Eagle Crest ghost story: snippet

[butterflydreaming]

 As it turns out, I had a fair amount of "Desecration of Graves" written before I put it aside. The prose is rather better than my fanfics. That's nice to see.

Here's the first part (about 1/6 of the story) if you'd like to read:

 

A Desecration of Graves

Marin Quinn sat in her car and watched what she took for fireflies shining in the twilight. One of the small points of light in particular flashed an irregular rhythm. It sputtered in quick succession, then repeated its little cha-cha.

Morse code mating song. Marin smiled to herself at the thought. Like something from a James Cameron movie, the lights were pretty. She was a west coast native and had never seen fireflies in person.

An older model Jeep Cherokee pulled up behind Marin's sedan.  Opening her door, she turned to greet the arrival. "Wes Martin, I presume," she said.

"Sorry that it turned out to be so late," he called as he walked up.

Marin shook her head. "It's fine. I had a full day in the studio and was cleaning up when you called."

"Thanks for meeting me here." He reached out and shook her a hand. "It's nice to meet you in person. Here, I'll show you what's going on before we lose the light. When night falls in the mountains, it happens quickly."

"The fireflies are gone."

Wes looked at her with curiosity. "I don't think we ever get fireflies here," he said.

Marin filed her question as something to look into at a later time. The young African American teacher had led her past the plot of neat graves to a sun dappled space under the surrounding trees. "Take a look at these," he indicated.

"Wow." Marin stepped closer for a better look. The dense, healthy green plants were marijuana. "That's cannabis. A lot of it."

"I was pretty sure," said Wes. "I teach at an alternative school, and some of the kids have been involved in drugs, but I don't usually see fresh plants. I thought that you could get me information about them."

Marin raised her eyebrows and emitted a small laugh of shock. "Me?" She laughed again.

"Oh," Wes laughed, "no. Sorry, that came out sounding wrong." He graced her with a smile like Sidney Poitier. "I was hoping you could track down information on who planted them here."

"Whew," joked Marin. "I thought it was because I moved here from Portland." The real request sank in. "Why did you think of me?"

"This cemetery is all but forgotten. No one has been buried here since 1938. That's the oldest date that I've found on any of the stones." He started back out to the gravel path around the graves. "The road turns into a forest service road further up.  We're still on county land, but just across that ridge," he pointed to the stunning view, "is National Park land."

"Who keeps this place up? It looks well cared for."

"That's the mystery. It's usually me. I come up this way at the beginning of summer and cut back the blackberry and nettles, and maintain it until September. But I had knee surgery after a fall in May and couldn't drive my Jeep. It's manual transmission. The rental car got me around, but I wasn't going to risk it on this road. Today was my first chance to do some work pulling weeds. Instead, I found... weed." He laughed breathily. "I'll put in Dahlias and cosmos usually, because the soil conditions here on the border of the cemetery are fantastic for a garden, lots of water off the hillside, indirect morning sun, great humus. The flower beds never require more than my once-a-week visit."

"Someone else figured out that it was a good place for growing things. Why not just destroy the cannabis plants?"

Wes sighed. "Whoever planted the marijuana also took care of the plots, and I'm grateful to have that help. If it happens to be someone who has a permit for medical marijuana, then that person isn't even doing anything illegal."

"That's right. It just became legal."

"Well, no, not exactly. Growing marijuana for commercial purposes requires a specific license, and that's what we passed recently. Medical marijuana has been legal for some years. Here in Washington State, an individual with a medical marijuana permit can grow as much marijuana as that person needs for that individual's own consumption. From that standpoint, everything growing here could be for someone in town with a real need."

"So then, why not just leave it? You might meet your mysterious gardener here one of these days."

"There's always the chance that this is not a personal garden. It's not large, but if it produces, the buds would still sell for hundreds of dollars on the street. If that's the case, I want to bring the sheriff in as soon as possible. Meeting the mystery grower, in that case, would be dangerous." With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the gravestones. "Several of the markers are broken, this year. It could be from freeze and thaw. We had a rough winter and a sudden spring. Or it could be desecration of the headstones."

"Vandalism doesn't match up with the general care that's been taken," Marin suggested.

"Yeah. I just don't know." He thought over something that he wanted to add. It came out with a greater frankness than he had even shown thus far. "Marin, our town has always been a collection of misfits. The original land was intended for a resort. Highway 20 was just a road, Star Road 20, but Winthrop up at the top of the pass had modeled itself into an Old West tourist town and there was business interest in developing the land around Diablo Lake. Then Johnson sighed most of this area over as a National Park, and the business interest went elsewhere. Eagle Crest ended up being one of those odd little towns where people who weren't wanted elsewhere came. Darrington might be right next door, but there's a long history of keeping certain kinds of folks out.  Eagle Crest was born in the post war days of Flower Power. We still have that spirit."

He paused, and Marin did not interrupt. He was framing what had attracted her to the community from the beginning.

"To me, it's important to keep some of the less accepted elements of our ways out of the eyes of our neighboring communities. Have you noticed just how many churches there are up this way? Yet in Eagle Crest, we have a meditation center, but no church. I personally have no issue with someone in our town smoking weed recreationally, but for this region, I am in the minority." He stopped to assess her reaction. Whatever he saw in her expression seemed to pass muster. "If this marijuana turns out to be for someone in town, I'm OK with turning a blind eye. In that case, it's better if Sheriff Breuer stays in the dark."

Marin looked around at the little cemetery. "That make sense to me," she said. "I'm not sure that I understand why you called me up, though."

"You're the best one to solve this mystery," Wes answered. "You're new in town. It won't be strange if you ask around a bit, under the guise of introducing yourself. I remember reading about the tulips case, which Mrs. Jimenez told me you'd cracked, and then there was that puppy mill you shut down. You're the right person to suss out the origin of this unauthorized planting, I think."

“The thing is,” Marin answered, “I’m a professional ceramicist, not an amateur detective. I really don’t want to be one.” She had smiled to soften the refusal.

Wes’s disappointment showed clearly in his handsome features. “Fair enough,” he said. “I hope you will give it some more consideration. When you have a talent, it’s a shame not to use it.”

“You really do teach high schoolers, don’t you?” Marin took another look at the cemetery. “Do the people buried here still have descendants in the area?”

“It’s possible, but none that I know of. I may have a great-great aunt here. It’s how I became interested in the care of it. The names are worn off most of the markers that had them. This was a graveyard for colored folks, as we were called back then, and those who weren’t Christians, as many of the railroad laborers were. Come back for a look in daylight. I think you’ll find it’s an unusual place.”

* * *

When Marin returned home, she saw her neighbor, Kiyomi Sugiyama, heading down the alley where the hillside trail up to her house on the ridge began. The new puppy, already large, pulled energetically at her leash. Mrs. Sugiyama turned at the sound of Marin's car. With a firm gesture, she brought Sweetpea to heel.

Marin rolled down her passenger window. "Hello, Kiyomi," she called out.

The elderly lady waived. Marin pulled into the garage and parked. She got out of her car and met her neighbor as Mrs. Sugiyama, puppy obediently matching pace, reached the walkway in front of Marin's door.

"Well, I'm certainly glad to see you before I leave town," the older woman said with cheer.

Marin reached down to pet Sweetpea. The puppy grew fidgety with joy at the attention. "Oh, are you going on a trip?" Marin asked.

"I'm going to visit my daughter in Vancouver. Sweetpea will be coming with me. We will be gone until a week from Wednesday," Kiyomi Sugiyama answered. "Would you like me to bring you anything from Canada?"

"Only if you find some Mackintosh toffee. Do they still make that?"

"I'll keep my eyes open for it."

"Not that I need the sugar."

"Oh, well, we all have our little cravings at times."

"Do you need me to check on your house while you are out?"

"Thank you for the offer! But there is no need. My plants won't need watering and everything is locked up soundly. If you see the outside flood lights go on, it's almost certainly the little skunk family that keeps trying to move in. The lights are on a motion sensor. I've left them on in hopes of scaring them away. Sweetpea doesn't need another tomato juice bath!"

"Oh no!" Marin turned her attention to the cute puppy again. "Did you get skunked, Sweetpea?"

"Boy, did she," sighed Mrs. Sugiyama at the unpleasant memory.

"Speaking of lights," Marin asked, "do we have fireflies in this area?"

"I wish we did," the elderly Japanese lady replied. "But no, for some reason there are no fireflies, except in haiku."

"Are you sure? Because I was sure that I saw some up in the mountains a way."

Mrs. Sugiyama's manner became all at once more serious. "Did you see lights, Marin? Where in the mountains?"

"Yes. Is there something that I should worry about?"

The older woman pursed her lips, hesitating before she answered. "There are all manner of kaika, you might have heard of 'will-o-the-wisps,' and they are not good. If you see something like that, well," her manner changed suddenly with a small laugh. “Nevermind. I’m a silly old woman. Just remember that we are right here on the wilderness, and it’s not a good idea to be out alone at night.”
* * *

Comments

[leatherdykeuk]

love this.

That's the oldest date that I've found on any of the stones latest?

indirect morning sun, great humus humidity?

"But no, for some reason there are no fireflies, except in haiku." Nice touch but jarring - Does she say this because she's Japanese?

[butterflydreaming]

Thank you! I did catch the earliest/latest error a little later. Kiyomi's remark about haiku is jarring there, thank you for pointing that out. It's an in-joke between them that doesn't need to be explained in this story & will probably get cut.

[notabastable]

I remember the first time I saw fireflies- so cool! It took me a little bit to realize she wasn't seeing fireflies because I didn't initially know the setting, but once I knew they were in WA I knew it couldn't be fireflies. Hmm- what glows around gravesites...? And I don't know what it is about graves and pot, but I have an old graveyard and a pot farm in my WIP- though he's not actually growing on the graves, but rather using their presence to deter visitors. Or something. Anyhow- is this the same setting and characters as from a Theft of Teapots, or does it just feel the same because of its moody Washington-ness?

[butterflydreaming]

Same series/setting/characters! :) You may notice that Sweetpea is just a pup here, because this story happens years before AToT.

We Americans are so skittish about death that if someone wants a remote, undisturbed place to get up to hijinks, an untended graveyard works rather well.

What is your work in progress?

[notabastable]

It's a gothic style story which may or may not be considered a romance. It certainly will have a HEA, so I guess that's what it is. No name yet, though I'm about 60k into it.

[igenlode]

This is original fiction, right?
I wouldn't know about fireflies as we don't have them in this country :-)

"Like something from a James Cameron movie, the lights were pretty" -- James Cameron movies are well known for their prettiness?

"The elderly lady waived" -- ouch, typo :-p

I was actually starting to wonder where the ghost element was going to come into it, but it looks as if the 'fireflies' are going to turn out to be something supernatural; I'm not sure about marijuana-growing spirits, so that may not be directly connected...

[undine]

I'd like to read the rest of this! You've really drawn me in! :)

[butterflydreaming]

Aw, thank you! I plan to post the rest as it gets more completed.