Burial Ground Read Online Free PDF Page B

said. He looked over at David and me. “You hunt arrowheads?”
    We both nodded. “Whenever we can find them,” David told him.
    “Look, Absalom,” Willie broke in. “I’ll pay you to show me where that other stuff came from.”
    Absalom shook his head sadly. “Mr. Willie, I wants to help you, but I just plain have trouble remembering. Now them arrowheads …”
    Willie got up from the chair. “At least tell me if the stuff came from our land.”
    “Well, I think they comes from your land. But you know how it is, Mr. Willie. That river change everything. Back there in the woods there ain’t no fences. I probably couldn’t find the place again nohow.”
    Willie shrugged. “Fair enough. By the way, were you here when my father came up to see Mr. Wascom the other day?”
    Absalom looked away quickly. “Bad thing, ’bout Mr. Joe,” he said. “I didn’t see nothin’, though. Wasn’t here.”
    There was no mistaking his fear.
    Willie started down the steps, fanning himself with his baseball cap. “Okay, Absalom. We won’t bother you anymore.”
    “Ain’t no bother, suh.”
    I waited for David to step down ahead of me and then turned to the old man.
    “Were there bones with these Indian things, by any chance?”
    His eyes met mine and then fell away quickly.
    “Can’t say I wants to fool with no bones,” he said in a low voice.
    I understood then and nodded in agreement. We were out of the driveway and back on the tartop before Willie spoke.
    “See what I mean? He knows exactly where those things come from. And I’ll bet he saw Dad stop at Wascom’s place.” He slowed as he passed the plantation house, then muttered under his breath. There was no car in the drive, and I had a feeling he’d meant to call on Carter Wascom, with us for witnesses.
    Then his foot hit the brake and the Bronco slowed. We were passing his land now and he was looking through the fence at a blue pickup that hadn’t been in the field when we passed the first time.
    “That’s strange,” he muttered and turned into the field through the open gate. “I wonder who’s back there.”
    We bumped along through the grass and jerked to a stop behind the truck. Willie’s door flew open and David and I got out behind him. The June sun hit me like a blast from a furnace.
    Willie reached under the seat and withdrew a long-barreled revolver, which he stuck down into his belt.
    “Can’t be too careful,” he said. “But it’s probably just somebody picking dewberries.”
    Even as his door shut two men emerged from the trees on the far side of the pasture, a black Labrador gamboling through the grass beside them.
    “It’s Carter Wascom,” he said.
    We followed as he walked toward the pair. As we got closer, I saw that one man was tall, with gray hair and a slight limp, while the other was on the chunky side and balding. The tall man wore jeans and an open-necked blue shirt and carried a short-barreled carbine in one hand, while the other man was dressed in khakis.
    “Something the matter, Mr. Wascom?” Willie asked.
    Carter Wascom offered Willie a hand and Willie introduced each of us. Wascom’s hand felt soft as silk, and when he spoke his lips barely moved. “It was terrible about your father. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I found him, you know.”
    Willie nodded.
    “He came up here to see you, didn’t he?” Willie asked.
    “Why, yes. We were talking about another little piece of land your father wanted and I wasn’t sure I wanted to sell.” He chuckled.
    “What was the outcome?”
    “I told him I’d think about it. Then he went down the road to see old Absalom. An hour later I saw his car go by and then I heard the crash.”
    “Your truck?” Willie asked.
    Carter Wascom jerked his head toward his companion. “It’s Levi’s. I was taking him back to the bayou.” He lifted his rifle. “That’s why I have this. A .22 magnum makes a good argument with snakes.”
    The short man stuck out his hand