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This time there was no response. He shoved the car in gear, headed through the gate of the cemetery and on up to the gravel drive leading up the hill. By the time they reached the crest, Peggy had slipped into a pouting silence. He stopped the car, crawled out and headed directly for the site of his father's grave. Peggy was right behind him. |
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"They've been here, all right," he muttered. He was studying the telltale car tracks and footprints that crisscrossed the area. "The question is, did they find it?" |
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Peggy watched him in disgust. She had asked a string of questions, none of which had been answered. At this point, she was reluctant to ask any more. |
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Slowly he circled his father's tomb and then his grandfather's. "They could have picked it up," he muttered. "They could have picked it up, thinking it was just an old jug that somebody left behind. They couldn't have known what it was." |
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Finally she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around to face her. "Damnit, Charlie, this has gone on long enough. What the hell's going on? How can I help you if I don't know what we're looking for?" |
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"A jar," he said simply, "a big glass jar. I left it here yesterday. I left it sitting right here on my father's tombstone." |
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Peggy's face twisted into a frown. "A jar?" |
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