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Authors: Sandra Brown
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when the wheels of his father's brain were turning. "How will we go about that?"
"Not we--you. By doing what you do best."
"You mean--?"
"Seduce her."
"Seduce her!" Junior exclaimed. "She didn't strike me as being a prime candidate for seduction. I'm sure she can't stand our guts."
"Then, that's the first thing we gotta change . . . you gotta change. Just seduce her into liking you ... at first. I'd do it myself if I still had the proper equipment." He gave his son a wicked smile. "Think you can handle such an unpleasant chore?"
Junior grinned back. "I'd damn sure welcome the opportunity to try."
Six
The cemetery gates were open. Alex drove through them.
She had never been to her mother's grave, but she knew the plot number. It had been jotted down and filed among some official papers that she'd found when she had moved her grandmother into the nursing home.
The sky looked cold and unfriendly. The sun was suspended just above the western horizon like a giant orange disk, brilliant but brassy. Tombstones cast long shadows across the dead grass.
Using discreet signposts for reference, Alex located the correct row, parked her car, and got out. As far as she could tell, she was the only person there. Here on the outskirts of town, the north wind seemed stronger, its howl more ominous.
She flipped up the collar of her coat as she made her way toward the plot.
Even though she was searching for it, she wasn't prepared to see the grave. It rushed up on her unexpectedly. Her impulse was to turn away, as though she'd happened upon an
atrocity, something horrible and offensive.
The rectangular marker was no more than two feet high.
She wouldn't have ever noticed it if it weren't for the name. It gave only her mother's date of birth, and date of death--nothing else. Not an epitaph. Not an obligatory,
"In loving memory of." Nothing but the barest statistical facts.
The scarcity of information broke Alex's heart. Celina had been so young and pretty and full of promise, yet she'd been diminished to anonymity.
She knelt beside the grave. It was set apart from the others, alone at the crest of a gradual incline. Her father's body had been shipped from Vietnam to his native West Virginia, courtesy of the United States Army. Grandfather Graham, who had died when Celina was just a girl, was buried in his hometown. Celina's grave was starkly solitary.
The headstone was cold to the touch. She traced the carved letters of her mother's first name with her fingertip, then pressed her hand on the brittle grass in front of it, as though feeling for a heartbeat.
She had foolishly imagined that she might be able to communicate with her supernaturally, but the only sensation she felt was that of the stubbly grass pricking her palm.
"Mother," she whispered, testing the word. "Mama.
Mommy." The names felt foreign to her tongue and lips.
She'd never spoken them to anyone before.
"She swore you recognized her just by the sound of her voice."
Startled, Alex spun around. Pressing a hand to her pounding heart, she gasped in fright. "You scared me. What are you doing here?"
Junior Minton knelt beside her and laid a bouquet of fresh flowers against the headstone. He studied it for a moment, then turned his head and smiled wistfully at Alex.
"Instinct. I called the motel, but you didn't answer when they rang your room."
"How did you know where I was staying?"
"Everybody knows everything about everybody in this town."
"No one knew I was coming to the cemetery."
"Deductive reasoning. I tried to imagine where I might be if I were in your shoes. If you don't want company, I'll leave."
"No. It's all right." Alex looked back at the name carved into the cold, impersonal gray stone. "I've never been here.
Grandma Graham refused to bring me."
"Your grandmother isn't a very warm, giving person."
"No, she isn't, is she?"
"Did you miss having a mother when you were little?"
"Very much. Particularly when I started school and realized
"Not we--you. By doing what you do best."
"You mean--?"
"Seduce her."
"Seduce her!" Junior exclaimed. "She didn't strike me as being a prime candidate for seduction. I'm sure she can't stand our guts."
"Then, that's the first thing we gotta change . . . you gotta change. Just seduce her into liking you ... at first. I'd do it myself if I still had the proper equipment." He gave his son a wicked smile. "Think you can handle such an unpleasant chore?"
Junior grinned back. "I'd damn sure welcome the opportunity to try."
Six
The cemetery gates were open. Alex drove through them.
She had never been to her mother's grave, but she knew the plot number. It had been jotted down and filed among some official papers that she'd found when she had moved her grandmother into the nursing home.
The sky looked cold and unfriendly. The sun was suspended just above the western horizon like a giant orange disk, brilliant but brassy. Tombstones cast long shadows across the dead grass.
Using discreet signposts for reference, Alex located the correct row, parked her car, and got out. As far as she could tell, she was the only person there. Here on the outskirts of town, the north wind seemed stronger, its howl more ominous.
She flipped up the collar of her coat as she made her way toward the plot.
Even though she was searching for it, she wasn't prepared to see the grave. It rushed up on her unexpectedly. Her impulse was to turn away, as though she'd happened upon an
atrocity, something horrible and offensive.
The rectangular marker was no more than two feet high.
She wouldn't have ever noticed it if it weren't for the name. It gave only her mother's date of birth, and date of death--nothing else. Not an epitaph. Not an obligatory,
"In loving memory of." Nothing but the barest statistical facts.
The scarcity of information broke Alex's heart. Celina had been so young and pretty and full of promise, yet she'd been diminished to anonymity.
She knelt beside the grave. It was set apart from the others, alone at the crest of a gradual incline. Her father's body had been shipped from Vietnam to his native West Virginia, courtesy of the United States Army. Grandfather Graham, who had died when Celina was just a girl, was buried in his hometown. Celina's grave was starkly solitary.
The headstone was cold to the touch. She traced the carved letters of her mother's first name with her fingertip, then pressed her hand on the brittle grass in front of it, as though feeling for a heartbeat.
She had foolishly imagined that she might be able to communicate with her supernaturally, but the only sensation she felt was that of the stubbly grass pricking her palm.
"Mother," she whispered, testing the word. "Mama.
Mommy." The names felt foreign to her tongue and lips.
She'd never spoken them to anyone before.
"She swore you recognized her just by the sound of her voice."
Startled, Alex spun around. Pressing a hand to her pounding heart, she gasped in fright. "You scared me. What are you doing here?"
Junior Minton knelt beside her and laid a bouquet of fresh flowers against the headstone. He studied it for a moment, then turned his head and smiled wistfully at Alex.
"Instinct. I called the motel, but you didn't answer when they rang your room."
"How did you know where I was staying?"
"Everybody knows everything about everybody in this town."
"No one knew I was coming to the cemetery."
"Deductive reasoning. I tried to imagine where I might be if I were in your shoes. If you don't want company, I'll leave."
"No. It's all right." Alex looked back at the name carved into the cold, impersonal gray stone. "I've never been here.
Grandma Graham refused to bring me."
"Your grandmother isn't a very warm, giving person."
"No, she isn't, is she?"
"Did you miss having a mother when you were little?"
"Very much. Particularly when I started school and realized
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