The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

if.
    Damn.
    As he stood debating his next move, the porch light came on and the front door flew open. Noelani rushed out and grabbed his arm. “Wait!”
    Very dramatic. Pretty damned effective, too, especially factoring in the entreaty in those big hazel eyes. “You just told me to go,” he said.
    “I know what I said, but please don’t leave. Not until you see this.” She held out a photograph.
    Noelani wasn’t trying to manipulate him, he realized, and felt like a bastard for suspecting otherwise. “You found it. The original.”
    “No, it’s not the picture of my grandfather. It’s a picture of my Great-uncle Thomas.”
    Dillon took the photograph from her trembling fingers.
    “I dropped a box and this photo fell out of an old album. His name’s on the back. There’s no mistake. Besides, I recognize him from photos taken when he was younger.”
    “What’s the big deal?” Dillon asked, then fell silent as he got a good look at the picture of a middle-aged man in a priest’s cassock. “I thought you said your Great-uncle Thomas died when he was in his teens.”
    “He did,” she said. “I’ve visited his grave. He’s buried in the family plot in Hilo.”
    “There must be some explanation.”
    “Like what?” she said. “Great-uncle Thomas miraculously rose from the grave?”
    “Maybe your great-uncle faked his death, then secretly ran off to become a priest.”
    “Great-uncle Thomas was knifed to death in a bar brawl. I’ve read the old newspaper clippings. Grandmother kept them in the top desk drawer in her office. I think she felt guilty, as if his death were her fault.”
    “How so?”
    “Grandmother made a habit of rescuing her brother, but this time, she was too late.”
    “Knife wounds aren’t necessarily fatal,” Dillon pointed out. “Maybe the family just pretended he died. Maybe they were so embarrassed by the scandal that they forced him into the priesthood.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Noelani said.
    Dillon didn’t argue. His suggestion had been pretty farfetched. “OK then, what’s your explanation?”
    “I don’t have one,” she said. “I mean, say he faked his own death and ran off to become a priest. That doesn’t explain how his photograph found its way into a dusty old album in Grandmother’s attic. No matter how I crunch the numbers, it doesn’t add up.”
    Dillon studied the priest in the photograph. “You’re right,” he admitted. “Unfortunately, I’m too tired at the moment to do the maths. Why don’t we call it a night? Tomorrow maybe we can visit your great-uncle’s grave.”
    “So you aren’t leaving?” Was that relief he saw in her expression?
    “Not until we get to the bottom of this.” He paused. “I owe you an apology, Noelani. I leaped to some unwarranted conclusions earlier. You didn’t have any ulterior motives when you contacted my office, did you? You truly didn’t realize who you were hiring.”
    “No,” she said.
    “And you never got my letters.”
    “No,” she said again. “Grandmother’s doing. I’m sure she meant it for the best, but . . . She was always trying to save people from the consequences of their own folly, you see. That’s why she missed out on the last few days of my grandfather’s life. She felt it was her duty to help Thomas.” Noelani heaved a weary sigh. “Ironic, isn’t it? Despite her well-meant intervention, Thomas continued down the same destructive path.”
    Noelani had already been up for an hour and a half by the time Dillon wandered into the kitchen looking for breakfast at a quarter to seven.
    “You’re up early,” he said.
    “I haven’t adjusted yet to Hawaii time.”
    “Headache?” he asked.
    “No. Why?”
    “You’re frowning,” he said.
    “I went out on the lanai to drink my hot chocolate a while ago, and I found this lying in the centre of the table.”
    “What is it?” He leaned closer to get a good look. “Obsidian? One of Pele’s tears.”
    She nodded.
    “What was it doing on the lanai}”
    “I haven’t a clue. Maybe it’s a sign,” she said lightly. “Maybe Pele’s telling us we’re on the right track.” Then she frowned as another possibility occurred to her. “Or maybe she’s warning us off.”
    Six stones marked the family plot, six stones but only five actual interments accorded her great-grandparents, her parents and her great-uncle. The remaining stone marked her grandfather’s empty grave, empty since John Crawford lay entombed inside