Free The Family Plot by Cherie Priest Page A

side, too. “Not out loud.”
    She let it slide. “Honey, you don’t have to carry the whole thing.”
    â€œYeah, but I can. You get the bags. Those are easier. Let me get these.”
    â€œYou’re a sweet one.”
    He nodded, and set off for the house. “That’s what they tell me.”
    She watched him leave, and looked over her shoulder toward the graveyard. It wasn’t much of a yard. It was barely a field anymore—if you didn’t know what you were looking for, you’d assume it was another derelict corner of the property, with nothing of note worth mentioning. But she’d seen something there, hadn’t she? Something had called her attention to the irregular square, this patch of grass that was left to go wild like the rest of the place.
    A yellow dress. Flowers.
    The sense of something billowing in the early October breeze. That didn’t make sense though, not really. Yellow cotton and flowers are for April, or maybe May. Yellow flowers were for months with a girl’s name, not for Halloween.
    She stared hard. Whatever she’d seen, it didn’t reappear.
    The bags in the back of the truck held canned groceries and sodas, batteries, toiletries, towels, soap, and all manner of things you’d either bring camping or expect to find in a hotel. Everyone had at least an individual duffel bag and a sleeping bag, but the rest was expected to be communal. She decided that the boys could drag their own personal items inside, and she’d go ahead and get set up the rest.
    Back in the house, she found Gabe standing in the great common area, or living room, or whatever you’d call it—the open place just past the foyer. He was staring up at the grand staircase, specifically at the platform where the staircase turned. A cooler sat in the dust by his feet.
    â€œEverything all right?” she asked.
    He looked startled, like he hadn’t heard her clomp up the porch stairs lugging duffels and grocery bags. He pulled off his old brown trucker hat and tweaked the visor in a weak, nervous gesture, then put it back on. “It’s all good,” he drawled. “I was just wondering … I don’t know. Dahl, you didn’t see Brad or my dad leave the carriage house, did you? Before they left for lunch, you know.”
    â€œExcept for hauling things outside, no.”
    â€œThen it’s … I mean, look at them footprints.”
    â€œGabe, we’ve gone over this already. Those are my footprints, from when I first came inside to look around.”
    He shook his head. “Yeah, you said that about the ones in the floor, in that weird figure eight. But you didn’t bring high heels, I bet.”
    â€œSure I did. I need the added height for pulling down corner blocks.”
    â€œDon’t bullshit me, Dahl. See over there, and tell me it don’t look like someone’s been running around in high heels.”
    â€œFine.” She set the bags down on the floor beside Gabe’s cooler, and followed his gaze to the stairs. It did indeed look like a small army had marched up and down them, but four people’s footprints could do that. It wasn’t a mystery. “I don’t see anything weird.”
    â€œLook closer. Look higher , up at the landing. I can see it from here.”
    â€œYou and your tall-ass self,” she mumbled. “All right, I’ll go see.”
    She climbed to the landing and stopped, looking down at the dusty, dark wood.
    â€œYou see them, don’t you?”
    Dahlia didn’t like the soft urgency in his voice. He was unhappy about something, and he wasn’t really saying what. “I see … all right, it looks like footprints up here. But it’s just some of ours, making a funny pattern. There’s a couple of smudges, but…” Like a person had been standing there, looking over the rail. A person wearing chunky high heels, maybe the