December 10, Tuesday

THE BELL above Coleman's Grocery jingled as I entered, my heart thundering against my ribs. Coleman stood at his usual post behind the counter, carefully counting out change for Mrs. Henderson's groceries.

I pretended to shop, watching him from behind a display of Christmas candy. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic – the way he arranged items, straightened bottles, checked expiration dates. Everything in its proper place, its proper time.

The scrying mirror sat on his desk, visible through his partially open office door. As if sensing my gaze, Coleman looked up and caught my eye.

"Morning, Josephine. How many eggs today?"

"Two dozen," I said, handing over my basket.

He took his time touching them, counting them, but seemed to be elsewhere. I swear, he was humming under his breath. Then he counted out my meager cash and gave me a wide smile.

"Anything else?"

I hesitated, then shook my head, thanked him, and walked outside into the cold sunshine.

And turned toward St. Michael's Church.

The stone building rose against the gray December sky, its spire reaching heavenward like a finger admonishing passersby to look up for guidance.

Reverend Abernathy was polishing brass candlesticks when I entered, his black clothing stark against the white altar cloth.

"Ms. Vanguard." His smile was warm. "Finally taking me up on my invitation?"

"Not exactly." I walked down the center aisle, my boots echoing off the high ceiling. "I'm here about Rose."

The polishing cloth stilled in his hand. "Oh?"

"I know you took her."

He set down the candlestick, something like relief washing over his features. "How did you figure it out?"

"You're the only one who wanted her out of the Whisper Graveyard." I met his gaze steadily. "The only one who thought she didn't belong there."

"Ah." He nodded slowly. "Would you like to see her?"

I hadn't expected him to admit it so readily. "Yes."

He led me through a side door and out into the church's small cemetery. Unlike the wild romance of the Whisper Graveyard, this one was orderly, with neat rows of identical headstones. Near the back, partially hidden by a stone angel, fresh dirt marked a new grave.

"I reburied her here," he said quietly. "In consecrated ground."

"Why?"

He sighed, his breath visible in the cold air. "Rose had been coming to me for months before she died. She wanted to leave the Wiccan religion, to convert to Christianity. We met in secret – she was afraid of how her family would react."

"Did Sawyer know?"

"No one knew. Rose was... trapped. By tradition, by family expectations. By the darkness that seemed to follow the Whispers and Bensons." He gestured to the fresh grave. "I drove to the graveyard the night of the storm looking for… I don't know what—maybe trouble."

I wondered if he'd been, as Coleman had once hinted, imbibing communion wine.

"When I saw her casket exposed, I knew God had provided an opportunity. A chance to give her what she'd wanted in life – peace, free from all that darkness."

"So you took her casket?"

"It wasn't easy, but I had a handcart. And a key to the funeral home from doing services there. It was the perfect temporary storage until I could prepare a proper grave here."

Which explained the marks we'd found at the funeral home. I stared at the unmarked grave, trying to process everything. "Why not just tell everyone? Why all the secrecy?"

He lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug. "Would they have understood? The Bensons, the coven – they already blamed me for trying to 'steal their youth' with my preaching." His voice hardened. "But Rose didn't want to be there, didn't want anything to do with their rituals and spells."

"Did you open the casket?"

He straightened. "Of course not."

"I just wondered about the locket we found in the roots of the tree."

"I didn't notice it, but maybe someone placed it on top of the casket when she was buried."

A crow landed on the stone angel, its harsh cry cutting through the winter stillness.

"There's more," he said thickly. "Wayne confessed to me he was with Rose when she died."

I gasped. "In the graveyard?"

He nodded. "They were experimenting with hallucinogens."

"Morning glory seeds," I provided.

He looked surprised but nodded. "Wayne said they both passed out and when he woke up, Rose was dead. He left and didn't tell anyone. The guilt was bearing down on him, especially because it was ruled a suicide."

"So it wasn't murder?"

The Reverend shook his head. "Just a terrible accident."

I swallowed hard. "So what now?"

He sighed. "Now… it's time I let everyone know the truth… about everything."

I nodded, relieved… and aggrieved.