“Emmaline, if you’re around, I can hear you, and I’d just like to talk,” Savanah said.
No response. Nothing to suggest that Emmaline was even hanging around.
Savanah waited for thirty minutes, talking to the stone as if Emmaline were hiding and just afraid to appear.
“Okay, I’m going now,” Savanah said, rising to her feet.
“They were wrong about that girl,” Mrs. Hawkins, Savanah’s deceased neighbor, said, appearing beside her. “Just like they were wrong about you.”
“They weren't wrong about me. I am a freak.”
“No, darling. You're just you. But they were wrong to call you a liar and run you out of town. History is repeating itself.”
Savanah frowned, acutely aware of the sensation that someone else was watching them. “You know what happened?”
“Sure do. Someone was spreading a nasty rumor about Emmaline. Sweet girl.”
“She lived way before your time. How do you know her?”
“She still shows up from time to time.” Mrs. Hawkins glanced nervously over Savanah's shoulder. “Someone's watching you, child. Been watching you since you came back.”
“Any idea who?” Savanah asked.
“Not for me to say. This is your story.”
Savanah turned again, looking for any sign of movement. Anything that didn’t belong.
Nothing. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
She turned back to Mrs. Hawkins, who had moved closer.
“Rumor was that Emmaline was cheating on her husband, and she wasn't. The town loved her husband. He was the town doctor. He helped everyone, even when they couldn't pay, butnot everyone is how they seem. Even the most beloved people have dark secrets.”
“Why did the gossipers lie about her?”
Mrs. Hawkins turned, her ghostly form flickering in the morning light. “It wasn't she who was cheating. It was her husband who was cheating with the town gossip.” She paused. “Beverly was a direct descendant of the town gossip. Funny how karma plays out.”
Savanah noticed a fresh bouquet of white lilies resting against a nearby headstone, one bearing the same symbol as Emmaline's. A black ribbon was tied around the stems.
“Those flowers are the same as on Emmaline’s grave.” Savanah gestured toward them.
Mrs. Hawkins followed her gaze. “They appear on the marked graves. Every few days. Always fresh, always with that ribbon. Someone tends to these graves like it's their sacred duty.”
Savanah approached the flowers, kneeling beside them. “Someone paying respect?”
“Maybe,” Mrs. Hawkins whispered. “Come to think about it, maybe this isn't a case of history repeating itself. Maybe it's a case of wrongs finally being righted.”
The ghost faded away, leaving Savanah with more questions than answers. She spotted another grave with the same symbol, also adorned with fresh lilies and a black ribbon. Then another. A pattern emerged, at least six graves bearing the mark, all with identical flowers.
The sound of footsteps on damp leaves made her turn. She expected to see Mason, but there was no one there. Just rows of graves.
Mason caught her gaze from yards away. He hung up the phone and crossed the distance.
“You okay?” he asked softly. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Funny.” But she leaned into him when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I think I know why Beverly was killed.”
“Why?”
