impression of where the band used to sit visible amidst his tanned skin. He cleared his throat, moving away from the subject he least wished to discuss. “I used to live in a neighborhood just past the town high school. My family moved there from Kansas City when I was fifteen.”
    “So you’re not fully a native,” she said. “I should have known—the accent’s a little different.”
    This seemed to count against him, making Con wonder what she expected to find. A local expert, probably, with all the answers to the town’s long-lost graveyard.
    “You worked with the former mason, though,” she said, brightening a little with this important piece of information. “Mr. Sawyer, right?”
    “He taught me,” he admitted, wondering how that could matter. Unless she thought his instructor possessed some knowledge of this place that he had since passed down to his apprentice or left behind in old paperwork.
    “I’m sorry,” he began, seeing the hope fade from her face again, “but there’s nothing I can tell you about this cemetery. I’ve never heard of it, from Mr. Sawyer, or anyone else.” Handing her the notebook, he added, “As for the moon, it can symbolize different things—rebirth, cycles of life, victory even. Probably it’s not a faith symbol, though. More of a cultural thing.”
    She considered his words, staring at the image with a blank look. After a moment, she pulled a pencil from her knapsack and scribbled something in the corner of the headstone rubbing. Tearing it from the notebook, she held it out to him with quiet pleading in her green eyes. “My cell number—in case you think of anything.” Her hand brushed his bandage, urging him to take it, waiting until his fingers curved around it before she turned towards the door. Halfway there, she turned back and offered him a smile. “Thanks, by the way. For what you do, I mean. It’s really nice to see someone keeping up the old traditions, putting the time and detail into these old monuments.”
    He didn’t know what to say, especially considering he’d practically dismissed her a moment ago. He managed a mumbled “Thanks,” before crossing the room to hold the door open. She walked down the path, her hair ruffled in the breeze.
    How did she even find the cemetery? He wondered this, now that it was too late to ask. She was more of a stranger to this place than he was, yet somehow she uncovered a piece of history lost to it for who knows how many decades.
    Alone again, he contemplated the gravestone rubbing. He had never duplicated this pattern in any of his restoration work. There were none like it in the old section of the town cemetery, either.
    A crescent moon turned on its side. The symbol laid over it was harder to guess, though he felt it could be an arrow, bent or broken. Such a symbol was often used to represent something about mortality or danger.
    As he turned it towards the light, something stirred faintly in his memory. Had he seen the combination somewhere before? In a book or photograph, maybe a newspaper clipping from his former employer’s records.
    He shook his head. It was useless to try and remember. Especially when it might be a false memory or just a design that was somewhat similar. The moon was a common enough pattern to see, along with the stars and sun and other celestial wonders.
    Pinning the sketch to the cork board, he watched it flutter in the