His odd statement triggered her curiosity, overrode her self-conscious habit of feigning emotional control. History? What do you mean?
The look that darkened his face revealed Brett Taylor wasnt all fun and games. But the grim expression was fleeting. He smiled once more, a handsome crease that formed dimples on either side of his mouth. Ginny wondered if, in her own hypercritical state, she had imagined his quick revelation of sorrow. But he gave no explanation.
In answer to your questions about the wall, Id say it was put up ten, twelve years ago. And yes, the mortar work was amateurish. Maybe done in haste, maybe done by someone who didnt know any better.
She jotted down the information, too dutiful a cop to do otherwise, but her attention remained focused on his previous cryptic words. You didnt answer my question. What history are you talking about with the Ludlow? Is it related to the murder?
No. Its just that He stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. Ginny recognized the procrastination of buying time before an unpleasant task. But to his credit, he looked her straight in the eye before answering.
Thats not the first dead body Ive seen at the Ludlow Arms.
Chapter Two
Got a new case?
Ginny Rafferty turned to the cemeterys caretaker and nodded. The chocolate-brown eyes set deep in the wrinkles of the African-American mans face looked as old as she felt. Its that obvious, John?
With his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coveralls, he twisted his face into a sympathetic frown. You make this pilgrimage out here every time you take on an unsolved murder.
She turned back to the pink granite headstone, with the name Rafferty engraved upon it. Maybe once I can solve all the rest of them, Ill get a chance to finally solve hers.
More than a casual acquaintance, John McBride shared a sad, unique bond with Ginny. He might be one of the few people who understood her need to come to this remote haven nestled between busy Truman Road and Twenty-four Highway time and time again. He shrugged his shoulders and offered a fatherly smile. Its gettin dark. Ill have to close the gates soon.
Give me a couple of minutes. Then Ill ride down with you.
Sure.
She watched him walk down the hill to his truck, his dignity unbowed by age or sorrow. Everyone coped with loss in his or her own way. Maybe one day shed move beyond hers and find the acceptance that John seemed to have found.
Until then, shed maintain her solitary vigil. Shed hang on to the love and loyalty shed once forsaken in the pursuit of her own misguided dreams. The chilly spring rain drizzled along her cheeks, side by side with the single tear that scorched her skin.
The trees that surrounded the hills of Mount Washington Cemetery muffled the sounds of Kansas City at twilight. The haunting silence wrapped her up in its lonely hug, a small comfort for all she had lost.
She understood that the rest of the world moved on, despite her grief. Despite her guilt. But part of her would never understand why.
Twelve years had passed. And she still didnt understand.
John had become the closest thing she had to a friend over the years. Theyd first met the day of her sisters funeral. Hed been kind enough to let her stay, long after the funeral had ended, long after the guests had departed to a reception at her parents Mission Hills home.
Shed been gone a year and a half before that, painting in Europe, losing her heart, learning some harsh truths about life, while Amy learned a harsh truth of her own on a deserted pier in downtown Kansas City.
Like this evening, John had waited with her until after dark the night of Amys funeral. Then he called for a taxi and paid her fare, even though she had money of her own.
Six months later, shed lost her mother to a bottleful of the sedatives that were meant to help her cope with the loss of a child. John had been a good friend that day, too. She had needed one. With her father steeped in grief, Ginny had withdrawn to the fringes of the ceremony. An easy enough task for a shy creature like herself. She took a vow that day, made a promise to her sister and her mother. Planned her own quiet rebellion.
John had found her then, much as she was today, standing in the rain, swearing all kinds of vengeance on the world. Hed told her of his son, an officer in the State Highway Patrol, whod been slain in the line of duty. He shared his feelings of pride and mourning for his brave son. He truly understood her anger and her loss.
And he inspired her.
Shed met John again last year, finally losing her father to an overworked heart, though emotionally, shed lost him years earlier. Her parents had never been the same after Amys senseless murder. Ginny was a grown woman nowno grief-stricken teen, no rebellious coeda mature career woman of thirty.
Shed willingly given up her scholarship to study art in Europe and enrolled in the justice studies program at Central Missouri State University in nearby Warrensburg. Shed taken care of her father, and now she took care of Kansas City, Missouri, too.
She sought justice for the innocent victims like her sister. Like her mother and father. And like that poor man this afternoon, buried alive and left to die.
Like a family reunion of battle-scarred survivors, she and John now met at the start of every new case. Each time, he waited patiently to drive her to her car at the front gates. And each time, she made the same promise to her sister and parents.
She spread her palm flat over the cold granite that bore her familys names and recited her vow. Ill find out who did this to us. There will be justice for the Raffertys.
She curled her fingertips into the grooves cut deep into the stone.
I promise.
Ginny headed down the hill toward the road. Her charcoal-gray chinos, damp from a days worth of rain, stuck to her legs like a second skin and chilled her. The warmth of Johns truck sounded pretty inviting right about now. She really ought to make an effort to cultivate his friendship. Hed always been so kind. But shed never been very good at that sort of thing. Making friends had always been Amys forte. Some day soontonight, maybeshed overlook her insecurities and take him out to dinner.
Well, maybe not tonight. A telltale chirping vibrated at her hip. Stopping beside the road, she pulled out her cell phone and flipped it open.
Detective Rafferty.
Yeah, Gin. Its Merle. She turned her face away from the phone to mask her weary sigh. She and her partner had been on the clock since eight that morning. How could he still sound energetic nearly eleven hours later?
Whats up? she asked.
I got a name on that murder at the Ludlow you asked about. Back in 1989. An eighteen-year-old kid named Mark Bishop.
Thats not the first dead body Ive seen at the Ludlow Arms.
Ginnys own energy kicked up a notch. Was that case solved?
Merle spoke as if he was reading the information straight off his computer screen. History of family violence. Died from a blow to the head. The death was attributed to his father, Alvin Bishop. Neighborhood bully. He had a record of abuse and neglect with Social Services, and a string of minor convictions. Everything from drunk and disorderly to assault on the garbage collector.
But no charges were filed? She sensed more unfinished business.