“His room doesn’t exist anymore.
I remodeled it.”
Just then Royce came down the stairs — my stepbrother, the one who had spent years drowning in gambling debt — smiling like he had been waiting for this moment.
“Well, look who’s back.
The ex-con came for his inheritance.”
I stepped toward the doorway, but Vonetta blocked my path.
“If you ever set foot on this property again, I’ll call the police.
With your record, that won’t end well for you.”
The door closed with a soft click.
I didn’t shout.
I walked to Elmgrove Cemetery, where my father had always said he wanted to rest beside my mother.
I needed to see his name cut into stone.
An elderly groundskeeper stopped me beneath a row of cypress trees.
“Who are you looking for, son?”
“Clayton Kemp.
His wife told me he’s bur*ed here.”
The old man looked at me sadly.
“You’re Josiah, aren’t you?”
A chill ran through me.
“How do you know my name?”
He glanced toward the cemetery gate and lowered his voice.
“Because your father asked me to give you this if you ever came looking for him.”
He pulled out a yellowed envelope.
Inside was a letter and an old key.
The key had a small tag that read: STORAGE UNIT 108.
“But — where is my father bur*ed?”
The groundskeeper swallowed hard.
“Son, I’ve worked this ground nineteen years.
I dig them and I mow them and I know every name on this hill.”
He put his hand on my arm.
“Clayton Kemp isn’t on it.”
I unfolded the letter.
The very first line read:
“Son, if you’re reading this, Vonetta has already started lying to you.”
PART 2
