“Y’all shouldn’t be in here,” slurred the man. He leaned in close, his red-rimmed eyes gone big. “If your grandma finds out, I tell you, she will be none too happy about it.”

“You know who we are?” said Murphy.

“’Course I know who you are. Every last person in this bar knows exactly who y’all are, even if they don’t let on about it.”

“What’s your name?” I said.

“Herman Cartwright,” he said. “And I’m telling y’all to leave. It ain’t safe here, not for you two.”

“Why?” said Murphy. “What’s so dangerous about this place?”

“Because you’re Mena Sanford’s grandkids,” he said. “This used to be an Urquhart place, years and years back. Folks like that aren’t too keen on your grandmother or her kin. And the poor woman’s been through more than enough without having to worry about you two being here.”

“What kinds of things has she been through?” said Murphy.

“Why, the death of her firstborn, of course,” said Mr. Cartwright. “Your uncle Jeremiah, cut down in the very prime of his youth. Her sister too, her twin—died when she was a kid, I remember that. Terrible tragedy, that one. And then with your mom passing all these years later, rest her soul, it ain’t been easy on the woman. Just tragedy after tragedy after tragedy. I tell you, it’s like Death took a special interest in your grandma and he’s been haunting her all the days of her life.”

I’d wanted it to be true, I realized, but I’d been too scared to believe it. Jeremiah was my uncle. I bet he was the one buried out back. But why hadn’t Mom ever mentioned him to us?

“I didn’t even know we had an uncle,” said Murphy. “This is crazy.”

Oh Murphy, I thought. You don’t know the half of it.

“But what about you?” she said to Mr. Cartwright. “You seem to care a whole lot for a woman who won’t talk to you in public.”

Mr. Cartwright slouched in the booth and shook his head.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he said. “A drunk. Used to be damn close to the Sanfords, almost like one of the family. But after Jeremiah’s death I just couldn’t handle it anymore. Took to boozing to calm my nerves, and, well, here I am.”

“Why was he so important to you?” said Murphy. “I don’t get it. Were you guys friends or something?”

“Friends?” said Mr. Cartwright. He laughed too loud, his face gone red. “Lord, no, we weren’t friends. I would never claim a closeness like that. No, that boy was a prophet. Who can claim to be friends with a prophet?”