This is Brenda, my wife, and this is Cindy Macklinson. We just bought the company down here from her family. Ladies, this big gorilla, with his foot wedged so firmly in his pie hole, is Jerry Davis. He likes to tear things apart, then watch the real mechanics put them back together for him." I went over quickly to shake his hand."Jesus, Kenny, I'm so fucking sorry. I just thought, you know, that they were too fucking good looking for them to be girls that you really knew." That was the way Jerry apologized. Brenda was beaming at him. Cindy hung back, keeping me between her and Jerry.We went out and got into the Oldsmobile, with Brenda and Cindy both insisting that they'd sit in the back so that Jerry and I had plenty of leg room up front. Cindy gave us directions to this restaurant she had recommended to us.It was a place over on Oak Street, close to the country club. The food and the service was excellent, and the appetizers were really special. Jerry and I had the crabcakes, Brenda. He remembered that white lights called ghost candles are supposed to appear above the graves. He walked a little faster. The familiar owl called out again. It had become a comforting noise by this time. There, in the grass, near a grave with a rare stone marker, a patch of the white flowers bobbed in the night breeze. Bloodwort, they were called; an ugly name for such a pretty thing, though Adrian knew it was because the juice in the stem was red as blood. It was too cold and too late in the season for such blossoms, but here they were anyway, as they always were. Adrian's fingers stopped a few inches from the flowers and he glanced at the headstone. He couldn't make out the name on it. Was it right to take flowers off of a grave, even if they'd only grown here by themselves? He'd come all this way, and without them he'd have no way of proving it...And then he heard it: a low, plaintive cry drifting on the wind. He'd mistaken it for an owl's shriek before, but now there was no taking.
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