[Sasha McCandless 10.5] The Humble Salve

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Fresh?”

  “They assured me it was caught today.”

  He rewarded her with another smile. “Very nice, Becki. You’ll be blessed for your care. You’re doing good and important work.”

  The young woman—barely out of her teens—flushed a deep pink and bobbed her head. “Thank you, Pastor Bryce.”

  He patted her arm then handed her the half-empty water bottle as he swept out of the satellite church. Before he could step into his waiting Mercedes, though, he was waylaid.

  “Pastor Bryce, sir!” The man called out in an urgent way as he jogged behind him, through the doors.

  Bryce turned and studied the jogging man’s face as he approached the car. All his years in the pulpit had helped him develop a rock-solid memory for faces. His flock was too large now—well over ten thousand souls—for him to know each of his congregants individually, but he knew the name of every person he’d assembled for this talk.

  Dark eyes behind thick glasses, olive skin, short-cropped black hair. Arthur Lopez. Single. He had been an information technology support specialist for Florida’s Department of Education with a base salary of forty-nine thousand dollars a year. Arthur had been laid off back in the spring, but according to church records, he’d continued to meet his tithing targets without interruption or decrease in amount.

  “Arthur, is something wrong?” Bryce asked in a concerned voice, one hand on the frame of the car door.

  “No, Pastor.” Arthur came to a stop several feet away, panting slightly from the exertion. “Well, yes. I …” His eyes dropped to the ground.

  “What is it, son?”

  “I don’t have the money for the program. I mean, not yet. I have … circumstances. But I’ll get it. Can I just have a little more time?” Arthur dragged his eyes back up to Bryce’s face with a pleading expression.

  Bryce smiled broadly. “You don’t honor God by acting poor, Arthur. You honor Him by living with abundance. You’ve been chosen for the Spread the Word Ministry because you’re special. You just need to believe it and invest in yourself.”

  “Yes, but, I just need to secure financing.”

  “Didn’t you see Robert in the lobby? He can put you on a plan.”

  “The interest rate …” Arthur began in a meek voice.

  “I have to run, Arthur. Let me tell you plainly—we can’t hold your spot. So many faithful men and women would give anything to have a chance at what we’re offering you. You need to make a decision to live abundantly.”

  “Of … of course.”

  Bryce turned away from the stammering man and nodded to his driver, who’d been standing just outside the car, waiting. The driver opened the rear door, and Bryce slid onto the soft leather seat.

  Arthur stood in the parking lot, shoulders slumping, and watched the car pull away.

  Through the lightly tinted window, Bryce caught a final glimpse of his tense, fretful expression as the car rounded the circular driveway. He promised himself to remember to pray for Arthur to find the strength of purpose to become a Spread the Word Ministerial Associate.

  2

  “Another one?” Detective Felicia Williams asked. She hesitated in the doorway.

  “Yes,” Nurse Eduardo Martinez answered in a low, mournful voice. “I came in to take his vitals at the start of my shift, and there he was. Eyes open, a look of horror on his face, dead. Just like the others.”

  Felicia sighed. Carlos Garcia was the fourth person to die in this place in as many weeks. “How—” she began.

  “Leesh, they’re old. This is a nursing home.”

  She suddenly felt weary. Old enough to be a resident at Golden Shores instead of the officer charged with investigating cases that occurred within its confines.

  “I know, Ed.” She sighed. “But it’s becoming a … thing … in the squad room. It makes me look bad, all these sudden, unexplained deaths.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. She didn’t glance away. They’d known each since they’d been in diapers. Two Conches who’d grown up on the same short street. They’d made their First Communion together. She’d copied off his test papers in Mr. Anderson’s high school science classes.

  She didn’t have to tell him that, as the only female officer and the only Cuban-American in the homicide unit, she was held to a different, higher standard. As the only male nurse and the only Cuban-American working in the nursing home, Eduardo knew as well as she did how outsiders were treated. She needed to be better, to clear unclearable cases.

  But he was still focused on the logic of it all. “How can they fault you? The medical examiner’s office did the autopsies. They said the other three all died of natural causes, right?”

  “Actually, they’re putting unexplained causes on the death certificates. People don’t like unexplained deaths. They seem to think deaths should have an explanation behind them. It makes them nervous.”

  “I could see that,” he allowed.

  “Plus, all the stiffs—er, deceased—were Cubanos. Why aren’t any white people dying in this place?”

  Eduardo shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Mr. Garcia was fine last night when Val checked on him. He was deader than a doornail at five o’clock this morning.”

  “Wanna take a stab at cause of death?”

  “Congestive heart failure,” he ventured. “It usually is.”

  It usually was. But the last three corpses had left the morgue with ‘sudden, unexplained death’ not ‘congestive heart failure’ or ‘natural causes’ written on their certificates.

  The coroner didn’t like the uptick in business anymore than she did, and he’d pressed her to lean on the nurses. As if she didn’t know how to do her own blasted job. It wasn’t like she told him how to do an autopsy.

  But it was weird, any fool could see that—three, now four deaths in a month. None of the dead had been sick. Nobody fell out of bed and broke a hip, had a heart attack, caught pneumonia. Just died in the middle of the night with a grotesque grimace of fear pasted on their faces. But Ed didn’t seem to have anything to offer her beyond they were old.

  “Okay. Does Mr. Garcia have a next of kin?”

  “There’s a daughter in California. She’s already been contacted. Said she’d leave the details to Pastor Scott’s people. She trusts they’ll do the right thing.”

  His voice was perfectly bland and neutral. But its flatness spoke volumes as to what he thought about the daughter’s confidence in the church.

  She sighed and stared down at poor Mister Garcia, who was already turning gray.

  “Can you convince the associate pastor on call to release the body for an autopsy?”

  Felicia was many things, but a diplomat was not one of them. It would better for her, the department, and the Golden Island Church if Eduardo ran interference for her.

  “I’ll try. It’s easier when the family wants it, though. Some of these pastors say it goes against their teachings.”

  “Bryce Scott doesn’t seem to have a problem with it,” she pointed out.

  “What difference does would it make to Scott? They don’t hand the wallet over for an autopsy, just the corpse.”

  They shared a bitter, knowing laugh. Then Ed hastily made the sign of the cross, as if seeking forgiveness for his blasphemy.

  “I better call the ME and let them know we’ve got another live one.” She laughed at her own dark joke.

  As she walked over to the window to get better cell phone reception, she caught a glimpse of the ornate gold crucifix nailed over Mr. Garcia’s bed. Then her eyes fell on the small statute of Saint Francis of Assisi on the bedside table.

  “Hey, Ed?”

  “Hmm.” He looked up from the notes he was typing into the iPad he’d wheeled in on his cart.

  “These guys are okay with Catholicism?” She waved her hand around the room to indicate she was talking about Bryce Scott and his followers.

  Eduardo scrunched up his shoulders and pulled a face. “Kinda. I mean, the
re’s a non-denominational chaplain here to tend to the spiritual needs of all the residents who aren’t members of Scott’s church. And they do let Father Angelo come over once a month and do Mass. But …”

  “But?”

  “It doesn’t stop them from trying to convert the residents. Or the staff, for that matter.”

  “Huh. Still, surprised they allow it all.” She pressed the number for the medical examiner’s office.

  “They tolerate it,” Ed clarified.

  He looked as if he were going to elaborate, so she nodded at him to go ahead. But he gave his head a small shake, pressed his lips together, and returned his attention to his chart.

  3

  Bodhi King squatted and studied the leaf he held lightly between two fingers. It was dark green and vibrant. The plant was healthy. He released the leaf and pressed a finger into the spongy earth. The soil was healthy. Alive.

  He rocked back on his heels then raised his face to the sun’s warmth and closed his eyes, just breathing in the life energy that coursed through the garden. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting that way, meditating on the plants. But when a shadow fell across his back, he opened his eyes and turned around.

  “You’re a hard man to find.”

  Bodhi stood and brushed the dirt off his hands before clasping his visitor on the back.

  “And yet you found me.” He softened the words with a smile.

  Allegheny County Coroner Saul David returned the smile, but Bodhi noted the strain in the man’s eyes.

  “Come inside. I’ll make us some tea.”

  Saul followed him up onto the porch and then into the kitchen of the old brick farmhouse. Bodhi filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove.

  Then he turned and contemplated his unexpected guest.

  “How did you find me, anyway?”

  “Your old next-door neighbor. I stopped by her place looking for you, and she said you were housesitting out here. She didn’t have an exact address, but there are only four farms on this road, so here I am.”

  “Here you are,” Bodhi agreed. “Why?”

  Saul smiled. “No time for tea and sympathy, huh?”

  “I’ll be happy to catch up all afternoon over tea. The rocking chairs on the porch are a pleasant place to catch the breeze. But I’m pretty sure the county coroner didn’t drive out here in the middle of the workday to hear how the tomato plants are doing.”

  “Fair enough. You’re right, this isn’t a purely social call.”

  “I’m not coming back.”

  “I’m not here to ask you to.”

  Bodhi’s eyes widened in mild surprise. “Really?”

  “Okay, sure, I’d be thrilled if you decided to come back. There’ll always be a place for you in any forensic pathology department I’m running. But this is about something else.”

  The kettle whistled.

  “What’s it about, then, Saul? Is something wrong?”

  He glided across the kitchen, taking down mugs, assembling a tray, choosing spoons. His movements were spare and fluid and didn’t belie the hum of worry that was rising in his throat. People found him to be a calming presence in a crisis: as a result, friends seemed to seek him out to share their tragedies.

  Saul had known him for a long time, though, and picked up on the frisson of concern.

  “I’m fine. It’s not a personal issue. I got a call from a medical examiner’s office down in Florida. In the Keys.”

  Bodhi carried the bamboo tray of tea supplies to the table. “Here or outside?”

  “Here’s fine.”

  He sat. “And why would a call from an ME in the Florida Keys bring you to my doorstep?”

  “Four sudden, unexplained deaths in a small population. They’re stymied. They need someone who understands a what to do about a death cluster. Apparently, when the coroner started asking around, your name came up—more than once.”

  Bodhi nodded. It would have. A handful of years ago, he’d traced the deaths of five young women from myocarditis to the wild red ginseng sold in a sports beverage. The case had made the national news, the medical journals, the legal journals, and a ‘ripped from the headlines’ episode of a popular police drama. And the spotlight had driven Bodhi from the job he’d loved.

  He’d sought solitude in a series of remote locations—beginning at a banana plantation in Costa Rica and ending with at a Japanese monastery in Hawaii. He was at peace, reading and housesitting, volunteering, and meditating. The challenge of a puzzle to solve tempted him, but not enough.

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Why not? Nobody’s asking you to make a long-term commitment. It’s a consulting gig. In the freaking Florida Keys. I mean, how is that not a dream job?”

  “Where in the Florida Keys?—not that it matters.”

  “The deaths have all occurred at a nursing home on a private island owned by some church.”

  “A church owns the nursing home, you mean?”

  “The church owns the entire island. The preacher’s some television guy, Bruce or Bryce Something or Other. And the church is willing to bankroll the investigation, so we’re not talking about a consulting fee that a county medical examiner has in his budget. They’re willing to pay you well. Not that you care about the money,” Saul hurried to add.

  “You’re right, I don’t. But a small, insular community suffering under the strain of a spate of deaths? No, thanks. I’d be an outsider, someone to focus on.”

  “You’re afraid they’ll blame you if you can’t come up with an answer?”

  “I’m not worried about my reputation. I don’t want the attention.”

  Saul rubbed his face. “Let me ask you this. Do you think you could solve it—figure out what’s killing those people?”

  Bodhi sat and considered the question in silence for a moment. Then he gave a small shrug. “I think I could.”

  He said it with no bravado. But it was the truth. He had a scientist’s analytical mind for creating patterns and a priest-like ability to tease out the silent stories of the dead.

  “I think so do. So don’t you have to?”

  “Have to?”

  Saul squinted at him through the late afternoon light that streamed through the white crocheted curtains and left lacy shadows on his face. “Yeah, what’s the First Precept? The one that’s basically ‘thou shalt not kill’?”

  “Abstain from taking life. But the precepts aren’t the equivalent of the Ten Commandments.”

  Saul waved his hand. “Right. There are all sorts of ethical considerations, blah, blah. But the bottom line is a Buddhist shouldn’t rejoice in killing, encourage killing, daydream about killing, even.”

  “Basically.”

  “And allowing these deaths to continue when you could stop them—how’s that square with your precept?”

  Bodhi narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t say the medical examiner suspects homicide. It’s a nursing home, after all. Dying of old age isn’t tantamount to a killing.”

  Saul stood up, his tea untouched. “I don’t think that ME knows his tuchus from a hole in the ground, to tell you the truth. But he knows something’s not right. And if you ask me, no matter what’s behind that death cluster down in Florida, if you can stop it and you don’t, then you’re taking life through your inaction.”

  He dropped a heavy hand on Bodhi’s shoulder as he passed the chair on his way to the door. “I’m sorry, Bodhi. It’s how I feel.”

  He let himself out. The wooden screen door thudded silently into place. After a moment, a car engine came to life.

  Bodhi stared at his hands and focused on his breath until the echo of Saul’s words had faded from his ears.

  The Bodhi King novels available at your favorite ebook retailer in late 2017, order now:

  Dark Path

  Lonely Path

  Hidden Path

  Author’s Note

  I hope you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into Sasha’s personal life between epic battles
with courtroom adversaries and adversaries of a far more dangerous nature!

  Several of the characters who made appearances in this novella first came to life in Improper Influence (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 5). Most notably, Bodhi King.

  Bodhi, the Buddhist forensic pathologist, has been kicking around in my brain ever since I first wrote him back in 2013. He was one of those characters who just had to have his own book.

  Well, I’m excited to share that because he waited so patiently, Bodhi is getting not only a book, but his very own series of medical thrillers! It’s taken a while to fit the revisions and editing into my existing publication schedule, but I expect the first three books to all release before the end of this year (2017)!

  So, if you’re interested in following along on Bodhi’s journey, you’ll want to check out Dark Path (Book 1), Lonely Path (Book 2), and Hidden Path (Book 3), available for preorder now.

  Sasha and Leo will return in their next full-length thriller in 2018.

  There’s another Aroostine Higgins thriller on the schedule for next year, too. And I also have another book planned in my We Sisters Three romantic comedic mystery series. If you haven’t read either of those series yet, the first book in each is free, so check them out here!

  Thank You!

  Sasha and Leo will back in their next adventure soon. If you enjoyed, I’d love it if you’d help introduce others to the series.

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