Bruce wanted to pick her up at the airport Tuesday afternoon, but she turned down the offer, and once her flight had landed, she drove her car to Auckland Forensic Service Center to debrief with Dan, update reports, and meet with the WorkSafe coordinator about her injury. Her pain meds were wearing off as she drove with one hand to Bruce’s apartment.
She left her suitcase and crime kit in the car and ran up the steps. He lived on the third floor, and she always took the stairs.
Halfway up the third flight she slowed down.
What was she getting herself into?
Bruce whipped the door open and stared at her, waiting for her to decide.
It wasn’t hard. When his arms went around her, she ignored the pain and relaxed against his chest, felt his fingers tangle in her hair, smelled his woodsy scent, felt his longing and vulnerability and acknowledged her own, she knew she had made the right decision.
He pulled back and looked at her, his blue eyes alight. “Medium rare?” he asked.
“Can the steaks wait?” she replied.
The joint reinterment ceremony was two weeks later, and Bruce flew with her back to Queenstown. “This reminds me of Kāhu’s memorial,” he said from the passenger seat of the rental car. “His bones had been hungry too.”
Her pendant pulsed as she drove the familiar road to Arrowtown. She mentally thanked the greenstone carver for guiding her and keeping her safe. It had been at his service, at the end of another case, that Kāhu’s mother had gifted her the pendant.
Did all her cases end with funerals? The thought made her cold. And then she thought of how Wing Lun and Pearl Haywood would finally rest side by side. Her mood lifted.
The cemetery stretched before them under a crisp blue sky and the parking area was bustling.
They got out of the car. Alexa pressed wrinkles out of her pleated wool dress. She hadn’t wanted to wear black and settled on teal. The saleswoman had suggested something “younger, more stylish,” but Alexa’s mind was made up since the dress was on sale.
She avoided looking toward the other side of the rock wall, where the tent had been. Mrs. Gayle Frost would not be charged with Cindy Mulligan’s murder and with Alexa’s attempted murder. She was beyond the reach of the police and court. That left Alexa indignant on Cindy’s part. If people could be pardoned after death, why couldn’t they be prosecuted? Her arm ached daily, a reminder that evil wore many disguises.
The cemetery director, as if lying in wait, rushed over.
“You’re back, you’re back, Miss Clock.”
“Ms. Glock,” she said.
“Looking lovely.” He stuck his hand out to Bruce. “Quentin Howard, Lakes District Cemetery director. Big crowd. Big turnout.”
Townspeople, some dressed in colonial garb, milled about as if it were a party. Two men carried gold pans and cradles. A little boy skipped along the rock wall, his mother trailing. Two women of Asian descent handed out red envelopes to everyone they passed.
“I knew you’d find someone,” Mr. Howard told her. “Just knew it.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow at Alexa as Mr. Howard scurried off. She blushed. “He wanted to sell me a DIY coffin kit.”
DI Katakana and Constable Blume greeted her as if she’d been a long-valued member of the team. “They released Misty Tandy on bail,” Constable Blume told her. “Martin Tandy insists she didn’t know what he’d done, didn’t play a part. He’s been charged with accessory after the fact.”
“What about Susie?”
“Her DNA was under Eileen’s fingernail,” DI Katakana said. “She’s in custody like her dad.”
The revelation made her wobble in her one-inch heels. Susie—a kid—had killed her aunt. Bruce put his arm around her. She regrouped, thanked the officers for the update, and searched the crowd for Mr. Sun. She spotted him with two people by the freshly dug gravesites. Bruce stayed behind to talk shop with his fellow DI. Mr. Sun’s eyes lit up as she joined him. “This is Mrs. Corrie Wong and this is Mr. Richard Lumb, our Otago Chinese Association representative.”
Alexa remembered Mr. Lumb. His prediction about coming events casting shadows had been spot on. He bowed and she bowed back.
Mrs. Wong wore a satiny black dress and pearls. Her gray hair curled around her face, ending at her chin. Her lips were painted red. “I journeyed far to this port,” she said in perfect English. “Always he called to me.” She squeezed Alexa’s hand. “Sorrowing hearts are unsettled. ‘Bring me home,’ he called. Sun Shing says that it is you that I need to thank.”
“It was Dr. Luckenbaugh and her graduate assistant who found them because of you and the letters.”
The clip and clop of horseshoes on pavement drew their eyes toward the entrance. A horse and buggy stopped there. The driver wore a black suit and top hat.
Mrs. Wong squeezed her hand harder. “But you discovered what was Wing Lun’s heart and desire.” She gestured to the cemetery, the mountains, the sky. “This is his home. He was only a hungry ghost because he was separated from his Pearl.”
Alexa’s mouth dried. She looked into Mrs. Wong’s wise eyes, imagining the distance she had traveled to be here. “He was pointing in the grave.” Her greenstone pendant pulsed, telling her that sometimes it was okay to ignore science and hear the hungry bones speak. “He was pointing to Pearl. To tell us he wanted to be with her.”
Mrs. Wong slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out the gold chain that had been buried with Wing Lun. It was now attached to a gold pocket watch. “They found the other end of the chain and the watch in that woman’s house.”
“Mrs. Frost’s?”
“I will not speak her name. Or that of her great-grandfather. The links are rejoined. I am donating this and Wing Lun’s boots to the museum. The archivist recorded me telling Wing Lun’s story, and reading his letters.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“The letters though, I will keep. They remind me of hardship and what’s important.”
Alexa heard a robin, off to her right.
Mr. Sun lit incense, and people gathered around them. Two sets of pallbearers unloaded simple wooden coffins from the buggy and started their slow procession toward the graves, now within the consecrated grounds of Arrowtown Cemetery.
“It must have been so hard for Pearl and Wing to be together,” Alexa said. Bruce was suddenly by her side. He stared at her with eyes the color of the sky. Being with him was only hard if she made it hard.
Pearl Ellen Haywood and Wing Lun were laid to rest, side by side. Mrs. Wong and Mr. Sun left bowls of rice and cups of tea on the newly packed earth. The minister proclaimed, “Children of God, rest in peace.”
Mr. Sun handed Alexa a red envelope in parting. “Read before you leave,” he said.
Alexa opened the envelope. On thin paper was a quote from Confucius. She read it to Bruce. “Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”
“What’s your truth?” Bruce asked.
She didn’t censor her reply. “I’ve been wondering where my home is.”
“And?”
“Home is here. In New Zealand.” Her heart cartwheeled. She couldn’t say the rest aloud. Home is with you.