Raising the Dead by Mara Purnhagen Read Free Book Online Page B

having Noah around. What if he decided my family was nuts?
    Trisha checked her lipstick in the side mirror.
    “He’s really nice,” I said. “You’ll do fine.” I opened the door and slid out, not wanting to make William wait any longer. Noah was right behind me, dressed in black rubber boots and an army green rain jacket. The sky above us threatened rain, even though the hyperactive weatherman had assured us a clear day.
    We paused to let Trisha take the lead. I knew she was nervous and determined to make a positive first impression.
    “Mr. Kitsman!” She stretched out her arm to shake his hand, stumbling a little on the steps. The old man reached down to steady her. “You okay?”
    “Oh, yes.” She thrust out her hand again. “I’m Trisha Elliot. Karen Silver spoke with you last night about my being here today?”
    “Of course, of course.” William ushered us inside. “I’m very eager to hear about the findings.”
    We went into the kitchen and gathered around a small table. William offered us coffee cake, which Noah and I happily accepted. Trisha plugged in her laptop, then thrummed her fingers on the tabletop as the computer warmed up.
    I wished she wasn’t so anxious. It was a minor assignment, little more than a favor to my parents, who wanted to spend another entire day at the morgue.
    “Mom and Dad wanted to be here today,” I told William. “But there’s not much time to document their findings. They said they’d be here tomorrow, though.”
    “That’s fine. Plenty of folks have been in and out the past couple days.”
    “Like who?”
    Mr. Kitsman sipped from his thermos. “Well, let’s see. There was the geological survey team, for one. And the county sent over some people to take note of the damage. A few reporters…and one real strange fellow.”
    Noah glanced at me. I had told him about seeing someone near the cemetery, someone who obviously didn’t want to be noticed. “What did he look like?”
    “Young. Wore a trench coat. He was hanging around near the back of the property.” Mr. Kitsman looked out the back windows, where there was a clear view of the crumbling stone steps that led up the hill and to the cemetery. “I think he’s the same young man who was driving by every so often. When I asked him who he was, he mumbled something and took off through the woods.” He shrugged. “He’s trespassin’ but I didn’t think I could chase after him. Doubt he’ll be back, though. Once you confront someone, they don’t want to be seen again.”
    Noah and I shared a knowing glance. Trisha looked up, smiled, and turned her laptop towards Mr. Kitsman.
    “Here’s what we’ve found.” She explained the situation and the plan to bury the ashes at the oldest grave markers.
    “Sounds fine.” Mr. Kitsman set down his thermos. “It’s unfortunate they couldn’t be saved, but as long as we bury something, I think it should be enough.”
    We nodded our agreement. It was the best we could do.
    Mr. Kitsman addressed Trisha. “So what’s this big discovery?”
    She opened a file on the computer. “This.”
    He squinted at the screen. “Looks like regular coffins. Old, but nothing unusual.”
    “They’re lead.”
    “Lead?” He stared at the digital photos my parents had taken. “Well. Isn’t that something.”
    From his reaction, I could tell Mr. Kitsman knew a little about the significance of lead coffins, but probably not much. Definitely not as much as Dad, who had prepared several lectures over the years about this very subject, talks I had heard dozens of times, including once last night, when Dad slipped into lecture mode in order to illuminate Noah, Trisha and Avery after dinner.
    “Lead coffins are rare,” Trisha said, echoing Dad’s bullet points. “They’re usually found in Europe because royalty were buried in them. They preserve the body longer than wood.”
    “Royalty,” Mr. Kitsman repeated.
    “Not that we think these coffins hold royalty,” Trisha