“I know. She looks so frail and innocent.”
“You befriended the birders.” His mock horror flopped.
“Shut up.” I took my coffee and headed for the bathroom. “She had opportunity and the ability. I don’t know her motive, but that’s why I’m going to see her again today.”
“Good thing you’re going today.” Adrian’s voice boomed on the other side of my bathroom door. “My contact at the hospital says she’s packing up. Someone revealed her malfeasance and got her fired. You want me to come with?”
“No.”
“But I don’t have anything else to do today and I’m your day shift.”
I yanked the door open. “If I need anything, I’ll call you first. Deal?”
He leaned against the wall outside the door and crossed his arms over his chest like an incredibly well-developed child.
“I mean it, Adrian. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” I shut the door and went to work on my face, hoping all the hours watching YouTube tutorials in college weren’t wasted. Either I was a fast healer or Mom’s little ice mask was truly magical because I looked all right. Much better than I expected. I drew on a pair of eyebrows and was good-to-go.
Before he let me climb behind the wheel of the Pony cart, Adrian made me promise ten more times to call him first if I needed anything. I drove to the hospital reviewing what I knew. A woman had fought with Mr. Trent, and he died. She may or may not have killed him. A woman had carried containers onto a boat. The town pathologist had had access to at least some of the bodies washing ashore. She admitted being on the rig with Mr. Trent but didn’t say they fought. The florist made daily trips to the hospital. The florist also died.
After my last near-death experience in the hospital lot, I skipped waiting for a parking spot and opted for curbside parking across the street. I passed a handful of people on cell phones outside the Emergency Room entrance and slid into the elevator a moment later. Jennie’s floor was quiet compared to the others. A stack of file boxes leaned precariously outside her open office door. Inside, she checked drawers and cabinets while security kept a watchful eye. I recognized him as a friend of my dad’s.
“Hi, Jennie.” I sauntered through the door, smiling at hospital security.
He tipped his hat, but didn’t return the smile.
“You.” She hacked an ugly noise at me.
“Can we talk privately for a minute?”
She guffawed.
The security ducked out, looking suspiciously relieved.
“I heard you lost your job.”
“Yeah. Right after you came into my life.” Temper raged in her voice, but a tear slid from one eye. “I liked it here.”
“So, why did you lie on your resume?”
She flopped gracelessly into her chair. Her arms splayed over the rests. “It’s a long story.” Weren’t they all?
“I heard about the trouble at your last job, but why not get a similar job at a different hospital on the mainland? Why lie and move out here?” What are you hiding? I concentrated on her answer, ready to dissect every word for hidden meanings.
“I was blacklisted. After I was stupid enough to have an affair with my married boss, I was stupid enough to think he’d stick up for me. Wrong. He denied our relationship to save his marriage and told me I had to understand. He managed to save his job, too,” she huffed. “I guess you really can have it all as long as one of your chromosomes is a Y. Meanwhile, I was made out to be some evil temptress and he was apparently a victim. His wife’s a surgeon and together they made sure no hospital for five hundred miles would hire me as more than a candy striper.”
“So you moved here?” Her story was plausible. Why jeopardize a fresh start at a higher pay grade? The eBay organ-selling thing came back to mind.
“I saw the ad for a pathologist here and figured I had nothing to lose, so I applied. I know as much as any pathologist. I did the cheating pathologist’s job at the last place while he golfed.”
I deflated. I believed her. “They have Mark Mathers under arrest. I don’t think he did the things they’re holding him on. Do you have any idea who’d cut people up? Why would anyone do that?”
“What about the grave diggers?” Her voice was flat. Clearly she didn’t care about my investigation. “I hear plots are going at a premium. It might be good for business if the cemeteries could reuse some old spots or double up somehow. They could put fresh markers on old graves.”
My toe tapped. “That’s not a half-bad theory.”
She hoisted a box onto one hip. “I really don’t care. I have to go find a new job.”
I passed hospital security in the hallway and caught the next elevator back to the lobby. A new set of questions percolated in my brain. Mark also said plots cost a fortune. Grave diggers. I knocked the heel of my hand into my forehead. Grave diggers.
I cut through yards and down sidewalks to the Chincoteague cemetery. Was grave digging a nine-to-five job or did they only work after dark, like on Scooby-Doo? I called Adrian to find out.
“Grave diggers.” I gassed the little cart over bumpy terrain behind the field house.
“Evil children.”
“What?”
“Are we playing what-freaks-me-out?” Adrian sounded excited. His days were more pathetic than mine.
“No. Grave diggers could intercept the bodies. People die on the island. The pathologist files the paperwork. They have a funeral. After that who really checks? I mean, think about it. Grave diggers can dig them up, for some kooky reason. Their job title says they dig graves. Why not?”
I hadn’t worked out all the kinks, but I had questions.
“Are you on your way home?”
“No, I’m in the cemetery parking lot.”
“Of course you are. Can I stay on speaker and listen?”
I hung up on him.
Jackpot. A pair of men in coveralls stood beside a Bobcat among the graves. I parked the Pony cart and hustled over, hopped up on curiosity. Victory was in reach. Sebastian would see how useful I was and worship me.
Okay, the last part was my adrenaline talking.
“Hi!” I waved wildly as I approached them. “Hello. Hi. I’m Patience Price. Can I ask you a few questions?”
The men looked at one another after each gave me a long once over.
“Is she for real?” The man whose coverall patch read “Mack” looked at his shorter counterpart.
“I don’t know, man. Ask her.” Shorty motioned to me.
“Are you for real?” Mack asked.
“Yes. I’m for real. I want to know if you ever use graves twice?”
They exchanged another look. Shorty raised and lowered his shoulders in an exaggerated motion.
“We don’t understand.” Mack was apparently the spokesperson here.
“I know it’s expensive to buy plots here because there aren’t many left. I wondered if you’d ever known someone to dig up a grave to make room for a new one.” I shook my head. No. The bodies were fresh. Adrian said the pieces belonged to people who died in the last couple months, not a hundred years ago.
I scanned the grassy knoll and immediately regretted it. The air smelled of fresh dirt. Hundreds of headstones lined the grass in every direction as far as I could see. I suppressed the urge to run and focused my attention on Mack and Shorty.
“I’m not sure how it works,” I admitted. “Maybe someone only pretended to bury a new body but really didn’t. Not you guys, of course.” Shoot, how would Jennie’s theory work?
“Nah.”
“Wait. Do you get a list of names? Do you know who you’re digging a grave for? What if I said a few names? Would you know if you buried them in the past few months?” I bounced on my toes, energ
y flowing through me in excess. Something else fell into place inside my head.
Another exaggerated shoulder shrug from Shorty.
I rattled off the names I remembered. Ones we knew died at Chincoteague Community Hospital. “They died not long ago. Did you bury them here?”
“Nah.”
“Are you sure?” I looked from Shorty to Mack. “Are you positive? None of them?” Shocker. They washed ashore in pieces. I stopped bouncing. My brain scrambled for the right questions. I had everything I needed to make sense of all this craziness. I just couldn’t get the order right.
“They weren’t on our list. Only so many people die here, ya know. The names ain’t hard to remember.”
“What happens to the bodies if they don’t get buried?” The last place they were documented was at the hospital. I rubbed my forehead.
“Some folks get cremated,” Shorty said.
“Ha!” I barked.
The men jumped.
I took off at a clip for my golf cart. I’d focused on the wrong woman. Mark said they never used the crematorium. Too expensive to keep up. I raced past a black limo in the lot and dove behind the wheel of my cart. Helena Flick was struggling to keep her husband’s legacy afloat. She complained about hard financial times for the business. She’d spent thirty years assisting her husband, or at least observing, right? It had to make her angry seeing it fall apart. Flick’s Funeral Home could save a lot of money if they kept the fees for cremation and tossed the bodies instead of burning them.
I twisted the key to On and jammed the pedal. Nothing happened.
Helena slid out of the driver’s door on the limo and into the passenger seat beside me. She pressed the barrel of an ancient-looking gun to my ribs.
“I think we need to talk.” She ran her milky gaze over me. “What are you doing out here, Patience?” Keeping both eyes on me, she fished something out of her bag with her free hand.
My stomach dropped. “What’s that?”
She lifted a syringe in the air between us. Like the gun wasn’t enough to keep my attention. I shoved off the steering wheel. If I couldn’t outrun an old lady, I had worse problems than whatever was in her syringe.
“No you don’t.” She jammed the needle into my bottom as I planted my feet on the ground. I stumbled back to the cart.
“Owie!”
She shoved the thing into her bag and pressed the gun against my back. “How about you turn around and drive? I bet you have questions.”
I did have questions. What the hell was in that syringe? I leaned against the seat and rubbed my hip.
Mrs. Flick jumped out of the cart, keeping the gun on me. My vision blurred. My brain felt hairy. She lifted the tiny hood of my golf cart, then dropped it.
“All right, then. Move it.” She slid beside me on the seat.
“I can’t drive. You drugged me. I’m under the influence.” I slid my hand into one pocket, imagining the screen display and hoping to alert Adrian. I promised him I’d call if I needed help.
“Get your hand out of your pocket. Give me your phone.”
“What phone?” I ran my fingers over the smooth screen. I couldn’t dial anyone without looking at the phone. My heart raced and sounds echoed around my head. Honking gulls and bleating tug boats droned in the distance, confusing me. Had my head swollen? Something was very wrong.
A bony arm wound around my middle and yanked the phone free. “I’ll keep that safe for you, so you can drive. Texting and driving is illegal too, you know.”
“I’m too sick.” I peeked at Mrs. Flick and she blurred. The world tipped a little and heat rose up my neck. I pressed my eyes shut and pried them open to clear the view. It didn’t help. Fatigue overcame me. My limbs were heavy or missing. I couldn’t feel them. I was trapped inside my head.
Icy fingers pried the key from my grip and jammed it in the ignition. “Drive.”
My foot pressed the accelerator under no command of my brain, which idled and squirmed uselessly in my head. Mrs. Flick guided the cart over grassy paths, avoiding town and arrived on the outskirts of the National Forrest. I squinted against the blinding light.
“Wave.” She jammed the gun into my side and my hand rose on command.
The lever on the guard gate opened before we reached the guardhouse. My purple golf cart announced our arrival. I turned my head as we motored past the guard. Didn’t he see the gun? Did I look as messed up as I felt?
“Help.” I breathed the word, unsure if the syllable made it off my tongue.
“He didn’t hear you,” she scoffed. “He didn’t even look. All he cares about is Sudoku and black coffee.”
The skin on my face tingled with fatigue. I couldn’t remember why I was riding with Mrs. Flick. “I’m so tired. I think I should go home.”
“You can lay down in a minute. I’ve got the perfect place in mind.”
The cart halted and my head fell forward.
“Up now. No sleeping yet. You don’t expect me to carry you, do you?” Something shoved my arm.
I stood on weak legs and pried exhausted eyes open again and again.
“This way.” She swung my arm over her shoulders and pulled me along beside her. Together we moved through grass and sand, toward the ocean.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My brain swam. Cold waves lapped over me and the scent of fish and brine burned my nose and throat. A creepy echo filtered through the water around me. I tossed and turned beneath the sea, looking for air, but I was too deep. Every direction was as dark as the last. This was wrong. Fuzzy thoughts clouded my dream. I wouldn’t drown. The ocean was my paradise. I’d never die there. I willed my eyelids apart.
I blinked in long steady motions, begging my eyes for cooperation. Shades of coral light filtered in through the open mouth of a cave. Gulls squawked in the distant, waning sun. The chill of dampness sent goose bumps over my skin. I squinted, listened and felt with uncooperative fingertips. Everything was wrong. Why was I in the ocean? My brain teetered between needing sleep and wanting answers.
Focus. My brain idled in quicksand. One detail at a time. I concentrated on the sounds and smells. I was in the ocean. My palms lay over cool wet rocks. Somehow I was in the rock caves. How fitting. One time I wished the birders would follow birds over here and fall in. Now I’d fallen in. Birders. Where were they when I needed a witness or a life flight? A creepy tune floated in the air. My muscles itched to sit up but didn’t cooperate.
My head rolled against the stone platform. Someone hummed nearby. “Help.” My throat was desert dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Drugs sucked. “Help.” A little squeak worked its way between my lips.
“Oh, you look awful, dear.” A woman’s voice ricocheted off the inside of my head. “I fell. I think my back’s broken.” My arms and legs didn’t move. They were heavy rocks tied to my torso.
“Shh. There, there.” A little woman in yellow scrubs came into view. Her hair and half her face were covered in what looked like surgeon gear. “I guess I didn’t give you enough. I didn’t want to kill you before I got you here. Phooey.” She walked away.
“Enough what?” Did the little doctor say she wanted to kill me? I did a mental inventory, unsure if the woman was a dream or reality.
“This, dear.” The woman returned with a syringe. Oh, crap! Red flags shot through my mind. Panic. Freak out. Run away. My body did none of these things.
“I haven’t worked on the living in so long,” she said. “I guess I brought the wrong dose. If I give you any of this, I definitely won’t have enough for him. Oh, bother.”
Sunlight filtered down through a hole in the cave’s roof where explorers climbed in and out from the grass above. An old-fashioned handgun lay on a chunk of rock protruding from the wall.
The icy rock against my ba
ck alerted me to problem number two. I was missing a few essentials, like pants.
“Where are my clothes?”
She cocked her head to the side and I recognized the eyes. Helena Flick.
“You drugged me.”
A close second to my near nudity was my incapacity. Good news: my back wasn’t broken. Bad news: my wrists and ankles were tied together.
“I gave you some Rohypnol. You don’t need clothes. I’m staging a tryst.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if she was explaining the purpose of shoes.
A what? Back the train up. Did she say a second dose for him? A nudie tryst?
Helena tugged the surgical mask under her chin. “I didn’t want to kill you, but you wouldn’t listen. I sent you warnings. I framed your parents to encourage you to drop your cause and pick up theirs.”
“Yep.” Whatever you say, lady. My fingers worked at the poorly done knots. Old age and arthritis probably limited her dexterity, especially in a cold, wet rock cave
“Your parents are such nice people. I hated them sitting in jail like that. I suppose this is worse. Losing their only child is rough, but you left me no choice.”
The crazy sheriff had told me the same thing when he tried to kill me. I planned to take that personally when I had time to think about it, but this situation was going to Craptown fast.
She smiled. “I’ll offer them a discount on your memorial services.”
Oh, hell no.
“I’m losing the funeral home, you know. It’s in foreclosure. We’re the only funeral home on the island. You’d think that would guarantee business, but it didn’t. Not when there’s no place to bury people. The ones who still come to us want to be cremated. Cremation’s expensive. The crematorium hasn’t worked right in years. I can’t afford to run it, let alone get it fixed. Families signed contracts with my Harold decades ago, bless his soul. I couldn’t break their contracts, so I got creative.”
“Uh-huh.” Drugged or not, I could take her if I got loose.
“I saved a ton of money by not doing anything to the new bodies. We just tossed them in the freezer and had a funeral with an urn. Cheap. I used the money I saved to pay my bills. It was a good plan until we had a full freezer. Then things got complicated, but the ocean’s everywhere. Problem solved. When you caught those guys dumping big barrels of stuff out there this summer, I got an idea.” She patted my shoulder. “I figured, if they could haul big barrels and get away with it for a while, I could tote those folks in little coolers and get away with it forever.”
Murder Comes Ashore Page 23