A Minister's Ghost Read Online Free PDF Page B

that?”
    â€œNobody.” Eppie shrugged. “But the train’s got to cut to near half speed to make that curve, don’t it?” He let his eyes drift in the direction of the wreck. “Still.”
    â€œExactly.” I followed his gaze. “What made it slow down?”
    â€œThey saw the car on the tracks?” Eppie ventured, roughing his curly brown hair with a thick hand.
    â€œNo. I was just there. The way the tracks slope down in that direction,
the engineer wouldn’t have seen anything until he was nearly into the crossing. But the girls would have heard the train coming.”
    â€œOr the crossing bell.”
    â€œRight,” I agreed. “It’s loud.”
    I tried to make myself go closer to the car, but couldn’t seem to get my legs to work. I was afraid I might see something inside that I wouldn’t want to see.
    Reading my mind or my face, Eppie cleared his throat.
    â€œThe police had me wash out the car after they did all the technical crap,” he said. “Washed it out good. And when they left, I did the same thing. It’s pretty clean now.”
    â€œThat’s an old VW,” I began slowly.
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œIt wouldn’t have a CD player.”
    â€œNo,” he answered. “I don’t think it even had a radio. But definitely no CD.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t know when the accident happened, would you?”
    â€œWell,” he offered, “let me see. They called me to come haul the wreck around one thirty. They said it took nearly two hours to get the girls out. But how long before the accident was reported and everybody got there, I have no idea.”
    I forced myself closer to the wreckage.
    Upon closer inspection, the interior of the car was battered but not entirely crushed. I could see the seats were folded but not destroyed, their springs poking out. There was, indeed, no radio in the car. The simple dashboard sported a primitive heating system based on blowing hot air from the engine into the car, and there was a cigarette lighter. Otherwise, it was bare. The gearshift had been bent in the direction of the driver’s seat, the steering wheel jutted at an odd angle out the front windshield. What caught my eye was the ignition, because it made me think of something.
    I backed away from the wreck.
    â€œNo keys in the ignition?” I asked.

    â€œWhat?” he said, taking a step my way. “Keys?”
    â€œThey’re not in the ignition.” I looked down. “Wouldn’t, ordinarily, the police leave the keys in the car, in case you needed them?”
    â€œAin’t much I can do for this car,” Eppie said slowly. “Maybe the cops took them, or maybe the keys got knocked out when the train hit. You see what it did to the steering column.”
    â€œI do see,” I told him, though I wasn’t looking.
    I didn’t feel I could look at the wreckage for one more second, and I still had to go to the morgue.
    â€œThanks, Eppie,” I sighed. “I’ll be back.”
    He was still cocking his head at the orange mass when I left the yard. The boys had gone; the rain was starting up again. The sky was bruised with rain clouds, and a cold wind snapped hair across my forehead.
    The last thing in the world I wanted to do was visit the county morgue.

Three
    Morgue might be too strong a word for the loose arrangement between the county and the Deveroe Brothers’ Funeral Parlor. All three brothers were barely smarter, collectively, than a butter knife. Still, they had taken over the town mortuary after the previous owner had been indicted on hundreds of counts of illegal improprieties including “misuse of a corpse,” a charge that would not bear much scrutiny on my part.
    The boys had managed to pass all their classes at mortuarial school, or wherever a person learns such a business. They’d been registered, certified, and bona fide for nearly six