*This is an unedited chapter of The Graveyard Runes by K.D. Upton. Please subscribe to the super sleuth or detective membership levels to read. Happy reading!
Funerals can either bring a family together or split them irreparably apart. In this case, it was the latter. Though, for honesty’s sake, my extended family had been estranged for years, and the hopes of reconciliation were given up long ago. It took the death of our patriarch, le grand-péré Piers Lorraine-Archambeau III, or as I liked to call him, le pépé to bring us under the same roof. And what a roof.
I pulled onto the dusty, graveled drive in my faded, candy apple green pickup and looked out the cracked windshield at the giant oak trees. Spanish moss dripped from their mighty crooked branches that grew like a canopy over the drive. In the depths of July, a scorching, bug-swatting, stick-to-your skin month, the needed cover the trees provided brought much comfort. But this day only held heartache and pain, and not even the gorgeous oak trees and their twisted branches could hide the inevitable storm brewing inside the old plantation, concealed behind the forest green shutters.
I parked and lugged my duffel bag with a week’s supply of summer clothing and toiletries up the creaky front porch steps and into the home. The reading of le pépé’s will followed the funeral, but that wasn’t taking place for a few more days, making my stay a lengthy one.
My hand trembled as I slid it over the oiled banister leading up to the guest rooms, and I stepped up the winding stairwell on automatic pilot to the place le pépé always kept ready for me. Outside the door, a squeal halted my progress.
My fingers hovered over the doorknob when it burst open. I jumped back, my heart hammering within my chest, and watched two chihuahua’s dart past my feet, nipping at each other.
“Don’t mind them, cousin. They are all bark and no bite.”
Step cousin was more like it. His father married my Aunt Margot a couple years ago, but he fit right in with their rich tastes. Though, in all honesty, he was the best of them all. He’d never treated me too badly, and he’d always warn me if my aunt was on the warpath, which was pretty much an everyday occurrence.
Tears welled up as I looked into the dark brown eyes of Daine Crenshaw. The wish to lock myself away from the entire clan of Lorraine-Archambeaus was dwindling quickly. Where was I to stay now? I’d never slept a night under this roof, except in this bedroom. Fond memories of le pépé rushing in and sweeping me up into his arms, tossing me high above his head, and then tickling me until I cried “mercy” were fresh in my mind.
“Hey.” Daine nudged my upper arm with a crooked smile. “Why aren’t you dressed? Margot won’t be pleased, not to mention your mom.”
I tilted my head, narrowing my gaze on him, and fought the bag of worms rolling inside my stomach. “Dressed for what?” Mom hadn’t mentioned a dinner, and I couldn’t fathom any other reason to be dressed to the nines.
I took in his black suit, tie, and dress shoes, searching for justification. Although my Aunt Margot thrived on living it up. You’d never catch her without her hair fashioned for the season, clothes fit for the Roosevelts, and a string of pearls around her creamy white neck.
“The funeral, of course.” He chuckled. “Didn’t you get the message? Cousin… are you feeling well? You look a little pale. Anyway, don’t be late.” He slapped my shoulder and bounded down the stairs, the chihuahuas hot on his heels.
The ground swayed before me. I thrust a hand onto the wall for support and forced myself to take long, deep breaths. When the black spots cleared my vision, I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother.
“Honey,” came my mother’s harried voice, “has your dad called you? His plane arrived on time, but I don’t see him, and he’s not answering my calls.”
“Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “why didn’t you tell me the funeral was today?”
“Oh, there he is. Hey, honey, I’ve gotta run. We’ll see you soon. By the way, the funeral was moved up. It’s today. Wear something pretty. Bye.” The phone went dead.
Great. Why didn’t anyone ever remember to tell me?
The pressure behind my eyes built as I wandered the halls looking for an empty room. Five minutes later, and after several dead ends, I rounded a corner off of the third floor, usually reserved for staff, and found a neat little room the size of a closet. It had a metal twin bed that squeaked when I placed my duffel on it, white linens, a comforter, a washbasin for brushing my teeth, and a tiny rack for my shoes. A bathroom, with a claw-foot bathtub, was just down the hall.
“Well… home, sweet, home.” I inhaled the woody scent that only old homes created and wondered of the lives these walls had witnessed. No telling how many stories past inhabitants could speak of from present day owners on back in time.
Since the third floor was never occupied, except on these rare occasions because the staff had all but died or retired, I was fairly certain no one would argue about me staying up here. My maternal grandmother had a cleaning crew come in first thing most mornings. So, on the bright side, I would get my peace and quiet after all.
Not sure of the funeral’s start time, I rummaged through my bag, threw on a soft pink slip dress, matching flats, pulled my hair into a tidy bun, and checked my makeup in the mirror above the wash bin. Satisfied, I raced down the stairs and met the watchful gaze of my paternal grandmother, Elsa. She didn’t go by the typical names like grandma, nana, mimi, or the like. Nope, she required each of us to call her Elsa. I often wondered why, but gave up the time I overheard her scold my sister, Noelle. Fair-haired child that she was, my sister accidentally called her grandma once. The swift slap in the face guaranteed it never happened again. “My name is Elsa, child. Learn it,” came her retort.
“Elsa.” I curtsied, as did we all in her presence, and put on a brave smile.
“You are late. Where are your parents?”
“Mom picked dad up from the airport. They should arrive soon.”
Elsa grunted. “With your mother, that is not likely. Very well,” she sighed. “Run along. The tent is set up in the cemetery. I trust you will find your way.” Elsa stared unblinking at me, which was my cue to leave.
“Yes, ma’am.” I swallowed hard, averted my gaze, and rushed out the front door and into the stickiness of the Louisiana summer, breathing in the sweltering heat and relished in the humidity. Rather than deal with family, I’d take the southern weather any day. I swiped at the perspiration that had already formed on my upper lip and set off for the cemetery. Having distance between my paternal grandmother and the arrival of my parents wasn’t something I wanted to witness. I crossed my fingers and prayed for their swift return, or judging by the angry sky above and the years of rivalry amongst the group, there’d be hell to pay.