Free The Wreck by Marie Force Page A

was twenty-one.
I called up the coverage that was in the Providence Journal . Before she graduated,
she was the captain of the cheerleading squad at Shea High School.”
    “Jesus,” Michael whispered.
    “There might be others. Do you want me to
keep digging?”
    “Yeah, but keep it quiet. We don’t want
to set off a panic until we know more.”
    “I agree. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
    “I don’t like the feel of this.”
    “Neither do I.”
     
    Michael
left the station at noon the next day. After a brief stop at the florist, he
drove on to the cemetery and parked his town-issued sedan at the foot of the hill.
Carrying a vase of pastel tulips, he started up the hill to the large granite
stone bearing the name WESTBURY. Engraved beneath were the words “Samuel
Michael, April 5, 1978 – May 19, 1995, Beloved Son, Grandson, Brother &
Friend.” Michael crouched to tug some weeds from around the stone and placed
the tulips on the base.
    Every time he came here, he was struck by
the wrongness of it all. People were right when they said parents shouldn’t
have to bury their children. It was unnatural, and the pain of it didn’t lessen
with time the way those same people said it did. Rather, you somehow learned to
live with it and to accept that it was a permanent part of you now, something
you carried like a heavy suitcase every moment of your life.
    “Mom says hi,” he whispered, feeling
somewhat foolish. He didn’t really believe Sam could hear him. With all his
heart, he wanted to think it was possible, but the practical side of him didn’t
buy it. However, since he had promised Mary Ann…
    “She’s at the house in Florida, but she
wanted me to tell you she loves you and she’s thinking of you—always, but this
week in particular. You would’ve liked the place in Florida, Sammy. There’s a
pool in the complex and a beach nearby. We’ll probably move down there
permanently if I ever decide to retire. We’ll see. Brian won his big trial, and
they interviewed him on TV last night. It’s pretty amazing to turn on the tube
and see your own boy talking with so much authority and expertise.” He brushed
at some dirt on the stone. “Well, I just wanted to come by and say hello, and
to let you know…” His eyes filled. “I miss you every day, and I love you.”
    Standing, he stared at the stone for a
long time before he turned to leave. He was startled to find Jenny’s mother,
Jean Randall, waiting for him.
    She walked over to him. “I’m sorry, Mike.
I didn’t mean to intrude.”
    “You didn’t.” He kissed her cheek. “How
are you, Jean?”
    Her face lifted into a sad smile. “Oh,
you know.”
    “It’s always tougher this week.”
    “Even after fifteen years.”
    He nodded in agreement and gestured to
the paper she held in her hand. “What’ve you got there?”
    “Just some trash I found on Jenny’s
grave. Honestly, I don’t know what makes people do the stuff they do in
cemeteries.”
    “Why? What is it?”
    She held up the piece of paper with the
words “CHEERLEADER WHORE” written in vivid red ink.
    Michael’s breath got stuck in his throat,
and he worked at keeping his expression neutral. “You found that on her grave?”
    “Right at the base of the stone.”
    “Do you mind if I take it? I’d like to
have it worked up. We might be able to figure out where it came from.”
    “I’d hate to start something over
litter.”
    “I’d hate for that to go unpunished.”
    She handed the paper to him. “You’re
right.”
    He pinched his fingers around a corner and
took it from her. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of it.”
    “How’s Mary Ann?”
    “Good. She’s enjoying Florida.” Michael
forced himself to make conversation when all he wanted was to get that piece of
paper into an evidence bag and then scour the cemetery for anything else that
might be waiting to be discovered.
    “Do you get down at all?”
    “Every couple of weeks for two or three
days.