Cemetery Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

members on a scrap of paper, in case he ever needed it.
    “Oh, for the love of Christ.” The guard took the phone and went to the door. “Don’t even think about moving.” Then he was gone.
    Todd heard the sound of the door lock engaging. He didn’t bother to move. Instead, he stared at his reflection in the mirror while he waited.
    He’d watched himself grow older over the past twenty years but now, sitting under the flickering fluorescent light, his face swollen from his beating, he saw himself for the first time as a middle aged man. Thirty-six isn’t old, he reminded himself, but that didn’t change how he looked. The hair he’d once worn in shoulder-length defiance to an overbearing father was now cut military short and his hairline had receded almost to his ears. The sandy-brown color hid the scattering of gray well enough, but time hadn’t been kind to him and it showed in the bags under his eyes and the lines on his forehead.
    I wonder how the others look, he thought. At that moment the guard returned with Todd’s wallet in hand, interrupting his musings.
    “What’s the name?” he asked, after Todd told him where to find the scrap of paper.
    “Cory Miles,” Todd said, and then waited while the man dialed.
    “Here.” The guard placed the phone on Todd’s shoulder and waited until Todd scrunched his neck, pinning the phone between ear and shoulder. Then he moved away, pretending the gap of four feet provided any privacy.
    Someone picked up on the third ring. “Cory Miles, Attorney at Law. Can I help you?”
    “Cory?” Todd didn’t recognize the voice. But then who sounded the same at thirty-six as they did at sixteen?
    “Yes, this is he. How can I help you?”
    “Cory, it’s... Todd Randolph. I need your help. I...think it’s starting again.”
     
     
    *  *  *
     
     
    Cory Miles stared at the phone.
    It’s starting again.
    After a moment of stunned silence he’d taken Todd’s information and promised to be there before six. Rocky Point was a two-hour car ride from Stamford and he’d need to make some phone calls before leaving, put cases on hold or pass them on to other attorneys.
    It’s starting again.
    Three simple words but enough to assure Cory it was Todd Randolph on the other end, apparently freed from the sanitarium and now in jail for a murder he said he didn’t commit.
    Cory didn’t need to be convinced of Todd’s innocence. He was one of three people in the world who knew beyond a doubt that Todd had never killed any of those people that summer. He’d taken the blame out of guilt. A guilt they’d all shared. Cory felt a different kind of guilt now. Todd’s call made him realize it had been almost three years since he’d thought of Rocky Point or the Cemetery Club.
    The Cemetery Club. That’s what we called ourselves. Todd, John Boyd, me, and Marisol.
    Marisol Flores. Just thinking about her brought an image to life in his mind. Tall, dark-complexioned, with a skinny body just beginning to blossom into adulthood. Hair and eyes as dark as obsidian, courtesy of her half-Puerto Rican, half-West Indian heritage.
    Cory wondered where Marisol was now, what she was doing. Did she still live in Rocky Point? He hadn’t seen her since...since the events of their junior year. His family had moved right before senior year started, when his father got transferred to Connecticut. The only time he’d been back since was three years ago, for a golf outing at the Patriot Hills Golf Course, one town over from his old stomping grounds. Afterwards, he’d intended to drive through Rocky Point but at the last minute had changed his mind. He’d told himself he didn’t have time, that there was nothing there he needed to see. But in his heart of hearts, that place where you have no choice but to be honest with yourself, he knew he’d steered away from the exit because just thinking about entering that small, innocuous section of suburbia sent a chill through his veins, a desire to be