The few people at Kyle's graveside quickly dispersed.
Beanie set to work filling the grave. It looked like a thundercloud was brewing over the western ridge. Beanie hated to fill a grave after a rain. The dirt was full of clods and heavy. He liked to lay his people to rest with a cottony dusting of dry dirt over them. It just seemed more respectful.
Beanie had rolled up his sleeves. It was hot. He was sweating and shoveling as fast as he could.
"Worthless piece 'a trash," a man's voice said.
Beanie stopped and looked around, but he saw no one.
Was it Kyle's ghost, he thought, for one horrifying, sickening second. He was just before throwing down his shovel and heading for Harvey's air-conditioned office.
Then, he saw Hadley's car drive up. She walked up to him.
"Beanie, what is it? You're not having a heat stroke, are you?"
"Naw," Beanie said. "Maybe, I shudda held my breath, like the old ones do. You know, Hadley. They say that you need to hold your breath over a grave so you don't breathe in the dead person's spirit. But I'm okay, really. I just got startled. That's all."
"Startled? By what?"
"I thought I heard Kyle's ghost talkin' to me," Beanie said.
"What did he say, Beanie?"
"It sounded like 'worthless piece 'a trash,'" said Beanie.
"That wasn't Kyle's ghost," Hadley said.
"Are you sure?" asked Beanie.
"Yeah. Kyle Winthrop always had an over-blown sense of himself. He thought he was God's gift and the ground he walked on was sacred."
"I wonder who said that then," Beanie said.
"Me, too. You sure you didn't see anyone?"
"No, Hadley. But the wind carries things, sometimes."
"Yes, it does, Beanie. Yes, it does."