When Death Draws Near by Carrie Stuart Parks Page A

Aynslee likes live musical groups.” Like Neutral Stench, but undoubtedly not on their list of favorites. “She’d probably like the theater. I’m usually too busy to take her,” I finally offered lamely. And too broke to buy the tickets.
    “This play’s great. And spooky,” Trish said.
    “It’s the story of Octavia Hatcher,” Arless said. “A local woman, married to one of the richest men in town. Have you heard of her?”
    I shook my head.
    “The story goes,” Blanche said, “young Octavia had a child, a son, Jacob, born in January of 1891, who died shortly after birth. Octavia became severely depressed, then fell into a coma. On the second of May that year, the doctors pronounced her dead.”
    “And she was buried right away,” Trish said. “’Cause they didn’t have a way to embalm her body.”
    “A number of other people in town developed the same symptoms,” Professor Wellington said. “But after slipping into a coma, after a couple of days, all of them woke up.”
    A cool draft from somewhere brushed against my neck. “But Octavia . . .”
    “Woke up also,” Professor Wellington said. “In her coffin. She was buried alive.”

CHAPTER TWELVE
    MRS. FIELDS APPEARED AGAIN AND BROKE THE silence following the professor’s statement. “Would anyone care for coffee?”
    “I . . . I would.” I caught the professor’s attention. “How did they find out she’d been buried alive?”
    “Once her husband realized others were waking up, he hadher exhumed. Her fingernails were ripped to the quick, and frozen on her face was a look of horror.”
    I shook my head, trying to get the image out of my brain. “Did anyone ever figure out what happened? What the disease was?”
    “No. It’s been quite the mystery.” Blanche nodded at her husband. “We need to get you and your daughter tickets to the local theater production. And if Clay will give you any time off, you and your daughter can visit the statue her grieving husband placed over her grave. She looks down on the town from the cemetery.”
    “Aynslee would relish the idea of visiting a cemetery with a ghoulish story attached,” I said. “Especially with Halloween approaching.” I hesitated a moment. “But I’ll probably keep her out of sight.”
    “I understand,” Blanche said.
    “You’ll both be safe here,” Arless said. “Traditionally we host a Halloween costume party. We’d be delighted if you and your daughter joined us.”
    “I can get you costumes,” Blanche added. “I just need to know what size your daughter is.”
    “That sounds like fun,” I said.
    Blanche gave Arless a small nod. “We may be making a big announcement—”
    “Now, Blanche . . .” He wagged his finger at her. “No hints.” He took a proffered cup of coffee and changed the subject. “If you’d rather stay out of sight, maybe you both could spend a few nights at our cabin.”
    “Darling, no one’s been there for a long time. It’s probably a mess.”
    “I’ll have Mrs. Fields get someone up there to clean it. Even if Gwen doesn’t want to stay there, no sense in having it fall down.” He nodded at the hovering woman and she nodded back.
    Professor Wellington glanced at his watch, then jumped to his feet. “Excuse me. I’m afraid I must eat and run. I have an appointment over in Grundy, Virginia. I found a church practicing shape-note singing.”
    “Will you be here for dinner?” Mrs. Fields poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Trish.
    “I’m not sure. It depends on how long everything takes. I’ll call.” The professor left.
    Arless wiped his lips with his napkin, then placed it on the table. “I’m afraid I must rush off as well.”
    I glanced at Trish. “Okay, I gotta ask. What’s shape-note singing?”
    “It dates back to the early eighteen hundreds in America. It’s a way of quickly learning music by placing a shape on the note heads. It’s mostly done for religious music, hence the professor’s interest. Anyway,