Schemers

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The cemetery was just outside the Los Alegres city limits, big, sprawling, divided into older and newer sections built on rolling slopes. Plenty of trees and ground cover throughout. No night caretaker, no regular patrols, only a few night lights widely spaced. Gates locked at night, but the fences around it were six feet high and not topped by anything dangerous. Country road that ran along the front mostly deserted after midnight. No side roads. No houses anywhere in the vicinity. One tree-shadowed turnout toward the west end where you could park without worry of being noticed.

He rolled on past the gates, slow. Two-twenty a.m., nobody on the road, every light stationary. This was the third time he’d been out here this late. Three other trips during the day to pinpoint the family plot and to memorize the routes through the grounds. Ready as he’d ever be. Tonight was the night.

He felt good. A little excited, but it was tamped down. Calm. Controlled. Oh, he was ready — not just for the cemetery but for the rest of it to follow.

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