The Prophet by Amanda Stevens

Author:Amanda Stevens
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Paranormal, Fiction
ISBN: 9780778313397
Publisher: Mira
Published: 2012-04-23T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Temple had just left that afternoon when Regina Sparks, the Charleston County coroner, dropped by. I hadn’t seen Regina since the first two exhumations the previous spring, but I would have recognized her red hair anywhere. Like me, she wore it pulled back in a ponytail, but curls had popped loose all over her head, and the tiny bronze corkscrews shimmered charmingly in the dappled light.

I had lingered at the gate, perhaps to prove to Temple and to myself that I wasn’t afraid to be alone in Oak Grove. The sun was just sinking below the treetops, but there was still plenty of daylight left. Even so, my heart had tripped when I first spotted someone plowing through the weeds toward me, so it was a relief to recognize the flaming hair, as well as the logo of the coroner’s office emblazoned on her navy shirt.

She gave a pleasant wave as she approached. “A little bird told me you might be out here today. I found myself in the vicinity, so I thought I’d stop in and say hello, see how everything is going.”

I eased the mace back into my pocket. “Who is this little bird? I only found out myself yesterday afternoon that I’d be here.”

She shrugged as she swiped back those wiry curls. As always, she seemed tightly strung, as though it were a struggle to keep her restless energy constrained. “This is Charleston. The one thing you can count on is that everybody knows your business before you do. It’s annoying, but what are you going to do?”

“I’m just surprised that anyone would care enough to talk about it,” I said.

“Are you kidding? After everything that happened here? There was even an article about it in the online edition of the paper this morning.”

“That was fast.”

“It ran with lots of photographs, including one of you, and a link to your blog. You’ll be happy to know they spelled your name right.”

“That is good to know.” Someone on the Committee had obviously pulled strings to get a story planted so quickly. I could hardly blame them for wanting to shift the lurid publicity associated with Oak Grove to something more positive like a restoration, particularly since Emerson was in the midst of its bicentennial celebration.

“I emailed the story to my aunt,” Regina said. “She’s still over the moon about our having worked together last spring. You’re a celebrity in Samara, Georgia, you know. They think that ghost video put them on the map.”

“Even after it’s been so ruthlessly debunked?”

“They don’t care. They believe what they want to believe.”

The video in question had been shot by a news crew that had come to interview me during a restoration, and for months the clip had made the rounds on ghost-hunting sites. Paranormal aficionados were convinced that lights floating over the cemetery behind me were otherworld entities. I’d known better, of course. There were no ghosts in Samara Cemetery, but it had taken a digital imaging analyst to convince the

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