Chapter 11: None Recorded

Brendan did not scream.

He knelt on the grass beside the marble and pressed both hands flat into the ground.

He pressed hard and held them there.

"She buried her," he said. "I paid for it. I stood here every March."

"Son," the groundskeeper said gently, "come to the office. They keep the file."

The records clerk was a woman with a space heater under her desk and a cardigan buttoned wrong.

She took it out of a drawer without asking for a reason, because a man was shaking in her doorway.

Section 9, Lot 14.

Purchased by B. Foley, five years ago.

Marble marker ordered, set the following April.

Under Interments there was a single line.

None recorded.

"There's never been a permit," the clerk said. "We can't put anyone in without one, ma'am, not even a baby. Not even ashes."

"Who visits?" I asked.

She flipped the sheet.

"The log shows one name, every March. Mr. Foley."

"Nobody else?"

"Mr. Santoro came once, the week the stone went in, to pay the engraver. He said the family would handle the rest privately."

"He asked us to leave the ground alone."

She looked at Brendan with real sorrow.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I thought you knew."

Clive had come in at some point and was standing behind me.

He did not touch me.

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