AS FAR AS CEMETERIES WENT, this one was remarkably ordinary. It was just a small plot of land, marked with no more than ten tombstones. Vines and thick weeds overtook more than half of them, making it difficult to read the names on the stones. Even the gate into the cemetery was rusty, creaking in the wind as I made my way inside. Ominous was the right word to describe the family plot of the Vann family, and it counted double when I stood in front of the newly-tilled earth of the latest tombstone. This is it right here, said the caretaker, a kindly man of about fifty years or so. I just put it in three days ago. Of course, theres no body. Not unusual for divers as you might figure. But the Vanns have always had money and theyre respectful of their dead, so they put up a nice tombstone. I raised an eyebrow. Respectful enough to let the weeds overtake half the cemetery? The caretaker managed to look embarrassed. You might find this hard to believe, but they prefer it that way. Ive offered many times to clear out the cemetery, but they like it to have a more . . . rustic look. I dont know if the word I would use is rustic, said Mira, who was standing right next to me. The lovely brunette was wearing a gray dress that clung to her curves. Her loose hair danced with the soft breeze. I think abandoned fits better.
