Night of the Loving Dead

by Casey Daniels

  And I’d been looking at Dan.

  Surprised, I stopped in my tracks and glanced from Mr. Homeless to Dan and back again.

  By the time I did, Homeless Guy was gone.

  Peculiar, yes? But I didn’t find it nearly as curious as the fact that Dan and Doctor Gerard were already being seated by the time I walked into the lobby. While the rest of us were still waiting? I was not a happy camper, and Madeline’s sudden appearance atop the hostess stand didn’t help.

  With her fists on hips that were curvier than mine and must have made it hell to buy jeans that actually fit, she looked down her nose at me, the better to convey her opinion at the same time she found me in the thick of the crowd. “Now what?” she asked. “You’re not just going to let them walk away, are you? Just like that? What kind of detective are you, anyway?”

  “A damned good one.” I’d already snarled back at her before I realized the people standing closest to me would not appreciate odd pronouncements from a woman whose teeth were chattering. “A damned good thing there’s just enough room in here for all of us,” I added quickly, and sent a sparkling smile toward the man standing closest to me. I was glad to see the old magic still worked. He was so busy smiling back, he didn’t look worried about my sanity. He did, however, back up a few paces to give me a better look, so when the door opened again and a stream of people filed in, there was just enough room for all of us.

  “Penelope!” Doris from Detroit pulled me into a hug almost before I had a chance to recognize the people who’d walked in as the folks who’d been on the cemetery tour with me. When she divested herself of the red scarf and the pink mittens and pulled off her hat, I saw that she had a head full of springy curls that were too dark to be natural. “We were so worried about you, honey. What happened? You didn’t get back on the tour bus!”

  “Er . . . I—”

  “We were all set to call the police. I mean, you can just imagine how frightened out of our minds we were. And worried, too. But then somebody...it may have been Myra. You know, the one from Dayton, not the Myra from Albuquerque . . . Myra suggested we call the hotel first and good thing we did. The front desk clerk told us he’d just seen you walk through the lobby and go up to your room. Thank goodness!” Doris pressed one hand to her heart. “I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell Ella that we’d lost her star employee.”

  “That’s good. I—”

  “And it looks like while you were back at the hotel, you took the time to read over the conference program schedule. That’s good work, honey.” She patted my shoulder. “That’s how you knew we were meeting here for dinner. Good thinking, Penelope!”

  “It is nice to see you again.” Grant was right behind Doris, and practically before she was done talking, he stepped forward and pulled off his stocking cap. It was the first I realized he had a comb-over. I stood transfixed, fascinated and appalled all at the same time, and I guess he misunderstood. He stepped closer. “We can sit together at dinner,” he said.

  “We can. We will.” I tried for the sparkling smile again. This time, it fell flat.

  Doris came to my rescue. “We’ve got tables reserved upstairs,” she told me at the same time she tugged at my sleeve to drag me along.

  With no choice, I dutifully followed, wondering the whole time how I’d slip away so that I could go in search of Dan. As it turned out, for the first time in my investigation, which wasn’t much of an investigation at all, my luck changed for the better. Our table overlooked the main floor exactly at the spot where Dan and the doctor were sitting.

  As soon as I caught sight of them, I jockeyed for position near the railing that surrounded the loft area. I guess I couldn’t blame Grant for thinking I was scrambling to sit next to him. That would explain his smile when I sat down and stripped off my wintry outerwear.

  “So, you ordering beer?” The way Grant wiggled his eyebrows when he said it, I got the impression that beer drinking was something he saved for his wilder moments, like cemetery conferences.

  “I’m not much of a beer drinker,” I told him, at the same time a chipper waitress came by. I ordered coffee, and fortunately, there was a pot nearby. She handed me a steaming mug, and I wrapped my hands around it and soaked up the warmth. Of course, the whole time, I kept an eye on Dan.

  Or at least I tried.

  It was pretty hard to do surveillance on anyone or anything when the cemetery crowd kept interrupting.

  “Resurrectionists. Oh!” The aforementioned Myra from Dayton sat on Grant’s right, and in her excitement, she nearly swooned. “I can’t wait to hear your talk, Penelope. The Resurrectionists are part of the reason I got into the cemetery field. I read about them when I was a teenager, and I thought... well, some people would say it was morbid, but I thought the whole thing was absolutely fascinating.”

  I was supposed to reply to this. I took a drink, instead, and pretended I didn’t want to be rude and talk and drink at the same time. Not that it mattered. A round middle-aged man at the other end of the table took up the subject, and my companions were off and running. They drank their beers and ordered pizza. While they did, I watched Dan and Hilton Gerard chat and wished to hell my Gift included bionic hearing. Then I’d know what they were talking about. What I got instead was an earful of cemetery chatter.

  “So, are you finally ready to admit I was right?” Madeline popped up from out of nowhere. She was definitely not responding to Grant’s most recent comment, which as far as I could tell (since I wasn’t really listening) had something to do with the benefits of sod over grass seed at new burial sites. Madeline perched on the railing. “I told you they knew each other.”

  My menu in hand (just in case I needed to duck behind it), I turned slightly in my seat, the better to look down to the floor below. Doctor Gerard had just put down his menu. As if he’d decided not to order, he waved away the waitress and then sat back in his chair, sipping a glass of white wine. Dan sat across from him. He had a dark beer in front of him.

  “Having a drink together doesn’t mean anything. Not anything illegal, anyway.” I mumbled this while I took another sip of coffee.

  She shot me a look. “You need to get closer so you can hear what they’re talking about.”

  “Not a chance.”

  I didn’t know how loudly I’d said this until I realized everyone at the table had stopped talking. I swiveled in my seat and found them all looking my way. My smile was sheepish. “Sod,” I said, and scrambled to remember everything I’d ever heard about the subject back at Garden View. It wasn’t much. At least not much that I’d paid any attention to. “In our climate, there’s not a chance we’d use sod. It’s a lot more difficult to grow. It’s grass seed for us. Every time.”

  “Just what I thought!” Doris grinned as if I’d revealed the combination to a Federal Reserve vault. “I always wondered how you folks at Garden View keep the grounds so pristine. Grass seed, eh? What variety?”

  I took another drink, stalling. And in the next second, it really didn’t matter, because a woman way down at the end of the table said something about fescue and they were lost again in discussing the fascinating intricacies of grass varieties as they applied to hillside burials, old tombs, and mowing around headstones.

  “You’re wasting time.” Madeline was not happy. Like a sure-footed tightrope walker, she paced back and forth on the railing, looking down at me as she stepped past. “Who knows what’s happening between Danny and Hilton! And instead of finding out, you’re too busy sitting on your butt, talking about all the silly things you’re interested in.”

  “Just for the record, I am not interested in fescue.” I delivered this information just as the waitress brought our pizza and everybody was so busy oohing and aahing over it, no one heard me. “Landscaping has never been my thing.”

  Madeline plunked down on the table in front of me. Right on top of one of the three pepperoni and mushroom pizzas that had been ordered for the table. “Look, Danny is nodding in response to somethi
ng Hilton said. What do you suppose they’re talking about?”

  I looked where she was looking and shrugged.

  Not the response Madeline wanted. Her already sour expression turned positively tart. “Commitment-phobia,” she said, the word so sure and precise, it was more a pronouncement than a simple comment. “You’re feeling it now, aren’t you? You’re breathless, dizzy. I’ll bet you’re nauseous, too.” She leaned nearer and looked at me hard. “Are you sweating excessively?”

  “No.” I sat back and tucked my arms against my sides, defending myself and my personal hygiene just as Grant asked if I wanted a glass of beer. I wondered if he noticed that I turned down his offer with more force than it called for. Or that I was glaring at the pizza. Just as quickly, I decided I didn’t care.

  I slipped my napkin off my lap and then bent to pick it up. While I was down there, I looked up and made sure to tell Madeline, “I don’t have issues with commitment. I’m not afraid of a relationship with Dan. We’re not even talking about a relationship with Dan. We’re talking about—”

  “Commitment phobics—CPs—don’t just focus on interpersonal relationships. Their fears . . . your fears, Pepper . . . are rooted in the possibility of lost options and the dread of making poor decisions. Most CPs show signs of commitment fears across many areas of their lives. You probably don’t even recognize these indicators in yourself, but remember, I’m a trained professional. I can see it as clearly as I can see you now. That’s why you’re avoiding Dan. And this investigation.You’re feeling sick, aren’t you? Your mouth is dry, your hands are shaking. How about heart palpitations? Are you having those? It’s all a natural response to your condition, so don’t be afraid to admit it.”

  I came up holding my napkin as tightly as my temper. “I’m not—”

  “Sure, that’s what they all say. At first. Until they learn to come to terms with their problem. Counseling would help. You know that, don’t you? With the right therapist, you’ll feel safe, and it’s the perfect place for you to finally confront your fear of being hurt, and your fear of trusting another person. There’s the fear of sacrifice, too. Is that why you’re willing to stand back and watch Danny go to jail? You think getting involved will inconvenience your little life too much?”

  I tossed my napkin on the table, and cemetery conference goers or not, I was about to give Madeline a piece of my non-commitment-phobic mind. My words stopped short when I saw Hilton Gerard reach into the inside pocket of his suit coat. He came out with a fat envelope that he slid across the table to Dan.

  I sat up a little straighter. I leaned farther forward.

  Just in time to see Dan open the envelope and peek inside.

  And I was in just the right spot to see what no one else in the restaurant could see.

  That envelope was stuffed with money.

  “See. I told you so.” Madeline leaned over the railing. “There must be a couple thousand dollars in that envelope. No way you can pretend that’s innocent, Pepper. I’m right, and you know it. Danny’s getting caught up in something illegal. He’s not going to be able to get himself out of it, either. Not unless you help.”

  “I don’t know what to do!”

  “Just sit back, sweetie!” Doris had been anointed official pizza-hander-outer, and she waved a wedge-shaped spatula in my direction. “You don’t have to do anything at all, just hold out your plate and let me at that pizza!”

  Doris closed in on the pizza, and I aimed a dirty look in Madeline’s direction. She got the message and slid off the table—and our pizza. There was no tomato sauce on her butt.

  “They finished their drinks. They’re getting their coats on.” Madeline’s back was to me, but I couldn’t miss the urgency that edged her voice. “You’re going to miss your chance. They’re going to leave, and you’re not going to—”

  “Excuse me.” I pushed back my chair and was out of it and slipping behind Grant’s chair in an instant. “I’ll be right back.”

  I was almost over to the stairway and on my way down to the first floor when I heard Doris call to our waitress, “Miss! We’ve got a problem. This pizza . . .” I turned in time to see her lay a hand on the pizza on the table in front of where I’d been sitting. “This pizza is ice cold!”

  Outside, I made sure to stay well out of Dan’s line of vision as he and Hilton Gerard waited for a cab. Madeline had no such constraints. As soon as we were back out on the sidewalk, she drifted over to where they were waiting. She was back in a minute, and she didn’t look happy.

  “This is even worse than I thought.” She chewed her lower lip and glanced over her shoulder to where Dan and the doctor stood. “That money Dan accepted is for the special study he’s helping Hilton with. I heard Hilton say so. It’s for supplies and expenses.”

  “And that’s bad because it’s money they shouldn’t be spending.” I nodded, confirming the worst to myself, and I would have thought Madeline would have at least been happy that I was finally getting on board.

  Instead, she stomped down the street, far from where the bright restaurant lights colored the snow. “You’re just not getting this, are you?” Her words were as desperate as the look in her eyes. “Danny’s getting himself in big, big trouble, and all you’re worried about is money?”

  I was glad to be away from the restaurant crowd and in the shadows. I didn’t have to talk between my teeth. Or keep my voice down. “What else am I supposed to be worried about? It’s all you’ve told me.” And when she looked away, I added, “Come clean, Madeline. Something else is going on, and you better understand right here and now, if I don’t know the whole story, I’m not going to help.”

  When she turned back around, she had the decency to look guilty. “I thought if I told you about the money . . . I thought that would be enough to get you involved. But I see that you need more. The truth is . . .” She twisted her hands together. “Hilton has been interested in brain activity for years. He picks certain patients at the clinic . . . those who show abnormal brain function or those whose aberrant behavior can’t be fully explained. Those patients are funneled into a special study. That’s what Danny’s been helping Hilton with all this time, and now, I just heard him say that he’s going to come onto the clinic staff as a full-time associate.”

  “And this is a bad thing because . . . ?”

  Again, Madeline hesitated. I guess the fact that I took a step toward her, fire in my eyes, helped her make up her mind. “That special study?” Her voice was small. “Hilton’s been working on it for quite some time. I know the particulars, Pepper. And I know that some of the people he recruits to be part of it... some of the people who go into the study are never seen or heard from again.”

  6

  “The people who are recruited into Dan’s study are missing and you never bothered to mention it . . . because . . . ? Don’t you think that’s kind of important?”

  I didn’t stop to look at Madeline as I asked this. It was the morning after I’d been to Piece. I was in my hotel room, and I was busy gathering my coat and my dorky hat and scarf. Once I had it all bundled in my arms, I turned to face her. “Huh? Did I hear you say something? Because maybe you didn’t say it loud enough. Maybe that’s why I didn’t hear your explanation.”

  If she had any class at all, Madeline would have looked at least a little embarrassed. Or a little guilty. Instead, she sniffed in an I’m-better-than-you-and-you-wouldn’t-understand-anyway sort of way. “Exactly why I disappeared last night after Danny and Hilton left in their cab,” she said. “I knew you’d have this attitude.”

  “What attitude would that be, exactly? The one that says a detective who’s investigating needs all the facts? Shit, Madeline, if people are really going into that study and never coming out again—”

  “They are.”

  Ice filled my stomach and poured through my veins. In spite of the fact that I was hugging my wool coat, I was chilled to the bone. “No way Dan could be involved.”

  She made that annoy
ing sniffing sound again. “That’s what you said about the money.”

  “But the money—”

  “Is for the study. Weren’t you listening to a thing I said last night? Danny has come on board at the clinic. He’s going to be Hilton’s assistant. If people are missing—and they are, Pepper, believe me when I tell you this—if people are missing, then he’s going to have a lot more to answer for than just some government money that’s been misspent.”

  I knew this. It was one of the reasons I hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Believe me, I could prove this, because it had taken a major coat of Guerlain Happylogy to hide the dark circles under my eyes. Unfortunately, not even high-priced cosmetics could calm the chaos inside me. My heart pounded a mile a minute and my knees were weak. “Why didn’t you tell me?” This time when I asked the question, I looked Madeline in the eye, the better to pin her down. “It’s not exactly a little detail.”