by M. Z. Kelly
“What you’re seeing is state-of-the-art cryogenics,” Harlee Ryland said. “My grandfather was perfectly preserved at the time of his death. It’s our belief that in the next twenty years, medical science will advance to the point of allowing his body to be revived.” She looked at Woody, then at me. “Resurrection and rebirth is a central tenet of the Tauist philosophy.”
“If your grandfather is revived,” I said, “it means you would lose everything you’ve inherited.”
Her stony countenance regarded me. “Material possessions mean little to me, Detective. I have only one thing that motivates me.”
“What’s that?”
She walked over until she was inches from my face. “Retribution.”
***
“The fact that Harlee Ryland now owns everything her grandfather had complicates everything,” Lieutenant Edna said. “The DA’s office says the warrant needs to be reissued before we can go back to the estate and search.”
It was early afternoon. We’d all gathered in the lieutenant’s office after leaving the estate. In addition to those of us who had executed the search warrant, our crime analysts, Selfie Rogers and Molly Wingate, had joined us in the high tech office that we referred to as the bat cave.
“Any further search is a waste of time now,” Woody said. “Whatever evidence was there has been destroyed.
“The brass should have stayed out of this,” Harry said. He looked at me. “Sorry, but I don’t see any way forward on this.”
I agreed with him. “Harlee Ryland told me that she and Noah Fraser were engaged before his death. She also said her sole purpose now is retribution.”
Selfie tugged at one of several piercings in her ear. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Kate isn’t safe,” Leo said, looking at Edna. “My guess is that Ryland’s going to take up where her grandfather, Collin Russell, and Noah Fraser left off.”
Woody chimed in. “If you ask me, she’s also behind Russell’s death. With both her grandfather and Russell out of the way, she permanently closed the door to anyone talking about their past.”
“What do we know about Harlee Ryland?” Harry asked Selfie and Molly.
“I’ve got the workup,” Molly said.
Our other crime analyst was about ten years older than her counterpart, in her mid-thirties. She was the divorced mother of two children. Molly and I had become good friends over the past couple years, bonding because we’d both had problematic past relationships.
“Harlee Driscoll Ryland is the daughter of Harlan Ryland’s only child, Lane Karl Ryland, who died of a heart attack about a decade ago,” Molly said. “She’s thirty-six, divorced, no children. Ryland attended school in Europe before returning to the states about a decade ago. She’s been involved in the Tauist Society since that time, holding several key positions, including Chief Financial Officer. From what I’ve been able to pull together, she’s been living at her grandfather’s estate for the past couple of years.”
Leo spoke up. “I have to admit, I’m about as far from an expert on the Tauists as you can get, but this issue of a death chamber is a new one on me. Is this something common to what all the Tauists believe in?”
Harry answered, after telling us that he’d done some extensive research on the religion. “The stasis chamber is something their wealthy adherents all have in common. They believe that a day of reckoning is approaching for mankind, but their own deaths will be a temporary condition. The chamber is designed to perfectly preserve the body until science advances to the point of, for lack of a better word, resurrecting it.”
After we spent a few minutes discussing the Tauists’ strange beliefs, Edna asked, “Does Harlee Ryland have any siblings?”
“She has a brother, Mitch Ryland,” Molly said. “As far as we know, he doesn’t have any involvement in the Tauist Society. He lives in Hawaii and runs a charter fishing boat.”
“Maybe he’s worth talking to about the family situation,” Edna told Woody and Harry. He looked back at Molly. “Anything else?”
Molly took a breath, glanced at me, then told the lieutenant, “Just that Harlee Ryland is an expert marksman. Her hobby is big game hunting.”
The room was silent for a moment before the lieutenant looked at me and said, “Chief Dunbar got a call from John Greer yesterday. There’s something about to break on your sister’s situation. You’ve been authorized to work with the feds. It will also get you out of harm’s way, at least temporarily.”
Greer was the head of the FBI taskforce in charge of finding my sister. While I desperately wanted to see Lindsay safe, I was conflicted about what the lieutenant had said. Working with the feds would mean I’d be pulled off the Slayer case. It also meant that I wouldn’t be privy to the details of any investigation into Harlee Ryland.
“When do I leave?” I asked Edna.
“First thing in the morning.”
NINE
I left the station early, after confirming with Joe Dawson they were planning to take down the Swarm and extract Lindsay tomorrow night. The FBI was sending a plane in the morning to fly me to Nashville, where they believed the group was now operating.
I grabbed a bite to eat, then made the short drive from the station to the Starlight Mobile Home Park. A few months back I’d moved into the park, with Natalie and Mo renting a home next door to mine. The vintage park was considered a historical landmark, having been developed during the middle of the last century. The development was sandwiched between a movie studio and a cemetery. The running joke was that when God called the elderly residents to a much bigger home, they first made a stop at the cemetery next door.
We’d had a rough start after moving into the park because the Starlight residents’ council had taken exception to our ages and the fact that Natalie had stirred up some of the older male residents by sunbathing in a skimpy bikini. We’d won a recent eviction hearing, thanks to a minor miracle pulled off by our youthful attorney, Hermes Krump, who Nana had recently taken under her wing. We were still adjusting to our new living arrangements, the main advantage being that the rent was cheap.
After packing my belongings for tomorrow’s trip, I went next door to ask Natalie and Mo if they could watch Bernie for the next few days. As soon as I walked into their home, I thought about turning around and leaving. Nana was sitting at their kitchen table, sipping the world’s biggest margarita.
“You’re just in time,” Natalie said. “Nana’s in a state of deep depression. If Maggie’s Madness doesn’t pull her out of it, she gonna need the three of us to shave our heads, put on fake moustaches, and act like we’re Dr. Phil clones.”
“Maggie’s Madness?” I said, looking over at Nana, who had her oversized dentures clamped down on her giant margarita glass before tipping it up. Maybe it was a form of self-induced water boarding.
“It’s baby sis’s latest creation,” Mo said, while working a comb on the world’s biggest pile of pink wig hair. “It’s guaranteed to either kill you or cure your depression.”
“I’ll whip you up one in a jiffy,” Natalie said to me.
“No, thanks. I’ve got to be up early to catch a plane to Nashville. Do you think you two could watch Bernie for a few days?”
Before they could answer, Nana started moaning and saying something about curses.
“We’d better go over and see what we can do,” Natalie said, regarding her. She looked back at us. “We’d also better keep any sharp objects away from her.”
We took seats at the table, where Mo said to Nana, “You want us to call a priest? You look like you’re in need of last rites.”
Natalie agreed. “Maybe Mo and me should go shoppin’, pick you out a burial dress.”
My friends have never been big on tact. Their comments caused Nana to moan and dive in for another gulp of her giant drink. She then said to us, “It’s the curse.”
We all looked at one another.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“That retribution
curse you had that gypsy woman put on Boris’s mother had a boomerang effect. It not only deformed your nose, it’s turning me into a witch.”
“I don’t think what’s happening to you has anything to do with a curse,” Natalie said. “And Kate’s always had nose issues.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.
Mo whispered, “She’s just trying to humor her.” She looked at Nana. “Everybody knows you’ve always had witch propensities.”
Nana sighed. “I know I’ve been a little difficult at times, but this is different.” She looked at me. “The way I feel, you’d think I had your miserable life.”
A little difficult?
“Thanks for that,” I said. “What’s going on with you?”
“It’s Boris. He’s moving the rest of his stuff into the house this weekend, and we’ll be living together. I’m worried he’s going to cramp my style.”
“You’re probably just afraid there won’t be enough room for the gigolos,” Mo said, knowing that Nana had a group of male followers she called her posse.
Nana shook her head. “They’re living in the pool house. I’m thinking of getting rid of them anyway. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.” She looked at me. “Just like that idiot lawyer of yours.”
I couldn’t argue with what she’d said. Hermes Krump was a spineless mama’s boy who got lucky winning our eviction hearing. My friends and I also had our suspicions that he and Nana and recently become involved.
Natalie took a giant gulp of her own Maggie, then said to Nana, “It’s probably a good thing all your friends are movin’ out. People were startin’ to call you a slutapotamus.”
Nana pushed her dentures halfway out of her mouth. “What’s that?”
“You don’t wanna know,” Mo said. “What you gonna do ‘bout Boris?”
It was Nana’s turn for another gulp. She came up for air, then said, “I don’t know.”
Natalie looked at Mo. “I think we need to take things into our own hands.”
Mo nodded her pink head. “It’s time for the SharkMamas.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
Natalie clapped her hands. “Mo and me got this great idea to do makeovers on hopeless losers.” She looked at Nana. “Give us twenty-four hours with Boris, and we guarantee you won’t recognize him.”
Nana drank out of her giant glass like Bernie slurping up water. She surfaced. “You ever seen Boris? He looks like he sleeps in a box and whoever put him together got the body parts all mixed up.”
“It’s like lemons and lemonade,” Natalie said. “When life gives you monsters, you do the Monster Mash.”
“I know Boris looks like a rotting corpse,” Mo said, “but baby sis and me are miracle workers.” She looked at me. “We even got us some of that makeup Peter Roth uses.”
Peter Roth was a lawyer and part-time mortician, not to mention a pervert. We had all met him on Catalina Island while on vacation.
I told Nana, “I’m sure the makeup he uses on dead bodies will work wonders on Boris.”
“What do you think, Nana?” Natalie asked. “Mo and me can come by your place this week and do a makeover ambush on Boris.”
“The SharkMamas will lay a can of whoop-ass on him ‘til he looks like Rob Lowe,” Natalie agreed.
Nana perked up. “Rob Lowe. Really?”
“We guarantee it,” Natalie said.
Nana rose, wobbled, and used her phone to call her driver. She then said to my friends, “I’m going home and evicting the gigolos and Krump. I’ve always had a thing for Rob Lowe.” She was halfway to the door when she looked back at me. “You ever thought about letting the SharkMamas work on you?”
Before I could come up with a response, she was gone. I said to Natalie and Mo, “Do you guys think I need a makeover?”
Natalie’s gaze wandered over to Mo. She lifted her thick brows, but didn’t answer. Mo glanced at me, then lowered her eyes.
“Alright, tell me the truth,” I demanded. “Do I need a makeover or not?”
Natalie finally answered. “Maybe just a touchup.”
“A touchup. What exactly does that mean?”
“We could do something with your hair and makeup, only if you want,” Mo said.
I thought about their makeup being used on corpses and Mo’s wig addiction. I decided I’d be better off making an appointment at my brother’s hair salon.
“I’ll let you know,” I said.
“How did things go with the search today?” Natalie asked, after there was a lengthy pause in the conversation.
“The word on the streets is those Tauist nuts got Harlan Ryland’s body in some kinda refrigerator,” Mo said.
“He’s in a cryogenic chamber,” I said. “According to his granddaughter, they’re going to try and revive him someday, when medical science advances.”
“Wonder what that would be like,” Natalie said. “Just when you get all comfy in heaven with a big bowl of popcorn, the world’s biggest box of chocolates, and a George Clooney lookalike, Saint Peter says the pearly gates just swung back open and you gotta leave.”
“All I know is that if I had to come back and hang with Harlee Ryland, it would be about as close to hell as you can get,” Mo said.
“How do you know about her?” I asked.
Mo regarded me with one eye and shook her pink head. “You really gotta ask?”
“It’s just that the details of our search were supposed to remain confidential.”
“Just like Harlee tellin’ you that her sole purpose is now retribution.”
I exhaled. “I’m not even going to ask who you’re talking to. What do you know about her?”
“Harlee’s a real ball buster, worse than her granddaddy. You need to watch yourself ‘round her.” She regarded me for a moment, then asked, “Anything new on Pearl’s whereabouts?”
“Nothing. It’s like he’s disappeared into thin air.”
“I’m gonna ask around on the streets ‘bout him and also ‘bout Harlee’s intentions.”
Natalie added, “Since she was hookin’ up with your boyfriend, and Pearl shot him, she’s probably got it in for you. Not to mention the fact that you were pokin’ your big nose into her granddaddy’s past.”
I ignored her comment about my nose and said, “I don’t know that Pearl shot Noah, but I agree, there’s no love lost between me and Harlee Ryland.” I checked the time on my phone. “I’d better get going. I have an early plane tomorrow.”
“You really think the feds got a lead on where Lindsay is?” Mo asked, following me and Bernie to the door.
“Same source?” I said, thinking about what she’d told me about today’s search.
She shrugged, didn’t answer.
“All I know is that Joe Dawson thinks Lindsay’s been working on our side, gathering information on the leaders of the Swarm. I just hope I can bring her home safe and sound.”
After we all exchanged hugs at the door, Natalie said, “When you get back from Nashville, I’m gonna need your help with payin’ back Izzy for his cheatin’.”
“What’s the latest?”
“I can’t give you all the details, yet, but I’m pretty sure I know who he’s been hookin’ up with.”
“Baby sis wants to put the big hurt on both of ‘em,” Mo said.
I looked at them, then said, “You know I’ll help in any way I can, but I have a feeling you don’t need my help. Izzy and his girlfriend are no match for the SharkMamas.”
TEN
I got up at three-thirty the next morning to make my flight. I used the key my friends had given me and took Bernie next door to spend the next few days with them. I then made the forty-five-minute drive to the small airport in Van Nuys the FBI used. My plane was deserted, except for the pilot and a steward, which gave me time to think about the events of the past few weeks.
I spent part of the flight remembering my near-death experience and the voice I now recalled hearing. The disembodied
voice came back to me, repeating in my mind over and over.
You must choose between love and fear.
I now had no doubt what the message meant. My former partner Ted Grady’s theory about the world being divided between fear and love came back to me. The choices we make determine how we respond to the world. When we choose fear, we allow darkness and evil to enter our lives. Love, on the other hand, is the decision to choose compassion and understanding, even when there is loss.
Despite what Ted knew in his heart, he’d ultimately given into fear. He had taken his own life after ending the life of a man who had shown no remorse for shooting and killing his daughter. It was a heartbreaking end to a good man, and I didn’t know if I’d ever really gotten over losing him.
Even though the message I’d heard was similar to what Ted had said, I was sure that it wasn’t my former partner speaking to me. There was a remote possibility that the voice was that of my deceased father. My love-dad had come to me—at least I’d thought he’d come to me—after Ted’s death, consoling me and reaffirming what Ted had told me. My father had also reiterated an earlier message he’d given to me, telling me that, in life, we are the dance, not the dancer. He’d meant that we can’t control much of what happens to us because life is a dance that’s far bigger than our individual lives.
My father had also told me that music forms the dance, but it’s the silence between the notes that gives birth to the sound. There are times when we have to listen to the silence before we can hear the music. His message was that, in time, our feelings of grief and loss begin to fade and a gift is born into the world. He’d said that gift is the only thing that really exists. It’s called love.
The last few weeks had left me shattered, inconsolable with grief over the loss of Buck McCade. I’d felt so empty that I had planned to quit the job I love. But after my near-death experience, all that had changed. While I knew I still had more grieving ahead of me, I was ready to move on. As my plane touched down in Nashville, I was determined to honor the message I’d been given. I would choose love over fear, and the first part of that choice involved bringing my sister home.