Chapter Twenty-Nine

All the shades were raised in the dining room, the first time since they arrived, and it became a bright naturally-lit room. Dust motes danced in the morning light streaming in through the windows. Nigel regarded the moats with mindless fascination. They seemed to move by their own accord, as though animated and purposeful, despite their being lifeless specks.

“Mr. Pickford?”

Nigel snapped to, leaving his reverie for the cold comfort of reality. “Yes?”

“Is there anything more you wish to add?” Sergeant Sean O’Connell held his pencil poised above his small notebook.

“No,” Nigel said as he shook his head. The movement hurt, and he winced. In fact, he hurt all over. He also felt drained, an automaton going through the motions.

The officer flipped the cover closed on his notebook and put it and his pencil into his uniform’s breast pocket. He stood and retrieved his round-topped helmet from the table beside him. On the other side of the table, Nigel stood up as well.

“That should do it, sir. An incredible story, if I do say so. But you’re all tellin’ the same tale, and all the bodies we’re diggin’ up speak for themselves, in a manner of speakin’.”

“What bodies?” asked Nigel. His face blanched further than the wan color he wore since last night. He started to feel dizzy. “Her parents? The dog?”

“Your Miss Bradbury showed us where to dig. Some were found in the basement, others outside. Bodies lay stacked like cordwood, in a manner of speakin’, beneath where Miss Hutchinson told you she buried her dog. All of ’em with terrible neck wounds, the same wounds as on the bodies of fishermen who have been washin’ ashore for years. We found the minister I’ve been lookin’ for buried in the basement. The way I see it, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Nigel felt queasy and about to pass out. “I need air!” he managed before he dashed out the door. He ran by two policemen smoking and laughing in the foyer. They looked startled when an ill-looking Nigel burst from the dining room. One of the policemen chuckled. “Sean, did you recite your limerick about the whore from Azores?”

Nigel finally got the front door open and ran outside. The bright morning light blinded him, but the cool air helped to relieve the nausea. Dazed, he moved across the porch and sat on the steps. He put his head into his hands and began to cry.

“You all right, considering?” asked Edgar

Embarrassed, Nigel swiped away his tears. He raised his head and saw Edgar sitting next to him. Edgar held a shovel before him, blade up, like a scepter.

In the distance, policemen still dug in the family plot. A pair of officers laid a draped body next to a dozen more already in the drive.

“You all right?” Edgar repeated.

Nigel made a wan smile and imitated the sergeant. “In a manner of speakin’.”

Edgar stood and looked in the direction of the bodies. He glanced back at Nigel. “What now?”

“I either get drunk or start making amends.” Nigel heaved his shoulders in a heavy sigh and stared at Edgar. “For a start, I owe you an apology. You tried to save my life.”

“Twice, but who’s counting.”

“I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.”

“Can I quote you?” Annabelle said from behind.

Nigel craned his neck around and saw Annabelle, Sarah, and Professor James now stood on the porch. Nigel rose to his feet and took a step back so he faced them all.

“I’m hoping you were wrong about leaving our group.” Annabelle smiled.

“I don’t seem to be much good at anything.”

“You saved me.” Sarah ran to Nigel and hugged him.

“I don’t know—”

“None of us do,” said the professor, as he and Annabelle approached him. “That’s what we are about. To shine the light of science on what has been hidden, feared, or misunderstood. We want you to be a part of this.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then we’ll speak no more of resigning. I’ll chalk it up to a momentary lapse of judgment. Welcome back.” The professor smiled and stuck out his hand.

Grinning ruefully, Nigel reached around Sarah, who still hugged him, to shake the professor’s hand.

The professor stepped back, glanced up at the bright blue sky, and gave a little sigh himself. He looked back at Nigel. “After a well-deserved respite, our next case will be in Petersburg, Virginia. It’s near the Fort Stedman Battlefield—a place where I believe you have some familiarity.”

Nigel’s smile evaporated.