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“I’m still wondering who leaked your text messages. My money is on Curtis.”
“Why would he do that? He doesn’t exactly come across as a hero in those messages.” Granted, neither did I… if he looked like a parasite, I looked desperate.
“He’s a publicity whore. All he wanted was a scandal with someone with a big enough name to attach himself to.”
“I don’t have the big name—it’s my mother’s.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Josie.”
“Regardless, the money I lost was a tax for being stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid, you were in love. And you trusted him.”
I made a face. “Can we change the subject to something good?”
“Your new book is going to be a bestseller and you’ll make so much money, you won’t even miss the nine grand.”
“Right,” I said, pushing down the rising panic in my stomach.
August 8, Thursday
I WAS supervising Satan’s grazing efforts, feeling proud of myself for the impromptu idea to have him munch down the yard.
The grass was eaten down as even as any lawnmower would’ve cut it.
I walked to the chicken coop to gather eggs. Butterscotch was getting used to me and now let me search under her rump with only the occasional peck. The black rooster still menaced me and the goat, but I managed to stay out of his way.
I’d let Satan out of his pen and found him next to the barn, munching on an effusive vine that had consumed the outside wall of the barn with flowers that were blue along the fluted edge, but faded to white on the inside. I took a picture of them with my phone and searched on the image.
“Morning glories,” I murmured. I’d heard of the flowers and now understood the charm. They were indeed glorious—and tasty, according to Satan, although I was starting to realize he would eat almost anything.
He appeared to enjoy the treat immensely because afterward he ran around kicking up his heels and chasing the black rooster, who was not amused.
I laughed out loud—an alien sound, I realized. How long had it been since I’d laughed out loud?
Years?
Then another sound rent the air—a high-pitched screeching noise from the direction of the graveyard.
A shiver ran over my shoulders at the inhuman sound. It was just a bird—wasn’t it?
But why had the goat stopped in its tracks? And the rooster? Both animals stood with their heads cocked in the direction of the cemetery.
I waited, expecting to hear the sound again.
But all was quiet.
After a few minutes, the animals relaxed. I tied a rope loosely around Satan’s neck and walked him to the graveyard, then set him loose inside to munch down the weeds. I walked around and wrote down the names and dates on each headstone with no particular goal except I felt compelled to learn more about the people buried the graveyard that was my accidental responsibility for the next few months. The Bensons were buried on one side of the dividing walkway, and the Whispers were buried on the other side. I noticed Sophia, Rose’s mother, who had defected and married a Whisper, had been returned to the Bensons in death.
And that Rose’s grave was on the Whisper side.
A nudge to my hand startled me so bad I cried out. Then I laughed when I realized it was Satan, letting me know he was finished eating. He bleated loudly.
I surveyed his handiwork, pleased that my scheme had worked. The grass around the graves and headstones was noticeably shorter and neater.
Except for one grave, I suddenly noticed.
The goat had meticulously ignored the grass around the burial plot for Nell Benson, the grave on which the slab of granite had been disturbed, then righted.
