By the time I got there, Absalom, Crazy Jake, and Sammi were standing in a circle, watching Reggie and Delmar go at each other. They were down on the ground, rolling in the dirt, and Reggie had Delmar in a headlock. That wasn’t enough to stop the kid. His teeth were close enough to Reggie’s arm to do some damage, and he took full advantage-and a huge chomp. Reggie screamed and swore a blue streak, and when he loosened his hold, Delmar rolled and kicked.

Crazy Jake jumped out of the way just in time to avoid serious injury, but Delmar’s kung fu-fighter impression wasn’t wasted. He caught Reggie in the jaw with one beat-up Reebok, and Reggie’s head snapped back. He wasn’t down for the count, though.

His eyes narrowed and fiery, his breaths straining, Reggie lunged, and when he did, he looked a whole lot like that pit bull on his forehead. Growling, he grabbed Delmar’s ankle and twisted. Delmar grunted, rolled, and kicked again.

And I knew if I didn’t do something quick, somebody was really going to get hurt-and the whole crazy mess just might get caught on camera.

“Stop! Right now!” I sounded like a desperate kindergarten teacher and, honestly, that’s exactly how I felt. I raced over, and because she wasn’t about to give an inch, I had to nudge Sammi aside to get close. Since I’m about twice her size and she wasn’t expecting it, my push knocked her off her feet. The last I saw of her, she was butt down in a patch of weeds.

Sammi was less than happy, even after I mumbled a hurried, “Sorry.” Her curses were just as loud and colorful as Reggie’s.

And I so didn’t care.

It wasn’t until I was right on top of where they were still tussling in the dirt that I saw Delmar had something pressed to his chest.

The something in question was a dirt-coated box. It was about half the size of a piece of computer paper and made of wood. I have a degree in art history, but believe me, that doesn’t make me an expert in things old and moldy. Even so, I could tell the box had been buried a long time.

I could also see where it came from-there was a hole right next to Jefferson Lamar’s headstone.

Automatically, my interest level ratcheted up a notch. Reggie and Delmar’s beef was small potatoes compared with the too-obvious fact that the box buried near Lamar’s grave might have something to do with him-and with his claim that he’d been framed for a murder he didn’t commit. I may have been taking my life in my own hands, but hey, I had a job to do.

And I wasn’t talking about my job at the cemetery.

With Reggie and Delmar still busy going at it, I made my move. I darted forward, dodged the next punch Reggie threw, and ripped the box out of Delmar’s hands.

“Hey!” Delmar was small and wiry. He was on his feet in an instant, his fists on his hips, his chin stuck out. He was so intent on glaring at me, I wondered if he even realized Reggie had hopped up, too. He was standing at Delmar’s side with the same defiant look in his eyes.

“What the hell you think you’re doing?” Delmar demanded.

“Keeping you from being sent to jail. And you, too.” I turned what I hoped was a fierce look on Reggie. “Somebody finds out you’ve been fighting-”

“Ain’t nobody gonna find out,” Reggie spat. “Not unless you tell ’em.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing that.” It was the truth, so it wasn’t like I was giving in to Reggie’s threat or anything. When he spun away and stalked over to the fence and left a good bit of distance between himself and Delmar, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the first I realized that Sammi was still down on the ground. I offered her a hand along with an apologetic smile.

She got to her feet without my help, but not before she tossed me a snappy, “Piss off.”

“Fine.” I backed off and went to stand where I could keep an eye on the entire team. Not that I’m paranoid or anything. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on around here?”

“That idiot took what don’t belong to him,” Reggie sneered.

“Got as much right to that thing as he does,” Delmar added, pointing to the box.

I could see I was getting nowhere. I looked to Absalom for help.

He shrugged. “Don’t like stickin’ my nose in other people’s business,” he said. “It ain’t polite.”

“But it is your business. It’s all of our business. That TV crew is going to come over here and-”

“Who cares what that man-woman thinks of us?” Sammi brushed off the seat of her red shorts. Checking me out, her expression soured. “Who cares what you think? You’re a spoiled little rich girl. You got no idea what real life is like.”

“You think?” Yeah, I was tempted to lay it all on the line: the stuff about my dad and the once-upon-a-time Martin money. The bit about the fiancé who dumped me rather than be associated with my shame. I was even willing to go for broke and mention the ghosts.

I would have done it, too, if I thought it would get me anywhere. But hey, I know a losing cause when I see one. And this one took the cake. Rather than mention that my real life was no doubt more complicated than Sammi could ever imagine-and sound like I was looking for sympathy-I glanced from the box in my hands to the hole near Lamar’s grave.

Automatically, I looked around for Lamar, too, but he was MIA, and didn’t it figure. That’s the thing with ghosts, see. When I want them to leave me alone, they’re all about help me, help me. And when I need some ectoplasmic assistance? Well, that’s when they tend to go wherever it is they go when they’re not bugging me.

With no help coming from the disembodied, I concentrated on the living.

“How’d you find the box?” I asked Delmar.

“He didn’t find it.” Reggie marched over. I swear, there was steam coming out of his ears. “I found it.”

“I saw it first.” Delmar plunked down on a handy headstone. “We was digging around a little bit. And I saw the corner of that box there.”

“I saw it,” Reggie insisted. “I saw it first.”

“Whatever!” I gave his comment all the attention it deserved before I turned back to Delmar.

“I saw it first, and I got it out of that hole,” the kid told me. “What’s that saying about possession being nine-tenths of the law?”

Reggie had no response. Then again, I don’t think Reggie understood the law. Or fractions for that matter. He grunted. “If there’s something valuable in that box-”

“If there is, it’s mine,” Delmar said. His jaw was rigid.

“Not a chance!” Reggie closed in on him. “If you think you can-”

“Hold on!” I stepped between them. “The box doesn’t belong to either one of you. It doesn’t belong to me, either. If it was buried at this grave, then it belongs to this man.” I looked down, as if I had to check the headstone to know who was buried there. “Jefferson Lamar. It belongs to Jefferson Lamar. Or to his family.”

Delmar wasn’t convinced. “Ain’t no dead man needs anything valuable.”

“Maybe there’s nothing valuable in it,” I told them. “Maybe it’s just a nasty old box. Did you ever think of that?”

Delmar hadn’t. Neither had Reggie. I could tell because, suddenly, they were all about keeping their mouths shut.

I saw my opportunity and took it. I hadn’t thought to bring gloves. Too bad. The wooden box was mushy. One corner of it was splintered, too, probably less from time and weather than from where Delmar and Reggie had knocked into it with their shovels. It had a small metal lock on the front of it, but since one side of the box was completely rotted away, opening it wouldn’t be a problem-if I had the nerve to pick away the moldering wood and stick my hand into a box that had been buried underground.

I held my breath, gritted my teeth, and got to work.

Delmar and Reggie stepped closer. So did Absalom and Sammi. Crazy Jake took pictures.

I hoped when he developed them, I wouldn’t look as disgusted as I felt sticking my fingers inside that box.