Violet Black & the Curse of Camp Coldwater by Kevin Folliard

Violet Black & the Curse of Camp Coldwater by Kevin Folliard

Author:Kevin Folliard [Folliard, Kevin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kevin M. Folliard
Published: 2013-12-09T00:00:00+00:00


Kelly shook her head. “I still don’t believe in ghosts.”

“You don’t have to,” Violet said. “I hope neither one of you ever sees one again, to be honest. But let’s not count on that.”

The path wound westward, revealing the northern half of Lake Coldwater. A great blue heron swooped down and perched on the sandy shore. The surface of the lake shimmered in the sunlight, and the music of the loons echoed in the distance. Violet wished they had come for the scenery instead of the investigation.

“Okay.” Kelly took a good look around. “Coldwater’s a narrow lake. So if we keep going this way we’re going to start rounding the other side.” She faced the clearing to the north. “If there is a cemetery, it’s going to be close by. I will help you look for fifteen minutes, but that’s it.”

“Sounds good,” Violet said. She took the map out of her pocket and unfolded it for everyone to see. “We’re looking in this general area. Gary jotted ‘12’ down here. Not sure what that means. Twelve paces north? Twelve feet? Twelve graves?”

“Better not be twelve miles,” Kelly muttered.

“It won’t be,” Violet said. “Don’t wander too far. Look for unusually shaped stones in or on the ground. Okay. Let’s split up, gang.”

Hector and Kelly stared blankly.

“Sorry.” Violet shrugged. “I always wanted to say that.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and headed into the brush.

The field north of the lake teemed with tall dry grass and wildflowers. Violet brushed foliage away with her feet as she searched for markers. If there was an old cemetery, it was probably overgrown. This might take longer than Kelly’s fifteen minutes, she thought.

“If I get a tick, I’m holding you accountable, Black!” Kelly called out.

“You’re the best, Kelly!” she returned.

Violet scoured a thirty-square-foot area. She was afraid their fifteen minutes was just about up, when Hector called from the northeast, “Hey, Violet?”

“Yeah?”

“What kind of last name is Hellberg? Swedish, Danish, or Norwegian?”

Violet raced over to him and emerged in a wide section of short, green grass. Sure enough, in the middle of the clearing, Hector had discovered a well-kept area with flowers and five stone markers. Etched in each stone were names: Marta Hellberg, Christian Hellberg, Elisabeth Hellberg, Gonnar Hellberg. Bright blue flowers surrounded the most prominent marker, which read: “In Memory of Helen Hellberg. Loving Mother and Wife to Harald. 1892-1927.”

“Jackpot,” Violet whispered.

Kelly joined them. She knelt for close inspection and shook her head in disbelief. “Wife to Harald.”

“Wife to Harry,” Hector said.

“It’s a family cemetery,” Violet said. “That’s why you couldn’t find it online, Hec. What’s even more amazing is that it’s been recently tended.” She pointed to the crackly tall grass that circled the clearing. “All that brush has been kept back. These flowers have been watered in the summer heat. Someone maintains this.”

“Do you think it was Gary?” Hector asked.

“Well, we know he knows about this, at least,” Violet said.

“Okay,” Kelly said. “So there really was a Harald who lived by Lake Coldwater a long time ago, and his family is dead.



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