GHOST TALKER, DAY ONE, EXCERPT FROM UNPUBLISHED MS.
Clare, Zach, and the jogger who'd called the police stood in front of the locked gate.
The two graves of William Frederick Cody and his wife lay under white quartz rocks gleaming in the last lingering radiance of the sunset. But there were holes in those mounds where the quartz stones should have set, too.
The rocks that had been ripped from their settings tumbled over the red sandstone paths around and between the graves. Dirt, dust, pine cones and needles, even coins, littered the enclosure.
Gesturing, the man said, "This isn't how the graves should look. They're kept pristine. But the poltergeist comes as wind, a dust devil."