The cemetery rested on the top of a hill overlooking the town below. The morning mist gave way to dark clouds accompanied by a light rain. By midmorning, the rain had become a steady downpour under a black sky. Grey Walker parked his SUV behind the couple's sedan. He watched them head to the gravesite before stepping out of the vehicle and following. He knew that Amber was already there keeping an eye on the mourners and looking out for trouble.
A large tent had been raised over the gravesite. Lanterns had been hung beneath the canopy to provide a reasonable amount of light. The minister of the church stood clutching his Bible while awaiting the arrival of the attendees. The couple from the diner took a seat near the recently orphaned boy. He was about ten years old. Amber stood across from him shifting her weight uneasily. She detested funerals. Humans were so overly sentimental toward the deceased, so unwilling to speak ill of the dead.
There were no holes dug. There were no caskets to bury. The headstone had already been set, ready to receive the ashes of each of the deceased. Grey found the arrangements disconcerting. Normally ashes would be placed in urns to be buried and not placed inside the gravestone. Equally disturbing was the distance being kept by the locals. Only the minister's wife and his aunt and uncle sat with the boy. No one stood behind him. The townsfolk in attendance stood in a semi-circle outside the tent forming a cluster of black umbrellas. Occasionally, a hand would reach out to pull Amber back into the safety of the gathered onlookers, but she wasn't afraid and wrestled free.
Amber took a seat across from the boy and stared into the black pools of his eyes. Something had taken hold of him. Grey soon joined her, propping his umbrella against the empty chair to his left. "There's no one else coming," she whispered toward the minister. "Start the burial." The minister started by reading Psalm Twenty-three from his leatherbound Bible. He spoke about how devoted the couple were to each other and how they were loving parents to their son. Amber kept her eyes on the boy throughout the entire ceremony.
After the all the ashes were poured into the holes in the headstone and the last rose laid on the top of the gravestone, people started to offer their condolences on their way out of the cemetery. Amber and Grey stood and waited until the last of the townsfolk had left. Grey approached the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," Mr. Lawrence replied with a firm grip on Grey's hand. "I get the feeling that I've seen you somewhere before."
"Last night, at the diner," Grey answered. "My name is Grey Walker, I'm a private investigator. I was there with my associate, Amber Gray. She was worried about you. Woman's intuition. Sometimes her inklings turn out to be real." Grey paused before asking, "I'm curious, why cremation? In cases of sudden death, there is usually an autopsy to determine the cause."
Mr. Lawrence turned to the minister hoping for an answer. "Well, there wasn't much choice really. The Andersons had died in a fire. Their bodies were badly charred. Cremation seemed only natural."
Amber smiled. She stepped forward and hugged the boy tightly. Inside his head, he was fighting off demons. "If he only knew," Amber thought. Amber struggled to make sense of it all, but nothing seemed to be happening in any particular order. There had been a fire. His parents had died. He had been spending the night at a friend's house while his parents were out of town. On their way back home, they had stopped at the diner for some dessert, then settled in for the night at the motel. Somehow, he had witnessed all this. At the moment, it was his waking nightmare, along with facing an uncertain future.
Amber had already searched Room 101. Her curiosity had been piqued by Grey speculating that the room belonged to the night manager. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air. There were no signs of accelerant nor fire suppressant in the room. No signs of water or powder. The fire snuffed itself out as mysteriously as it ignited. Amber needed to get her hands on the ashes. The answers were there as to whether the boy or something else was responsible for the fire.
"We should go," Amber suggested. "The guests are waiting at the house. They have set up a meal for the family."
"Yes, we really should be going," Mr. Lawrence agreed. The minister's wife quietly herded the boy along to their car. Amber and Grey followed the Lawrences back to their car. As soon as Grey had cleared the gate, Amber returned to the grave and stuck her hand into the ashes. Although the day's rain had lessened, a deluge of hail and lighting struck the ground around the small tent. The anger was unmistakable, but the source still remained a mystery. Still, she had managed to glean some answers before deciding to make herself scarce.
