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ground.”
    Pascal walked over to a nearby tabletop for closer inspection.
    â€œSome people think that the horizontal stones were used before we had public cemeteries. You would bury a family member in a field, then place a large stone on top to keep the animals away,” Creelman explained. “They were called wolf stones.”
    I looked around again. There were fewer of those than of the door-shaped grave markers, and they all had more than one name on them, just like Creelman said.
    â€œPop quiz,” Creelman announced. “Who is entombed inside this chest?”
    He just told us that no one was, that everyone was buried below in the family vault, but I knew Pascal would steer us in the wrong direction.
    Sure enough, Pascal was about to read the names out loud when I cut in.
    â€œNo one,” I answered boldly. “They’re buried below.”
    Creelman nodded grudgingly, perhaps annoyed that I had rescued Pascal from his latest trap.
    â€œLastly, the obelisks.” Creelman pointed to the tall pointy columns in the distance. “These were popular in the nineteenth century, when people became fascinated with ancient pharaohs discovered in tombs in Egypt.”
    It looked to me as if the obelisks were for those who liked to show off their wealth like the pharaohs did.
    â€œOkay, the last part of today’s lesson is how to read a map,” Creelman said.
    On cue, Wooster advanced with his clipboards and handed one to each of us. The clipboards had a map and a second sheet of paper with a list of numbers and blanks to fill out.
    â€œWhen you record information about the gravestone you are working on, you need to be sure you know where it is located on the map. There can be no mistakes,” Creelman warned, wagging his finger at us.
    I studied my map. It marked the boundaries of the cemetery and where the iron gate was located. It showed all the stone walls and paths and major groves of trees. Some sections of the map were marked with area names: Garden of Angels, Garden of Memories, Children’s Garden, Serenity Lookout, Veterans’ Hill and Potter’s Meadow. There was a compass drawn in the corner, pointing which way was north. And the map was filled with clusters of tiny boxes, each box numbered. Every once in a while, there was a box with a pointy top marking an obelisk.
    â€œTurn to the second page,” Creelman ordered. It was the sheet filled with numbers and blanks beside them. “You will spend the rest of the afternoon locating the grave marker for each number. When you find the grave marker, write down the name of the person buried, the year they died, the type of stone and the style of grave marker. Got it?”
    Pascal rotated his map around and around, bending his head this way and that. “Which way do I point this map?” he finally asked.
    â€œHere are two facts you can count on,” Creelman said. “Moss always grows on the north side of trees, and gravestones always face west.”
    â€œAlways?” Pascal repeated in awe.
    Creelman heaved a sigh.
    â€œNo. But they mostly face west, and bodies are laid behind the stones, with their heads to the west and their feet to the east. Ministers and priests like to be buried the opposite way, to face their flock.”
    â€œFlock? As in birds?” Pascal asked, turning to me.
    I decided to pull a Creelman and ignore Pascal by asking my own question.
    â€œI understand why ministers and priests would want to face members of their church, but why do church members want to face east?” I asked.
    â€œWhat rises in the east?” Creelman asked, waving his hand toward the eastern part of the cemetery.
    From where I stood, I thought the obvious answer was “ghosts,” but I knew enough not to say that out loud.
    â€œHere’s a hint. It’s the only star in our galaxy,” Creelman added.
    â€œOh,” I said with relief, “the sun!”
    â€œCorrect,”