"Charlaine Harris - Grave Sight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harris Charlaine)

detect the final destination of the teenage boy who drank too much in the wrong companyтАФa shallow
grave in the piney woods. Often, their spirits hover, clinging to the mortal remnants that housed them.
Their spirits do not become angels. They were not believers during life, why should they be angels now?
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Even average people, people you think of as тАЬgood,тАЭ can be foolish or venal or jealous.

My sister Cameron lies somewhere among them. In some drainage pipe or under some foundation
folded into the rusted trunk of an abandoned car or strewn across a forest floor, Cameron molders.
Perhaps her spirit is clinging to what is left of her body, as she waits to be discovered, as she waits for
her story to be told.

Perhaps thatтАЩs all they desire, all of the silent witnesses.


one
THE sheriff didnтАЩt want me there. That made me wonder whoтАЩd initiated the process of finding me and
asking me to come to Sarne. It had to be one of the civilians standing awkwardly in his officeтАФall of
them well dressed and well fed, obviously people used to shedding authority all around them. I looked
from one to the other. The sheriff, Harvey Branscom, had a lined, red face with a bisecting white
mustache and close-cropped white hair. He was at least in his mid fifties, maybe older. Dressed in a tight
khaki uniform, Branscom was sitting in the swivel chair behind the desk. He looked disgusted. The man
standing to BranscomтАЩs right was younger by at least ten years, and darker, and much thinner, and his
narrow face was clean-shaven. His name was Paul Edwards, and he was a lawyer.

The woman with whom he was arguing, a woman somewhat younger with expensively dyed blonde hair,
was Sybil Teague. She was a widow, and my brotherтАЩs research had shown that she had inherited a
great deal of the town of Sarne. Beside her was another man, Terence Vale, who had a round face
scantily topped with thin no-color hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and one of those stick-on nametags. HeтАЩd
come from a City Council open house, heтАЩd said when he bustled in. His stick-on tag read, тАЬHi! IтАЩm
TERRY, the MAYOR.тАЭ

Since Mayor Vale and Sheriff Branscom were so put out by my presence, I figured IтАЩd been summoned
by Edwards or Teague. I swiveled my gaze from one to the other. Teague, I decided. I crossed my legs
and slumped down in the uncomfortable chair. I swung my free foot, watching the toe of my black leather
loafer get closer and closer to the front of the sheriffтАЩs desk. They were shooting accusations back and
forth, like I wasnтАЩt in the room. I wondered if Tolliver could hear them from the waiting room.

тАЬYou all want to hash this out while we go back to the hotel?тАЭ I asked, cutting through the arguments.

They all stopped and looked at me.

тАЬI think we brought you here under the wrong impression,тАЭ Branscom said. His voice sounded as though
he were trying to be courteous, but his face looked like he wanted me the hell away. His hands were
clenched on the top of his desk.

тАЬAnd that wrong impression was . . . ?тАЭ I rubbed my eyes. IтАЩd come directly from another site, and I