The Cove

precise indeed, working outward from the middle so that if you wanted to be buried here in the 1990's, you'd be nearly to the boundaries.

    She found Bobby Nettro's grave, on the fourth circle out from the center. It was perfectly tended.

    As far as she could tell, they'd kept to this wheel plan since the beginning. There were so many graves now. She imagined that when the first townspeople decided to put the cemetery here they'd considered the plot of ground they were setting aside to be immense. Well, it wasn't. There was little space left, since the west side of the cemetery was bounded by the cliffs, and the east and north were bounded by the church and someone's cottage. The south nearly ran into the single path that led along the cliff.

    She walked to the western edge of the cemetery. The graves here were new, as well tended as the others. She leaned down to look at the headstones. There were names, dates of birth and death, but nothing else. Nothing clever, nothing personal, nothing about being a super husband, father, wife, mother. Just the bare information.

    Sally pulled a small notebook out of her purse and began to write down the names on the headstones. She walked around the periphery of the cemetery, ending up with a good thirty names. All the people had died in the early to late 1980's.

    It didn't seem right. Thing was, this was a very small town, grown smaller with each decade. Thirty people had died in a period of only eight years? Well, it was possible, she supposed. Some kind of flu epidemic that killed off old folk.

    Then she noticed something else and felt the hair rise on her arms.

    Every one of the headstones bore a man's name. Not a single woman's name. Not one. Not a single child's name. Not one. Just men's names. On one of the graves, it just said BILLY with a date of death. Nothing more. What was going on here? No women died during this period of time, just men? It made no sense.

    She closed her eyes a moment, wondering what the devil she'd discovered. She knew she had to get this list to David Mountebank and to James. She had to be sure that these people had lived here and died here. She had to be sure that these people had nothing to do with all the reported missing folk. The thought that there might be a connection made her want to grab James and run out of the town as fast as she could.

    She shook her head even as she stared down at one headstone in particular. The name was strange-Lucien Gray. So it was an odd name; it didn't matter. All these names were legitimate, they had to be. These were all local people who'd just happened to die during this eight-year stretch. Yeah, and only men died. She found herself looking for Harve Jensen's grave. Of course there wasn't one. But there was that one headstone with Lucien Gray scripted on it. It looked very new, very new indeed.

    She was beginning to sweat even as her brain raced ahead.

    No, no. This town was for real.

    This town was filled with good people, not with evil, not with death, more death than she could begin to imagine.

    She put her notebook back in her purse. She didn't want to go back to Amabel's cottage.

    She was afraid.

    Why had that poor woman whose screams she'd heard on two different nights been taken prisoner in the first place?

    Had she seen something she shouldn't have seen? Had she heard something she shouldn't have heard?

    Why had Doc Spiver been murdered? Had he killed the woman and someone else in town had found out about it and shot him so there would be a kind of justice?

    She tried to empty her mind. She hated to be afraid. She'd been afraid for too long.

28

    SHE STOPPED AT the World's Greatest Ice Cream Shop. Amabel wasn't there, but Sherry Vorhees was.

    "Sally, how good to see you. You here with that cute Mr. Quinlan?"

    "Oh, yes. Can I try the banana walnut?"

    "It's yummy. We've sold more of this flavor in a week than any other in the history of the store. We have so many repeat customers now-coming in regularly from a good fifty-mile radius-that we might have to hire on some of those lazy old codgers out there playing cards around their barrel."

    Velma Eisner came in from the back room, which was curtained off from the shop by a lovely blue floral drape. She snorted. "Yeah, Sherry, I can just see those old coots selling ice cream. They'd eat it all and belch at us and try to look pathetic."

    She turned to Sally and smiled. “We discussed having the men involved. Of course, they'd grouse