“Well, it’s one of them.” Mrs. Martin winked. “She went out special to get them so we could make an offering to Oyá. Then, when she died, I just knew the bottles would vanish, so I took them first. When her niece told you they’d gone missing, I just chimed in and made a big production about my missing candle.”
“Misdirection,” Hector Santiago said in a deadpan voice. “Very nice.”
Father Rafael cleared his throat. “Before we start and I assume the role of your santero, there’s something I need to say as your priest.”
Mrs. Martin and Mr. Santiago stopped kidding around and stood up straighter.
“It’s important that, when you pray to a saint or to God or otherwise, you believe. It’s not the offering or the prayer that will protect you from the palero’s curse. It’s your belief that you have done the things you must do to protect yourself.” Father Rafael paused and searched their faces. “Terrible things have happened in this place, but you’re being protected now. And I believe you will be safe here from now on. But you must believe it, too.”
“Yes, Father,” Mrs. Martin whispered.
“Yes, Father.”
“Okay, then let’s get started.”
“Do you have a black hen in that purse of yours?” Mr. Santiago asked.
“No blood sacrifice today, Hector. Oyá’s powerful enough in this situation that we don’t need an animal. And this is a man sack, thank you very much.” He patted his bag.
Cleo focused on slowing her rapid heartbeat.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Three things shine before the world and cannot be hidden. They are the moon, the sun, and the truth[.]
Pokala Lakshmi Narasu, The Essence of Buddhism (1907)
For nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light.
Luke 8:17
Bodhi leaned against the cool glass that fronted Golden Shores’ lobby and watched as Arthur Lopez followed Detective Williams careful instructions.
He squeaked into his cell phone, “Pastor Bryce, she’s dead. My grandmother. Can you come to the building? Please hurry.”
A pause. Arthur caught Bodhi’s eye and gave him a thumb’s up sign.
“What? The doll. Yes, I think I can pocket it before anyone sees.”
Another pause.
“Okay, yes. Please, hurry.”
He ended the call and gave Detective Williams a beseeching look. “Am I done?”
“You’re done. Go ahead inside. I think your grandmother’s in the library with Father Rafael.”
She smiled at Bodhi as Arthur ran into the building before she could change her mind. “I had my doubts about him, but he’s pretty solid.”
“So, what’s the plan now?”
She patted her side. “I have my service weapon and a set of cuffs. The plan is pretty straightforward.” She glanced in his direction again. “But you might want to make yourself scarce. You’re banned from the building, remember?”
Bodhi looked to his left then to his right. “I don’t seem to be in the building. Besides what if you need backup?”
Detective Williams giggled. “What’re you gonna do if I do? Meditate at him?”
It was a fair point, he had to admit. Even Bodhi wouldn’t choose himself to have his back in a physical altercation.
She grew more serious. “If this is misplaced machismo, you can save it. I can take care of myself.”
He was certain she could. “No, that’s not it. I think I just … I want the closure of seeing him arrested for terrorizing these people. Can you imagine being so scared that you died? That’s a horrifying thought.”
His answer surprised him. He was well-known among friends for urging forgiveness, yet here he was seeking something that sounded and felt an awful lot like vengeance. That was a dark impulse.
Before he could investigate it further, Bryce Scott came jogging into view.
“Detective,” he called, “I’ve heard about Mrs. Martin.”
“It’s so strange—Ed’s not working, yet here we are with another dead person in your assisted living facility,” Detective Williams remarked coolly.
Pastor Scott blinked. “Yes, well—” He must have noticed Bodhi in his peripheral vision because he made a choking noise. “Get off my island. Joel Ashland may be useless, but you’re worse than useless. You’ve brought nothing but chaos to Golden Shores. Ms. Clarkson is questioning my leadership, the employees are being harassed by the police, and people continue to die.”
Bodhi smiled placidly.
The pastor blustered, “Detective, I demand you arrest this man for trespassing.”
Detective Williams nodded. “I can make an arrest.”
“Good.”
She reached into her trouser pocket. Instead of taking out her handcuffs, she removed the Palo mayombe doll. With a fast motion, she fired it at Scott like a baseball pitcher.
He reached out reflexively and caught the item hurtling toward him. When he held it to his face to see what it was, he stammered, “How did you … where?”
Detective Williams stepped forward with her handcuffs ready. “Bryce Scott, you’re under arrest—”
As she recited the pastor’s rights to him, Bodhi turned away and settled his gaze on the cerulean water. Whether Bryce Scott ultimately went to prison for his actions was out of Bodhi’s hands. But he could ensure that the people in Golden Shores were protected and well.
He closed his eyes. It seemed like as good a time as any for a quick metta bhavana practice.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Arthur hugged his grandmother tightly. She rubbed his back. After a long while, he pulled back and held her at arm’s length.
“I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this … hell, lita. I’m going to get you out of here. You’ll come live with me.”
She patted his cheek. “Oh, Arturo, you’re so sweet.”
“I was wrong about Pastor Scott.”
Her clear brown eyes burned into his. “Yes, you were. But then you were brave and strong. But I don’t want to live with you. My home is here.” She waved a hand.
“But—”
“No, nieto, I want to stay. My friends are here.” She opened her purse and took out her checkbook.
“Lita, you don’t need to give me any money. I’m not buying into the ministry. I’m leaving the church.”
She ignored him, wrote her careful signature on a blank check, then tore it from the register, and handed it to him. “You listen to me, Arturo. You’re smart. You start a business. A real business, not some pyramid scheme or scam to separate Christians from their money. This is about what you can offer the world. Pray on it. And when you know, fill in the amount for how much you need. Plus ten dollars.”
Arthur grasped the check tightly, as if to reassure himself that it was real. “Plus ten?”
“You’re going to need a new San Sebastian candle for a new venture. And make sure—”
“I’ll be sure to get the oil and the herbs, lita.”
She laughed, and her whole face lit up. “I love you, Arturo.”
He pulled her in for another hug.
On the other side of the meeting room, Cleo was helping Mr. Santiago clean up the altar to Oyá. She glanced over at Arthur and Mrs. Martin, hugging, and her heart swelled.
She blinked back tears and turned to Mr. Santiago. Then she turned the red and brown beads on the bracelet Father Rafael had placed on her wrist.
Worrying them, she heard Lynette’s voice say in her head.
She made a noise that was half-laugh/half-sob.
Mr. Santiago looked up from the pudding and wine in front of the Saint Theresa statue with concern. “Cleo, are you okay? Your first ritual can be an emotional experience. Maybe sit down?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
“What is past is left behind. The future is as yet unreached.” Bodhi’s words echoed in her mind.
Her grandfather turned his attentio
n back to the altar.
“Mr. Santiago?”
“Yes?”
She exhaled. “I have something I need to tell you.”
Chapter Forty
After watching one final Sugarloaf Key sunrise over the water, Bodhi washed his bowl and mug from breakfast at the small sink in the camper’s kitchenette. He was drying them when a silver coupe came into view through the window. He placed the bowl and mug on the shelf where he’d found them then hung the dish towel over the metal bar affixed to the wall.
He walked outside and shielded his eyes against the morning sun as Cleo switched off the engine and stepped out of the car.
“Good morning. If you’re looking for Joel, I’m sorry to say you’ve missed him. He and Detective Williams had an early morning meeting with the county commissioners about Bryce Scott.”
“I know. I’m scheduled to meet with them myself in an hour. But I’m here to see you.”
She swallowed, and he could see her throat move.
“Oh.”
She moved around the car to come stand beside him. She was close enough that he could smell her shampoo when the breeze lifted her hair off her shoulders.
“I hear you’re leaving today.”
He nodded. “Yes. Father Rafael and I had our meetings with the politicians yesterday. So, there’s no reason for me to stick around.”
Her green eyes were wide and clear, but her quick, shallow breathing betrayed her nerves.
“Sure.”
“I think Golden Shores is going to come out of this fine, Cleo—”
“I think so, too. The plan I’ve heard being bandied around is that I’ll continue to run the facility with state oversight. And, of course, with a promise not to favor any religion over another. I’m really not sure how I’ll manage any requests to perform animal sacrifices, though.” She shook her head at the thought.
“What about Pastor Scott?”
She raised her slight shoulders in a ‘who knows’ gesture. “Lynette’s niece thinks he’ll be charged with negligent homicide, at a minimum. He’s already started a special collection at the church for his legal fees.”
“So …” he trailed off, unsure why she was there and unwilling to make any assumptions.
“So. I wanted to let you know I told Mr. Santiago that I’m his granddaughter.” She let out a long, shaky breath.
“That’s great. Really. No matter how he took it, it was the right step for you. How did he take it?”
Her full lips quirked up in a smile. “He’s thrilled. Kind of giddy, actually. Of course, so am I. We have a pickleball date tonight before dinner.”
Her joy was contagious. “Fantastic.”
“Yeah, so anyway. I just wanted to thank you for pushing me to do it.”
She darted toward him and kissed his cheek. She had already pulled away by the time he registered the gesture. She hopped into her car and waved goodbye.
As he watched her pull away, Detective Williams pulled up with Dr. Ashland in her passenger seat. The two women greeted one other with short beeps of their horns while Dr. Ashland gave Bodhi an exaggerated thumbs up through the car window.
Over Bodhi’s protests that he could call a cab, Joel Ashland and Felicia Williams insisted on driving him to the airport.
On the one hand, it gave him a chance to say goodbye to two colleagues who’d become friends. On the other hand, it meant another white-knuckled trip barreling down the Overseas Highway with Detective Williams at the wheel.
Detective Williams parked the sedan in the same no-parking zone she’d violated when she’d picked him up. She turned on her flashers and popped the trunk.
Bodhi grabbed his bag and turned to shake her hand. “It was a pleasure working with you, Detective Williams.”
She shook her head. “Come on, now. We’re in Key West. You can call me Felicia.” She pulled his hand toward her and caught him in a quick embrace.
“Goodbye, Felicia.”
“Goodbye, Bodhi. Thanks for the anger management tips.” She laughed.
“You should laugh more, Felicia. It’s a beautiful sound.”
She blushed. Dr. Ashland came around to the back of the car to shake Bodhi’s hand.
“Thanks for helping out, Bodhi. You saved my bacon. And Eduardo Martinez’s. Let me know if I can ever return the favor.”
“I will. Thanks for putting me up in the camper.”
“Don’t mention it.” Dr. Ashland gave him a solid pat on the back.
The three of them looked at one another for a long moment. After being together in the crucible of the investigation, it seemed strange to be going separate ways.
“Well.”
“Yes.”
Bodhi shouldered his duffle bag. “Please keep me posted on any developments at Golden Shores.”
As he walked away, Dr. Ashland called, “I’m sure Cleo would be happy to stay in touch.”
He shook his head but just kept walking.
He had to smile, though, when Felicia Williams’s silvery, bell-like laugh caught the wind.
He stepped into the terminal without looking back.
Chapter Forty-One
Several weeks later
Bodhi was raking fallen leaves at the monastery. The weak autumn sun warmed his shoulders. The crisp air filled his lungs. He moved rhythmically, the motion of his arms and the intake of his breath in tandem.
The dry and crackling leaves were mostly shades of brown. As he shaped them into a tidy pile, glints of red, yellow, and orange winked up at him. He smiled down at them.
Daishin crossed the lawn. “Are you well?”
He considered the question. Yes, he was very well.
“I am.”
“You seem it.” The novice monk watched him work the rake for a moment. “No decisions intruding on your peace now?”
He shook his head. “Not now.”
“What will you do?”
“Rake.”
Daishin rewarded him with a half-smile. “Raking is good. And then?”
Bodhi stopped and leaned against the implement. “I like the quiet. But if I’m called to help, I will.”
“So, you plan to offer your services as an independent forensic pathology consultant, then?”
Daishin’s insight startled him for a moment—until he remembered that before taking up his robes, the monk had earned his MBA.
“As a matter of fact, that is the plan.”
Daishin nodded. “It’s a good plan.”
They regarded the mound of leaves together. Bodhi scanned the lawn for stray leaves but saw none.
“I think I’m finished here.”
Another nod from Daishin.
He said his goodbyes to the monk and began the short walk home.
When he was a third of the way to his house, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He stopped at a bus shelter to sit and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Bon jour. I am trying to reach a Dr. Bodhi King.” A polished voice with an accent he placed as French-Canadian, the voice of a stranger, sounded in his ear.
“This is Bodhi.”
“Dr. King, my name is Guillaume Loomis. I’m coordinating the programming for the upcoming meeting of the North American Society of Forensic Pathology, which will take place here in Québec City later this year.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve submitted a paper to our journal, I believe?”
He had. He’d been inspired to begin writing it on the plane back from Key West and had sent it out as soon he and Dr. Ashland had agreed that it was fit for publication.
“That’s right. The working title is ‘Scared to Death: When Beliefs Kill.’”
“Yes, that’s the one. I’m calling to tell you that we’ve accepted it for publication in the symposium issue that will coincide with the conference.”
“Great. Thanks for the call.”
“We also want to invite you to present your findings at the meeting.”
Bodhi felt his j
aw hinge open. “Oh? I’m honored, of course. But Joel Ashland, my coauthor, might be a better choice. Dr. Ashland’s the medical examiner for the county where the death cluster discussed in the paper occurred.”
“Yes,” Guillaume said patiently. “I’m aware of his position. We’re interested in your perspective, as a pathologist who has now handled two disparate SUD clusters, Dr. King. The panel we’d like you to sit on is ‘Forensic Black Swans—When the Pathologist Confronts the Unimaginable.’”
The topic intrigued him. “It does sound interesting.”
“I’m confident that it will be worth your time, Dr. King. We’re assembling a truly unique panel. And, if you’ve never been to our city, it’s breathtaking.”
Bodhi reflected for a heartbeat. “I’d love to present.”
“Ah, fantastique. If you can provide your assistant’s contact information, I’ll confirm that your schedule will permit you to join us and will forward all the pertinent information.”
“I don’t have an assistant.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Oh, but of course. Well, let me just give you the dates, and you can see if they’ll work, yes?”
“My calendar’s clear, Dr. Loomis. I’m sure I’m available.”
“I see. Then I’ll just send the packet to the email address given in your article.”
“Wonderful. Have a peaceful day.”
“I will? Er, I will. You as well.”
“Oh, I will,” Bodhi assured him.
He ended the call and leaned against the back of the bench. He pocketed the phone then turned his face toward the sky and inhaled deeply.
Thank You!
I hope you enjoyed reading the first Bodhi King novel as much as I enjoyed writing it! If so, guess what? You can pre-order Bodhi’s next two adventures right now!
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