Last Call by Sarah Ballance

she
noted as she flipped through, offered names, addresses, and phone
numbers. A few were blank — she assumed they were
unsold.
    Brian's was different.
    Private .
    But it had a phone number, which
Rhys committed to memory. She was about to flip shut the book when
something else caught her eye. Several of McKenney's neighboring
plots had the same contact name. Ethel
Garcia . Not a common name.
    Rhys took one last look at the McKenney number
and returned the book to its original position. Then she left the
office, finding Nick outside feigning interest in which type of
grass stayed so green all winter.
    Rhys cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry," she
said when they turned their attention her way. "I was just worried.
Those cramps can be pretty scary and I thought I might be bleeding
— but thankfully it was a false alarm."
    The mention of blood went over as well as she
expected it would. Their host stammered a hasty goodbye and headed
back inside.
    "Good talking to you!" Nick called after him.
Then he put an arm around Rhys and drew her close.
"Anything?"
    "Let me write down this number
first."
    "No problem," he said. "We can drive further
back."
    In case she still had an audience, Rhys
climbed gingerly back into the car. Nick closed the door after her.
By the time he hopped in the driver's side she'd written down the
number. "That's the contact number for Brian's gravesite," she
said. "The name was marked private, but I noticed several
neighboring spots all share a contact. Ethel Garcia."
    "Doesn't sound like a common name," Nick
muttered, starting the car and easing down the asphalt
drive.
    "My thoughts exactly. Did you get anything on
the non-profit?"
    "No. I get the feeling he thinks he said too
much."
    She shrugged. The motion made her shoulder
zing. "He said the name was on a plaque."
    "Perhaps I failed to hide my shock over the
news of a giant rock. You know how it is when someone acts too
interested. You start second guessing yourself."
    "Maybe."
    Nick took a right off the main drive, circling
the graveyard and pointed toward the back corner — much of it
obscured by evergreens. "There. He said we couldn't miss
it."
    One more turn, and the truth of those words
became apparent. The huge stone monolith looked like something out
of Stonehenge, yet for all its size it was surprisingly plain. Rhys
hopped out of the car as soon as it stopped and walked over — Nick
hot on her heels. Naturally shaped, the stone stood higher than
Nick's height of six feet. All the standard information was there —
Brian's name and dates of birth and death — but there was no
mention of his parents or other family members left
behind.
    Rhys circled the rock, finding a small plaque
at its base.
    Lovingly donated by Vision
Community Theater .
    She sucked in a breath. "Judy."
    "What?"
    "Remember Judy Ross?" Aside from Nick, she'd
been Rhys's closest friend during the last stint undercover. "She's
the program director. It's a volunteer position, but still." Rhys's
mind whirled. The little theater — a community outreach to keep
kids off the street — was constantly hurting for money. They'd even
had the lights shut off for a brief period during Rhys and Nick's
investigation. "Why would they put so much money into this thing?
No disrespect intended, but surely there's a better use of this
cash."
    Nick didn't answer. For a frightening moment,
Rhys didn't see him. Then she found him on the opposite side of the
stone, staring at the neighboring marker. "What is it?" she
asked.
    "See what you can find locally on Ethel
Garcia," he said. He'd pulled a notepad from his pocket and
scrawled on it as he paced down the line of headstones.
    Rhys hesitated, then went to the car. She
settled in the seat, one eye on the laptop screen and the other on
Nick.
    But soon the laptop commandeered her full
attention.
    The name was indeed an unusual one, as was the
woman herself. In fact, it took less than a second for a laundry
list of Ethel Garcia's good deeds to