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“Ah.”
“Are you a relative?”
“Hm?”
I pointed at the gravestone. “Of Serena’s?”
“Oh.” He sighed. “No. Just a friend.”
“I saw you here before. You must have cared for her a great deal.”
He nodded. “I did. It was a long time ago, but I can’t forget her.”
I closed my notebook. “How did she die? If you don’t mind me asking. I’ve been trying to find out more about everyone who’s buried here.”
“I don’t mind,” he said, but his brow furrowed with grief. “She was murdered by a home intruder.”
I gasped. “How horrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. Me too.”
“Did it happen in Irving?”
“No, in Birmingham. But Serena’s family is here.”
I nodded. “I’ve met some of the Bensons. Tilda and her daughters.”
“Tilda is Serena’s sister.”
Although from the slight hesitation, I gathered they weren’t close. “I noticed your badge,” I said, nodding to the plate at his belt. “Did you work the case?”
“No, I was her… boyfriend. And a cop. We never solved the case.” His jaw hardened. “I never solved the case.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I said, pushing to my feet. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
He nodded, but as I was leaving he said, “What’s your name?”
“Josephine Vanguard.”
“Nice to meet you, Josephine. I’m Detective Jack Terry.” He reached into a pocket, then extended a business card. “If you ever notice anything odd around Serena’s grave, would you reach out to me?”
I took the card. “Odd?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, anything out of the ordinary.”
“O… kay.”
I left the graveyard wondering if Serena shared some of the same family hobbies as the rest of the Bensons.
August 15, Thursday
I WAS cleaning the chicken coop when my phone rang and my mother’s picture came on the screen.
I sighed. Perfect timing.
I used my elbow to connect the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Josephine. Are you still in fucking Alabama?”
