His voice was deep and gravelly. He spoke in short, clipped sentences. Eleanor took the wipe with a nod of thanks. The scent of lemon mixed with the smell of the grave. She scrubbed the dirt away, trying to stop her hands from shaking. The car pulled away smoothly.
“Bad day?” he asked, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. There was no prying curiosity in his gaze, only the quiet understanding of a man who had seen his share of trouble.
Eleanor looked at his reflection. She wanted to scream the truth—about the empty coffin, Sterling’s mother, her job. But she just gripped the soiled wipe tighter.
“The worst of my life,” she whispered, turning to the frosted window as the lights of Oak Creek blurred past. “But tomorrow, everything changes.”
The driver, whose name was Jack, didn’t reply. He just pressed the accelerator, carrying Eleanor away from the city of the dead and back to the living. A battle was coming, and she wasn’t ready yet.
Eleanor woke up with a dull, throbbing ache between her shoulder blades. She struggled to lift her head from the pillow, her muscles protesting the previous night’s labor. Outside, a pale sun struggled through the gray clouds. The house was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
She stepped onto the cold hardwood floor. Her bathrobe felt scratchy against her skin. She walked to the kitchen, where a cold cup of tea sat on the counter from the night before. Her eyes drifted to the landline phone. She had to know. The thought pulsed in her head.
She picked up the receiver and dialed the nurses’ station at the hospital.
“Cardiology, this is Nina.” The nurse’s voice was hushed, as if she were hiding.
“Nina, it’s Eleanor Vance. Good morning.”
There was a heavy silence. Eleanor could almost feel the nurse looking over her shoulder at the administrator’s closed door.
“Dr. Vance, you shouldn’t be calling here. Dr. Miller was very clear. He said you’re… persona non grata.”
“I know, Nina. This isn’t about work. Just tell me: how is Mrs. Sterling? Clara Sterling. Did she stabilize?”
A shaky sigh came through the line.
“She didn’t make it, Eleanor. She passed at 3:00 AM. Massive cardiac rupture. We tried everything—the paddles, the meds. Nothing worked. Her heart just… gave out. I guess when her neighbor told her Robert was gone, she lost her reason to keep fighting. She’d spent years saving her social security checks just hoping he’d visit. He never showed.”
Eleanor slowly hung up the phone. The kitchen felt like it was closing in. Robert Sterling had killed his mother. Not with a weapon, but with his ego and his fake death. To save his money, he had sacrificed the woman who gave him life. The injustice felt like a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth.
Desperation turned into resolve. Eleanor threw on a pair of jeans and a heavy sweater. She had to act. A plan was forming. Sterling couldn’t get away with this. Steve, the laborer, was the key. But she knew she couldn’t do this alone. She needed someone who knew the rough side of life better than a doctor who spent her days in sterile labs.
She thought of the taxi driver. Jack. The man with the scar and the heavy silence. She reached into her coat pocket and found the business card he’d given her with her change.
*City Cab Co. Unit 4 – Callsign: Granite.*
She picked up the phone again.
“Dispatch, I need a car,” she said.
“Where to, honey?”
“I need the driver with the callsign Granite. Tell him it’s for the lady from the cemetery. 18th and Main.”
“Jack? Sure thing. He’ll be there in twenty.”
The Crown Vic pulled up exactly on time. Eleanor slid into the front seat this time. The car smelled of vanilla and tobacco.
Jack shifted into gear without looking at her. His profile was like granite. His cane rested between the seats.
“Back to the graveyard?” he asked, his voice low.
“To the cemetery, yes,” Eleanor said, buttoning her coat. “But not for the dead. There are people there who need help.”
Jack shot her a quick, sharp look. His hands were steady on the wheel.
“The living don’t usually hang out at the cemetery unless they’re hiding from something worse than ghosts.”
Eleanor was struck by his intuition. He saw the world for what it was.
“Were you in the military?” she asked.
“Fire and Rescue,” Jack said, slowing down for a red light. “Was. Until a warehouse fire three years ago. A beam came down, crushed my leg in three places. Now I drive. Can’t save people anymore.”
There was no self-pity in his voice. Eleanor realized she was sitting next to someone who, like her, had lost his purpose.
“I was fired yesterday,” Eleanor said, the words spilling out. “Because of a patient. He faked his death. And the man in the coffin I dug up yesterday… he was alive. A laborer they drugged.”
She waited for him to call her crazy. But Jack just gripped the wheel tighter.
“Did you go to the cops?” he asked, his tone businesslike.
“The man is terrified. He’s undocumented, from out of state. If we go to the authorities now, the people behind this will crush us. I need proof. I need to know who helped Sterling pull this off…”
