Where, I wondered, might Emily’s body have been lying? I supposed any place might inadvertently have a quarter on the floor. But there had been traces of paint and pith wood too. Where might one find pith wood and a quarter? Well, a basement, of course–a basement where something once had gone on that involved pith wood paints, other woods like walnut and mahogany.
Perhaps the basement had been used for someone’s hobby. Cleaning jewelry? No, that didn’t seem to make sense. Someone who fixed watches? That didn’t seem right, either. Then I thought of the clocks in Denesa Steiner’s house and my pulse picked up some more. I wondered if her late husband had repaired clocks on the side. I wondered if he might have used the basement for that, and if he might have used pith wood to hold and clean small gears.
Wesley was breathing the deep, slow breaths of sleep. He brushed his cheek as if something had alighted there, then pulled the sheet up to his ears. I got out the phone book and looked for the son of the man who had worked at Shuford Mills. There were two Robert Kelseys, a junior and a Kelsey the third. I picked up the phone.
“Hello?” a woman asked.
“Is this Mrs. Kelsey?” I asked.
“Depends on whether you’re looking for Myrtle or me.”
“I’m looking for Rob Kelsey, Junior.” < "Oh." She laughed, and I could tell she was a sweet, friendly woman. "Then you're not looking for me to begin with. But Rob's not here. He's gone on to the church. You know, some Sundays he helps with communion, so he has to head on early. " I was amazed as she divulged this information without asking who I was, and I was touched again that there were still places in the world where people were trusting. "Which church might that be?" I asked Mrs. Kelsey. "Third Presbyterian." "And their service starts at eleven?" "Just like it always has. Reverend Crow is mighty good, by the way, if you've never heard him. May I give Rob a message?" "I'll try him later." I thanked her for her help and hung up. When I turned around, Wesley was sitting straight up in bed staring sleepily at me. His eyes roamed around, stopping at the printout, coins, and lens on the table by my chair. He started laughing as he stretched. "What?" I asked rather indignantly. He just shook his head. "It's ten-fifteen," I said. "If you're going to church with me you'd better hurry." "Church?" He frowned. "Yes. A place where people worship God." "They have a Catholic church around here?" "I have no idea." He was very puzzled now. "I'm going to a Presbyterian service this morning," I said. "And if you have other things to do, I might need a lift. As of an hour ago, my rental car still wasn't here." "If I give you a lift, how will you get back here?" "I'm not going to worry about that." In this town where people helped strangers on the phone, I suddenly felt like having few plans. I felt like seeing what might happen. "Well, I've got my pager," Wesley said as he placed his feet on the floor and I got an extra battery from the charger plugged in near the TV. "That's fine." I tucked my portable phone into my handbag. 20 Wesley dropped me off at the front steps of the field stone church a little early, but people were already arriving. I watched them get out of their cars and squint in the sun as they accounted for their children and doors thudded shut up and down the narrow street. I felt curious eyes on my back as I followed the stone walkway, veering off to the left toward the cemetery. The morning was very cold, and though the sunlight was blinding, it felt thin, like a cool bed sheet against my skin. I pushed open the rusting wrought-iron gate that served no purpose, really, except to be respectful and ornamental. It would keep no one out and certainly there was no need to keep anybody in. New markers of polished granite shone coldly, and very old ones tilted different ways like bloodless tongues speaking from the mouths of graves. The dead talked here, too. They spoke every time we remembered them. Frost crunched softly beneath my shoes as I walked to the corner where she was. Her grave was a raw, red clay scar from having been reopened and reclosed, and tears came to my eyes as I looked again at the monument with its sweet angel and sad epitaph.