A Grave Denied

“I did. It was. But everyone in the Park knew him by Dreyer, so let’s stick with that.”

“Hasn’t Kate already been here? And her boyfriend, that trooper guy?”

“He’s not her boyfriend,” he said curtly. Kate might not be destined for him, but that didn’t mean she was destined for Chopper Jim Chopin, either.

“Oh. I thought-well, the way they acted that morning at your place and all. I thought they were, well, you know.”

“Well, they aren’t.”

“Oh.”

He bent over to pull at a piece of what might once have been a two-by-four. “Sometimes people just kiss. Sometimes it doesn’t mean anything.”

There was a brief silence. “You mean like when we just kissed?” she said. “Did that mean anything?”

He straightened right up and looked at her. She looked as grave as ever, but he could see the hurt in her eyes. “It meant something.”

“What?”

Sometimes honesty and directness were overrated. “I don’t know,” he said testily, “it’s the first time I ever kissed anybody.”

“Oh.” Her voice was much softer this time. “Me, too.”

He dared to look at her again. “You didn’t mind, did you?”

She shook her head. Her hair fell across her face so he couldn’t see her expression.

He summoned up all the Achillean courage it takes for a fourteen-year-old boy to admit his interest to a specific girl, and to her face at that. “I liked it.”

She was motionless, her hair still hiding her face.

Somewhere between bold and desperate, he said, “Could we, you know, do it again sometime?”

She looked at him then. The blush was back. “Yes,” she said, and smiled.

He felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by a wave of anticipation, as quickly succeeded by another wave of apprehension. His tongue felt suddenly too large for his mouth and his feet too heavy for his ankles. The sun, already brighter, took on a particularly golden hue, the sky seemed bluer, and birdsong sounded especially harmonious. Except for the magpies. A bunch of them, quiet until Joh

“Yeah,” she said. She stooped to pick up a warped saucepan blackened by fire and knocked it free of ash. “I didn’t like him.”

“Who?”

“Len Dreyer.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t remember him,” he said, surprised.

She was silent for a moment. “He did some work out on the place for Uncle Virgil, like I told you,” she said finally, “with one of those machines with a claw on the back of it.”

“A backhoe?”

“That’s it. He was breaking sod to make the garden bigger. It was big enough already, I thought, especially since I have to weed it.”

“You do?”

She nodded. “And it’s like an acre.”

“With vegetables, I bet.”

She nodded again.

“That you have to eat later?”

“Yeah.”

“That totally bites.”

“No kidding. And then later that summer he and Dandy Mike came out to build a greenhouse for Uncle Virgil. Anyway, I didn’t like him.”

“Why not?”

Another magpie flew overhead in a flash of ink blue and white, and there was a temporary increase in caw-cawing volume.

“He looked at me fu

Joh

She shrugged, uncomfortable. “He looked at me fu

“What do you mean, touched you?” Joh

“No.” But she avoided his eyes.

The rage surprised him with its immediacy and strength. “Vanessa?”

“He wanted to,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “One time when we were out in the garden alone, he offered to teach me how to run the backhoe. He pulled me up in front of him on the seat. And while we were moving and my hands were on the controls, he, well, he touched me, or he tried to.” She made a vague motion toward her chest. “Here. And, you know. There.”

The rage was so strong it was making Joh

“There’s trees between the house and the garden. Besides, I don’t think Aunt Telma ever looks out a window. And Uncle Virgil was in his shop.”

“God, Vanessa, I’m so sorry,” he said. “What did you do?”

“I jumped off.”

“You jumped off? While the backhoe was still moving?” She nodded, and he fought to repress a smile. “Good for you. What did you do next? Did you tell your Uncle Virgil?”

She hesitated.

“You didn’t tell him? Vanessa, why not?”

“I just-I didn’t want to talk about it. It was so-ugly. And I don’t talk to them anyway, and they don’t talk to me. I just made sure I was never around when he was there. Uncle Virgil got mad when I skipped the weeding, but I didn’t care.”

“Vanessa,” Joh

“He’s dead now, isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah, he’s dead, and whoever killed him tried to kill Kate.”

“And you,” she said in a very small voice.

“And me,” he said.

A couple of jays flew overhead, toward the noise the magpies were making. Moments later, a raven glided by, high and graceful. It lit in the topmost branch of a spruce tree and let loose with a series of caws and clicks. Soon after, another raven showed up, and then three more.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, still angry. He’d like to roast Len Dreyer over an open fire, but since Dreyer was dead and Vanessa was alive, she made a better target.

She swallowed. “I’d just got here. I didn’t want people to meet me and think, oh yeah, that’s the girl who got molested.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and it destroyed him. “Oh, hey,” he said, all anger gone. “I’m sorry, Vanessa, I’m so sorry.” He put his arms around her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I was mad. I’m sorry you had to go through it, and I’m sorry you didn’t have anyone to tell. I wish Len Dreyer was alive so I could shoot him again.”

Her voice was muffled against his jacket. “It’s okay. I was mad, too. I still am.”

“Good. It’s good to be angry. And you did the right thing, ru

“No. Never came close.”

“Good. Good.” They stood together in silence.

The magpies were squabbling again, interspersed by the harsh call of the jays and the clicks and croaks of the raven. A high raptorial shriek pierced the air, silencing them all. A moment later, they started up again.

“What’s going on with those birds?” Joh

Vanessa stood where she was, a little forlorn. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and began to follow him, only to halt in her tracks when he came barreling out again, nearly trampling her in his haste. His eyes were wide and his face was white. “What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“Another body,” he said, breathing hard.

“What?” She didn’t understand. “What do you mean, another body?”

“Somebody else dead. Another man.”

“What? How?”

He swallowed convulsively. “The birds have been -the birds- he’s pretty messed up. But I think he died the same way Dreyer did. There’s a big hole in his chest.”