The Visitor by Amanda Stevens Page B

actually experienced a chill down my spine when he turned his eyes upon me.”
    â€œI felt it, too, but he’s not the only one who unnerved me today. Do you remember what you told me about Ezra Kroll’s twin sisters? When one of them died, the other tried to cover her passing by using cloves to disguise the smell. I’m certain Nelda Toombs was that girl. The living twin.”
    â€œI’ve had the same thought,” Dr. Shaw said with a nod.
    â€œShe called her sister Mott, which is the name in the stereoscope’s inscription. She also said I look very much like someone named Rose, the last person buried in Kroll Cemetery. But it’s not just that I look like her. Her last name was Gray and my middle name is Rose.”
    His snowy brows lifted. “That would be an extraordinary coincidence, wouldn’t it? Have you spoken to anyone in your family about the resemblance?”
    â€œNo. My father would be the one to know if there’s a connection, but I’ve been reluctant to bring him into this because he’s not always the easiest person to talk to.” Papa’s withdrawal was only a small part of my reluctance. I was afraid to uncover any more of his secrets because they had a way of changing my life.
    â€œDr. Shaw...” I paused, glancing up into the trees as a breeze rustled the leaves. “Something very strange is going on with these women.” I didn’t just mean Louvenia Durant and Nelda Toombs, but also the blind ghost and the hunchback in-between. All of them were linked. By blood, by friendship, perhaps even by death. But how were they connected to me?
    â€œSomething strange indeed,” Dr. Shaw said. “However, I’m afraid further speculation will have to wait until later. The ceremony is about to start and afterward I’ll be tied up with committee business for the rest of the day. Could you come by the Institute tomorrow? Say around two?”
    â€œI’ll be there.”
    He offered his arm. “Shall we join the others?”
    â€œYes, by all means,” I said wearily. “Let’s get this over with.”
    * * *
    Dr. Shaw spoke first on behalf of the committee and afterward I was called upon to say a few words about my work. I made no mention of the violent history that lay beneath the cemetery but instead touched upon the methods and techniques I’d employed and how, even though cemetery restoration was my business, I always encouraged cemetery preservation . Too much damage to stone, layout and symbolic foliage could be wrought by the hands of the well-meaning but untrained restorer. Then I ended my remarks as I always did with what Papa called the cardinal rule of cemetery visitation: take nothing, leave nothing behind.
    A smattering of polite applause and murmurs of appreciation, a few questions and it was all over. I returned the gate key to Dr. Shaw and breathed a sigh of relief at the closing of a very dark and disturbing chapter in my life.
    Temple came up beside me. “You’ve become an engaging speaker. You had that group in the palm of your hand.”
    â€œThanks. I learned from the best,” I said, referring to my time with her in the state archaeologist’s office.
    She was silent for a moment. “What I said earlier about your relationship with Devlin. That you’re an unlikely pairing. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
    â€œYou didn’t. As you said, I’ve thought the same thing myself on occasion.”
    Her expression sobered. “Can I be frank? I worry about you sometimes.”
    I looked at her in surprise. “Why?”
    â€œA person doesn’t go through what John Devlin did and come out unscathed. That man has darkness in him.”
    â€œWe all have darkness,” I said.
    â€œNot like him. Surely it hasn’t escaped your notice that bad things happen to the people around him.”
    My hackles rose in defense. “You can’t