Sorrow's Crown by Tom Piccirilli Read Free Book Online

anything Anna continued. "There may be more to it, Jonathan."
    "Probably not. That part of the cemetery swings low down the hill into much older sections. You go from the Civil War circles to the present with the rise of the new promontories, spreading back across the fields."
    "Perhaps he stood on higher ground, the scuffle took place there, and he rolled down the hill?"
    "Maybe he was running for his life," I said. "Whatever it was, it wasn't a scuffle."
    This lady of silver rarity, her eyes hardening until she looked a little like Lowell did facing the wind—imperturbable, accustomed to talking and dealing with such matters—stared at me curiously the way my football coach used to when I was off my game. "We need to know more, dear. The wallet disturbs me. Greater suspicion is thrown on Crummler for their having retrieved the wallet in his shack, as much as for anything else."
    I thought the blood in his beard was a bit more suspicious, but only told her, "I don't know if that's true, but Crummler wouldn't have stolen the kid's money."
    "The wallet appears to be an extra and conclusive touch, without finesse, in order to implicate him."
    "Or maybe he found it, before or after he discovered the body, and was simply holding on to it."
    Anubis rose, alert to her frame of mind, and paced across the room, moving his broad head beneath her hand, where she petted him absently between his ears. "Were there any wounds on Crummler ? Signs of a thrashing or abuse of any sort?"
    "No, he wasn't provoked physically, at least not in that manner. He wasn't beaten by the kid."
    In a throaty whisper filled with concern, but no real anxiety, she asked, "Do you think he sought us out last night? He said he came to see his friends."
    It couldn't be the case, but I kept wondering anyhow, thinking about the way he'd erupted from the night into the restaurant, seething and electrified. Something had driven him there. I didn't believe much in coincidence, but nothing else made any sense, either.
    He counted us to be, perhaps, his only friends, and had traveled a long way in the freeze—to find me and Anna?
    Or had he simply been trying to escape the Grove, and the ties of circumstance binding him to the cemetery, the town, and even to me and my love, had been stretched to their limit, and snapped him back to where darkness already waited?
    "How could he know where we'd be?"
    Katie caught a broadcast that showed the murder site, turned to me and said, "I know this will sound ridiculous, but I wish you'd smile more."
    "What? You mean in front of the cameras?" I thought about what kind of a day I'd had. "I think that qualifies as ridiculous."
    "You always look so angry. Half these people probably think you did it, the way you scowl."
    I did look sort of loony, just sitting there on a grave as the camera panned across the cemetery, and I tried to imagine just how many people would be smiling, waving to their mothers, primping their hair. At least she didn't mention that I had dressed sloppily. "Not exactly the best photo opportunity."
    "You know what I mean, I care what they think about you, Jon. I don't want them hounding you." She picked up the remote to change the channel but couldn't quite tear her interest from the screen. They were wringing every drop of drama from the story, getting into Harnes ' sordid sexual history but not mentioning a word about Teddy's life; we watched the gorgeous newscaster smiling too much and stating that a suspect was in custody and the victim was believed to be Theodore Harnes ' son. She dipped her chin to her abundant chest, over-articulated the name, " Thee-a-door Harnezz ," as if she were giving you time to gasp, flinch, and wave your hands about your face before she continued.
    They went live to the scene, and Broghin , to his benefit, gave only a curt statement. He'd been right to drive Crummler away quickly, before anybody could get a shot of him dancing his Rockette steps against the back window.