Witch's Pawn

The Las Vegas cemetery was stone silent as Calla Kendrick made her way to the two graves that lay side by side. Her soft-soled flats made no sound on the carpet of emerald green, the blades of grass sparkling with dewdrops under the early morning sunshine. As she approached, a crow sitting on one of the headstones nearby cawed shrilly but made no move to fly away, just watched with small, beady eyes. To one side of the burial ground, the traffic on the freeway whooshed by, the sound muted by the distance.

Swallowing down the hard lump in her throat, and blinking back threatening tears, she made her way to her husband’s and young son's graves. Two bouquets of fresh flowers trembled in her clenched hands. As the days inched on, she began to consider the possibility they had been ruthlessly murdered, but she had no physical evidence and who would believe her without proof? A senator had enemies, didn't he?

She exhaled as she dipped to her knees in front of his grave. Time could do nothing but heal the past. Perhaps one day soon she could honestly tell herself that the moment had arrived to move forward, to stop reliving a history she could never regain. Gingerly, she set the foil-wrapped flowers on his grave and blew David a light kiss.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she spoke softly, "but I hope you're doing well. I miss you." She caressed the top of the marker.

Then she turned to Joshua's smaller grave, and lowered her remaining bouquet onto the aging granite. Sunlight caught the weathered stone in its strong rays, causing a small four-inch high item to glitter as the flowers descended. Puzzled, Calla raised the bouquet and peered at the object before cautiously brushing several stray blades of grass aside. Her heart leaped into her throat, and welling tears blinded her for several seconds before she blinked them away.

"No," she moaned. "Impossible."

Was someone playing a cruel joke on her? Why would a jeweled chess piece, a pawn, be here on her son's grave? The crow irritably flapped its wings and flew off in a flurry of black feathers. She frowned and bit hard into her lower lip. The police had found a similar item at the scene of the accident that took her husband and son. Calla had seen the piece, which was akin to the one she was examining, and knew just that one alone was expensive and could easily buy a luxurious house. Yet, why would anyone leave it here on the ground in a cemetery at her son's resting place?

Leaving the pawn lying in the grass against the marker, she glanced up and slowly turned her head to study the countryside in search of anyone lurking and watching. Who had placed the piece there?
A light breeze wafted over her, slightly lifting the hem of her dress. Calla patted the filmy material back in place. She was still alone, although she'd caught a hint of movement behind the trunk of that old elm tree behind her. Or had the slight motion been the branches swaying in deep shadow? Was another mourner standing on the far side of the tree? Or had the telltale sign simply been her imagination?