The Grave Soul (4 page)

Now he was shivering. “So, what does the nightmare say? Who did it?”

“That's the thing: I finally get a good look at the killer, but it's always someone different. The first time I had the nightmare it was my grandmother.”

“Evangeline?”

She nodded. “The next time it was my Uncle Doug. And then my father. My Aunt Hannah—”

“Always someone in your immediate family?”

“Always.”

“So, does that make you a little frightened of them? Do you think there's any possibility—”

“No, Guthrie. It's just a dream.”

“But, then … why? There has to be a reason it reoccurs.”

“It's the exact question I keep asking myself. Because that's it. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I'm supposed to learn something from it. Until I do, no matter how much I want it to go away, no matter how badly it frightens me, it will never leave me alone.”

 

6

THANKSGIVING DAY

New Dresden, Wisconsin

On the ride from Minneapolis, Guthrie noted that Kira seemed alternately subdued and excited. She'd spent all day yesterday baking ginger cookies, brownies, and lemon bars, saying that it was a mortal sin in the Adler family to arrive for Thanksgiving dinner without a homemade culinary contribution. He was told that the meal itself was always at the farm—her grandmother's place. Everyone in the family would be there. All would spend the night.

“If everyone lives in town, why not just go home?” he asked.

“It's tradition,” said Kira. “You don't screw with tradition in my family. The house has six bedrooms, so when you add in the two of us, we'll all just fit.”

He counted in his head. “No, there would still be one extra bedroom.”

“One for my dad,” said Kira, holding up a finger. “One for my grandmother. One for my Uncle Doug and Aunt Laurie. One for my Aunt Hannah.”

“And one for us. That's five.”

“You think my grandmother's going to let us to sleep in the same room?”

He looked over at her. “Isn't she? I mean, we live together.”

“Not when we're under her roof. You better make your peace with the fact that we'll be staying in separate bedrooms.”

“Until everyone goes to sleep.”

She glanced at him and grinned. “We can't get caught. Gram is very religious.”

“What flavor?”

“Catholic.”

“I never knew that. When I asked you, you said you weren't religious.”

“I'm not. My dad wasn't big on church stuff. I never went much as a kid—only when Gram made me. I mean, I'm sure Dad considers himself Catholic. My Aunt Hannah goes sometimes with my grandma, when she's in town for the weekend. My Uncle Doug thinks religion is a crock. Aunt Laurie is a wonderful woman, but she's a mouse.”

“Is that a religious affiliation?”

She chucked him on the arm. “No, I just mean she's quiet. She blends in, makes an effort to go with the flow.”

“You mean she stays under the radar?”

“I suppose that could be her motivation. For all I know, she's a practicing Buddhist. She was like a second mother to me growing up. I don't blame her for being quiet around my uncle. You know how they say every family has a few jerks? Uncle Doug's ours. He knows everything there is to know about politics and isn't afraid to tell you.”

“Sounds like Thanksgiving at the Adlers may have a little drama.”

“We're all pretty well behaved. Except, as I said, for Uncle Doug.”

“Did your dad ever remarry?”

“Never.”

“Your mom was probably a hard act to follow.”

Kira chewed her lip and didn't respond.

“No interest in women?”

“How do I put this politely? Dad has a number of … friends in town. Friends with benefits. He rarely wants for female attention, but there's nobody special in his life.”

They reached the farm just after eleven. Guthrie stood behind his ancient Subaru Impreza and lifted the luggage out of the trunk. As usual, he and Kira had both overpacked. Guthrie cut himself some slack because he wanted to make a good impression and wasn't entirely certain from what Kira had told him whether the family tended toward the casual or formal. He had to cover all his bases.

Grandma Evangeline's house, a rambling old farmhouse with white clapboard siding and Victorian pretensions, sat perched on a small rise surrounded by hoar-frosted fields dotted with trees. There was an old garage, the kind with doors that folded to the side, and a barn that looked new.

“It was a working farm once upon a time, right?” asked Guthrie, refolding his scarf over his wool cardigan.

Kira stretched her arms over her head as she gazed up at the cloudless late-autumn sky. “Dairy cows. When my Grandpa Henry inherited the place, he sold off a bunch of the land and all of the cattle. Did I ever tell you that Great-Grandpa Adler started the
New Dresden Herald
back in the early 1920s? He was minor royalty in town. He ran the newspaper until he retired and turned the reins over to Grandpa Henry.”

“Did the royalty status transfer with it?”

She smiled. “Yes, for a time. There was more to it than just the newspaper. Henry married Jamie Carmody's daughter, Evangeline. Old Jamie C. was a wealthy businessman, owned property all over the county, bootlegged during Prohibition. He supplied—if not outright owned—every bar in a hundred-mile radius of New Dresden. Bars are big in rural Wisconsin, in case you didn't know.”

“So I'm dating a princess of the realm.”

“And I expect to be treated accordingly.” She smirked. “Bring the bags in. I'll tip you later, when we're alone.”

“You better,” he muttered.

A slight, white-haired woman stepped out onto the long, open, front porch, fingers wrapped around a mug. She smiled and waved. Guthrie found himself smiling back at her. Kira rushed up the steps into her grandmother's arms.

As he hefted the luggage up onto the porch, Evangeline said, “You must be Guthrie. Welcome.” Reaching out her hand, she added, “I've got rooms all fixed up for both of you.”

“Thanks,” he said, trying for, but not quite reaching, enthusiasm. The woman before him truly had been a beauty once, and in many ways, still was. With delicate features, high cheekbones, and fine white hair pinned into a loose bun at the back of her neck, she appeared rosy with health and vigor. She was dressed in a rough flannel-lined barn coat, slim-legged jeans and hiking boots, but still managed to look elegant. Except for the age difference, grandmother and granddaughter could have been sisters.

Coming into the house, Guthrie was immediately enveloped by the smell of roasting turkey. An Airedale in a red bandana and a black Lab in a yellow bandana burst out of the kitchen. The Lab began to sniff Guthrie's legs, while the Airedale headed straight for Kira.

“Where's Foxy?” asked Kira, bending over to rub the dog's ears.

“Out in the barn, resting,” said Evangeline. “Our little girl is pregnant. A new litter is on the way.”

“My grandmother breeds Airedales,” Kira said to Guthrie. When the Lab nosed her hand, she turned her attention to him. “Wow, Sammy's getting so old. He's my dad's hunting dog,” she explained, looking up. “Seems like he's been around forever.”

“He can't hear very well anymore,” said Evangeline. “But he still plugs along. He's almost thirteen, ancient for a dog his size.”

The interior air felt deliciously warm. Scented candles burned on the mantel in the living room. Directly to Guthrie's right, the dining room table was decked in a fine linen tablecloth and the best family china and crystal. The furniture, he was happy to note, sacrificed beauty for comfort. The house looked lived in and loved.

He was about to head up the stairs when a muscular, broad-shouldered older guy came out of the kitchen carrying a load of birch logs. He had on threadbare jeans, beat-up hiking boots, a brown corduroy shirt, and navy blue quilted vest. Reading glasses hung from a lanyard around his neck. Apparently, the formal table setting didn't mandate formal attire. Score another one for the Adler family.

“You must be the boyfriend,” he said, proceeding into the living room, where he dumped the logs next to the fireplace.

“Yup,” agreed Guthrie. “That would be me.”

“I'm Kira's dad. Call me Kevin.” He nodded to the suitcases. “Need some help with those?”

“No, think I've got it covered.”

“Turn right when you get upstairs. Your room is the last door on the left. Kira's is across from you.”

Guthrie nodded his thanks, then headed up. When he came back down a few minutes later, he found a woman dripping with gold jewelry coming through the front door, carrying a pie in each hand.

“Take this,” she said, handing a pecan pie to Guthrie and motioning for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I'm Guthrie,” he said, setting the pie down on the counter next to a relish tray.

“Figured.” She eyed him briefly. “You're kinda cute.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“I like tall and lanky. But … do you always wear your hair like that?” She twirled her finger. “Thought the ponytail look went out with the sixties.” Not waiting for an answer, she asked, “Where's my mom?”

“No idea.”

Kira sailed into the kitchen and gave the woman an extra-long hug. “This is my Aunt Hannah,” she said, beaming at Guthrie as she tried to pry a pecan off the top of the pie.

“Stop that,” said Hannah, lightly slapping her niece's hand. Removing her sunglasses, Hannah said, “You can call me Dr. Adler.”

Kira burst out laughing. “Right.”

Assessing Guthrie from head to toe, Hannah added, “Just kidding. You can drop the last name and just call me doctor.”

“Ignore her,” said Kira.

Hannah shrugged.

“Dad sent me in here to get some matches. He's building us a fire.”

“My brother, the arsonist,” muttered Hannah.

As they dug through the kitchen drawers, Guthrie edged toward the back door. Once outside, he sucked in a deep breath, thankful to have found a moment alone. The family seemed friendly enough. Still, it was going to be hard being the outsider all weekend.

Stepping down off the back step onto a graveled path, Guthrie walked around the back of the house, where he came upon a broad brick patio nestled up against a rock retaining wall. The outdoor furniture and large gas grill were covered by heavy tarps. Scanning the rear of the property, he was surprised to find Evangeline inside a small fenced-off area about twenty yards to the right of the barn. Rectangular stones stuck out of the ground at odd angles. It appeared to be an old cemetery.

Evangeline stood with her head bowed, arms crossed in front of her, holding a single pink rose. It seemed like such a private moment that he didn't want to intrude, but before he could creep silently away, she looked up and noticed him, motioning for him to come join her.

“You might as well meet the rest of the family,” she said, watching him with her intense blue-eyed gaze.

He opened the weathered wood gate and stepped up to her. Crouching down, he read the names on the two oldest gravestones. “Adolf Adler, 1892-1951” and “Emma Adler, 1896-1968.” Under Adolf's name was an inscription:

R
EMEMBER ME AS YOU PASS BY,

A
S YOU ARE NOW, SO ONCE WAS
I
,

A
S
I
AM NOW, SO YOU WILL BE,

P
REPARE FOR DEATH AND FOLLOW ME.

How utterly grim, thought Guthrie, though he didn't say it out loud.

“They were my husband's parents,” said Evangeline. “They bought the land and built the house. Adolf began the local newspaper, a job my husband, Henry, eventually inherited.”

Guthrie examined several more stones, then came to Henry's, the tallest, made of gray-and-black granite. Henry's inscription was a quote:

“
W
HERE THERE IS SORROW THERE

IS HOLY GROUND.”
O
SCAR
W
ILDE

Better, thought Guthrie. Some hope in that one.

“Henry and I were married for forty-seven years,” said Evangeline, a sad smile tugging at the corners her mouth. “He wanted to be buried here, with his parents, but the county wouldn't allow it anymore. The recent stones mark the sites of cremation urns.”

“You have three children?”

“Douglas is the oldest. Then Hannah. Kevin was my last. That's Kira's father.”

“And they all still live around here?”

“Hannah lives in Eau Claire, but she maintains a small home here. And then, of course, Kira moved to the Twin Cities.”

“Do you have other grandchildren?”

“I'm afraid not. It was a great sadness for all of us when Douglas and Laurie weren't able to conceive. I know it was Laurie's dream to have a large family.” Transferring her gaze to a crow sitting at the edge of the barn roof, she said, “Hard to live a life without a dream. You have one, Guthrie?”

Pushing out of his crouch, he rose up next to her. “I do. Actually, it's tea.”

“Tea?”

“I'm in business with my brother. We're importers and own a teahouse in Minneapolis. Eventually, I want to create and sell our own blends.”

“When we have some time just for the two of us, I want to hear more about it.” Evangeline placed the pink rose in front of a small white marble headstone, one that read,

G
RACE
A
DLER.

1989–1996.

O
NLY IN DARKNESS CAN YOU SEE THE STARS.

“That's Kira's sister, right?” asked Guthrie, pushing his hands into his back pockets. “I didn't realize she was only seven when she died.”

“It was a car accident.” Evangeline caressed the gravestone before straightening up. “Not three weeks after Delia passed. An awful time for the family.”