Read Online Cemetery Lake by Paul Cleave - Free Book Online Page A

looking before he heard me.
    ‘This,’ he says, and he points to the article.
    ‘I’ve seen it.’ It’s a newspaper article about the advertising campaign for McClintoch Spring Water. Promotional billboards
    have been erected across the country and advertising spots taken out in newspapers. The ads say, ‘What would Jesus drink?’ and
    show Jesus turning wine into water with McClintoch Spring
    Water labels on the bottles.
    ‘I just don’t understand,’ he said, shaking his head.
    ‘Times are changing,’ I say, hoping my answer will apply here.
    ‘Father, I was hoping you could help me out.’
    ‘Helping you out, Theo, has led to a very long day’
    ‘You’d rather have left things as they were?’
    ‘Well, no, of course not. But I think I need more notice before I help you out so I can plan some holiday time.’
    We sit facing each other, mimicking each other’s position with our elbows resting on the top of the pew. The pews are solid
    wood, worn a little around the edges, but they’ve held up over the years in the way that only expertly crafted furniture from sixty or seventy years ago can. Wooden Jesus is looking down at us,
    wooden nails in his wooden hands. He’s holding up well too.
    ‘It’s been one heck of a day for me,’ he says. ‘For all of us.
    Sometimes I wonder …’ He doesn’t finish his sentence, just lets it trail off, making me think he’s wondering lots of things, and I don’t blame him. We’re all wondering lots of things. Foremost he is probably wondering where God fits into all of this.
    ‘You’re starting to think retirement might be on the cards?’
    His smile comes back for a few seconds — there are a few
    creases around the edges of his eyes — but then he sighs. “Theo, no, not yet. If I’m looking older than normal, it’s the day. It’s been a long one.’
    ‘For all of us, Father. What can you tell me about the caretaker who helped me this afternoon?’
    ‘Bruce? Bruce Alderman? Why are you asking?’
    ‘I want to talk to him.’
    ‘Ah,’ he says, and slowly shakes his head. Suddenly he doesn’t look as tired as he does sad. ‘You think he’s responsible. Well, I can’t tell you anything more than I’ve already told the police.’
    ‘And what did you tell them?’
    ‘That Bruce is a good man, and this sort of depravity, well…
    it’s simply beyond him.’
    It’s been my experience that depravity isn’t beyond as many
    people as we’d like to think, and I’m pretty sure Father Julian knows that.
    I adjust my position on the pew. Well made doesn’t mean
    comfortable. ‘Did you tell them where they could find Bruce?’
    ‘I didn’t know’
    ‘Guilt makes men run, Father.’
    ‘So does fear. Nobody would like to see what he saw.’ ‘But fear doesn’t make them steal a truck and go into hiding.’
    “I wish I could simply ask for your trust in this, Theo. I can guarantee you, Bruce isn’t a bad kid. And he couldn’t have known those poor people were going to rise up from the lake.’
    “He knew what we were digging up.’
    ‘Of course he did. You had an exhumation order.’
    “Have you ever heard of a girl by the name of Rachel Tyler?’
    He thinks about it for a few seconds. ‘She went missing two
    years ago,’ he says.
    Her body was found in Henry Martins’ coffin.’
     
    The look of horror on his face settles in his features, and he doesn’t look comfortable with it. In fact he looks downright sick.
     
    He reaches out and grabs the back of the pew, as if to stop himself from tipping off and falling into an abyss that is opening beneath him.
    ‘She was murdered,’ I add. ‘And whether your caretaker did it
    or not, he certainly knows something. Please, Father, you have to help me.’
    He lets go of the pew, rubs his palm across the side of his face, then lifts both hands into the air as if the gesture can ward me off.
    “I … I wish I could help, but there’s nothing I can say’
    ‘Would you like me to bring you a