

### Secrets of Serenity Gardens

Donna Huffer

Copyright © 2012 by Donna Huffer. All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

First Electronic Edition: August 2012

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Statement

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To my Friends at the Funeral Home, Keepers of the Dead.

### Other books by Donna Huffer:

The Witches of Drohrback Hollow

Satan in Serenity Gardens

The Picture

### Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

### Chapter One

Mary Shepard felt the warm sunshine on her forehead and she closed her eyes, almost dozing on the cemetery bench. She was on a rare lunch break when for once she didn't have to gobble down a sandwich at her desk. She enjoyed her chicken salad in a cup outside in the bright sunshine.

It was such a beautiful day in late May that she had decided to walk across the road to Serenity Gardens, the cemetery owned by the funeral home she co-managed. May in Newlenberg, Virginia, was particularly soothing to Mary. The smell of cut grass and fresh mulch reminded her that spring had come at last after a hard winter. She enjoyed the tulips and daffodils planted around the monuments. Peacefulness floated over the cemetery as the robins chirped.

For a second she rested, her head touching the back of the bench and her hands spread over the skirt of her gray suit.

"You just have to get out of the office sometimes," she murmured. It was only Tuesday, but already she was overloaded with the many details of funerals scheduled for the rest of the week.

Suddenly her cell phone rang, jolting her completely awake. She was so startled by the phone that her hand knocked over her Coke sitting beside her. The sticky fluid poured through the wooden slats of the bench and onto the walkway. Fully conscious now, she righted her can and reached for her small purse. "They always find me," she mumbled to herself, reluctantly pulling the small silver cell phone from her bag.

"Mary here," she answered. Instantly she recognized the excited voice of Serenity Gardens' grounds supervisor, Carl Winston. He was supposed to be digging a grave for a four o'clock funeral.

"We've got a big problem, Mary," he quickly told her. "You'd better get over here right away. You've made some kind of a mistake because there's a body in this grave already!"

Carl now had Mary's full attention. She could hear panic in the old black man's voice. He was now sixty-four, and the doctor had prescribed no extra excitement for his tired heart.

"That's impossible," Mary told him. "The computer shows the lot's empty. It was put aside for the Thompson family a decade ago. Are you sure you're at the right plot? We took the sod off yesterday. Next to James Thompson?"

Mary was getting a knot in the bottom of her stomach as Carl described an unaccounted-for-body that had just appeared in a previously empty grave lot. Nothing like this had ever happened before in the long history of the Preston Smith Funeral Home. There had to be a logical explanation.

Carl was suddenly indignant. "I know my job, Mary! How many years have I been doing this? It's marked, as you say, next to James. Looked normal enough when we started. Then we got a rotten surprise. Rotten as in body!"

Then Mary heard Mike Tyrell, Carl's assistant groundskeeper, shouting in the background. Carl came back on. "You'd better call the police on your way over! I'm losing my signal."

"Why should we call the police, Carl? It might delay the funeral."

"We don't have any choice, Mary. The body's in a plastic bag from the hospital. It's not supposed to be here, and it sure wasn't here yesterday. Bill and Mike are going crazy."

"Tell them to keep it together. I'm right around the corner. I'm dialing 911 now. Relax, Carl. Take a deep breath. You know the doctor said too much excitement isn't good for your heart." Mary folded her phone shut. The funeral was in two hours, and she needed to account for a stray body. She would have to enjoy the spring another day. For now, she had to straighten out this unexpected mess.

Racing across the cemetery in her black heels, Mary found Carl and his crew of two younger black men with their backhoe at Lot #234 near the west end. The graves were not far from the back fence in the shade of a row of tall pines. Carl, Mike, and the other assistant Bill Jones were waiting beside the dirt heaped to the side where Mr. William Thompson would be interred this very afternoon. Bill and Mike, dressed in their usual blue jumpsuit uniforms of Serenity Gardens, stood looking into the open grave.

Mike called to Mary as she came down the paved road. "Did you call the police?"

Mary walked up to the grave. "They're sending a detective over. Tell me what happened." Below her, she saw a mangled gray bag, ripped in places and stained with red clay. Or blood.

"Mike was running the backhoe so we could square up the grave when he snagged something. We threw the dirt over and saw the bag—a body bag, like the ones from the hospital. The backhoe ripped it open on the side there." Carl pointed to the gray object lying beside the grave hole caked with dirt.

"Stinks to high heavens," Bill complained, pinching his nose shut. "None of us wants to unzip that bag." He crouched down along the edge of the grave still holding his nose. "You can see bits of something in there where Mike caught the bag with the backhoe. It's open to the face. If you look this way, you can see flesh or hair. Some clothing. It's enough to make you lose your lunch."

Mary knelt down beside the dirt, watchful of her panty hose and expensive skirt. The odor of the corpse was powerful, but she was a licensed undertaker. She was accustomed to decomposing bodies. In her profession she dealt with suicides that were weeks old. The police sometimes brought her bodies pulled from the Hutchen River or quiet old folks found days later by relatives. It was all part of doing business at a funeral home.

Mary was more worried about the circumstances of finding this body in someone else's grave lot and how it could ruin her day. She thought about old Mrs. Thompson and how she would explain that Mr. Thompson wouldn't be buried this afternoon next to his twelve-year-old son, killed by a hit-and-run driver back in 1969. His plot was now a crime scene. Overexcitement probably wasn't good for her client's eighty-year-old heart either.

Carefully Mary studied the body bag. Since Carl often picked up bodies from the hospital morgue, he recognized an official body bag when he saw one. Mike and Bill also handled the deliveries from the morgue. None of this was new to them.

"Told you," Bill uttered to Mike. "See, it's from the hospital. Right, Mary?"

"It sure looks like it. But body bags like this aren't just used by hospitals. Sam has a supply, and so does Simpson Funeral Home. I bet the police even have body bags in case of emergencies. They all look alike because we all order them wholesale from the same place."

"That body hasn't been sitting in the hospital morgue lately," Bill told them. "Smells too bad. It's been exposed."

"Let me borrow your pen," Mary said to Bill who pulled it out of his pocket. Mary took a handkerchief from her purse and wrapped it around the pen. Then she bent down and pulled apart the jagged edges of the tear in the bag to look inside.

"Lordy, don't unzip that thing!" Mike pleaded, moving back away from the grave and toward his backhoe.

All three men backed away. "Mary knows what she's doing!" Bill told them. Mary found the head and quickly determined that the corpse belonged to a young white woman. Her black filmy eyes stared back at Mary. The face was distorted, swollen, and the skin a shade of grayish green. Her mouth hung open, fixed in a permanent scream and thread protruded from the lips where the sewing had come undone.

The picture was becoming clearer to Mary. Her eyes traveled down the neck of the dead woman where a yellowed string of pearls were sunken into the skin. That's when she saw the small X-like incision at the base of the neck. Then Mary knew the truth. This wasn't a murdered woman after all. "She's been embalmed, boys." Their mouths hung open in shock.

Straightening up, she reached again for her cell phone. She dialed Preston Smith, the owner of Serenity Gardens and luckily found him in his office. He was speechless at first and Mary had to ask him again if he'd heard her.

"It'll be a zoo," he complained. "Some crazy person burying extra bodies in the cemetery. It'll be in all the papers. Suppose we have no choice but to let the police investigate. Reporters will come. We might lose some business over this."

Mary realized he was panicking. "No, people are like squirrels. They only remember something for fifteen minutes, bury it in their subconscious, and then everything goes back to normal. You'll see. Don't fall to pieces on me, Preston, today of all days. We can handle anything together. Remember that."

Preston didn't sound convinced. "Well, Mary, we have to do something about this afternoon. You'll have to call Mrs. Thompson, and have Carl start on the east end, in the new lots. Explain to Mrs. Thompson that this is only temporary. We'll move him back after all this has blown over. I'll come over now and help you with the police."

As Mary put her phone back into her purse, she heard cars coming up the paved driveway through the cemetery. Two police cars materialized around the bend and parked some distance off. Several policemen got out. Mary noticed a tall man in a blue sports jacket and tie heading toward her. He was about her age, in his forties with gray peppered through his black hair. His gun hung in his holster at his side, and he walked with an air of authority.

He flashed his badge, then extended his hand. "Hi. Sergeant Daniel Owen, detective of homicide and other unexplained happenings in Newlenberg. And you are?"

She shook his hand firmly. "Mary Shepard, co-manager of Serenity Gardens and Preston Smith Funeral Home." She watched as he brought out a notebook to take notes. That's when she realized she had met him before, last summer, when her teenage son Joey had been arrested by a passing cop for overturning the stones in Serenity Gardens.

He pointed to the gray bag on the ground. "I heard you found an unexpected body. That it over there?"

"Yes," Mary nodded. Two police officers, in their black uniforms, gathered around the grave. One had a handkerchief over his mouth. The other was looking away to keep from gagging.

"Smelly one," Detective Owen commented. He frowned at the officers. "They're not used to such ripe corpses. Blood and guts sometimes at accidents, but homicides are rare in Newlenberg. Just the occasional domestic murder. Fresh ones."

Mary hid her amusement as the policemen moved away from the body. "I understand. Nothing fresh about this one. It's pretty obvious that she's been dead for awhile. I suppose the medical examiner is on her way?" Mary asked.

"Yes. Have you touched the body? You or your grave diggers?" he asked her, glancing at the three black men flanking Mary. They all vigorously shook their heads no.

Mike frowned. "We're groundskeepers. Not grave diggers. Preparing graves is just one of our many responsibilities around here."

"My apologies, fellows," the detective quickly said. "I really don't know much about the funeral business. I'm sure you will be enlightening me on a lot of things today."

Mary held up Bill's pen. "I did use this pen to have a peek at that face, using a handkerchief around my hand the pen. I thought I might recognize her. I can tell you it's a woman. Carl noticed that the bag seems to be the standard body bag used by the local hospital. Or any hospital, for that matter."

"Thank you for your observations, but leave the examining to us. We don't want you contaminating the crime scene."

Mary glared at him. "Sure. Sorry, but I needed to know. It would have been helpful if I'd recognized her. I know a lot about dead bodies, Detective Owen. Probably as much as anyone here. Your men don't seem too anxious to examine the body for evidence."

Detective Owen chuckled. "Ah, the brave men of the Newlenberg force? They prefer to chase real live criminals. How come the smell doesn't make you run away like my officers?" he asked.

"I'm a trained undertaker. Class of 1983 at Piedmont Mortuary College," she told him. She glanced at her watch.

"Late for something, Ms. Shepard?"

"Detective, I wasn't here when Carl found the body. I need the crew to start a new grave on the other end of the cemetery for the funeral that is to take place here at four. Could I move them to the new site while you investigate here? You can question them there after you, ah, examine the body."

He pondered her question for a moment. "I suppose that would be okay as long as they use a shovel and leave the backhoe here. Moving it might destroy some evidence. We'll interview them when we get done processing the site. This whole area will have to be sealed off. Tell them not to leave for home when they're done. Murder may be inconvenient, but it's still a crime," he said tensely. She sensed he was annoyed with her concern over the funeral, but she didn't care. It was her job to bury the dead regardless of the circumstances. They had to stay on schedule.

Mary crossed her arms. "You don't even know if it was murder, Detective." Mary protested. "You're assuming an awful lot for a man who hasn't looked inside the bag."

"I'll leave that for Dr. Jenkins."

"Chicken," Mary grumbled. "Well, we have a funeral to conduct. Let me move my men along. Leave the backhoe here but get the dozer, Bill. New section. We're going to have to hurry, Carl. Go on ahead. I'm right behind you." Mary turned to go.

Detective Owen held his hand up, stopping Mary. "Hold on. Yes, I do suppose business must go on. I get it that time is money. But since you looked at the body, any other impressions? You said it was a woman. Any other clues that might help us out?" He flipped his notepad open.

"Now you ask. Thank you. Badly decayed. I would judge her to be six months dead, based on the shrinking of the skin. She was dead already when she was put in the bag."

His brows went up. "How do you know that?"

"She's been embalmed, Detective Owen. That's very clear from the incision in her neck and the lip thread undone in the mouth. You're going to have a very hard time determining anything from the body. She's been buried before."

### Chapter Two

For a second the detective was silent.

"That's bizarre," he finally said. "If she's been embalmed, then why is she in such a bad condition?"

Mary shrugged her shoulders. "Embalming is to get the body through the funeral, Detective. The body breaks down shortly after burial. We don't have the secrets of the Egyptians."

"Obviously," he said, looking back at his officers standing downwind of the bag. Mary continued, pointing at the bag.

"She's in a body bag, the type we receive at the funeral home when we pick up the body from the hospital and other institutions. I think she was a younger woman. White. The exact time of death or cause of death will be hard to determine because it happened so long ago. Someone has a record of embalming this woman. I don't believe it was murder, Detective, not for a second."

"Perhaps not, but bodies don't wander into graveyards by themselves, do they? And it's still a crime to dig one up or steal one. Maybe some crazy medical student from the university is pulling a prank."

Mary laughed. "No, I wouldn't think so. Cadavers are plentiful, and this one was too far gone for research," she told him. "They're preserved in other ways. Oh, here comes Preston. He's the owner."

Mary glanced over the detective's shoulder to see Preston Smith huffing down the road toward them. The funeral home was next door to the cemetery, and it was usually faster to walk than fight the traffic. Preston, seventy-six, and red-faced from the exertion, hailed the detective. His hand pulled at his tie to straighten it. His thick white hair flopped out of place as he walked.

He extended his hand. "Preston Smith, owner of Serenity Gardens. What a nasty business this is."

"Has anything like this happened here before?" Detective Owen asked him.

"Of course not! I was hoping it was some sort of a joke, but I see and smell a rotting corpse over there. We don't want any publicity on this. Any way to keep it out of the papers?"

"I don't think so." Detective Owen pointed over their heads toward the front of the cemetery. A white TV van meandered down the cemetery road towards them with the call letters WHSP painted red on the side. "Unfortunately, they listen to the police scanner and follow us. They have the right to report public business. Get that crime scene tape up, Benton! The press is here! My guess is that the newspaper is right behind them. Finding bodies in odd places is big deal here because so little happens in our small town. The media is desperate to find something to report."

Mary put her hand on the detective's arm. "Whatever they ask, don't say the word murder, Detective Owen," Mary pleaded. "Odd, yes. Unexplainable at this time, yes. Suspicious, yes. Bizarre, your own words. Murder, no. You don't want people panicking or jumping to conclusions."

"Don't worry, Ms. Shepard. I'll do as much damage control as I can. You might have to close the cemetery for a while until we sort things out. It would be the only way to keep the press out."

Preston's face turned a shade redder. "What? Out of the question! And you can't open any graves either. You'll need permission from the plot owners and a court order." Preston folded his arms. "We won't budge on that, Detective. We know the law."

Mary grabbed his arm. "Calm down, Preston. The good detective all ready agreed to let us use the east side of the cemetery while this is going on. He understands that we have a funeral in, jeez, an hour now."

Detective Owen looked at Preston. "I'll warn you right now that a lot depends on what we find out about this body. What if we have more bodies that are out of place? We might have to do some in-depth investigating. Possibly more digging. I can rustle up a court order if I have to."

Mary's eyes widened. "Let's cross that bridge if we come to it, Detective. We have lawyer on retainer, of course."

The TV van pulled up. The detective moved forward. "Don't speak to them. I'll do all the talking." Detective Owen greeted the woman who climbed out of the van. "Hi, Cindy. Be careful of the tape."

"I always am, Dan. So, what are we dealing with here? Grave robbing? Serial killer? Witchcraft?" Cindy was in her twenties, sweating in her pink blazer and matching skirt. She fluffed her blonde hair with one hand while two other men were dragging cameras out of the back of the van.

"Just a body found in a cemetery," Detective Owen said. Cindy checked her makeup with a compact and then tossed it through an open window into the van. She smiled for the camera.

"Body found in a cemetery, Dan? Is that some kind of a joke?"

"Police humor," he chuckled. Mary smiled. He winked back at her. She realized she didn't have anything to worry about. He would keep the details secret.

"Murder, Dan? Some innocent person dumped in a cemetery? Who's in that body bag over there?"

"We don't know. Anyway, I can't comment on the contents at this time. We're waiting on the medical examiner. We can't give out any information that could jeopardize our investigation. You know that."

"I know the song and dance, Dan. But you're here so something's wrong. Just tell us the facts. I've always quoted you accurately. The public has a right to know, blah, blah, blah."

Detective Owen nodded. "I know I won't get rid of you unless I give a statement so here goes. Pay attention. Found at?" He looked Mary.

"Two o'clock," she answered.

"Found at two o'clock this afternoon was a body in a plastic body bag in the grave lot of a man scheduled to be buried today. It was uncovered by?"

"Carl Winston, head grounds supervisor of Serenity Gardens. Wait, let me correct that. It was really Mike Tyrell, our backhoe man.

"Groundskeeper," Detective Owen corrected her, smiling for the camera.

"Right. He was really there first and noticed a problem," Mary filled in.

"The body hasn't yet been examined, but foul play is not suspected at this time. This body just seems to be misplaced. The investigation has just started, and I'm confident we shall get to the bottom of this very quickly. At this moment, someone is missing a body and is probably looking for it."

"How strange, Dan. Could someone be digging up people?" Cindy asked.

"I really can't say at this time."

"Like Frankenstein?" Cindy prodded. "Putting parts together and creating an army of the dead?"

"You should write novels, Cindy. What an imagination!"

"Give me something, Dan! A cult of Satan?"

"In Newlenberg? I don't think so," he laughed.

Preston took Mary's arm. "Carl is waiting on us for instructions, Mary. Detective, we'll be at the office after the funeral." They left Detective Owen with the reporters.

"Man, that thing stinks!" a TV camera man complained when he discovered that the wind was blowing his way. Mary chuckled to herself as they moved up the drive.

"A minute, Miss! How's this incident going to affect your business? A quote, please!" Cindy pleaded. Preston paused and motioned Mary to go ahead.

"Name is Preston Smith, owner of the cemetery. All funerals scheduled will continue on time, and we are committed to bringing the best service possible, even under these trying circumstances," he told her.

Detective Owen watched as the camera man put his ball cap over his nose. "Better stand somewhere else, boys," he told them. Turning to Preston, he said. "I'll drop by later."

Mary and Preston could hear the bulldozer working off in the distance. They walked slowly, moving around the various vehicles blocking the drive, and headed for the east end of the cemetery. When they arrived, they saw the men working on the grave. A collapsed canopy was ready to go up. A roll of artificial turf lay beside it. Bill was stacking flower arrangements under a dogwood tree.

Preston inspected the grave. "Is this area plotted out on the computer, Mary?"

"Yes, but I've never physically measured it to make sure my calculations on the computer are absolutely accurate. For now, we're eyeballing it. I would hate to end up one grave short on the row. That's a project for the crew tomorrow, after we get through this."

On her way back to the funeral home, Mary ignored the patches of bright tulips which lined the plots and the dogwood trees in full bloom. She was too busy thinking how to overcome this newest obstacle. She took the waiting arm of Preston Smith to steady him as they walked back to the funeral home.

"I have to call the Thompsons right away. Make sure the pall bearers know the change in plans. Give me fifteen minutes. We can fix this, I know. Mrs. Thompson will just have to understand our situation."

"Sure, Mary. I trust you completely. If you need me to talk to her, just give me a holler. I'll call the lawyer and find out what we can do to keep the police from shutting us down."

Mary fled to the safety of her office and sat at her desk, surrounded by a mound of papers. She would need more than fifteen minutes to pull herself together, but she didn't have the time. She sighed loudly. What a day, and it wasn't over yet. Dropping her head down on her desk, she groaned in frustration. But a second later, she sat up, composed herself, and dialed the Thompson home. A weak voice came on the line. Mary pictured the elderly Mrs. Thompson hunched over the phone, supported by her gray-haired son, John. Mary cleared her throat and began.

"Mrs. Thompson, Mary Shepard here at the funeral home. A problem has developed, and we're going to have to make some last-minute changes."

### Chapter Three

Preston Smith stood at the window of his office and peered out at the busy street. He imagined the police were still working in the cemetery, draping tape around the tombstones and calling even more attention to the bizarre incident. Cars passing the cemetery were slowing down to look at the commotion.

Preston was too agitated to stand still very long so he left his office and wandered out into the hall. Behind him were Mary's office, the crematory, and the embalming room, all off limits to the public. Next door to his office was the main office where the paperwork accumulated, and the phone was answered by the receptionist. The front part of the funeral home was taken up by two large chapels lavishly decorated by Mary with tasteful art, Chinese vases, and flowers.

Preston leaned against the door frame of the receptionist's office. He saw his teenage receptionist, Lisa McCutchen, leaning forward in her chair and parting the blinds of the window to peek outside as the rush-hour traffic inched by.

He stood behind her. "Everyone passes through Newlenberg on their way to somewhere else," Preston remarked and watched her jump, almost toppling out of her chair. She turned around and stared at him, her mouth working on a wad of gum. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail which she often twirled with her pencil. A senior at the local high school, Lisa only worked half a day during the school year. Today was her afternoon day. "What were you saying, Mr. Smith?"

"I was talking about the cars going by, Lisa. Some stop, fill up their gas tanks, and wonder where to find a bite to eat. Then they get back on the highway. Not me. I grew up in this town. Looks like I'll never get away."

Lisa sat back down in her chair behind her desk. "How did you get started in the funeral business, Mr. Smith?" she asked him, checking the clock to see how long she still had to go until she was free. She took out a nail file from a drawer and began working on her fingernails while she waited for Preston to speak.

"Newlenberg first began as a German frontier town. Later when coal was discovered in the mountains, more people arrived, and the factories sprang up. Newlenberg grew from a village to town in a short time. Coal brought profits but also black lung disease and emphysema."

Lisa looked up and stopped filing her nails for a second. "That's awful. My uncle died of that."

Preston nodded. "The town needed somewhere to treat the sick so charities raised money and built St. Andrew's Memorial Hospital. But the town also needed somewhere to ship the dead, the dead from the hospital or coal mine disasters. That's where my family came in. We became the managers of the dead. I inherited this job whether I wanted it or not."

He moved to a chair at the receptionist's desk and sat down heavily. Lisa leaned forward, pretending to listen as he continued.

"Even without the coal mines and processing factories, death was a sure thing for everyone. My ancestors foresaw a steady income in the funeral business so the Smith Funeral Home first opened in 1879 in a parlor in the old family house on Main Street. Back then, all undertaking was done in people's homes."

"Oh yuck! A body in your house!"

"Death is a natural event, Lisa. All undertakers were carpenters at the time and made furniture as well as caskets. Later we moved away from the center of town and closer to Highway 81 for convenience and parking. The dead were brought to us rather than us coming to them. The family business was passed from father to son for three generations."

"They all had the funeral gene, right? Can you inherit that?" Lisa asked.

"Sort of. When the family home burned in 1907, my family quickly rebuilt. Death, they said wisely, would always pay off. And they were right. There's always war and natural disasters."

Lisa nodded. "Were you the only funeral home in the area back then?"

"For a long time. Then Simpson opened his funeral home in the sixties. My father, Preston Junior, expanded our business and modernized it by adding extra chapels for double funerals. Then he purchased the large vacant lot across from the home and began a cemetery as a side business. I grew up helping my father conduct funerals. I learned the business inside and out, got my funeral license, and took my father's place when he retired in 1958. I like to think I took the funeral home into the modern times with a crematory. Mary says we ought to get more computers too."

"More computers would be great!" Lisa smiled. "Join the world out there. Connect."

Preston chuckled. "At my age, I just want to disconnect. Retire. I expected my son, Timmy, to take over the business, but he died in Korea. My daughter married a doctor and moved to California. My grandchildren have no interest in the "creepy family business." I'm the last Smith, the end of my line," he said.

"But what about Mary Shepard? Isn't she a relative, Mr. Smith?"

"Not legally. Mary and her sister Connie came to live with me after their father died, and they were placed in foster care. My wife knew their mother who did our laundry so we took the girls in. You could say we raised them. Connie, Mary's sister, is an interior decorator downtown now. But Mary liked the funeral business. She was only sixteen when she started as a receptionist after school and on weekends. Just like you."

"Don't get any ideas, Mr. Smith! I don't intend to do this the rest of my life!" Lisa protested.

"No, Lisa, I can't see you selling burial plots. Mary was a lucky find. Knows naturally how to approach the grieving and comfort them in a way I've never seen before. She understands their pain. She gets them through all the hard parts of saying goodbye."

"She's good at it, then?"

"The best. You know, she told me we needed a slogan to compete. "You Always Have a Friend" was her idea, and I plastered it on billboards on the highway, business cards, and coffee mugs. When death comes knocking on a Newlenberg door, people look for the number of the "Friend" across town. It was a great idea. Simpson Funeral Home doesn't have a slogan."

"How did Mary become involved in undertaking?"

"I could see she had a knack for it. She was always sneaking off to watch the embalming process. Wasn't put off by bodily fluids or hoses. Fascinated by it, actually. So after she graduated from high school, I encouraged her to go to mortuary college and become a licensed embalmer. She apprenticed here for a year to pay off college expenses before she became the assistant embalmer. Now she helps me with the day-to-day running of the business."

Lisa nodded. "She's pretty busy, isn't she?"

"Yes. She orders caskets, organizes funerals, and visits the bereaved to learn their wishes. She's developed friendships with pastors over the years, made deals with florists, gotten discounts at printers, and arranged for cleaning services after messy suicides. Mary has always told me women make the best funeral directors. Did you know that over half of the embalmers today are women?"

"Really," Lisa frowned. "I think I'll do something else. I don't think I could deal with embalming, Mr. Smith. Like you said, creepy. I'm thinking about beauty school."

Preston chuckled. "It isn't for everyone. You have to be born to it. Like Mary."

"So Mary's going to take over after you die?"

"The lawyers and loan people are working on it as we sit here. Soon it will be Shepard Funeral Home unless she opts to keep the family name. That's for her to decide."

Mary still sat in her office with the door partly closed. She could hear Preston and the receptionist talking across the hall. Lisa often goofed off, Mary thought, but Preston liked her company. So she got to stay. Not many people were interested in working in a funeral home, and it was hard to keep a receptionist for any length of time. No one liked to listen to the crying on the other end of the phone.

Many thoughts flashed through Mary's mind as she tried to focus on getting ready for the next funeral in half an hour. Her eyes were drawn to the school picture of her son Joey on the corner of her crowded desk. She picked it up.

"I wonder what you're doing?" she said aloud to the picture, knowing that she wouldn't be home for dinner again. He would be on his own, having outgrown babysitters long ago. Mary may have found her life's calling, but she had definitely been a neglectful mother. Although the staff loved and respected her, she felt she had failed in the part of her life that counted the most. Joey didn't remember his father, and Mary spent most of her time at work. She put the picture back down on the desk as Preston poked his head in around the door.

"Got a plan yet?" he asked.

"I think so. What did the lawyer say?"

"I think everything will be fine. The lawyer assured me that the police can't just dig up bodies in the cemetery without a lot of red tape and hassle. They must have permission from the relatives and a court order, even if they have a good reason to dig."

Mary shook her head. "They don't, Preston. I looked at the body before the police got there. She'd been embalmed some time ago."

Preston looked shocked. "What do you mean, embalmed? You can't be serious."

"I saw the incision on the neck. That girl was dead already. Dug up and then reburied in our cemetery," Mary explained. "I know what I saw. I just don't understand it."

"Could it be one of ours? Did she come through here?" Preston wondered out loud.

"No, I didn't recognize her. We haven't buried anyone that young and female this year. I would remember it. But there are several other cemeteries in the area. I wonder if Simpson's Home did."

"Did you mention this to the detective?" Preston asked.

"Yes. So I think he can rule out murder first thing. He just has to find out where she came from and why anyone would go to the trouble of digging her up and reburying her in one of our plots. Anyway, Dr. Jenkins will find out soon enough when she does the autopsy that the body has been previously embalmed and not all that well at that."

"Simpson's then," Preston smiled. "We don't do sloppy work. Sam's the best."

Mary laughed. "Who knows. Probably no one in our area. She could be from anywhere."

"Say, you don't think this woman is one of the lost ones, do you?" Preston suddenly asked.

"From our potter's field? We haven't had one in awhile. I think Simpson's agreed to take the last one when it showed up in Hutchen River, and it was a male. No ID. Just lost. I'm sure the police are checking with Simpson's right now to see if they have misplaced someone. All of ours are accounted for."

Mary's eyes fell again on the picture of Joey. "I'm surprised that the detective didn't recognize me from last summer. Joey made quite a spectacle of himself at the station until the booze wore off. I was very embarrassed," Mary said.

"He sees it every day, Mary. Can't remember everyone who comes through the jail. You didn't have anything to be ashamed about. Joey had bad friends, Mary. A lot of boys without fathers go through the same thing. I blame that idiot ex-husband of yours, running off and leaving you to raise the boy all by yourself. You couldn't watch him all the time because you had to make a living. He needed a role model, and that should have been his father. You did the best you could."

"Was it enough, Preston? Sometimes I think that I wasn't there for him when he needed me. I was here running a funeral home. Look at me now, so worried about running today's funeral on time instead of caring who that poor girl might have been or how she ended up in our cemetery."

"Money pays the bills, Mary. Whatever happened to that girl has nothing to with you or this funeral home."

"I need a vacation," she acknowledged.

"As soon as this blows over," Preston assured her. "You and me both. But first we have a funeral to conduct. Let's go."

### Chapter Four

The funeral was over by 5:30, and Mary left the groundskeepers to clean up. The burial had gone smoothly, and Mary was pleased that most people had not heard yet of the afternoon events. She hid in her office until Lisa knocked on the door and poked her head in. "A policeman is here to see you, Mary."

Preston followed Lisa. "I'd better hear this." He sat down.

Detective Owen entered. "Dr. Jenkins arrived and is processing the body for removal to the morgue. Our other detective, Harry Lincoln, is interviewing your men over at the cemetery. The TV cameras have left, but the newspaper reporters will be calling soon. I suggest that you direct them to me. Don't comment because they will misquote you. Anything to sell papers."

"We're very quiet around here," Preston said. "Damage control is our highest priority right now."

Mary offered the policeman a chair and he sat down, pulling out his pen.

"I just wanted you to go over your part of the story, Mary, one more time. You look so familiar. I can picture myself talking to you before. Have we met?"

"I'm afraid so," Mary said. "You arrested my son Joey last summer along with his friends."

"Punks, Mary! They were no friends of his!" Preston protested. "Joey's a good boy at heart, Detective."

Mary nodded. "They overturned some stones in the cemetery and spray-painted the crypts. You and I had a conversation about juvenile detention."

Detective Owen smiled. "Oh yes, that was it. I remember now. Joey Pruett got community service, didn't he? Shelved books at the library for a couple of months. I sent the older ones to juvenile. Joey doing better?"

"He seems to have his head screwed on right now," Preston told him. "He's taking an interest in his school work and mows for me when I need him. I like to keep him busy."

Detective Owen turned his head toward Preston. "Are you related to Joey? You seem awfully fond of him."

"I consider myself his grandfather," Preston bragged.

"In a manner of speaking," Mary broke in. "Preston is Joey's only male role model. I'm divorced."

"So am I. The job. You know how that is, I'm sure. All consuming. Now, Mary, could you tell me what happened, as you know it, and I'll get back to the station and leave you guys in peace."

Mary repeated her story to the detective, describing Carl's call during her lunch hour.

"Carl told me the same thing. Any chance this was some sort of mix up? A body placed on top of another by accident?"

Mary looked at him with surprise. "There are no mistakes in this business, Detective. We do it right every time. A vault is required by Virginia law. The casket goes into the vault, and it's sealed. Body bags are only used for pick-up only, Detective. We burn them after the body gets here. The hospital does the same."

"Who would have access to the body bags here?" he asked, jotting down notes.

"I would. Sam Goins, our embalmer would. Anyone who went into the embalming room during work hours. The receptionist, Lisa. Even Carl. Mike or Bill. Whoever picks up the bodies from the hospital for us. They're in a box in the warehouse."

"I see. That's leaves a lot of people with the opportunity to steal a body bag," he said. "How about enemies? How cut-throat is this business? Is there someone in particular who would want to ruin you?"

"No!" Preston protested. "Our business is built on our reputation for helpfulness and kindness. Death is a fact of life, Detective, and we welcome competition. We're on good terms with Simpson's. We help each other out, loan hearses, and lend a hand when necessary. Mr. Simpson is a respected man in this town. I regard him as a personal friend. He wouldn't do this to ruin me. There's plenty of business for the two of us."

Detective Owen scratched his head with his pen. "How about someone who has a grudge against you? Blames you somehow for overcharging them. Thinks you cheated them."

"If they think that, then they simply refuse to pay us," Preston told him. "Relatives squabble over who owes what, and we never get a check. But I never prosecute. The cost for that would be more than the funeral bill. We send out letters every so often saying the account is still open or that someone needs to come collect their uncle's ashes. No one has complained lately. Never had a lawsuit."

"No threatening phone calls?"

"No," Mary told him. "People are afraid of funeral homes. They avoid them."

"Well, someone paid you an unwelcome visit."

Mary leaned forward in her chair. "We know that. What will be your next step, Detective Owen? Will you be hunting for more bodies? We have other funerals to prepare for. This little surprise this afternoon is going to cost us big bucks. We had to give the Thompson family a big break in the cost for the inconvenience."

"Bummer," the detective said coldly. Mary frowned at him once more.

She went on. "I also contacted our lawyer who told me you couldn't dig up anything in our cemetery without evidence of criminal activity or defilement."

Owen smiled. "Of course we won't be digging up anything unless we have cause. But you have to admit that this body bag is a pretty good cause. Evidence of criminal behavior, certainly. I'm willing to compromise. Perhaps you could point out where you've recently buried people. I assume you have a plot map. Check the cemetery with me to see if you notice any disturbed patches. Something out of place that you think we might have a look at. I'm hoping this is a one-time event."

"Let's do it now, Detective. I'd like to get home before my son goes to bed."

They stood up. "Sorry this happened," Owen said with sympathy in his voice. "I really am."

She wasn't sure she believed him. "Thanks." Then she smiled at Preston. "We'll survive."

Mary and Detective Owen walked across the street to the Serenity Gardens front arch that was the entrance way into the cemetery. Two officers followed behind. "Sorry to hold you up like this, Mary."

"Work doesn't stop at sunset, Detective. Late hours are part of the job. Just ask my son who has forgotten what I look like. At least the funeral's all done. When will Dr. Jenkins do the autopsy?"

"Tomorrow. We'll talk as we walk through the cemetery."

"Of course, Detective."

The sun was beginning to set, and they would have to be quick before it got too dark.

Detective Owen took out his note pad. "Dr. Jenkins pointed out right away that the girl had been embalmed before she was placed in the bag. But you knew that because you had a look at the body before I arrived."

Mary nodded. "Correct. I told you so."

"She guessed this woman has been dead maybe six months. Again, I'm guessing you already knew that. Must be the training, huh?"

"Yes, we've both had medical training. I look at more older and riper corpses than she does. Did she rule out murder for you then?"

"Well, she said the girl could have been murdered and then embalmed to cover the tracks of the murder. Anything is possible. But she thought it's more likely she was dug up. There's dirt in the bottom of the bag."

Mary nodded. "Could have come from the grave, Detective Owen. Remember Mike accidentally ripped the bag with the backhoe before you got there. If the girl was dug up, she would have been inside a casket and a vault. Probably no dirt."

"Yeah, I would like to say I already thought of that, but I hadn't. Thanks again. This has got to be the weirdest case I've been assigned to."

Mary nodded. "When you read the papers like I do, you realize this world is filled with all kinds of nuts who do some really sad things," she told him. "The fact that she was already buried once just makes this whole event more mysterious, Detective. Why dig up a body from one cemetery and dump it in another? She wasn't one of mine, Detective, if that's what you're thinking."

"I'm going to need proof, Ms. Shepard. A list of your . . . what do you call them, customers for last year."

"Clients, please. I did that before I left for the funeral. I knew you'd need that. Better get one from Simpson's too. I didn't recognize the corpse so I think it must belong to them."

"Perhaps. I've got a call in to them now, and I expect their list tomorrow. They've got a service going on now and I didn't want to disturb them."

Detective Owen pointed to the tombstones they passed. "Look around now, Ms. Shepard. Do you notice anything out of order here? I'm looking for disturbed graves, or perhaps a grave that previously had sod but is now grassless. We don't want any more surprises."

"Neither do I. I hope today is the end of it," Mary told him, glancing around. The lawn was dry but expertly mowed and even. Mary glanced around, looking for signs of disturbance. These were old graves, and all appeared uniform with grass covering each lot.

Mary sighed. "Everything looks as it should."

"What about that one?" Detective Owen pointed to where an officer was standing. The grave was covered with dirt, neatly packed over the grave.

"That's the McNeil lot. I had it re-covered with dirt two days ago because it was sunken," Mary told him. "Carl did it himself."

"I see. Any sign of digging, Benton?" Owen called out to his officer who was walking nearby.

"No, sir," the officer answered. "We're still checking the lot. No digging marks."

"Okay. Let's move on. What's in that building?"

"Those are the crypts. When people are cremated, some relatives like the ashes to be interred in a serene place they can come to and visit."

"Sealed?" he asked.

"Oh yes. Cemented and covered with a slab of marble."

"Cameras?"

"Not yet, but this mess makes me consider them seriously."

"Do you lock it up at night at least?"

"No. We have lights and sometimes people visit at night. We like to keep it accessible. People stop by after work. We don't even have a guard. We didn't think we needed one. Except for the incident with my son, we haven't had any trouble. Trash sometimes. Occasionally a tramp sleeping on a bench. Most people are afraid of cemeteries and what they represent. Fear keeps the bad ones away."

"Well, I think a bad one knew all about your open door policy and decided to dump an extra body in your cemetery. Probably at night when he knew no one would be watching. I just don't understand the motive yet. How about over here? Everything look normal?"

Mary paused on the paved path and looked over the back part of the cemetery. She could see the roof of the neighboring hotel beyond the pines and hear the trucks roaring by on the highway. Piles of dirt lined the fence, extra dirt left by Carl for filling in sunken lots and holes. To the left she saw the vaults sitting in a row behind the equipment barn, half camouflaged by the pines. An officer was peeking over the edge and investigating each one. Another officer was searching the shed.

"What's in that big shed?" the detective asked.

"Our backhoe. A small bulldozer. Shovels. Assorted lawn equipment. We like to keep everything out of view of our customers. It takes a lot of equipment to keep the cemetery looking perfect."

"Why does it have to look so perfect? The dead don't care."

"It's not for the dead, Detective. It's for the living. We want it to be type of place where people come, remember their loved ones fondly, and then depart feeling consoled. The funeral business is all about what people feel. It has to be pleasing to the eye."

Detective Owen frowned. "I've always heard the funeral business was about ripping people off when they were the most vulnerable. Didn't I read the other day about that undertaker in Newport News arrested for selling shoddy merchandize for four times the normal price and then burying the bodies completely naked? Some were dumped in the woods to rot. It was even on TV."

"There are always some bad apples in every barrel, Detective. It also happens in your profession, doesn't it? Officers on the take? I assure you we hold to the highest of principles here at Smith Funeral Home. We take a lot of pride in what we do," Mary said.

"You're telling me it's really not about the money?"

Mary shook her head. "We have to make money, sure. But that's not everything there is to it. You're assuming an awful lot about something you're not involved with, Detective Owen. It's about helping people in their hour of need. Undertakers aren't con men dressed in fancy suits. We provide a necessary and wanted service for people who have had their hearts ripped out. Do you do that for victims of crime, Detective?"

"No. Not exactly. Sorry I brought it up. Let's start again, shall we? I apologize if I offended you. As a policeman, I'm pretty cynical. Preston seems like an honest person with integrity. So do you. Back to business then. Notice anything yet?"

"Nothing." They continued to walk, a cold silence between them.

"How long have your employees been here?" the detective suddenly asked.

"Carl has been here for fifteen years. He's gone to part time with us because his wife is dying of cancer. He took care of her at home until recently when she was moved to the hospital. Bill has been with us for about five years, and he's an ex-con. You can check out his criminal record. Robbed a gas station when he was young. He's walked the straight and narrow since then. Mike is a high school drop-out and has been with the home about two years. He's good with equipment. Had a job with the highway department until he got laid off. He's good with a backhoe."

"Have they exhumed bodies before?"

"I think so, perhaps a couple of times under Preston's supervision. Sometimes we get a court order to move a body to another cemetery in another state. Carl oversees the moving. Mike uses the crane to lift the vault. An identification is made by a relative or me, if it's required by a court order. Then the body is shipped on a truck. I sign all the papers. But exhuming rarely happens. Why do you ask?"

"We thought perhaps the body was exhumed for some reason."

"We haven't lost a body, Detective." Mary frowned, annoyed at the question. "You're very persistent with that theory."

"It's a possibility, isn't it?" He smiled, his dimples showing. She forgot for a minute that he had just denounced her profession. She wondered for a second if he was seeing anyone.

"Look, Detective Owen. I know for a fact we didn't misplace a body."

"Somebody lost a body, Ms. Shepard. I just have to find out who," he told her. "Well, everything looks in order here. I don't think we have cause to bother any graves at this time. We're not sure until the report comes back what kind of whacko we're looking for. We'll be in touch. Thanks for all your help."

Just then Mary saw a flash. "Just a minute, Detective. There seems to be something on the fence. See that glint of metal over there?" She pointed to the section next to the hotel's dumpster. Behind it, the neon glow of the motel sign of a Guest Inn glared down on them. Mary quickly walked over and gave the fence a yank. A four foot section fell loose and clanked to the ground. "I believe we found the way in," Mary replied, looking back at the detective.

In a second the policemen surrounded her. "The dumpster shielded the perp while he cut the fence," Detective Owen told her. "Then he carefully placed it back."

"Not carefully enough." Mary pointed at the section of fence laying on the ground. "Why cut the fence when the cemetery gates are always open?"

"He didn't want to be seen. Perhaps someone would recognize his car because he's local and well-known. So he parked behind the motel, cut the fence behind the dumpster, and dragged the body to the nearest grave to get rid of it. Or perhaps he's been stealing bodies all along, and this is how he was getting away with it."

Mary shook her head. "Oh Detective, my men are pretty sharp. I think they would have noticed the fenced was cut when they were mowing. No, it's has to be recent, like last night."

Mary turned to look back at Mr. Thompson's grave only a short distance away. Detective Owen turned too and nodded in acknowledgement.

"I think I've figured it out finally. He saw that Mr. Thompson's grave was freshly dug and assumed the funeral was over and no one would be the wiser if he added a body. That kind of leads me to think that no funeral employees were involved. They would know the funeral was today. The idiot didn't know that the grave would be reopened the next day. Jim, get the fingerprint kit. Better dust the area. Bob, go see if the hotel has a parking lot camera. We might get lucky."

They were disappointed when they learned the hotel didn't have cameras. It was dark when the police walked back across the road to their cars, and Mary locked the funeral home's front door waving goodbye. As the police drove away, Mary knew she would be seeing Detective Owen again soon. This case was far from being solved and whether he knew it or not, he needed her help. Besides, she could teach him a thing or two about the funeral business. His attitude needed adjustment big time. She walked to her car smiling. She would take pleasure in helping him make that adjustment.

### Chapter Five

The headlines the next morning in the Thursday paper read, "Unidentified Body Found in Cemetery." Mary sat at the breakfast counter between her kitchen and dining room chewing on a strawberry pop tart as Joey packed his books in his book bag. He waved goodbye. "See you at the game this afternoon, Mom. We're playing the Falcons. It's the game of the year so be there. By the way, that detective's son, Calvin, is on the team too. You might see that cop again."

"Oh joy," she replied dryly, still focused on the paper. Mary suddenly looked up, now aware she had forgotten the game. "I'll see you there. Unless I'm in jail. He thinks all undertakers are crooks."

"They aren't? Never mind! You're too smart to bury a body in a grave where it would be found the next day. That's crazy. The police will soon figure that out. I did." The door slammed as her son ran out of the house to catch his ride to high school.

Time would tell just how smart the police were, Mary thought. They hadn't impressed her so far with their deduction skills. Suddenly the phone rang. Mary swallowed quickly and reached for it.

"Sis, I heard you had some bad luck yesterday." Mary recognized the voice of her younger sister, Connie. "I suppose lunch is out of the question. I have to visit a client down your way. I do suppose you have something decent to eat at that end of town."

"There's a McDonalds, but I can't today, Connie. I couldn't possibly leave Preston for a second with the press camped out to ambush him in the parking lot. Then there's Carl, Mike, and Bill who like to talk. I have to limit the damage the newspaper has done by putting us right on the front page."

Connie laughed. "What damage? I thought it was very interesting. The whole incident will probably bring you business! Your name is on everyone's lips. At last something exciting happened in Newlenberg!"

"That's what Joey said. What's the matter with you people? Are your lives that dull?"

Connie laughed again. "You know they are. I hear that Detective Dan Owen is quite a cutie, though. My new boyfriend, Officer Jim Benton, says he likes the ladies. Did he flash his famous smile at you?"

Mary felt the blood rush to her face. "Really Connie, here I am in a crisis, and you and your policeman boyfriend are playing matchmaker. I was totally professional at all times. I don't usually notice things like that. But yes, he's very cute. I hear he's single?"

"Divorced, dear. All policemen in this town are divorced. Their jobs, long hours, burnout. Jim says it goes with the profession. It's the reason his last wife ran off with another man."

"Sure it was. And yet you date a policeman," Mary said. "Aren't you worried about Jim drinking himself to death or getting shot?"

"Who said we're getting married? He meets all my qualifications in a man. He's good-looking and spends money on me. I'm a sucker for a man in a uniform. In his case, soon to be a man in a suit. He's trying for detective."

"Good for him. Got to go, Connie. Another call on the other line, probably Preston. Call you later."

"Good luck, Sis."

Mary switched the phone lines and picked up on line two. "Mary, Preston. Would you go to the hospital this morning and pick up the Frazier girl? Carl is off today, fighting his nerves after yesterday. He also had to sign some papers over at the hospital. I'll send Bill with you. Sam is coming in later to get her ready for the viewing."

"I'm on my way," Mary told him. She finished her coffee in a few quick gulps. After a brief quick brushing of her short brown hair, plucking out stray grays, Mary was ready. She glanced down at her deep blue dress and pearls, and pronounced herself presentable to the public. Although she wasn't a teenager anymore, she had managed to stay reasonably thin. Her age was catching up with her though with a slowly expanding middle. That's what girdles are for, she thought. Grabbing her jacket, she headed out the door.

Bill, in his blue uniform jumpsuit, met her at the funeral home, and together they rode over to St. Andrew's Memorial Hospital off Highway 81, some twenty minutes away in the home's white van. They used to drive the hearse but found it more discreet to travel in the van with their slogan "You Have a Friend" stenciled in small black letters on the door. Joey referred to it as the death wagon when he rode in it, helping Mary at funerals.

Bill wanted to talk about the woman in the bag. Mary cautioned him to keep the facts to himself until the police had a chance to figure out who she had been and not discuss it in public or with his friends.

"Rumors will hurt the business," Mary warned him.

He twisted his ball cap nervously in his hands. "It didn't take them long to bring up my prison record, Mary. I'm scared. They think I had something to do with it because I'm an ex-con. I got three mouths to feed, and my wife's job at the factory has been reduced. I can't afford to be out of work."

"Have you been stealing bodies, Bill?" Mary asked him point blank.

He shook his head. "Of course not. Don't see a profit in that. Who would want a smelly old body?"

"Then don't be worried, Bill. You paid your debt to society and have been out of trouble ever since. You have an excellent record with us. This has nothing to do with you, trust me. That body isn't ours."

"Whose is it, then? Where did it come from, Mary?"

"Probably Simpson's. We'll know soon enough. Dr. Jenkins will tell me when we get there. If the police will let her. Don't be concerned. We'll all still have a job when this is all over. This town can't do without us," she promised him.

They drove around to the back of the hospital and backed up to the double doors. Mary rang the bell and waited for the morgue assistant to open the doors. Bill rolled out the gurney from the back of the van.

"Delivery for Smith," Mary told the orderly in white. He led her into the hall and down to the morgue where the bodies were stacked inside refrigerated drawers. Dr. Jenkins was in her office and came out to talk to Mary.

"I read the paper this morning. Now everyone knows you had some excitement last afternoon," joked the pathologist who served as the area's medical examiner. Dr. Susan Jenkins was about sixty and a large woman. Her white hair was pulled up in a bun, and her black-rimmed glasses sat on her nose. She wore a white lab coat over her dress. "Someone's been moving bodies on us, it appears."

"Yes, and it cost us a new lot. We had to quickly open a new grave before the relatives arrived. We had to offer them compensation for the sudden change in plans."

"Too bad. Like it was your fault a body ended up in someone else's grave. I would think they'd be more sympathetic."

Mary frowned. "No one is sympathetic when it comes to money. Did you recognize the corpse? Did the body come through this office? She definitely wasn't one of mine," Mary said. "I had a peek before the police came."

Dr. Jenkins nodded. "I did recognize her, but it's been six months at least since she came through here. Someone that young sticks in your mind. She had been pregnant, I remember, but died of a sudden asthma attack. A double tragedy for the young husband. He went all to pieces when they brought her in, and he had to identify her. He's suing Simpson's, I understand, for losing the body and the hospital for removing organs without permission."

Mary looked shocked. "Removing organs? I don't understand."

"When the body came to me, her organs, eyes, fetus, and placenta had been removed. Her medical records said she was a donor. Then I sent her over to Simpson's as the family had requested. After the funeral, the husband got the official death certificate. He was shocked to see that his wife's parts had been taken and wanted the body exhumed. Claims he never signed anything nor had his wife. Organ theft. Right here in little old Newlenberg."

"Oh no!" Mary gasped.

"They were both strictly against donating organs for religious reasons. So someone forged her name. Then something happened and the body disappeared before they had a chance to examine it. Some mix up during exhumation. One minute, it was there and the next, gone. It reappeared, as you know, in your cemetery yesterday. The body hadn't been reported to the police as missing yet. They were still looking for it."

Mary shook her head. "Oh my God! I can't believe this! Who would do that, steal a body? Who do they think signed the donor paper?"

"No idea. We don't even know where the paper came from. Or where the organs went. There's no record of them being removed by any doctor here. The police are starting an investigation."

Mary handed her clipboard to Dr. Jenkins to sign. "Well, I guess I'm off the hook as a suspect. This sounds like a good lawsuit for the hospital, though. At least the Smith Funeral Home is blameless," Mary said.

"I'm sure you guys were never suspects anyway. But they're looking at me pretty hard! It's not my signature. Could be anyone's in this hospital. It was just a made-up name. Don't worry. I'll get to the bottom of this. I'm worse than the police when my job has been compromised. If it's some doctor I know, he's in mortal danger."

They both laughed. "Don't kill anyone, Dr. Jenkins. We could never replace you. Besides, the police couldn't suspect you. Your reputation speaks for itself. You've been here now, let's see, ten years. Unless you've been gambling, you have no reason to sell organs on the side."

"I'm well paid, yes. And I love my job, like you."

"Speaking of my job, you have a body for me? Car accident."

Mary was looking at her watch. In the funeral business, time was the enemy. Dr. Jenkins shoved her glasses back onto her nose.

"Yes, she's been here since yesterday. Parents didn't request an autopsy. Head trauma. We were just holding the body until you got here. I was looking her over when the police called yesterday." She turned and hollered at the orderly in the back. "Fred, Number 9001 please! I'll see you later, Mary. Got a couple more coming down from upstairs that need my attention."

Dr. Jenkins returned Mary's clipboard and kept the extra copy for her records. She handed Mary a copy of the death certificate to give to the family. Fred and Bill maneuvered the body, encased in a gray body bag, onto the gurney and out the door. Mary followed behind, reading the papers. The dead woman's name was LuAnne Frazier. She had lived in Newlenberg and was only twenty-four. Severe head trauma was listed as cause of death. Mary remembered reading about the accident in the newspaper yesterday, something about a wet road and speeding. "Wasn't wearing her seatbelt," she grumbled.

Bill loaded the body into the van and secured the gurney with hooks. Mary told Bill she would show him the new lot for Ms. Frazier so he could prepare the grave and place the vault. That would keep him busy for most of the day and out of the public forum. She didn't want him interviewed by the press. He was still too nervous and upset.

### Chapter Six

Back at the funeral home, she saw that Preston had put on the coffee. He and the receptionist Lisa were sharing donuts he had picked up down the street against his doctor's orders. He handed Mary a raspberry-filled one and a napkin.

"My favorite. You're going to make me fat, Preston," she joked.

"Never. The pick-up go okay?" he asked her, handing her a cup of steaming coffee. "The flowers are already arriving. I've set them up in the Blue Chapel since we're expecting a big crowd tonight for the memorial of Mrs. Clarke. Any word from the police?" He pointed to the newspaper on Lisa's desk.

"Dr. Jenkins said they've discovered the body's identity already. She had done an autopsy on her and remembered she went to Simpson's. Turns out the body was snatched during an exhumation and then was hidden in our cemetery. There's a lawsuit against Simpson's which will probably be dropped because in truth they had nothing to do with it."

"Why was the body dug up?" he asked curiously.

"Her organs had been removed without the husband's permission. He claims the papers were forgeries. He's suing the hospital and now Simpson's for losing the body and not reporting it right away."

"Organ snatching? Here in Newlenberg? That's a new one. I mean I've read of people having their kidneys ripped out and sold, but never at the hospital. Urban myth, I hear. And never dead people's organs. Aren't viable. What could they possibly be doing with them? Do they have any suspects? Simpson's couldn't be involved in this."

"I don't know what the police think, Preston. Dr. Jenkins probably shouldn't have told me what she did, but we're friends. If it gets out to the press, the TV cameras will be over there in a flash."

Preston looked serious. "Better them than us. I don't want any more attention focused on our funeral home. Reputation is everything. Is Sam here yet? She'll need to be started if she's going out on Sunday. The twenty-one hour clock is ticking."

"It's all closed casket, I believe. Too much trauma to the head."

Preston frowned. "Sure, but Sam's pretty good, Mary. Let him have the last word on that. He might be able to restore her enough for a viewing. In some ways he's quite an artist."

Mary felt a pang of jealousy. "Yes, he is, but there are some things beyond even him. I'm also an embalmer, remember. I say closed casket." Sam Goins, the new embalmer, didn't always have to have the last word, Mary thought. She could make decisions too.

Preston chuckled. "Don't be jealous, Mary. You're still my favorite undertaker. But you have to admit, Sam has a gift."

"Okay, okay," she agreed. "We'll wait and see what he says. He's due in at ten. I had a hard time reaching him again. Cells just don't work out there in the wilderness. I know he lives for roughing it out at his cabin at the lake, but I had to tell him if he didn't get to work on time, good luck on paying the mortgage on his cabin."

Preston smiled. "He'll show up. He's a good man, Mary. I think he likes you."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother. Not mutual. I'll go and set the markers for Bill for the grave. The family's coming in at eleven to discuss details and sign the contract. I'll be going by four to make Joey's game. It's my night off, remember?"

Preston squeezed her shoulder as he headed for the door. "I remember! Tell Joey good luck from me! I hear he's pitching. That's my boy!"

Mary smiled. Preston had always taken an interest in her son. In many ways he was the boy's grandfather, watching him play baseball and attending his events at school with Mary. He had even bailed Joey out of jail that early morning when Mary had been called to the police station. She loved that old man. He was the father she and Connie should have had.

Mary enjoyed sitting at her desk uninterrupted for fifteen minutes until Lisa poked her head in. She had a wad of pink gum in her mouth, Mary noticed. She shook her head. Professionalism was lost on Lisa.

"Sergeant Owen to see you, Mary."

"Send him in." Mary ran her fingers through her brown hair. She hoped she didn't have lipstick on her teeth. A quick check in the mirror in her drawer showed her all clear. He was smiling when he came in, donut and coffee in hand. Preston had insisted, he explained.

"All cops like donuts. It's the law," he told her laughing.

"I bet you've heard enough police jokes about donuts to last a lifetime. Have a seat." She cleared a spot for the detective to safely put his coffee cup and donut on a napkin.

He pointed to her half-eaten donut near the phone. "I see that it's the law that undertakers eat donuts too." He was wearing a brown suit today, Mary noticed, his gun slightly visible at his side when he sat down. He was still carrying his notepad and had a pencil lodged behind his ear. She had to agree with her sister Connie. He had a cute smile.

"So, are you here to arrest me after all, Detective?"

"Not really. The case has taken a whole new turn. We don't think we are dealing with a nut after all."

"Just an organ snatcher?" Mary interrupted. His face registered surprise.

"You've already heard! Did Dr. Jenkins spill the beans again?"

"Yes. She told me the body was stolen from Simpson's during an exhumation. That's still pretty disturbing," she said.

"Keep all that under your hat, please. Yes, it's plenty disturbing that someone's taking organs to sell on the black market. Right here in Newlenberg of all places. This is a new one for us. Have you ever heard of it?"

"Only on the news occasionally. Organs are in great demand. But stealing them would be very difficult, I think, if you're using patients in a hospital. Even bodies. It has to be done quickly or the organs die. It can't be done on a body that's scheduled for autopsy because the body would be in Dr. Jenkins's fridge. I do suppose there's some type of security there. Too risky during the day. Dr. Jenkins would notice a body without organs. Someone is forging death certificates too, checking the donor box. Relatives catch on eventually. The funeral home mentions it, and then the cat is out of the bag. The person would have to be very clever to get away with it for very long."

Detective Owen sipped his coffee. "And a doctor, you think?"

"To extract organs? No, not necessarily. I could do it. But a doctor would have the training and the run of the hospital. He would know what bodies were in house and everyone's schedule. He would have access to the specialized equipment needed to remove the organs and preserve them," Mary explained. "I wouldn't."

"What do you think of Dr. Jenkins? Any black shadows in her past?"

"Sue's a friend. She attends my church. I've known her for years and no, she doesn't have a drinking or gambling problem if that's what you're asking. She's a woman of high scruples. Graduate of Johns Hopkins. She doesn't fit the profile of someone selling organs. She has all the money she needs, but no time to spend it. I get the impression she lives for her job. Like us. I do suppose you'll want to investigate her anyway. She seems to think the culprit is a dishonest doctor."

The detective nodded. "She's not the only one that thinks that. I've ordered background checks all around. I've run a check already on your Carl Winston. He's a Vietnam vet, got awarded some medals. Kind of a local hero at the VFW. He's clean as far as criminal behavior. Mike was truant in high school, I hear. Married now with two kids, and he needs this job."

"We all need our job, Detective."

He nodded. "As you said earlier, Bill was in jail for theft for a couple of months. He needs this job too, he told him. I wonder, however, has changed his old ways? Did you know he has a brother working for your competition at Simpson's?"

Mary was surprised. "What? No, he's never mentioned that. "I try to keep up with their personal lives as much as possible. We like to think of ourselves as a family organization."

"Did you know your funeral van was parked at Simpson's Funeral Home last night? I have a witness."

Mary's eyes widened. "No, that's all news to me. However, we all have keys to the van. I've okayed Bill borrowing the van before so he doesn't necessarily have to tell me when he takes it. Bill occasionally uses it or the truck for hauling personal stuff. To make ends meet, he landscapes for other people. Sometimes he moves people. College is expensive. I agree to his extra activities as long as he pays for the gas. But I have no idea what he was doing at Simpson's last night."

"He said he picked up his brother after work, and they hauled some furniture for an elderly woman. A Mrs. Elizabeth Kinsley. You know her?"

"I do, Detective. She goes to my church too. That wouldn't be so far-fetched, would it?"

"No, we checked it out, and everything he said was true. He and his brother did take the van and pick up some furniture she wanted hauled to the dump. So for now, he's off the suspect list for organ snatching unless you figure he or his brother gave out some information to someone looking for fresh organs for cash."

Mary sighed. "Nothing fresh about our mystery lady, Detective. We're all aware of who's coming in and when the next burial is. We have to be because it all has to work like clockwork. You have twenty-one hours for embalming. You have the night of receiving friends and relatives. Then there's the actual funeral service and finally burial. Everything is coordinated and timed, including ordering materials and flowers. Every person is closely involved in making the funeral go off without a hitch. Except for the one yesterday."

"But you pulled it off despite everything."

Mary crossed her arms. "Of course. It's what I do."

"I'm having a hard time trying to find some bad guys in your organization." He finished his donut and threw the napkin in the trash.

"I noticed. That's because there aren't any bad guys here, Detective. You are looking in the wrong place. The bad guys are out there."

"Perhaps. I've even checked you out, Mary Frances Shepard. Divorced. No relatives living. Foster homes as a child. You and your sister came to live with Preston Smith, and the rest is history. Were you ever legally adopted by him?"

"No. His daughter objected to it so he never did. But he's always considered me his daughter, whether it was legal or not. I don't need a piece of paper to know who cares about me. He sent me to mortuary college. In many ways he was the father Connie and I were lacking."

The detective flipped the page in his notebook over. "That was very generous of him. You're very lucky to have ended up with him. I see many kids from foster homes go to jail. The record shows you graduated first in your class as a licensed undertaker and funeral director. No criminal record. You came out squeaky clean."

Mary laughed at him. "What did you expect? A sordid past? Skeletons in my closet?"

"You probably keep your skeletons here in the home! I even ran a report on your ex-husband Ned Pruett."

Mary stared at him. "You know where he is? Even I don't know that. As soon as I signed the divorce papers, he disappeared off the face of the earth. He's never paid a cent in child support all these years! Not even a birthday card for his son. Some part of me was hoping he was dead."

"Sorry to disappoint you. He's very much alive and living in Wheeling, West Virginia, with his new family. He sells cars at the Ford place. Want me to prosecute the dead beat? He owes you."

Mary leaned back in her chair. "I'll think about it. Write down the address. I want Joey to go to college without huge debt. Like you said, Ned owes me. At least he could be sick and dying. That would be the only acceptable excuse for his behavior. I used to dream that he would turn up on one of my slabs. He's a worm! I changed my name back to my maiden name just to get even."

Detective Owen nodded. "Gee, Mrs. Shepard. You can be very vindictive. I like that in a woman. You should have been a cop. We need more women like you on the force. Show them who's boss!"

"I did think about becoming a forensic detective, but Preston wanted me here."

"Our loss. I hope you have forgiven me for those remarks about the funeral home business yesterday. Long, hard day. I was punchy. I haven't finished paying off my Dad's funeral yet. They really took my Mom for a ride with satin pillows and velvet linings."

"That's unfortunate, Detective. I hate it when someone takes advantage of a grieving widow. We don't do that here."

The detective closed his notebook and put it in his pocket. "Glad to hear it."

Mary waved her hand. "I've already forgotten your comments. We were both wound up yesterday. We both had a job to do, and we were determined to do it. We aren't that much different."

"Look, as far as I am concerned, our professions are very much alike. I just see the bodies first. We both clean up the mess. I, more than anyone, understand what you see every day. I certainly agree that we have a lot in common, Ms. Shepard."

"Call me Mary."

"If you call me Dan."

Lisa again opened the door. "Emergency, Mary, in the embalming room. Bill says come quick and bring the cop!" Lisa disappeared in a whirl. Dan followed quickly Mary down the hall.

In a second they stood beside a young woman's body in the embalming room. Bill and Sam looked shocked. Lisa was green.

"What's going on?" Mary asked Sam. Sam Goins, the embalmer, was dressed in his white lab coat with his paper face mask pulled down to his neck. Bald, his glasses were perched on top of his shiny dome. He reminded Mary of a surgeon in his medical get-up. Then she remembered he had attended two years of medical school before changing professions. He often remarked he liked to play doctor. Mary ignored him and his so-called jokes. Sam was single, and she could guess why.

"Look!" Bill exclaimed excitedly before Sam could open his mouth. He pointed to the body. "She was like this when I unzipped her for Sam."

"Incisions," Mary noted. A large Y-shaped cut had been made across the body. "She wasn't marked as a donor because I checked. It's happened again, Dan, only to us. What's missing, Sam?"

"Kidneys, liver, heart, and get this, the ovaries. And," he reached over and opened an eyelid. An empty socket stared back at them. Lisa fled from the room.

"She wasn't autopsied. She was robbed," Bill said.

### Chapter Seven

The body was shipped back to the hospital and the medical examiner for further police investigation. Dan followed the body to hospital. Mary made the necessary calls to the parents of the girl after the detective explained the situation and tried to calm them down. They decided to go on with the memorial service as planned in two days since it had been announced in the paper. Mary would hang a portrait of the girl in the chapel surrounded by flowers. The casket would be missing.

"Will they be satisfied with that?" Bill asked Mary when she told him.

"Yes, I think the flowers will be enough. There'll be several picture boards around and that should bring on all the grieving they want to do without a body. Poor family."

Mary thought about the hundreds of funerals she had conducted over the years, and burying the young was always the worst. Unexpected and tragic, young death always reminded Mary of how short life truly was.

At eleven o'clock the family came in, and Mary ushered them into the office and shut the door. They asked her to explain the finding of yesterday's body and now the unpleasant discovery that their daughter was also a victim of illegal organ removal. They had a difficult time accepting the circumstances. The mother wept openly while the father's face remained angry.

"When will they release the body?" he managed to ask.

"There has to be an autopsy and an investigation. They want to catch this guy. Your daughter is their only link at this point to the criminal." Behind the father, the mother began to sob. Mary encircled her arms around the weeping woman's shoulders.

"I understand," she said. "The Blue Chapel is set up and awaiting your approval. Then we can pick out a monument at our warehouse, if you are ready." They slowly nodded, and Mary led the couple to the chapel.

The baseball game started at five. Mary got a seat on the top row of the bleachers and settled in for the game. It was bright and slightly windy, so Mary anchored her purse between her legs and got out her sunglasses. Below her, teenagers wandered between the rows with pizza and hot dogs in their hands. She recognized many of the high school teachers and parents of her son's friends. Some waved. Others ignored her. No one knew what to say to an undertaker. Mary took it in stride.

The umpires came on the field to inspect the bases, and Mary spotted her son in his white uniform warming up by the dugout.

"Is this seat taken?" a familiar voice asked. When she looked up, she saw Detective Dan Owen.

"What are you doing here?" she blurted out. "Am I being tailed?"

He frowned, uncertain she was joking. "Sorry, only a coincidence. My son is playing."

"I know. I was joking, of course. Joey told me Calvin was playing. There's my son," Mary told him. "The pitcher for Newlenberg High."

"Calvin is on first base. You know, he's mentioned Joey Pruett, but I didn't make the connection until now. I told you, we have a lot in common."

"And Joey's talked about Calvin too! They all look up to him. He helps manage the team, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, when he isn't working at the hospital."

"Really. I didn't know that. What does he do at the hospital?" Mary asked.

"Whatever they tell him, I think. He doesn't talk much about it. I think he's a general delivery boy. Moves patients from one floor to another. Helps out in the ER. It's a requirement to graduate that they do so many hours of community service so I sent him over there. They liked him so much they hired him part-time. I didn't want him down at the station where he'd get special treatment. He likes being his own man. What's Joey doing for community service?"

Mary laughed. "Do you have to ask? Mowing the cemetery of course. Helping with the funerals. Preston slips him money for college this way."

"That qualifies as community service?"

"Qualifies as service for Preston Smith Funeral Home. As for community service, you know the school's definition is quite vague. You can make anything fit."

They watched as the teams got ready to play and went to the dugout. "I imagine there's quite a buzz going around the hospital about the organ snatching. Has Calvin heard anything?"

"No. Said he hasn't noticed anything unusual. No body parts in the halls. No blood leaking from a briefcase. I told him to keep his eyes open. Hey, the game's starting. No more shop talk. Deal?"

"Deal!" Mary agreed.

A couple of hours later, hoarse from yelling, Mary and Dan decided to celebrate the Newlenberg High victory at the local pizza place. They were joined shortly by the team and the coach. Dan pounded both Joey and Calvin on the back. Joey watched Dan return to his mother at another table and gave her a curious look.

"Your son looks surprised to see us eating together," Dan remarked.

"I don't go out much. The death thing. Do you date a lot?"

"Nah. The cop thing. I'm too busy. Marriage, been there, done that. At least I got Calvin out of the deal. He's been my rock all these years."

"Same here."

They had just finished their pizza when cell phones began ringing. Dan dug in his pocket, while Mary reached into her purse.

Dan jumped up, handing the waitress a wad of bills. "Gotta go. I'll call you later if I learn anything new. You stay safe."

Mary nodded, her cell phone at her ear. Lisa was on the line relaying the call about a death at Fair Oaks Nursing home a short distance away. Mary hung up and paged Bill. They would meet at Fair Oaks Nursing Home in fifteen minutes. He was to bring the van and the usual equipment.

As Bill unloaded the gurney, Mary found the Fair Oaks head nurse who led her to Mrs. Jamison's room. There she found the corpse of an elderly black woman lying on a bed. Her three daughters, in their sixties, stood at the bedside watching the nurse pull a sheet over the body. Behind the daughters stood the physician, a man Mary recognized from her many trips to the hospital as Dr. Frank Evans. He ran the emergency room at St. Andrew's during working hours. With not enough physicians in town, he also rotated as a physician on call for the nursing home.

Mary quickly introduced herself to the family and explained the procedure of taking the body to the funeral home and made an appointment to meet tomorrow to discuss arrangements. The doctor took Mary aside and handed Mary a completed death certificate.

"Heart failure, due to old age. She died in her sleep," he told Mary. "Was the traffic bad when you came over?"

"I didn't come straight from the funeral home. Why? What's going on in this quiet little berg of ours?"

"The new fertility clinic is being dedicated today. The place is supposed to be packed with both supporters and protesters. Dr. DuFrey, a big hot shot in the field, is heading up the operation. It's supposed to bring in more business to the hospital."

Mary nodded. "I think I read something about that in the papers this morning. He's some genetic researcher, isn't he? Moved down from Maryland a couple of months ago. He's stirred up some controversy over his methods. The churches are all up in arms."

Dr. Evans nodded, closing his medical bag. "Does a lot of independent research with stem cells when he's not running the new fertility lab. There's a lot of debate over stem cell research right now. People think they use aborted human fetuses. I could hardly drive out of the parking lot because of the people marching with signs."

"It's a touchy subject for sure," Mary said. "I'll steer clear. Enjoy the rest of your night, Dr. Evans."

"I'll be seeing you again soon. It's a certainty."

"Unfortunately."

The doctor left and Mary turned back to the family. Bill arrived with the gurney, and Mary ushered the family out of the room, explaining that they would be leaving out the back door so as to not upset the other elderly residents. She turned to help Bill. They arranged Mrs. Jamison on the gurney and strapped down the limbs. In a couple of hours the body would be stiff and unmanageable. They had to work fast. Bill fastened a sheet tight around the body so that no one would glimpse any skin.

As predicted, a ring of men and women in wheelchairs lined the hall when they emerged with the body. Many stared, some cried, and one put his hand on the gurney as it went by. "Bye, June," he said. News of a death traveled with lightning speed in a nursing home. In less than a day, however, Mrs. Jamison would be replaced by a new patient on the waiting list. Mary imagined the nurses were cleaning out Mrs. Jamison's things at this very moment and readying the room for its new occupant. Fair Oaks was a steady client.

Mary followed Bill back to the funeral home. By now it was eight o'clock in the evening, and the parking lot was full for the viewing of ninety-year-old Mrs. Clarke, former owner of a local Italian restaurant. She had eleven children, twenty-one grandchildren, and seven great grandchildren. The place was packed. Always conscious of decorum, Mary entered the home through the back door and found Preston in his office.

"How was the game? What are you doing back here?" he asked, looking up from his papers. "I thought you were going home after the game."

"Newlenberg won, but I got a call for a pick-up at Fair Oaks. Woman. Bill's got her out back. Is it too soon to unload her? There's seems to still be a good crowd from the viewing left."

"Just the close relatives. Had a large turnout. I was just catching up on the accounting fees. Let me peek in on them and then we'll see about our new arrival." Preston left for the chapel and then shortly returned.

"It's clearing out now. I'll unbolt the delivery doors and let Bill in. Wheel her in the back. Did you leave a message on Sam's cell so he knows?"

"Not yet. I'll set the features first," Mary answered. "Then Sam will have to finish her in the morning. The family will be in at ten with the funeral dress. I'll just start the preliminaries now."

"Don't stay too late, Mary. I know you're tired."

"It's the nature of the business, Preston. Don't worry. An hour at the most."

"By the way, Caroline Huntsman called. She thinks we misspelled her husband's middle name on the plaque in the mausoleum. You'll need to sort that out."

Mary groaned out loud. "She's been quite a pain. I'll pull the paperwork and see whose fault it is and who is going to pay for it. It's always something with that company. If they don't do better, I'm going to find another engraver."

Mrs. Jamison was brought in, and Mary donned her white latex gloves and protective gown over her clothes. She pulled a mask over her mouth and nose and began carefully removing the clothing of the deceased, storing it in a plastic bag. She then sprayed the body with a topical disinfectant, massaged the limbs to relieve the rigor mortis, and placed her in a resting position with arms at her side for now.

She was careful to close the mouth in a natural looking pose and waxed the lips to prevent dryness. The woman's glasses and rings were carefully placed in a box near the embalming table. Last of all, Mary wrapped the body in a new clean sheet and wheeled the gurney into the walk-in cold storage room. Now the body was ready for the embalmer.

Virginia law ordered that the body had to be embalmed within forty-eight hours. If that wasn't possible, Mary returned it to the hospital morgue for safe keeping in their refrigerator boxes. Most people wanted the body embalmed. Occasionally, Mary ran into those who didn't want the body preserved in any way for moral or religious reasons. Burial then had to take place over a twenty-four hour period, if not sooner.

Mary cleaned up and then returned to the office to make calls. Everyone was gone now, and all the lights were turned off except the one in her office. She proceeded to check the doors and then returned to her office to get her purse.

On her desk was the message from Mrs. Huntsman. While it was on her mind, Mary pulled out her Huntsman file from her cabinet and examined the original invoice sent to the engraver. All was in order. The name matched. "Giles" was spelled as ordered. Now Mary wondered what was on the plaque. Was it too late to check? Mary checked her watch. Ten o'clock. She knew she should go home, but she hated to leave work undone. It just multiplied the next day.

"It's official, Mary. You work too much," she grumbled.

She pulled her flashlight out of the drawer, hoping this would take only a minute. She went out the front door wearing her coat. The night air was cool. Traffic was sparse as she walked across the dark road. She went through the open cemetery gates and followed the paved lane toward the large mausoleum. The white granite building housed the cremated remains of some three hundred souls with room for five hundred more. People still preferred burial over cremation in this part of Virginia because land was available and cheap. For convenience, speed, and upkeep, cremation was the way of the future, Mary predicted. She was seeing it more and more.

The iron gate at the mausoleum made a loud scraping noise that made Mary cringe that made her hair stand on end when she opened it.

"I should get that oiled," she said to the dark walls. Moving down the hall, reading names with her flashlight, she came to the question at hand. On the bottom row she found "Granville Gile Huntsman" engraved on a plaque proving that his ashes lay behind the sign in a small crypt. Now Mary had the answer she sought. The engraver had left off the "s" in the middle name. Now that she had solved the mystery, it was time to go. She could just catch the end of her favorite TV show if she hurried.

### Chapter Eight

Mary walked back to the gate and shut it firmly behind her. She was about to go when she thought she heard some rustling behind her. She abruptly turned with her flashlight, shining it over the tombstones and plots by the gate. She checked the bench nearby to see if a homeless tramp had wandered in. She decided there was no one there, but shut off her light to make sure.

Mary stood still and listened in the darkness. Beyond the pines, cars and trucks whipped by on the expressway. Despite that, there was a distinct thumping noise nearby behind the mausoleum. In the dark she followed the pavement, lit by the street lamp to the back of the cemetery. She saw a light on the ground in the distance, and again the thumping sound. Mary stopped. Her cell phone was in her pocket, but it would light up if she opened it and they would see her. She told herself she would be careful and hightail it out of there at the any hint of danger. In the meantime, she just had to get an idea of what was going on. Perhaps she could solve Dan's whole case and they could put this behind them.

Crouching behind a tombstone with a flower vase cutting into her knee, she made out two figures in the darkness. She expected to find a group of teenagers smoking pot and pushing tombstones over, but instead saw two men standing over an open grave covered by boards. Stunned, Mary watched as they ripped the boards apart, tossed them aside, and shone their flashlights into the dark hole.

"Here it is, the vault! We'll use the dozer to lift the lid. Everyone's gone home so no one will hear us."

"How will we seal it back up? We ruined the boards."

"No one will notice. This is the last place they'll look," came the answer.

"This isn't another one of your hair-brained schemes like last time, is it? This has to work or we're dead men."

Mary realized they were at the new Frazier grave which was awaiting a burial that hadn't yet taken place. The vault lid laid in the grass on the edge of the grave. To keep anyone from falling in, Bill had covered the grave with boards nailed together. She wondered what body they were hiding this time and if there were others like this one hidden on top of already buried people.

"Hurry up! I thought I heard something! Put the bag in." More rustling. Mary saw the outline of a large bag being lowered into the grave. It shifted in their arms, and they almost dropped it into the hole. Mary gasped.

"Careful, you moron! I'll fall in." Suddenly the flower vase at Mary's knee toppled over with a large noise. The men stopped, and the bag fell on its own into the vault with a bang. Mary heard them stop. She knew they were looking for her.

"Someone's over there," one of the men whispered. Mary slowly crawled backwards away from her hiding spot. Their flashlights darted around the stone and then found her face as she crouched behind a monument.

"Over there. Get her!" a deep voice ordered.

Detected, Mary stood up and ran back toward the mausoleum. Her heels stuck in the mud, and she flicked on her flashlight so she would stay on the pavement. She knew they could now clearly see her, but it didn't matter. She had to get back to the funeral home and call the police from the safety of a locked door.

Behind her she heard footsteps but didn't panic. She ran through the main gates. She glanced back, hoping they wouldn't chance coming into the glow of the overhead street lamp where anyone passing by could see them. She had to wait for a truck to roll by.

Then arms grabbed her, one hand across her mouth and another around her waist. She tried to scream but was harshly stifled. In just seconds she was lifted up and carried swiftly back into the dark shadows of the cemetery. She squirmed, kicked, and tried to wiggle out from the man's grasp. She couldn't see any faces because of their masks. Her flashlight loomed up in front of her face and then smashed down on her forehead. She collapsed and lost consciousness, warm blood seeping down her face.

"Oh God, it's Mary!" she heard someone say. Then all went black

• • •

When Mary opened her eyes, she saw nothing. There was a ringing in her ears, and her head throbbed with pain. Slowly she turned her head. Her hair stuck to the floor, and strands ripped out as she turned. She realized she was lying on a cold, rough surface. Experimenting, she shut her eyes and reopened them, hoping for sight. Nothing. Darkness. She began to panic, realizing she was blind.

Then she tried moving her arm and discovered a wall, cold and unyielding to her touch. Rough. Cement-like, she thought. It pricked at her skin. Moving her hand to her head, she felt a large lump on her head and a sticky fluid on her forehead. Blood. Slowly, she tried to sit up, found she couldn't and lay back down, dizzy and disoriented. In the total darkness she wasn't sure of up or down. The top of her already painful head scraped across the ceiling, and she ducked instinctively. Why couldn't she sit up fully? She leaned against the cold wall and tried to concentrate. Throb. Throb. She could barely think with the pounding in her head.

She tried stretching out her legs, which were cramped, and quickly found out the dimensions of where she was. Her legs told her she was in a box.

But she wasn't alone. Her legs touched another cold object which she explored with her hand and then stopped. A large bag. A body bag. She was in a box with a body bag, her fuzzy brain processed. Now she could scream because she realized she was in the Frazier burial vault with a body. She wasn't blind after all, but trapped where there was no light and most important, no air. The lid of the vault had been replaced, and it weighed tons. How had they managed it? How did they know how to drive the dozer? Then another thought occurred to her. What if they had filled in the grave as well? That meant there was three feet of earth above her and she was buried alive with the evidence of their crime.

"No, no," she murmured. She reached up and pounded on the top of the vault, but she knew it was too heavy to move. She found she could half crouch in the space but that was all. She lay down again and willed herself to be calm or she would use up her air faster by moving around. Now she needed to think, not fly off the handle.

No one knew she was here, she reasoned. Preston thought she had gone home. They wouldn't notice this grave because the boys had dug it the previous day before Mary learned that the body was returning to the hospital. Eventually they would search for her, but she would run out of air long before they figured it out. If they ever did.

Tears fell down Mary's face. This was a cruel way to die, she thought, suffocating in a burial vault. If only she could see Joey again and make sure he knew she loved him. She was afraid she hadn't said it enough.

Something rattled in her coat pocket, and she remembered her cell phone. Pulling it out of her pocket, she tried the power button. It glowed an eerie green in her hand. She counted down the buttons and tried to dial 911. Then she listened. Nothing. No signal. She thought about Joey. She thought about Preston and Connie. She envisioned herself on the embalming table and prayed to Jesus asking for help. If rescue was not coming, she prayed that her death was quick. She forced herself to relax, wondering how long it would take to suffocate in a vault four feet by eight. She wanted to scratch at the lid, but knew it was useless.

She tried the cell phone again as she shifted on her back in the vault to another corner by lifting her feet over the body bag. Her head and body were again assaulted with pain, but she paid no attention. She wiped the blood out of her eyes. No dial tone. She forced herself to concentrate, swallowing her panic. Now was the time to think. She could do this.

She tried the phone again. This time she heard a faint dial tone and ringing as the signal finally connected. Perhaps there was less dirt on this side or a hole that formed around the corner of the vault. Somehow the signal was getting out, and she didn't care how.

Mary heard someone answer, a weak voice that sounded far away. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she had to try and break through.

"Help me! I'm buried in Serenity Gardens!" she yelled as loud as she could. "My name is Mary Shepard! Can you hear me?" Static. Then nothing. Mary continued to redial, trying to reconnect. Sometimes she would hear static, some distant voices, but they never answered her back. She redialed Joey time after time. Then the line began to go dead. The light from the phone faded as the battery slowly wore down. Mary left it on but stopped dialing. It didn't seem to be any use. After what seemed hours, Mary had yielded to defeat. She closed her eyes and rested quietly against the wall of the dark vault, giving in to the pain and sadness. With her back against the full body bag, she lay on her side and waited to die.

### Chapter Nine

Detective Dan Owen was sleeping soundly after a very long day when the shrill ringing of phone beside his bed finally woke him up. He squinted at the clock and saw that it was midnight. Although he was accustomed to getting phone calls in the middle of the night, he never enjoyed it. It was always bad news.

He forced himself awake, sat up on the side of the bed, and tried to focus. A policeman was on duty at all times, but Harry Lincoln was covering the night shift for him. Why were they waking him? He had a bad feeling.

Grabbing the phone, he lifted the receiver to his ear. "Detective Owen," he answered, expecting to hear Harry's voice.

"Detective Owen. It's Joey Pruett. I'm sorry to call this late." The name didn't register at first with Dan.

"Who? Joey who?" he gruffly asked.

"Joey Pruett, Mary Shepard's son. You had pizza with her tonight. She hasn't come home yet, and I was wondering if she was with you. This had never happened before. She's always come home."

His words began to sink into the policeman's groggy brain. "Mary's missing you say?" Dan's eyes were fully open now.

"Yeah. I called Preston, and he last saw her at the funeral home about eight-thirty. She was going to process a stiff and then come home. He left her to lock up. Preston's at the funeral home now. Said Mom's car is there, the front door open, and her purse still in her office. He told me to call you in case she was there. I got your number off the baseball roster."

Dan's eyes were now open. "Yes, I'm glad you did. I'll get dressed and go over to the funeral home. Tell Mr. Smith to sit tight. I'll alert the station." Dan bolted out of bed, threw on his jeans and a shirt, and grabbed his gun holster. He paused at his son's bedroom door to tell Calvin he was heading out on a case.

"Calvin? You awake?" In the darkness, Dan reached for his son on his bed and realized no one was there. Then he remembered Calvin telling him he was spending the night at a friend's house to finish a school project.

Out the door Dan went. On the way, he dialed the station on his cell phone and ordered Harry to meet him at the funeral home.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at the Preston Smith Funeral home. All lights were on, and one squad car was already there. Joey drove up behind him in his old black Chevy truck.

"I couldn't just sit at home," the boy explained.

"But she might try to contact you."

"I have my cell phone. I keep calling her, but the call won't go through. It's like her phone is dead, but she would never let that happen. It's her lifeline." Joey's young face was consumed with worry. "I truly think something's happened. I can't lose my mom, Officer Owen. She's all I've got. We've got to find her!"

"We will!" Dan put his arm on the teen's shoulder and gave him a small squeeze. "I'm sure everything's okay. Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this, Joey. Let's see what Preston has found out so far."

Dan hid his concern behind his smile. He was careful not to let his emotions show to Joey. All the signs pointed to a bad ending, but he wanted to keep the boy from panicking. A car in the lot, open front door, and purse left behind all pointed to foul play in his experience.

Harry greeted Dan at the door. "The dispatcher called saying that he received several calls from this area about an hour ago. They couldn't hear the caller, but they thought it was a woman. The signal was too faint to pinpoint. They tried redialing, but it never connected. The guys have searched the place up and down. She's definitely missing."

They continued talking in the entry way. Preston joined Joey and hugged him. "The police will help us sort this out, Joey."

Dan turned to Joey. "Did you find her phone, Preston? In her purse?"

"No. I didn't see it. I saw her keys, though. She didn't go anywhere. That's why I think she's here. Somewhere."

"There's a body in the refrigerator," an officer yelled from the embalming room.

"That would be normal," Preston yelled back. "Mary put it in there before she left. It's a funeral home. There's supposed to be bodies here."

"Are there any signs of a struggle?" Dan asked.

"Neat as a pin," the officer observed, returning to the entry way.

"That's how Mary works," Preston told him. "She's a perfectionist."

"She told me that," Dan agreed.

"Could she have gone over to the cemetery for some reason?" another officer asked.

Preston's eyes lit up. He raced back into her office and returned with the note he had written earlier.

"There was a problem at the mausoleum. She might have gone over there to check the spelling on a plaque. The wife was quite irate, I remember. Mary likes to take of things as soon as possible."

Dan opened the front door. "Let's go have a look. You lead the way to the mausoleum, Mr. Smith." Gathering flashlights from the coat closet, the group made their way across the street. The traffic had stopped with the late hour, and the street lights illuminated their way. A light fog blanketed the cemetery, and the moisture stuck to their clothes.

They started down the paved driveway to the mausoleum with Preston going first. The group fanned out, shining their lights back and forth. Joey called out his mother's name. No answer.

"Sir! Have a look at this!" an officer suddenly called out just before reaching the mausoleum. They rushed over, dodging the tombstones and hedges. They all stared at a flashlight covered with a dark substance laying in the wet grass.

"That's Mary's," Preston offered. "I gave it to her for Christmas. See the M written on the side."

Joey looked at Dan's stern face. "That's blood, isn't it? I told you something happened to her!"

"Joey, stay here with Mr. Smith. We'll search the area. Harry, radio back and tell them we're going to need a dog." Dan glanced around and assessed the situation. A hundred tombstones stretched before him. The last thing he wanted was Joey finding his mother dead.

They began the search, officers fanning out again to cover ground. Dan pointed out fresh footprints in the mud and smashed grass. It was obvious that several people had been there recently at the mausoleum. A search of the fence revealed that it had been cut again near the same spot as before and behind the hotel's dumpster. An officer showed the hotel desk staff Mary's driver's license photo, but no one had seen her.

Preston and Joey shivered in the cold, watching Dan search the cemetery over again. An officer bagged the bloody flashlight. Joey pulled out his phone and once again punched in his mother's number.

"Hey, it's ringing!" Joey announced. Dan and the others came back and stared at the lit phone.

The noise of her phone ended Mary's crying. She jerked forward in surprise, and her cell phone fell out of her hand to the vault floor. For several seconds she groped for it and then found it by her side. "Help me!" she screamed. "I'm buried in the Frazier plot. My name is Mary Shepard!"

The air in the vault was foul, and Mary coughed, her throat dry as a desert. "Can you hear me?"

Faintly, as though a million miles away, she could hear a voice. "Mom? Mom, where are you?"

"In the cemetery," she screamed as loud as she could. "I'm buried. In the Frazier plot! Help me! The air is just about gone!"

Static. Then the line went dead. Mary continued to sob next to the corpse. They were so close, but she didn't think they would figure it out in time.

"I heard her! It was her!" Joey announced to the police officers standing around him.

Preston appeared by his side. "What did she say? Where is she?"

"I couldn't make it out. It was like she could barely speak. Something about the cemetery. She's here, I know it! Why can't I get a signal? Why can't we find her?"

"Something is blocking the signal," Preston said. "Her cell phone is the best money can buy, I saw to that! Maybe she's under something. What could be preventing her signal from reaching us?" Preston asked.

Dan eyes' widened in shock. "Dirt perhaps. Could she be buried?" He turned again to the hundred graves, many with the sod removed for reseeding. The flashing blue light of another squad car suddenly illuminated them as it pulled into the cemetery.

"Harry, there's the dog. Bring him over here. Preston, do you have something he can smell?"

"I saw her sweater in the closet when I got the flashlights."

"That'll work. Hurry!"

Preston fetched Mary's sweater from her office closet. Dan let the dog smell the material and then turned him loose. In five minutes, they all stood on the dirt pile of a fresh grave where the dog was barking loudly. Several boards lay in a heap behind a tombstone next to the plot.

"Is there someone buried here?" Dan yelled to Preston, his fears finally taking hold of him.

Preston couldn't be sure so he took an officer's cell phone and called Bill. A tired Bill told Preston he had dug a fresh grave for the Frazier girl the day before and installed a vault but left the lid at the grave. When the body had gone back to the hospital, he covered the grave with the required boards to keep people from falling in the open grave.

"Is the grave behind the mausoleum?" Preston asked. Yes was the answer. "Should it be filled in with dirt?"

"No. Why re-dig a grave the second time? I nailed some old boards together and laid them across the grave. If the grave is filled in with dirt, then I didn't do it," Bill explained.

"She's down there!" Preston yelled excitedly to the police. "It's not supposed to be filled in! Get over here, Bill. We need you dig the vault up."

"Mary! Mary!" Dan yelled into the dirt. The group got silent and listened. Clank. Clank. Someone was pounding somewhere below. Preston led Dan and the officers to the tool shed and handed out shovels. Joey took one too and joined the digging. Dirt flew. After ten minutes of hard digging, they hit the vault. With their shovels, they worked at the lid and pried it open slowly, a crack at a time with their shovels. When they got a few inches moved, Dan's flashlight revealed Mary's eyes looking up at them through the crack. She was gulping the fresh air.

Joey reached down and intertwined his fingers with hers over the edge of the vault.

"Bill's coming to lift the lid, Mom. Just relax. You'll be out of there soon. Everything going to be okay."

"I never thought I'd see you again," Mary whispered.

Preston was also down on his knees, peering into the darkness. "Are you hurt, Mary?"

"Someone hit me in the head with something hard. There's some blood and my head really hurts. I thought I was blind when I first came to. I am so glad to see your light even if I am seeing double," she said weakly.

Dan sent for an ambulance.

"Dan? Dan, are you there?"

Dan crouched down across the dirt. "I'm here, Mary. Who did this to you? Did you get a good look at them?"

"I never saw them in the dark. I know there were at least two of them. They seemed to know me. Listen Dan, I know why they were here."

"Why, Mary? What were they doing?"

"I'm not alone in here, Dan. I have company. The dead kind."

"Oh God," Joey whispered.

### Chapter Ten

When the sun came up over the horizon, Mary was resting in the hospital. Her face had been washed, her hair combed, and the cut in her head stitched. Holding a mirror, Mary looked at her swollen face and split lip. Preston and Joey sat by her bed as they listened to her recount her ordeal to Dan who was taping the interview.

"I busted my cell phone knocking on that vault," she complained.

Preston smiled and stroked her hair. "The company will pay for another one, Mary. It saved your life."

"Who was the corpse?" Mary asked Dan.

"LuAnne Frazier, Dr. Jenkins says. Stolen right from the morgue. Someone didn't want Dr. Jenkins looking at the body so they decided to make the corpse disappear. You got in the way. With the body missing, it would have been weeks probably before you decided to use that grave. By then the remains would have decayed along with all evidence of foul play.

Mary nodded. "But the big mystery remains, doesn't it? What are they covering up so desperately that they are willing to kill for?"

"I don't care," Joey answered. "You stay out of it."

"It was just a coincidence that I stumbled upon them, Joey. I think they just acted in the moment. The grave was just there and open."

Dan frowned. "Still, they may think you can identify them and come after you again. I'm posting a guard outside. I want to make sure you're safe.

Joey squeezed his mother's hand. "Thanks, Dan. It will also keep Mom in this room and out of trouble."

"I'll be out tomorrow morning, Joey. I'm not staying here any longer than I have to. Go home and get some sleep, son. Stop worrying."

Preston offered to take Joey back to the funeral home to pick up his truck. The night was over, and he probably wouldn't make it to school on time. But he wouldn't miss baseball practice, he promised his mother. Joey kissed her and left with Preston.

"That kid saved your life," Dan told Mary. "He insisted I go look for you."

"I'm glad you did. I really thought I was going to die in there. I just kept thinking about Joey and how I regret that I didn't spend that much time with him growing up. My worst fear was not getting to tell him I love him one last time."

"I'm sure he knows, Mary. We're just glad you're okay. I'll do my best to get to the bottom of this. You said you heard one of them call your name. Did it sound in any way familiar?"

Mary shook her head. "I didn't recognize the voice, but it bothers me the way he said it. Like he knew me well. He used my first name. I must know him in some way. And they knew to use the dozer to fasten the lid on the vault. That means they knew where to find it, how to start it and how to attach a vault lid and drop it on me."

Dan nodded. "Then they have to work there, don't they Mary?"

"No. The keys are in the shed. We don't always lock it. Anyone could take them. Even I can drive the dozer. It's easy. I don't believe for a minute that Carl, Mike or Bill would kill me. They're more than employees. We're like a family, Dan."

"You're too trusting, Mary. You could have a killer on your staff. Harry is checking where your employees were last night. Consider everyone a suspect."

"Even my friends?"

"You have no friends now. The killer knows you. He knows the cemetery. Like you said, they probably didn't plan to kill you. You showed up unexpected, and they had to get rid of you. But they didn't plan on you escaping from what they figured was certain death. Pretty cruel burying you alive. We're dealing with some desperate villains here, the type I haven't seen in this town. They probably won't dump any more bodies in your cemetery. Twice they've been foiled."

"I hope not. Will you be coming by again before I check out, Dan. To check on me?" she asked him.

"I'll try to check on you tomorrow. You rest now and get well. And stay out of trouble." Dan squeezed her hand and opened the door. He spoke briefly with the officer outside the door and then left. Mary found herself alone. A nurse came in carrying a breakfast tray and the morning newspaper.

While chewing her toast, Mary glanced down at the prominent headlines. "Local Undertaker Attacked in Cemetery" was on the front page. As Mary read about herself, she wondered if her attackers were reading the article too. She thought about each of the men she worked with and none of them sounded like the man behind the mask. She reminded herself that the voice had been muffled by the mask. She couldn't be sure.

She went down an imaginary list in her head. Bill, the ex- con, didn't want to go back to prison. She was sure he wouldn't be involved in selling organs. Mike had a family to feed, but Mary had never known him to do anything dishonest. Carl was preoccupied with his dying wife.

That left Sam Goins, the embalmer at the funeral home. What did she know about him? Not much. He had moved to the area in late August, taking the place of the retiring embalmer. He'd told Preston he wanted to get out of the city and experience country living. He wasn't married but lived with his widowed sister. A real outdoors man, he spent his free time at his cabin up at Lake Hutchen. Mary had overheard many conversations between him and Preston about fly fishing and hunting turkeys. The man knew how to kill things, Mary thought, including people.

"Sam, a body snatcher?" Mary asked herself out loud. "Is it possible?" The idea seemed ludicrous to her after she said it, but a part of her was not convinced. Sam wasn't her favorite person. She couldn't help resenting his superior attitude about embalming. He often made decisions without consulting her. Worst of all, Preston doted on him. Mary didn't like her authority undermined by a show-off embalmer.

Mary forced herself to relax. It was just jealousy. All these years she'd had Preston all to herself. Now there was Sam Goins. Soon the funeral home would be hers, she thought, and she would be the boss of Sam. He wouldn't like that, but she sure would.

Mary looked out the window, thinking. Did Sam have a motive to kill her? If she had died that last night, Preston would certainly have given Sam control of the funeral home. Then again, he had been there when Bill discovered the problems with the Frazier girl. She could tell he was just as shocked as she was at the discovery. But she had to admit, he had the expertise to extract organs. Maybe he was a good actor, she thought. Someone was.

She turned back to the paper. Her eyes stopped at the other front page article which highlighted the opening of the new fertility clinic at the hospital. There was a picture of Dr. Jonathan DuFrey, a specialist in embryo implanting, standing in his laboratory surrounded by Petri dishes. He was a thin man with glasses. His bald head reminded Mary of Sam Goins. The small paragraph outlined DuFrey's awards and grants for stem cell studies. Angry protestors were in another picture, holding signs and picketing the parking lot.

The nurse came in to clear away Mary's food try and take her vital signs. Mary pointed to the article in the paper.

"What's this stem cell study all about?" Mary asked her. "I've heard of it, but I don't recall what the purpose is."

"Stem cells?" the nurse applied the pressure cuff. "Those are cells from embryos used to treat diabetes, heart disease, and cancer. All of this is in the experimental stages, of course. They hope to re-grow damaged organs and tissue with them. Even re-grow spinal cords. They think they will be the greatest discovery since antibiotics, if Congress allows them to do the research."

Mary frowned. "Why wouldn't they, if it's so promising?"

"Because getting embryos is difficult. Dr. DuFrey has frozen embryos from the fertility clinic to experiment on for now, but Congress is putting limits on using live viable embryos. Some people claim that's baby killing. Then there's all the trouble with the abortion clinics providing fetuses. Congress is trying to halt that too."

"Is that the only way to get stem cells, using embryos?"

"At the moment. Adult stem cells don't seem to have the potential the younger cells do. Cells from embryos have the ability to change into any cell, but older cells don't and they don't reproduce as well. If you can't get stem cells from embryos, then they have to turn to core stem cells, especially for bone marrow transplants."

"What are core stem cells? Where do they come from?"

"Placentas and umbilical cords. We used to just throw them away, but now people are saving them in case they need them in the future for transplants. You can't be sure you'll get the organs you need or the bone marrow."

Mary was surprised. "And this Dr. DuFrey, he collects the placentas and umbilical cords for his experiments?"

"I wouldn't know that. You can't get any body parts without permission from the patient. I understand Dr. DuFrey uses the embryos left over at his clinic. He and his assistants are working on new ways to get stem cells that won't be so controversial. The hospital is very glad he moved here from Maryland nine months ago, even if he and his ideas upset some of the religious crowd. In the end, we'll all benefit from stem cell research."

The nurse handed Mary some pills and a glass of water. After taking her pain medication, Mary dozed the rest of the morning and then got up for lunch. Dan brought in her tray to surprise her.

"Here's your lunch. I thought I would deliver it after all you've been through," he told her.

Mary pulled out the crumpled newspaper from under her bed cover and showed him the article on Dr. DuFrey.

"I've heard of him," Dan said. "Got big companies to donate money to the new wing. Going to bring all kinds of money into the area. He's like a super star of the medical world. Why are you interested in stem cells all of a sudden?"

Mary leaned over to whisper to him. "Listen, he does experiments on stem cells. You have to have certain body parts for that."

He looked at her, puzzled. "So? I'm sure that's a good thing. Why are we whispering?"

"I don't want the nurse to hear," Mary said. "Dr. Dufrey needs embryos and placentas. Is it just a coincidence that the bodies that are missing have had those removed?"

Dan frowned. "Wait a minute! Are you suggesting that Dr. DuFrey is snatching body parts for his experiments? That's crazy."

Mary crossed her arms. "Why is it crazy?"

"He's famous, for God's sake. He's got all the money in the world. Why would he stoop to fetching dead bodies out of the morgue? He has all kinds of resources at his disposal."

"I haven't quite worked that out yet," Mary admitted. "It just struck me suddenly that not just organs were taken but also the fetus and ovaries. Organ snatchers don't need them. They aren't on the transplant list. Why bother? And one other thing I suppose you have already noticed, Dan. So far, all the bodies tampered with have been female and young. How come they don't snatch male organs? Wouldn't that work as well?"

Dan stared at her. "We don't know yet that they haven't, Mary. We probably just haven't found them yet because no one has reported them missing. Are you seriously suggesting I investigate a pillar of the medical society?"

Mary stared at him. "Well, where was he last night?"

"Not at the cemetery burying you alive I bet. We haven't asked him. Probably won't. We're following other leads right now."

"Like what?" she asked.

"Mary! I'm the policeman. Leave the crime solving to me. I can't go around telling everyone what we're up to. We need the element of surprise. Relax. Besides, Bill was at home with his wife and kids. So was Mike. Carl claims he was at the hospital with his wife, and a nurse backed him up. Your embalmer said he was up at his cabin. No witnesses to that. Now, eat your lunch. It may not be gourmet, but I serve it with a lot of pleasure!"

They continued to bat theories around until Dan had to leave. She pointed out that Sam Goins didn't have a real alibi. As he was leaving he met Connie just coming in. She held the door open for him.

"Well, hello there! Mary, tell this officer out here who I am. I only get an hour for lunch, and he's wasting my time telling me I can't come in here." Connie stood against the door, wearing a bright pink blouse and short black miniskirt. Her red hair hung to her shoulders.

Dan laughed. "You could be a killer, ma'am. He's only doing his job."

Mary waved her in. "This is my little sister, Connie Shepard."

"Sister, huh? You two don't look much alike. Where did you get that red hair?" Dan asked Connie.

"Grandma Roberts if you must know. The green eyes too. I'm the better looking sister."

"Are not!" Mary countered. "Connie, this is Detective Dan Owen. Connie is currently dating one of your officers, Jim Benton."

"Ah, that Connie. This town is getting smaller all the time. You work down at Scotfellow's Interiors, don't you? I think Jim has mentioned you. Alot."

"If you need help brightening up that drab police station of yours, give me a call. I've seen it, and it's appalling."

"Sorry it offends your sensibilities. I'll have the chief give you a call. Well, I've got to go. Nice meeting you." Dan waved to Mary and left.

Connie pulled up a chair beside Mary's bed. "He's quite a hunk, isn't he? Are you smitten by him yet?"

"I think your miniskirt got his attention and probably everyone's else's in the hospital, Connie. You always stole my boyfriends in school."

"Can I help it if I dress fashionably? You should stop dressing so . . . what's the expression?"

"Like I was going to a funeral? But Connie, I am going to a funeral! I have to look the part."

"That's why you can't get a date, Mary. You're always hanging out at funerals! You should get out more. Take last night, for example. Your son told me you were out in that creepy cemetery in the middle of the night. You can't be surprised you ran into riff-raff who decided to bury you alive. Have any of your memories returned since the blow on the head?"

"I'm still trying to figure how they were. All I know for sure is that I got in their way. One of them knew my name."

Connie was shocked. "That's not good. Mary. You've got to give up this death stuff and do something less dangerous. Smelly corpses. It's disgusting! Think of your son. Think of your poor sister, your only relative in the world. I couldn't live without you."

Mary laughed. "Oh Sis, I think you'd be fine. Besides, you made your decision to go into interior design, and I decided to run the funeral home. I can't change my profession after all these years. Preston is fixing to retire, and he wants me to take over."

"You know, Mary, I know you feel grateful that Preston took us in when we were kids, but you don't owe him anything. He's not our father. He didn't adopt us. You're free to do whatever you like. It's your life."

"I know you and Preston didn't exactly hit it off, Connie, but he did put a roof over your head and pay for your college. Our father was a drunken no account. You were too young to remember, but he was awful to our mother."

"Oh I remember, believe you me!" Connie said. "I spend most of my time trying to live down our white trash upbringing."

Mary nodded. "I know I don't owe Preston anything, but I genuinely like the funeral business. I can't imagine being anywhere else. You have to respect my choice of professions, Connie. You should be used to it by now."

Connie frowned. "Mary, you always were weird. Obsessed with this death stuff. You should see somebody and get it fixed." They laughed and talked for awhile until it was time for Connie to go back to work.

Later, Joey called to tell her she was missing his baseball game. Dr. Evans came in and checked her eyes and the bandage on her head. He had treated her in the ER, Preston said, when she was first brought in.

"You can go home, tomorrow," he announced. "But I want you to stay away from work this weekend, Mary. I know you'd be back at the funeral home tomorrow. You need to let your head heal a little. You may suffer headaches for awhile. I'll give you pain medication for that. Rest assured that the funeral home can carry on without you, and don't push yourself. Preston has been there a good many years, and he can give orders too."

"I know, doctor. I just like to think the place can't run without me," Mary admitted, worried that Sam was sitting at her desk this very moment plotting the take-over. "I'm attached to the place."

"How many people would say that, Mary? Attached to a funeral home? You have truly found your calling. Preston is lucky to have you."

Mary smiled.

### Chapter Eleven

As the afternoon dragged on, Mary slipped on her bathrobe that Joey had brought by and decided to go visit Carl's wife, Mahalia. She and Preston had taken turns visiting Carl's wife for four months now. She knew the hospital bills were piling up as Mahalia lay wasting away from liver cancer. Carl, with his bad heart, was barely holding up under the pressure. Preston was taking on some of the bills himself to help Carl and his family out.

Mary stopped at the door and told the guard her plans. He followed her onto the elevator as they traveled up two floors to the ICU section of the hospital. As the guard waited outside, Mary went inside the darkened room. Only a table lamp was on, dimly lighting the bed and outlining the sleeping woman.

Mahalia Winston was now a shell of her former self. Once two hundred pounds, the fifty-five-year-old black woman had shriveled to ninety pounds. Her hospital gown ballooned around her frail frame, making her appear sunken into the bed. Wires connected her to several machines. Her youngest son, George, was sitting in a chair by the bed stroking his mother's withered hand. He looked up and smiled as Mary came in. As a teenager, Mary had often babysat for Mahalia and had fond memories of chasing little George through the funeral home. He liked to hide behind the caskets.

"Mary, what happened to you?" he whispered. "Why are you in a hospital gown?"

Mary explained the events of last night. George's face registered shock.

"I can't believe it! Who in this town would do such a thing? And why? These guys have got to be from out of town."

"I don't have a clue, George. The police will get to the bottom of it, sooner or later. But tell me, how's your mother doing?"

"She sleeps most of the time now, Mary. Her body's shutting down, and we've stopped the feeding tube. Her body isn't responding anymore. I'm not sure she knows I'm here. Dad says to speak to her as though she can hear you. He thinks she senses our presence, and it calms her. They have her on a steady drip of morphine that keeps the pain away but lets her float to another planet in her mind. Nothing she says makes sense. The doctors told me she'll last another week, maybe two."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, George. I know Carl is taking this hard. Married thirty-five years. It's an awful blow for everyone. We'll all be lost without her."

George wiped his eyes. "I just want the suffering to stop, Mary. I couldn't stand it if I thought she was in great pain."

"Of course. She seems quite comfortable to me. I'm sure the doctors know best. Are her affairs in order, George?"

"Preston will be handling the funeral for us. I think he and Dad have already gone over what mother wants. It's all arranged."

"Good. I'm glad it's settled. Don't give it another thought. How was college this year? You just finished your junior year, didn't you?"

"Yeah. It's going pretty well. I'm working again at the college doing research in chemical engineering. The pay is great, and it looks good on my resume. I've been able to keep my grades up to renew all my scholarships. At least Dad won't have to worry about me on top of everything else."

"George, sounds like you're quite enterprising. You know, if you ever need any part-time work, I can always find something for you with your dad."

"Thanks, Mary, but you and Preston have helped our family out enough. I can manage."

"Okay, George. You take care."

Mahalia Winston suddenly moaned in her sleep and turned her head toward George. Her eyes opened. George picked up her hand and shook it gently.

"Mom, it's George. What's the matter?" he asked her softly. "Are you in pain? Should I get the nurse?"

For a minute the woman stared at him. "Carl, is that you? And Melinda?" Mary knew Melinda was George's oldest sister. The woman was hallucinating.

"No, Mom. It's George and Mary Shepard, from the funeral home. She just dropped by."

"Carl," she ignored his words. "Carl, listen to me! You're gambling our future away. Do you hear me? Don't disappoint the children. Preston is a good man. You'll destroy everything."

Then she closed her eyes again and stopped talking. After a minute of silence, Mary touched George's arm.

"What's she talking about? Is Carl in some kind of trouble? Gambling problems? I didn't think Carl even played the lottery."

"He doesn't. Don't pay any attention. She rambles on like this sometimes. Dad said she's just having bad dreams from the morphine. It messes with her mind. You see how she didn't even recognize us? The doctor warned us that this would happen as she slips in and out of consciousness."

A nurse entered the room. "Time for her turning and sponge bath. You'll need to leave the room for a short while."

Mary was already standing at the door.

"If there's anything you need, George . . ."

"I'll call," George said following her out into the hall. Mary and her guard returned to her room where she called Preston to update him on Mahalia's failing condition.

"It's just a matter of time," she told him sadly.

"Carl doesn't talk about it much. He asks off when he needs it and Bill and Mike pick up the slack. They're happy to do it for their old friend and comrade. He's worried that the insurance won't come through at the end, that they will find some way to disallow the bills. His house is all he's got. The illness has already taken all of his savings. But stop worrying about Carl, Mary. There's nothing you can do at this point. Worry about yourself. Didn't the doctor say you were to rest today so you could get out tomorrow?"

"I'm feeling better, Preston. Relax. The double vision has cleared up completely. I have a constant headache, but I'll live."

"Have you remembered who might have whacked you on the head last night, the one who spoke your name out loud?"

"No, Preston, I haven't. I can hardly remember the voice at all now. Too much time has passed. My memory was wiped out by a flashlight."

"Well, the idiots that did this to you don't know that. They may try again if they think you can identify them. Promise me you'll be more careful and stay out of the cemetery after dark. By the way, Mike removed the vault and filled in the Frazier grave. We'll reopen it later. Sam is handling things here on this end. I'm thinking of putting cameras in the cemetery. After all that happened, it seems like a great idea. Sam agrees."

Mary felt her anger rise. "Tell Sam not to get real comfortable making decisions for us. Cameras are very expensive, Preston. I can get us a deal. Not a bad idea, letting Sam take care of the business tonight. It'll show him it's not all fun and games like he thinks. See how he likes the pressure, for a change."

"Oh Mary," Preston sighed.

Before dinner Mary went for a walk down the hall with her police escort to stretch her legs. She watched the sun set from the large window in the visitor's lounge. After her ordeal in the vault, she had a new appreciation for the little things she used to take for granted. She couldn't remember the last time she really looked at a sunset and enjoyed the colors. She was looking forward to really experiencing spring. Before, the seasons just complicated the funerals from frozen ground in the winter to pouring rain in the summer.

From the window she noticed another building nearby with smoke pouring from a large smokestack.

"What building is that?" Mary asked the nurse who had come into the break room.

"That's the incinerator to burn the trash and medical garbage. We have to burn it according to state law."

"Yes, I bet so." Mary also incinerated their toxic refuse on occasion in the crematory. She stared at the paved walkway leading to the incinerator. Below she could see a man carrying a box and heading for the door. Another look brought the man's face closer into view, and she recognized Calvin Owen, Dan's son.

Mary pointed at the tiny figure below. "There's goes the trash now."

"What's Calvin doing out there? I sent him to the supply closet downstairs for supplies. I wondered why he never came back."

"You didn't send him to burn some trash?" Mary asked innocently.

"No. He's not authorized to go out there. Only the janitor is allowed in there or has a key. He could get hurt. No doctor's got any business sending him out there. He's just a kid. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen. I wish he would follow orders."

Mary turned around. "Is Calvin hard to get along with?"

"No. He just disappears. When he's supposed to doing one thing, he shows up at the other end of the hospital. He needs to finish one job at a time and have only one boss at a time."

"You aren't his boss?" Mary asked.

"Yes, he was assigned to me originally. Some of the doctors have been using him though without my permission. They outrank me. You know our Calvin Owen?"

"Yes, son of a friend," Mary told her.

Mary looked down at the boy who entered the building with a box and then came out seconds later. He looked up, sensing someone was watching him, and their eyes met. Instantly, he lowered his head and walked quickly out of sight.

### Chapter Twelve

Calvin Owen walked along the cement sidewalk toward the door. Suddenly a hand reached out and yanked at his shirt. Calvin found himself thrown against the cold rough brick wall of the building and staring into a dark face shaded by the trees.

"What's the meaning of last night's fiasco?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean, you idiot? Don't you read? It's on the front page. I told you and your lousy sidekick to dispose of the body in a place where no one would find it. And you idiots decide to put it in the cemetery again? That's the second time you've failed me. Keep this up and you and your accomplice will end up in a vault for real!"

For emphasis, the man slammed his fist hard into Calvin's stomach. He crumbled to his knees, gasping for air. The man hauled him back up to his feet.

"Now the police have both bodies. There's been an investigation started here at the hospital. Dr. Jenkins is watching. All because of your bad decisions."

"What was I supposed to do?" Calvin sputtered, choking. "This seemed like an ideal answer to your problem. Put her in the grave she was supposed to be in. She would have decayed long before they would have discovered her. That's what he said. I was just following his orders. You said to follow his lead."

"I heard it was your idea. Each of you is blaming the other. How nice. It's really true what they say, no honor among thieves."

Calvin tried to wiggle free. "This whole business isn't honorable, man. I didn't sign on to haul around stinking corpses. It's too risky for me. I want out."

"Too late, buddy boy. You're in it up to your eyeballs, you and your stupid partner. It would break your sweet father's heart if he found out. We don't want that, do we?"

"No," Calvin mumbled.

"Prison would ruin your college career. Do they have a baseball team in jail?"

Calvin didn't answer, looking at his feet.

"From now on, no thinking on your own. Everything goes through me. So far you have managed to give two bodies to the police and almost killed that undertaker. Now that's attempted murder."

"She saw us! We had to do something. We weren't thinking. This should have worked. No one would have ever found her. We didn't know she had a cell phone in her pocket. We didn't search her, for God's sake! It all happened so fast."

He pushed the boy hard against the wall. "You don't seem to know much at all," he growled. "Don't forget, if I go down, you go down. Both of you. She never saw you close up, right? The paper never said."

"We were wearing the masks you gave us. Only . . ."

"Only what, idiot?"

"He said her name. She heard him speak before he hit her. So she knows he knows her. It just popped right out. That's why we thought we had to get rid of her. She might figure it out eventually."

"I see. I always have to cover for your screw-ups. Don't I pay you enough to do it right? For now, distance yourself from the funeral home. No more contact. I have to think about what we should do about this undertaker."

"An accident?" Calvin suggested.

"Exactly. Only you two won't be involved. People are watching. Leave it to me. You know, people die in hospitals all the time." Laughter followed Calvin up the walkway.

Mary returned to her room and watched television for awhile. She called Preston to see how it was going. A new elderly man had come in during the day from a residence, and Preston was writing the obituary for the newspaper tomorrow.

"He was seventy-six, just like me. I felt like I was looking at myself when Bill and I brought him in. What I am saying is it will be me soon enough. I'm tired, Mary. You should run this place, and I should be fishing in Florida."

"Of course you should. You've earned it. I'm ready to sign those papers when the lawyer is ready."

"You're going to need an assistant, Mary, before I leave. This place is proving to be too much for one person. I should know."

"If you mention Sam Goins, I'll scream. I'd rather have Lisa, the nit-wit."

Preston laughed. "She may not be the brightest person, but you have to admit she looks good at the desk. She's nice to customers."

"You and Sam think too much alike. He thinks Lisa's cute too. Well, we don't need a good-looking person to sit at the desk, Preston. We need a competent one."

"Mary, you're changing the subject. We were talking about getting an assistant or even a partner for you."

"I suppose I could use an assistant, Preston, but I need someone who is capable and interested in this business. I don't think Sam is interested in being tied down all the time to this funeral home.

"How would you know that? I want you to talk to Sam first. He might want to be more than just an embalmer. He has his Virginia Funeral Director License too. In small ways, he has let me know he would like to run a funeral home of his own some day."

Mary shook her head. "Oh, he comes through loud and clear, Preston. He wants my job!"

"No, a partnership, Mary. You two would make a great team."

Mary crossed her arms. "All embalmers are licensed funeral directors, Preston, if they practice in Virginia. So what? That doesn't make him a competent manager," Mary told Preston. "And he's never acted interested in running our funeral home before. Never said a word to me about sharing responsibilities. It must be obvious to him by now that I'll be taking over in the future."

"Yes, he knows that, but he pointed out to me that two heads are better than one. This trouble you've had lately should make you think that it would be nice to have someone else in charge when you were out. Someone who knew the business. Talk to him. He might surprise you."

"All he wants to talk about is camping, fishing, and white water rafting, not the funeral home. I'd be the first to admit that he has a real aptitude when it comes to reshaping a mangled body and restoring a body for a viewing, but that's not all there is to it. How about arranging a funeral? Greeting the people? Working out the details? Getting ushers here when you need them?"

"That's where you come in. Split the responsibilities in half. Let each of you do what you are best at but learn all the other areas so that you can pinch hit for each other. You said you wanted a vacation. That won't be possible unless you can leave the place in capable hands. I know you. You'd never leave if you thought things would fall apart."

"I don't know, Preston. Sam's a good guy, but is he willing to give up his free time to run our place?"

"This way both of you will get free time. Imagine. Time to spend with Joey."

Mary finally smiled. "That's quite tempting, Preston. I guess we can talk to him about it. It's just that I'm a perfectionist and so is he. He thinks he knows everything. What if we disagree even more than we already do on how to run things?"

"Then you work it out. Just like we have all these years."

"We'll see," Mary said. After she hung up, she sat seething in her hospital bed. "Over my dead body," she said to herself. "It's never going to happen. Sam's not getting my funeral home. I've worked too hard."

About seven o'clock, Joey came to visit.

"We won the game with Pritchard. We might be going to the tournament," he told her.

"That's great, hon. You'll finish your senior year in style. Have you given any more thought to what you want to do after you graduate?"

"I was thinking about the police force. Dan really impressed me with how he handled getting you out of that vault. I think I might like to look for bad guys and keep the world safe. Looks like they could use more help."

"Well, I'll be sure to mention that to Dan. He can give you a reference when it comes time for the police academy. That's wonderful, Joey. For awhile there, I thought you were going to end up as one of those bad guys."

"Naw, Mom. I learned my lesson really quick. I can't believe how dumb I was."

"I'm just glad you got through that stage of your life without ending up in serious trouble. It could have ruined your future. By the way, I saw Calvin tonight. Does he come here right after the games?"

"Yeah, rushes right out of the locker room like a rocket. He must like this job a lot. He told me he was getting a new truck with all the money he's making. They must pay well here."

"Really?" Mary was thoughtful. "I would think he would make minimum wage, because he's only part-time."

"I don't really know. He was flashing a wad of cash in his wallet the other day, showing off in front of the guys. They think he's so cool! He got a scholarship to go to Virginia Tech and play baseball. He's so lucky."

Mary frowned. "Why would you think you are unlucky, Joey? Has it been that bad?"

"Of course not, Mom. I know you did the best you could. Sometimes, it was hard. Lonely. But I always knew you cared. I think the person I blame the most is Dad. He just left. I would never do that to my kids. It's the most awful feeling in the world."

Mary squeezed his hand. "The divorce wasn't about you, Joey. It was about me. I was the one he was trying to get away from. I couldn't give him the attention he needed. Still, I think he could have shown a little more interest in your growing up. A boy needs his dad."

"Don't sweat it, Mom. Preston has been my role model. I spent more time with him than anyone. He showed me the ropes, made sure I kept on the straight and narrow. He just regrets that he couldn't make me an undertaker."

"We only need one Preston Smith in this town. You can do something else," Mary told him. "Dan says undertaking and police work are a lot alike. By the way, he located your dad. He told me he's selling cars in Wheeling, West Virginia. He suggested I get a lawyer to make him pay up his child support. I figure he owes us a million dollars by now."

Joey frowned. "It's not about the money, Mom. I would like to look him in the eye and ask him why he hasn't talked to me in all these years."

"I'm sure it had to do with me, Joey. I was never home. He needed more, and that's why he left. He wanted a wife that would stay at home, cook, and clean. Apparently he found one."

"That may be true, but at least he could have spoken occasionally to me. I can't forgive that unless he gives me a reason. By the way, do I have any brothers and sisters?"

"Dan said there's a new family. I guess so."

"See, I'm not alone in the world now. I'd like to meet these siblings and say hey. Maybe they don't know about me."

"I doubt if they do. When are you planning to do this?"

"Sometime."

"Think about it first," Mary warned him. "Don't surprise him. Sometimes these things don't go well off the cuff."

"Yeah. I need to figure out how to go about it. Or not."

Later on, after Joey had left to finish his homework, Mary saw Dan standing at the door. He was talking to the officer outside her door for a minute and then poked his head in.

"How's our favorite patient?"

"Bored to death. I want to go home and be with my son. My head is much better, and sitting around is really what is killing me. I'm just not used to it."

"I bet you don't take vacations, either."

"Neither do you, Detective Owen. Death and crime never take a holiday. I buried a baby once on Christmas."

"And I scraped a family off the highway heading to grandma's for Thanksgiving. Shall we compare whose life sucks the most?" he told her. Then he laughed.

"Looks like a tie to me. I want to tell you that Joey is so impressed with you that he thinks he might go into law enforcement after he graduates."

Dan sat down next to Mary's bed. "Boy needs his head examined," Dan chuckled. "My son thinks he's going to play baseball the rest of his life and support me when I retire." He pulled out his notebook.

"Want to catch me up?" Mary asked him.

"The law suit against Simpson's for the losing the body of that girl has been dropped so they're in the clear."

"It was never their fault someone took the body and forged a phony donor form," Mary said.

"Yeah, but I bet they're looking more closely now at all the paperwork. I talked over your theory of missing body parts with Dr. Jenkins this afternoon, and she said it didn't hold water. No one that prominent could get away with stealing bodies. He's closely regulated, according to Jenkins. The laws about handling fetuses are very strict. And it doesn't explain the mutilations of the corpses. Kidneys, hearts, livers."

"It's was only a theory, Dan. You have to admit it's quite a coincidence. A stem cell guru comes to small Newlenberg, sets up shop, and suddenly bodies are missing parts."

"We can't find a connection, Mary. We're still working the black market selling of organs. Some doctor was caught in Richmond just recently, and we're investigating a possible tie in to his organization."

"You still think it might be a doctor in the hospital?"

"Not necessarily, as you already pointed out. Even you, dressed up in a surgical gown could remove a kidney and liver from a body and pack it in ice. Then throw a sheet over a box and out you go. So much goes on in this hospital that no one would even look your way."

"Doesn't the hospital have cameras? Can you review the film of the days in question and see who came and went?"

He put his pencil in his pocket. "Of course I thought of that. The film erases itself every few days. No cameras in the morgue or at the back entrances. Only the front lobby is covered and each hall. I saw Dr. DuFrey leaving work through the lobby, and he wasn't carrying a box of organs. I saw my own son Calvin coming to work and smiling for the camera. Other than that, no one noticed anything odd when I asked the security guard to watch the tape."

"So the bad guy goes out the back or through the morgue, and no one sees anything. It would have to be someone who works in the morgue. Easy."

Dan laughed again. "It turns out a set of keys is missing. Could be in anyone's pocket. I'm just not sure how he slips in and out so easily. You probably have a theory about that, too. Mary, do you secretly want to be a detective?"

"I'm just not satisfied with all your tidy answers," she said. "Someone is messing with the dead, and it's got to stop."

"I agree. We are just the two to put an end to their evil ways."

"It's not funny, Dan."

"I have to laugh, Mary, or I'll go mad. This job is grueling, and I'm not getting many thank-yous from the press."

Mary nodded. "To change the subject, Joey tells me your son is buying a new truck. All the boys on the team are jealous."

"What? That's news to me. The boy had an empty bank account, last time I checked."

"Could he be making a lot of money here? That's what Joey thought."

"Nah. He's just here for the community service hours to graduate. New truck? On my salary? I think he'll get a bicycle for college. I'm sure Joey heard wrong."

Dan's cell phone rang suddenly. He glanced down and said, "I'll take it out in the hall." After a short time, he waved goodbye to Mary at the door. "Possible suicide. See you later."

Mary sighed. She found herself liking Dan more and more.

She wondered if the relationship might work.

The nurse came by at that moment and announced lights out. She handed Mary a pink sleeping pill. Drifting off, Mary pictured herself and Dan picnicking at the lake. She was laughing at his jokes, and he was gazing into her eyes in adoration. It was only a dream.

### Chapter Thirteen

Mary awoke with the sense that something was wrong. Perhaps it had been a nightmare, she wasn't sure, but she sat up in bed and looked around her hospital room. A nightlight glowed softly near her bathroom. Nothing seemed amiss that she could see. She sat back on her pillow and relaxed again.

Then she heard the policeman outside her door speaking. The clock beside her bed glowed a red 12:30 a.m.

"Nurse Brown said this was for you from the boys in blue at the station," a male voice said beyond the door.

"Thanks," she heard the policeman say. Then there was a loud thump on the door, and it swung open. A crumpled policeman lay in the doorway. An orderly calmly stepped over him and began pulling him inside the room by his legs.

"Who are you? What are you doing?" Mary sat up, alarmed. The orderly stopped and reached inside his pocket. A handgun appeared.

"Mary, dear, why are you awake? Didn't you take the sleeping pill?" he asked. Mary stared at his face in the half dark room and saw a man dressed as an orderly in white but wearing a cheap black wig and glasses. He was pointing his gun at her chest.

He moved closer inside the room. "I see you're shocked. What a surprise to see a man with a gun. Don't move, please," he said, closing the door and kicking the shoes of the unconscious policeman out of the way.

"What did you do to him?" Mary demanded.

"Knockout drug. Don't take coffee from strangers," he answered coming to Mary's bed side. He grabbed her arm from under the sheet and pulled it forward. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What do you want with me?"

"Nothing, really. I'm sure you're a very nice lady. But you keep getting in the way. So you have to go. We can't have any loose ends."

"Go where? In the way of what?" Mary asked, afraid of the answers. "I don't know anything! If I did, you'd be in jail by now. Who are you?"

The orderly reached into his pocket again and pulled out a syringe. "Don't move or this is really going to hurt."

"What is it?"

"More of what the policeman got. I could just shoot you, but that would bring everyone here in a jiffy. I'd never get away. So I've come up with another plan, so simple the idiot police will take hours figuring it out. By then it will be too late."

He inserted the needle expertly into her arm and pushed the syringe. Mary stared at the man, trying to recognize his face in the darkness. With her other hand, she felt around in the bed for the nurse button.

The orderly reached behind her and unplugged it from the wall.

"No help this time, Mary. Your lucky clover has failed you. Got a cell phone in your pocket this time? Ah, here it is on the table." He picked up the battered cell phone and tossed it into a pitcher of water by her bed.

"Why?" Mary managed to ask and then the room started to spin. She fell back on the pillows. Before the darkness came, she heard him speak.

"Goodnight, Mary Shepard. Goodnight forever."

• • •

Mary was under water, floating in a vast gray sea. When she rose to the surface, she could sense harm and pain. Better to stay beneath the water where she could rest. She was so tired. Too tired to wake up.

Oh, but the pain. Something told her to wake up, to fight her way to the surface. Something hurt. With all her strength, she opened an eye. Bright light. It was cold, she decided, and her hospital bed very hard. Her eye shut again and she relaxed back beneath the waves. But she couldn't stay there.

She opened her eyes and forced them to focus. A box loomed into view. Strange. A box in her hospital bed. Then she moved her hand and found that it was stuck to the bed.

Pain. Pain made it easier to focus. She stared at her hand and saw it wasn't touching a bed after all. Her hand lay on a gray floor beside her bare leg. It wouldn't move because her fingertips were glued to the cold floor. That's when she tried to move the rest of her body and realized her legs were also stuck to the floor.

There was a strange sensation in her head. Mary was floating, boxes spinning around her head, but there was intense discomfort. Then she bit her tongue and blood spurted out of her mouth. Her teeth were chattering, she realized and she couldn't stop them.

She began to squirm to be free of the cold floor. Dizzy, she wasn't sure which way was up or down. She rocked back and forth until finally her hand bounced into her lap. A circle of blood formed on her hospital gown. When she looked again at her fingers, the skin was gone from the tips.

Now she was conscious, but it was a struggle to stay awake. Where was she? She screamed in frustration inside her head, too weak to speak. Then a faint memory returned. Dark. Needle. Pain. Bad man. In the way. Sleep.

Evil had come again, and this time Mary was cold. With both eyes focused, she turned her head and saw the rows of boxes and meats around her on frosty shelves. Somewhere above her she heard a motor cut on and a white film floated down from the ceiling.

Then Mary realized she was in a freezer and dying. With only her thin hospital gown around her waist, she was going into shock. Had she been in here for hours? She stopped thinking about the whys. She knew only one thing mattered now.

She had to get out or she would die. Adrenaline flooded her numb body and she shifted her hips. Pain. More blood poured as she pried the back of her legs off the floor with her hands. She didn't think about the layer of skin she left on the floor but pushed up on the box in front of her.

Walls spun. Closing her eyes, Mary forced herself to her feet. She held on to the shelf beside her and let it lead her to the door. Blindly she groped the door for a handle and let out a sob when she finally realized there wasn't one. She felt a paper taped to the door and opened her eyes. Through the white mist she read the instructions.

"Push here to open" it said. Mary pushed. Nothing. Mary shoved hard and felt the door move slightly. She glanced at a sliver of darkness through the crack in the door. Something was blocking the door but it would give, she determined, if she applied a hard enough force.

Turning, she stumbled back to the cold box on the floor. It was heavy but she struggled until she was able to wrap her hands around it. Then slowly she inched her way back to the door and shoved the box against it. Again she saw a sliver of blackness from outside the refrigerator, but the door returned to its shut position. Mary collapsed to her knees beside the door, teeth chattering, and strength fading. She had to try again, but she was so tired. The blood on her fingers was now cold and hard, like the blood on the back of her legs. She knew they had to hurt, but she was too numb to feel the pain.

Thinking of Joey, she knew she had to fight. Up she went, and she raised the box again. She backed up and got a running start. Shoving the box and her body against the door, she heard a crack and then felt the world disappear as she fell through the door.

The box slid across the kitchen floor, and Mary landed heavily beside it, her legs blocking the freezer door. Her bloody nails found the grooves in the tile squares of the floor and slowly she inched herself forward away from the cold. Then the freezer door shut, and all light was gone except for the glow coming from under the door. Mary lay in the dark, moaning. Everything hurt now as her blood warmed. Her teeth slowly stopped chattering.

Mary wanted to get up and call for help, but she was too heavy, her limbs like lead. Her head was spinning, and she shut her eyes. Mary went back beneath the waves of the gray sea where she could finally rest.

A night nurse on her three o'clock rounds found the officer on the floor inside the unlocked door of Mary Shepard's room. He was unconscious, a large knot forming across his forehead from where he had whacked the floor and a cold coffee stain across his uniform. The patient Mary Shepard was missing.

The police arrived twenty minutes later and the hospital doors were sealed.

Detective Dan Owen glanced at Mary's empty bed and swore.

"You think they're long gone by now?" his partner Harry asked him.

"Maybe. Why take her anywhere? Why not kill her in her bed and leave the body?"

"Mary has something they want?" Harry ventured.

"Nothing about this case makes sense. Coordinate the men. We should check every floor anyway in case she was just moved and locked in a closet somewhere. And see about getting the replay on the hall camera, will you Harry? I don't see any sign of a struggle. No blood. She's not hurt yet. We may still have a chance to find her before this gets out of hand. Notice they didn't kill the policeman. They just eliminated him as a witness. Whoever this is wants to be very careful not to be seen. Wholesale slaughter is not his game."

Officers were sent to each floor to check for Mary. Detective Harry Lincoln found himself in the dark hall of the cafeteria calling out Mary's name. He saw an odd light coming through the windows of the cafeteria doors and hurried forward swinging his flashlight. Opening the doors, he saw a thin line of light coming from a dark door in the corner. He found the kitchen lights and flipped them on. Instantly he was on his walkie-talkie.

"Dan, I've got a woman lying on the kitchen floor in the cafeteria outside the freezer. She's in a gown, unconscious, and resembles your description of Mary Shepard. Must have been locked in the freezer for some time. There's signs of struggle. A broken broom handle. Send for medical help. She's blue from the cold."

The detective took off his jacket and draped it over the woman. Holding her wrist, he felt a weak pulse. Minutes later, Dan burst through the doors with other officer and a doctor in tow.

"Careful, men, this is now a crime scene. Don't touch anything. Mary, can you hear me?" Dan knelt beside the unconscious woman. He picked up her hand and then released it, blood coating his own fingers. He glanced back at the freezer and the shattered broom that had been stuck in the handle of the freezer.

Dan shook his head. "Ah, Mary, someone wants you dead bad. Just what is it that they think you know?" He backed up, letting the gurney through. Mary was lifted onto the gurney, moaning. Her eyes opened for a minute, and she stared into Dan's face.

"We have to stop meeting like this," he smiled. Then he watched her slip away again into unconsciousness.

### Chapter Fourteen

Mary was warm when she finally awoke. Sitting up, she pulled her fingers to her face and saw that they were bandaged in white gauze. Then she looked around and recognized her own bedroom and her comfortable bed. She noticed her hospital gown was gone, replaced by her own pajamas. When she moved her fingers, pain raced up her arms, but they worked. She counted to be sure she still had all her fingers. Someone had patched her up and sent her home.

"Thank God. I'm still alive," she said aloud. The door opened, and Joey came in.

"Hi Mom! Glad you're awake at last. They said you would sleep for awhile. I've been standing guard, fighting off irritating policemen and Preston from bothering you."

"What am I doing here, Joey? How did I get here? What day is it?" Mary moved under the sheet and felt more bandages taped to the backs of her legs. Then she remembered the freezer and how her skin stuck to the bottom of the cold floor.

"It's Sunday, Mom. You've been out of it for a couple of hours, since they found you outside that freezer. It was Dan's idea to move you here and out of the hospital as soon as possible. He didn't think you'd be safe there with someone with a staff key stalking you."

Mary looked down at her arm and saw another small bandage around her elbow.

"I seemed to have survived fairly well. Is there any permanent damage? What did Dan say happened to me, Joey? It's all so fuzzy."

"That's because you were drugged. Dan said the officer's coffee was laced with a powerful knockout drug. The creep dragged him inside your room. The man, they think it was a man, drugged you too."

"I think it was a man too," Mary agreed. "The voice was deep like a man's. But he was wearing a wig and funny glasses. It all seems so surreal now."

Joey nodded. "After he drugged you with the same stuff as the officer, he took you down to the kitchen on a gurney where he locked you in the freezer. It's all on the hall tape. The idea was you'd freeze to death before you ever regained consciousness. It almost worked. Your body didn't absorb the drug fast enough to keep you under so you managed to come to. They said you had frostbite on your fingers, ears, and legs. You were stuck to the floor and had to tear your skin to get free. You forced the door open with a box of French fries. Mr. Evil had jammed the door with a broom, but you cracked it and crawled out. That's where they found you, unconscious on the floor. Dan says you have the lives of a cat."

"Wow. I'm glad I don't remember much of that."

"That's twice in one week I've almost lost you, Mom. Give me a break. What else do you remember?"

Mary leaned back on her pillow. "It was dark. He came in dragging the unconscious guard. I asked him why, and he said something about me always getting in the way. I had to die, he said and whipped out a needle and rammed it into my arm. The next thing I knew was I was locked inside a freezer. I just kept throwing myself against the door until the door opened. Did they find any clues?"

"Dan said the man wore gloves and left no fingerprints, even on the coffee cup. No one recognized him on the tape. All the doctors on duty had alibis. Everyone was where they said they were. It's a big mystery. He just appeared from nowhere with a working set of keys."

Mary frowned. "He said I was in the way, but he never explained how. It has to do with those bodies, I know it. They think I know who's behind this."

"But if you did, you would have told the police by now. Why do they keep trying to kill you?"

"I have to figure out what they think I already know," she answered.

"You'd better stay out of it, Mom. There's no telling what they'll do next. Try to kill you again. Maybe Preston. Maybe me. I hope Dan is hot on their trail. You'd better let the police handle it."

"I'm the one who keeps getting in someone's way, Joey. I can't let them destroy everything I have worked for. We've worked for! I'm not going to take this sitting down. I'll hunt the idiots to the end of the earth."

"Mom, take it easy."

"Anyone home?" a familiar voice sounded in the hall.

"Some guard you are. People just wander in," Mary told Joey. Connie came in, dressed in her tightest jeans and short top. A butterfly tattoo was visible just above her pants line. Her red hair was pulled back into a pony tail.

"Hi Sis. Joey has filled me in on your latest adventure, and I wanted to stop in and see how you're doing. It's not every day a girl gets the chance to be locked up in a freezer."

"Must be karma," Mary said.

"Bad karma for sure. When is Dan going to nab these screwballs?"

"Joey seems to think they are on the trail with some promising leads. I think they are looking in the wrong direction."

"What do you mean?" Joey asked her. "Isn't this all about selling organs on the black market?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm still working on that. Dan refuses to think outside the box. I may have a few leads myself."

"What would they be?" Connie asked her.

"Can't say yet. You'll have to trust me. When I have something for real, you'll be the first to know."

Connie laughed. "Okay, Mary. Be cryptic. You have only one responsibility as I see it. That's to stay alive and take me out to lunch!"

Mary chuckled. "Go home, Connie. It's late. You need your beauty sleep, and so do I. Lots of it."

Preston, still dressed in his usual black suit, popped his head in.

"I thought you had a funeral to do, Preston."

"Stopping by on my way home. How are you Connie? The whole family's here."

Connie scooted by Preston. "I've got be going, meeting a client at his apartment. Get well, Mary. I'll call you later."

Preston reached into his pocket and pulled out a new blue cell phone. "And Connie can do that on this new cell phone that Sam got Mary today. Cute, isn't it? Number is taped on the box."

Mary examined her new blue phone that was smaller than her original. "Cute, sure, but the buttons are super small. Who do they think uses these things, babies? This will take some getting use to."

Preston pointed to the open door. "I have to talk to Mary alone, Joey. You go watch television, okay?" Joey looked up and frowned. Preston pointed again, and he reluctantly got up.

"Don't stay too long. She needs to rest, Preston."

Preston shooed Joey out of the room. "I can see that. But this is important." Joey shut the door behind him.

"What's up, Preston? Everything all right down at the home?"

"Sure. Sure. Sam and I have everything under control. I did get an exhumation order from the Dekle family. They want their daughter moved to Ohio, so we will be working on that Monday. But that's not what I want to talk to you about. I got you this." Preston reached into his suit pocket again and pulled out a small handgun.

Mary's eyes grew large.

"It's mine and new too. A Bersa Thunder .380, one of the lightest handguns you could ever own. I haven't ever used it, but now I think you have more use for it than me. I would feel better if you carried it while this mad man is loose on the streets. It comes with a clip and some bullets."

Mary stared at the gun. "But I've never shot a gun before, Preston. I'd shoot myself in the foot."

"Well, I'll give you lessons. We'll go out in the country and practice shooting."

Mary picked it up and felt its lightness. "But I don't have a permit for it!"

"Dan can arrange it for you. I've already discussed it with him. He agrees that it's a good idea. He can't be with you twenty four hours a day."

"Well, okay, if you and Dan think it's a good idea. But I won't keep it loaded. And there will have to be a permit filed. I won't do anything illegal."

"Of course not. Don't tell Joey though. He'll yell at me."

"Rightfully so. How did the funeral go?"

"Not many people came. But you see, when you're my age, all your friends and relatives are dead. There's no one to see you off. Every year your circle of friends grows smaller."

"Go to Florida, Preston. You deserve it."

"Deep sea fishing, here I come. You get well, Mary. Come back when you're ready. By the way, I talked to Sam, and he said he would think about becoming your assistant. I told him it would mean that he would have to hang around the building more and get a suit. I don't know if that pleased him or not."

Mary frowned. "Probably not, Preston. He's not a suit kind of guy. More like flannel. I really don't think he wants all that responsibility. Embalming is difficult enough."

"We'll let him decide for himself, Mary. There's no question that you need the help. I'll go now and let you get some rest. See you tomorrow."

"Good night," Mary said as he shut the door. She examined her bandaged fingers and wondered how strange would appear to her clients. By now the story was in the newspaper press room ready to go out tomorrow morning. People would read about how she was attacked in her hospital bed and left for dead in a freezer. Soon the murderer would know he had failed again. What would he try next? And when?

### Chapter Fifteen

Dan offered to drive her to work the next day. Struggling with her clothes and bandaged fingers, Mary chose a dark green knit dress that she could pull over her head. Joey fixed her pearls and earrings.

Then he handed her over to Dan. "Keep her safe," he ordered. Before they left, the detective had Mary recall all she knew about last night and taped her words for his report.

"I think it was a doctor. He handled the syringe with one hand, a pro. He said he gave the policeman a knockout drug," Mary told him.

"That's true, and it worked like a charm on the policeman. But he didn't give you enough, did he? You came to. A doctor wouldn't have been that careless."

"That's all true, too. How did I get out of that freezer? Something about French fries."

"You broke the broom that the perp had slipped through the door handle by repeatedly hitting it with a box of frozen fries. Very clever. Had much experience in freezers?"

"Just our cold storage room. It opens from the inside too. They're supposed to. There's always an out."

"That one did too, but he figured if you did come to before the cold killed you, the broom would block the door until you finally froze to death."

"That might have worked," Mary said. "There was nothing wrong with his plan."

Dan opened the door to his squad car.

"Any guesses as to what's going on then? Anything new on the investigation?" she asked on the way.

"No. This has everyone stumped. We've interviewed all the personnel at the hospital and come up empty. Everyone has an alibi."

"That's what Joey told me. What about Dr. DuFrey?"

"Home with his wife. Just because the man works with stem cells doesn't mean he's out to murder the local undertaker, Mary. At this moment, he doesn't fit in at all. All evidence points to someone who thinks you know something about what happened in the cemetery."

"But I don't. I never saw them. I wish I had because it would be all over by now. As it is, I just have to wait for their next attempt and hope I get lucky again."

"No you don't. I assigned Officer Benton to watch your business and your home so don't be alarmed if you see someone following you in a white car. If you see anyone strange, anyone at all, you call 911. Don't go anywhere alone, either. Don't be a hero. These people mean business."

"I gotcha. Be in a crowd."

"You have a funeral today?" he asked.

"No. I have to get caught up on some paperwork. And there's a truck coming for an exhumation. Very irregular, this one. I have to be the official witness. Identify the body as hers. That rarely happens."

Dan was puzzled. "Why do they want the casket opened?"

"The family apparently heard about the organ stealing here and wanted to make sure that she's in her grave, and that nothing unusual was done to her. They got a court order, so I have to legally identify her with a witness before they move her to West Virginia. I hope it doesn't become a trend, with all this bad publicity in the newspaper. It will hurt our cemetery business."

"Any family coming to witness this exhuming?"

"They declined. I can't say that I blame them."

"How do you identify her? Has she been buried long? How could you recognize her?" Dan asked.

"She was buried about nine months ago, I think. We keep photos of the dead in their files just for this reason. The degree of decay depends on condition of the body before burial. If everything was ideal, then I will have no problem identifying her. Mold will be the biggest problem."

Dan made a face. "Mold? Bodies mold? I thought they just rotted.

Mary looked serious. "Mold grows everywhere, Dan. Even on bodies in a sealed vault. I'll just scrape it off."

"I think I'll skip my morning donut after that image." Dan let her off at the door of the funeral home. Preston's car was already there. So was the white car with a police officer inside.

"That's Jim Benton, over there. He volunteered to watch you. Don't know if he thought it would score points with your sister. Stay out of trouble," he told her.

"I am trouble, evidently," she commented and waved goodbye. Inside she walked past the two chapel rooms, one on the left and one on the right. She noticed that Bill was in the one on the right, vacuuming up dead flower petals he must have missed last night after the memorial.

He waved at her. "Glad you're back, Mary. How are you feeling?"

"Like someone tried to bury me and then locked me in a freezer. I've certainly felt better. My fingers hurt."

Bill shook his head. "I bet. I don't know how you keep your sanity after all this. Seems like a never ending nightmare to me I'll keep an eye out for strangers. Preston told us to be on the lookout."

"You do know there's a policeman in the parking lot, right?"

"I already questioned him," Bill acknowledged. "Gave him the third degree. I'm on it!"

"Where's Carl?"

"Helping Mike exhumed that body. He's leaving shortly, though. Preston has already got a call from the nursing home for a pick-up."

Mary made her way back to the office and was surprised to see Lisa's desk empty.

"Where's Lisa?" she called out in the direction of Preston's office.

"Never showed up this morning," came Preston's answer from behind his half shut door.

"Called her house?"

"Not yet."

"I'll do it," she told him and went into her office. Finding Lisa's number in her Rolodex, she dialed her home. No one answered. Strange, she thought, Lisa was always so dependable when it came to showing up for work. She always called in when she was sick.

"Any luck?" Preston asked, sticking his head into the room.

"No answer. That's not like her. I mean, as a receptionist, she's not the greatest, but she always shows up sooner or later. Maybe she's been in an accident on her way here, and we haven't heard yet. I hope she's okay."

"Teenagers! What are you going to do?" Preston complained.

"Is Sam here today?"

"Not yet. Carl just got the call for the first pick-up. He doesn't know it yet, but we're also bringing in a college student who died of alcohol poisoning at the hospital last night. Real sad."

"They're all sad, Preston. We can't make it better, only easier. That's what we do. When is the truck coming for the removal of the body at Serenity Gardens?"

"Eleven o'clock. Carl and Mike are opening the grave now. You still want to identify her or do you want me to do it? You just got out of the hospital."

"No, you have two funerals to arrange. I'll do it. I just have to find where Lisa filed the records. Of all days not to show up!" Mary got up and went out to where Lisa's files were kept in the cabinet. The funeral home had so many files that they were stored in other cabinets in the basement after a new year. She looked for Dekle and found the file in the back of the D's, out of alphabetical order. Then she noticed that many of the files were out of place, as though they had been jumbled around. "Jeez, does Lisa have a problem with the alphabet? Everything's all out of place. Ah, here it is. Brenda Lee Dekle. Aged twenty-eight. Wife and mother."

She riffled through the papers in the file. "Hey," she called out to Preston. "Only her obituary and photo are in here. Where's the death certificate copy? Where exactly are they moving her?"

"Parents want her moved to the family plot in Wheeling, West Virginia where her brother is. I think I remember her. Embolism. She dropped dead in the grocery store."

"Certificate is definitely missing. It's supposed to be in here." She pulled out the photo of the dead woman in her casket. Pretty. Young. She tried to remember, but she couldn't place the face. Too much time had passed.

She went back to her desk with the photo and the file. Preston tried to call Lisa again at home but told Mary no one was home.

Mary shook her head disappointed. "Wish I knew where her mother worked. She could tell us something. In the meantime, you and I will have to take turns answering the phone. You first."

"Okay. I need to stay in the office anyway. Phone calls to make, flowers to order, monuments to be carved. Ah, it never ends."

No, it doesn't, Mary agreed in silence. Her cell phone suddenly rang, and Mary fished in her pocketbook to find it.

"Mary here," she responded.

"It's Mike. I have the vault out. Carl's gone on. You want to have a look? It looks like rain, and this might be a good time."

"Sure. Be right there. Going over to Serenity Gardens, Preston. Be right back," she hollered in the direction of Preston's office, and then headed to the embalming room with her photo. She slid on one of Sam's embalming coats, grabbed a face mask, and borrowed a new set of latex gloves from the Sam's glove box. She opened his tray drawer and pulled out a scalpel. Then she walked out of the home and waited for traffic to pass before crossing the street to the cemetery. Office Jim Benton was right behind her.

Overhead gray clouds were moving in and the sky was overcast. A steady wind whipped the newly bloomed flowers against the tombstones. Mary could see the funeral home's truck in the back of the cemetery toward the hotel. She walked down the paved path to where a large mound of earth lay, exposing an opened grave. A cement vault stood beside the dirt with its lid resting the ground. Mike was leaning over the vault with a crow bar, prying open the coffin lid which was stuck.

"A little humidity. I'm trying to break the seal," he commented as he yanked up on the crow bar.

"There she goes," Mike announced as the casket springs suddenly worked, and the lid flew open. Mike backed away from the vault, unwilling to go any further. "She's all yours," he told her. Mary slipped her mask over her mouth and put on her gloves. Looking down on the body, she observed a grayish haze over the face. Jim stood back with Mike.

Pulling out Sam's scalpel, she leaned over the vault and scraped the mold from the girl's face. Some drying of the body was apparent with the shriveling of skin tissue around the eyes. Despite that and the mold, Mary could easily recognize the dead woman from the picture. The clothes, now discolored, matched.

"You satisfied?" she heard Mike ask from behind her.

"Just a second. Don't go anywhere. Remember you have to be the other legal witness."

Mary was curious. With her scalpel, she gently lifted the girl's dress. Working carefully and sometimes, pulling material away from the sticking skin, she managed to work the dress up to the abdomen. Holding the material in one hand, she pulled down the body's underwear slightly to expose the pelvic area with her other hand.

Mary gasped. She could easily see that two incisions had been made to remove the ovaries. The poor girl had been robbed, like the others.

"Oh my God," she murmured.

"What's the problem, Mary?" Mike asked. "Aren't we done? That her or not?"

"It's her all right," she answered, pulling the dress back into place and smoothing out the wrinkles.

Suddenly they were not alone. "What are you doing, Mary?"

Mary whipped around and saw Sam Goins standing behind her. She dropped her scalpel in the casket, and then had to reach down and fish it out.

"Identifying an exhumation," she answered, trying to keep her voice even. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for my coat. Preston said you were here. Is something wrong with the body? You look like you've had a shock. Is everything in order?"

"Mm, well, not exactly," Mary said quickly. "We're done with the identification part. It's definitely her."

"Then what's the problem?" Sam asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, never mind. It's nothing. By the way, do you remember embalming Brenda Dekle? It was back in August. Were you working here yet?"

Sam peered down at the body. "I did start in August, but I've done so many since then, I wouldn't remember. She doesn't particularly stand out in my mind. Why?"

Mary decided to lie. She didn't want Sam to think anything was wrong. "The file doesn't say who did the embalming so I was just trying to set the record straight."

Inside, her stomach was churning. Mary knew deep down inside she wanted Sam to be the organ snatcher. After all, Sam was listed as the embalmer on the official record. All she had to do was prove Sam had operated on the girl and illegally taken her ovaries. Is that how he financed his cabin and boat? His camping trips and bear hunting weekends? It had to be more than a coincidence. Sam had arrived in August and here was the proof that someone was cutting on the bodies exactly nine months ago right under all their noses. They had trusted Sam so completely.

Mary turned away from Sam. "Shut the lid, Mike. Keep an eye open for the truck, and let me know when they get here," Mary said. "They should have a copy of the court order."

"Sure, Mary." Mike hastily shut the coffin lid. Mary and Sam walked together back up the path toward the funeral home.

"Did Preston call you in?" Mary asked Sam.

"Yes. Two bodies coming in. One was just dropped off, and Carl is at the hospital now picking up number two. I need to restock my supplies and prepare the bodies. Preston has called a meeting after lunch for talking about the future of the home. He thinks we should become partners and take over so that he can retire."

Mary forced herself to smile. Inside her anger was boiling over. Partner with a murderer? She'd see him rot in jail first.

"Yes, he has mentioned it," Mary said tightly. She wanted to run away but forced herself to act as normal as possible. She needed advice from Dan, but couldn't risk Sam sensing anything was wrong.

"Did you go fishing this weekend?" she asked, making conversation. They crossed the road to the funeral home.

"Yeah, I spend most weekends at my cabin up at Lake Hutchins. It's where I go to relax. You like fishing?"

"Never been. Ever take your sister?"

"No, she prefers to stay at home. Says the wild is not for her so I often take my nephew Jeremy with me instead. When my sister's husband died a year ago in a car crash, I decided to support the two of them. I'm Jeremy's stand-in-father."

"How wonderful of you," Mary said, thinking that Sam certainly had a reason to need money. With the responsibility of his sister, nephew, and their debts, not to mention his debts also on his shoulders, he could be struggling under the load. That gave him a motive to steal organs and sell them. As an undertaker, he had connections here and at the hospital. It would have been easy to set up a little side business of selling organs.

They met Preston in the hallway.

"Carl's here with the second pick-up," he announced to Sam. Mary gave Sam back his coat and the scalpel.

"Better wash that scalpel. Mold," she told him. She threw the gloves in the trash can. Preston and Sam disappeared to the embalming room, and Mary went straight to her desk and called Dan.

"He's out on a case. Can I take a message?" the policeman asked her.

"Please. Ask him to call Mary Shepard. It's urgent."

Then she sat down again and studied the Dekle file more closely. She did find Sam's name as the embalmer, but now she saw that it read "assistant embalmer" in another section of the file. That meant he was still in training under James Ghent, the embalmer before Sam who had moved to Texas and opened his own funeral home nine months ago. That changed things. Sam hadn't been alone. He couldn't have lifted the ovaries in full view of Ghent. She breathed a sigh of relief. The theft probably took place at the hospital like the others.

She was still going to keep an eye on Sam, she decided. She hadn't liked him from the start. She ran through the list of suspects in her head again. Sam the embalmer who owed money all over town and had his eye on acquiring the funeral home. Dr. DuFrey at the fertility clinic because he was actively pursuing stem cell research. That could be a reason for stealing ovaries, fetuses, and placentas. Then there were the organ snatchers that Dan was chasing. All of these people were possibilities. The only thing she knew for sure was that someone wanted to do her harm, and she had accidentally discovered him that night in the cemetery. She only wished she had seen him more clearly or recognized his voice. For now all she could do was wait and watch, hoping she would sense evil when it came again.

### Chapter Sixteen

Mary was still sitting at Lisa's desk when the phone rang. Startled, she fumbled with the receiver with her bandaged fingers. Finally she got the phone to her ear.

"Mary? This is Lisa's mother, Tanya McCutchen. Is she there? Can I talk to her?"

"I'm sorry, but we haven't seen Lisa so far today. She was supposed to be here in the morning and then go back to class after lunch. She never came to work today. She's not at home?"

"No, she told me she was going over to a friend's house to write a paper last night. I work the late shift so when I came in about two, I went to bed. When I checked her room later, I saw she hasn't been in at all. Her bed is still made, and her car is missing too. I didn't notice that in the dark. When I called her friend's mother, she said Lisa never came over and wasn't supposed to. I guess she just made that up. She's done this before, disappearing and lying to me. Now you tell me she's not been to work. I'm very mad, but even more worried. I hope she's alright. Maybe she had a fight with her boyfriend."

"Who's her boyfriend?" Mary asked.

"She wouldn't tell his name, and I never actually saw him. He'd call sometimes but she would take the phone to her room. Must have picked her up when I was at work. Now I don't have a clue as to where to start looking."

Mary was alarmed. "Well, you might want to alert the police. I've never known Lisa not to show up for work before. If I see or hear from her, I'll give you a call immediately. What's your work number?"

Mary wrote the number down. After hanging up, Mary went to Lisa's desk and began opening drawers, looking for clues. Maybe she could find the name of her boyfriend. Instead, she found the usual fingernail polish, nail files and packs of chewing gum. Unused stationary supplies filled the drawers.

Mary stopped at the bottom drawer. She observed that a hanging file had been inserted into the deep drawer. Fingering through the collection, Mary quickly called out to Preston to come to the desk and see what she had discovered.

He came and Mary pointed to the hanging file.

"Here's the missing file on LuAnne Frazier, stuck back here. Why do you suppose Lisa would have this file? She knew I was looking for it. And why stick a file back here unless she was trying to hide it?"

"I don't know. I saw her looking for the file in the regular file cabinet. Are you sure she knew it was here? Could it have been hidden by someone else?"

"Perhaps, but I've always felt that someone here was giving information to the organ snatchers. How else would they know who was here and where Mr. Thompson was to be buried? Or even where LuAnne Frazier's burial plot was located? Lisa had access to all the files. She heard our conversations and could pull up the cemetery map on the computer at any time. Let's face it, Preston. We never watched her. We assumed she was doing her job, however small it was."

"But how do you know the information didn't come from the hospital? They got these bodies first because they required an autopsy. That's where the organs were snatched, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But perhaps people are coming here after hours and operating on the bodies before they're embalmed. Who would have a key and know who is coming in and when?"

"The person who calls us and tells us to pick up a body. Our girl Lisa," Preston answered. "I can't believe she would do that or be a part of any of this! She's just an empty-headed teenager."

"To be honest, Preston, I can't see it either. But it's a possibility. And she's not my only suspect. Any one of us has access to her desk and the computer. Everyone knows who's coming in. Listen, Preston, when I went out to identify the Dekle corpse, I checked the abdomen and guess what I found?"

"A sunken stomach after nine months. A moldy face."

"Yes and extraction slits over the ovaries."

"Oh my God! How long has this be going on? Is your detective going to have to dig up the whole cemetery to see? This could ruin us! Everyone will want their relatives exhumed."

"Don't panic. I've got a call in to Dan, but he's out on a case. The truck will be here in an hour. Should we let it go?"

"I'm not sure. We might be liable. Let's not inform the Dekle family just yet. Wait for advice from Dan. Maybe call our lawyer. Oh, I hope Lisa isn't involved in all this. She could get hurt. Look what they tried to do to you. These people don't play nice."

Mary slammed the file drawer shut. "I think she may have already discovered that." Flipping through the Rolodex on Lisa's desk, Mary glanced at the numbers. Here was one for the hospital. One for Sam's home. One for Mary's old cell. Then her finger fell on an entry for Owen. She looked closer. Owen, it said clearly, and written underneath was Dan's home number. Then another number she didn't recognize.

Mary didn't understand. Why would Lisa have Dan's number in her Rolodex? Perhaps he had given it to her in case she remembered something. Mary knew that Dan's number was unlisted. Cops didn't give out their personal numbers to anyone.

Preston touched her on the shoulder. "Well, I think Sam's mostly done with the first body. Come on into my office, and let's discuss the future. It's hard to get all three of us here at the same time. We need to decide a few things."

"Now? I've got so much on my mind right now."

"Now as good a time as any. I'm not getting any younger today."

Mary reluctantly got up from Lisa's desk but made a mental note to come back later and search all the drawers. She wasn't completely satisfied that Lisa didn't know something about the missing organs or the attacks. There were too many coincidences.

Mary sat down in the red leather chair facing Preston, and Sam appeared in the doorway after her. He peeled off his gloves and dropped them in the waste basket. He sat down in the other chair, still dressed in his white work coat. He removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his coat.

Preston faced them across his desk. He looked tired, Mary thought. The strain of the last few days was showing. Florida would be just what the doctor ordered. Maybe she should go too.

"As you know, I would like to retire, but I want to leave this family business in good hands. I've always considered Mary as a daughter and would like her to take over the business when she is financially able to do so. But she can't run this place alone. That's become very obvious over the last couple of days. If something happened to Mary and she wasn't able to come to work, no one would be available or trained to keep the place open. And everyone depends on us to be open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Death is not confined to a nine-to-five work day. So this is where you come in, Sam. We were wondering if you'd like to take a bigger role in running this place and helping with the funerals?"

Sam leaned forward. "What I'd like, Preston, is to be a full partner. I also have a funeral director's license, although I haven't really been too involved in funeral services. Mary could train me. We could share duties, fifty-fifty. How would you feel about that, Mary?"

The little weasel! Now all his secret desires were coming out into the open. Mary hid her dismay and smiled. She wasn't about to give up her funeral home without a fight. Suddenly she felt like a five-year-old and wanted to shout "It's mine and you can't have it!"

Mary frowned. "I've already made arrangements at the bank to purchase the business, Sam. My name is on all the contracts. I was thinking that you'd be more of an assistant than a partner. After all, what about your time at your cabin? You know how busy Preston and I are around here. It doesn't leave much time for a social life. When would you have time to take your nephew fishing?"

Sam looked at her. "That's why it's important to share the load, Mary. We'll hire an assistant. That way both of us will actually have more spare time. There's plenty of money in the budget for that."

Mary felt the anger again. "This has been my whole life, Sam. You're a newcomer. You can't just waltz in here and take over."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want to take it over, Mary. Partners. We'll need to hire more staff, especially for weekends. That's how other funeral homes do it. They have part-time ushers and helpers lined up for extra money. They come when you call them. You don't have to keep so many people on the payroll. It would save us time and money."

Preston agreed. "Bill and Mike would like weekends off, Mary. Sam has a point."

"I think he has an answer for everything," she grumbled. Suddenly the phone rang, and Preston reached for it.

"It's Detective Owen for Mary," he said.

"I'll take it in my office. Excuse me." Mary rushed out of the office, relieved to get away from Sam and the discussion about the funeral home. They were heading toward a fight.

"Where have you been?" Mary asked Dan.

"Out on a case, a shooting down at Kelley's Tavern. You'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. Who knows, the victim may eventually end up at your place."

Mary quickly filled Dan in on the case of Brenda Dekle.

"What should we do? The truck is due here any minute."

"After nine months, the chances of finding any evidence is pretty slim. I'm going to make a notation of it in the file and tell Jim to take an official picture of the corpse and the slits. That way we'll still have proof. I'll have the file sent over from the hospital to see if she was a donor. It doesn't have to be connected. We can't halt a court order without another court order, and we won't be doing that today. You have all the paperwork?"

"Yes. Sam is listed as the embalmer. Seems this was going on right from the minute he walked in the door. What do you think of that?"

"I think he goes to the head of the class as a suspect. I'll get Harry on it."

"Okay, then I'll hold off the truck until your man gets a picture. By the way, our receptionist Lisa didn't show up today, and her mother called in to say she's been missing all night. No one has heard from her since yesterday, and her car is gone."

"Her mother certain she didn't run away? Newlenberg can be pretty dull."

"Lisa had no reason to run away. A cushy job here. She never talked about any problems at home. I always got the idea she was popular in school and a good student. Preston hired her through the school's intern program. Preston paid her too much and treated her like family. Besides answering the phone, she rarely did any real secretarial work. What reason could she have for running away?"

"Take it from me, Mary, you may not know the real story. Was there anything odd about her behavior lately?"

"She's a teenager. They're all odd. There's one thing, though. I found the file on LuAnne Frazier in the back of one of her drawers. Body files are supposed to be kept in the main file cabinet. I know she knew I was looking for it but kept quiet about its location. I've been trying to figure out why she would have it stashed in there, and I don't like what I have been imagining."

"You do have a vivid imagination, Mary. But it's a good thing. Why do you think Lisa might have taken the file?"

"To tell someone where the body was buried. Maybe to cover up someone's tracks?"

"I see. That's certainly worth exploring, Mary. But don't get too excited just yet. She'll probably turn up and you can ask her yourself."

"I hope so. I really do," Mary said, looking down at her bandaged fingers.

### Chapter Seventeen

Bill came into the office, his shears in his hand.

"Mike told me to tell you the truck's here. Here's the release form for you to sign." He laid it on her desk. She hung up the phone and picked up her pen.

"Tell Mike and the truck driver to come in for coffee and donuts. The policeman has to take a few pictures. Just a legal precaution. I'll sign these. Mike has to sign too, as a witness."

Bill grabbed a donut from the open box on the desk. Preston had picked them up on his way in. "What precaution? You already identified her, didn't you? Was there a problem?"

"Yes, Bill, there's a problem, but I want you to keep things hushed. No one needs to know about this. It's a police matter. I'll explain about it later."

"Where's Lisa? Who's going to make the coffee?" he suddenly asked.

"She hasn't come in yet, Bill. I'll make the coffee if I can find out where she keeps it."

"In the cabinet behind her desk. How come she didn't come in today?"

"We're not sure. Her mother is looking for her," Mary told him. She found the coffee and set the can on the desk.

"She didn't quit, did she?"

Mary looked at him. "No. She never said anything to me like that. We just haven't heard from her. Why do you say that she might have quit? Did she mention to you that she was unhappy about something?"

"Not exactly," Bill said. "But there was quite a fight last night between her and Sam so I thought maybe she decided to get another job."

Surprise registered in Mary's face. "What fight? Sam never mentioned any fight."

"Well, last night Preston told me to sweep up as usual after the Gerry group left. I stuck around until they were all gone and then went to get the vacuum cleaner out of the closet to take care of some plant dirt left behind in the hall. When I got to the closet, I heard people shouting in the embalming room. I thought I was alone so you can imagine how surprised I was. With all the weird things happening around here, I thought I'd better have a look, in case I needed to call the police. Before I could even open the door, though, Lisa came stomping out almost hitting me with the door. She jumped when she saw me, you know, like she was shocked to see me there. I told her I thought everyone was gone and was just checking on the noise. She walked right past me and left without a word. That's when I saw Sam standing there in the embalming room."

"You said they'd been fighting?"

"Definitely. Yelling at each other. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but Lisa was certainly in a mood. Red-faced and all. Sam wasn't too happy either. He told me to hurry up and leave. I could finish today. I was supposed to be there! Not him! He's not my boss, is he?"

"Not yet, but he's seriously working on it. I wonder why he was here last night. I bet Preston didn't know that."

"He was doing something in the embalming room. I also noticed last night that the door to Preston's office was open. That's supposed to be locked after Preston leaves. I had to lock it before I left for home."

"It's true that Lisa has a key. She may have been in there. You never heard anything they were saying to each other, through the door I mean?"

"Nothing that made sense. They were arguing fiercely about something, but I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Besides, she flew out of there like a shot. I asked Sam what he was doing there, thinking Lisa had called him to go fetch someone, but he said he was just unloading some supplies that came in. Ordered me to beat it. I was so tired, I wasn't going to argue. I didn't see any supplies, though, now that I think about it. He left right after Lisa."

"Had Lisa been there during the Gerry Memorial?"

"Yes. Preston had her setting up the family photos and greeting people at the door with obituaries. She ran errands for him while I parked the cars."

"You think Lisa and Sam left together?"

"Not likely. I don't think Lisa was interested in seeing him again. Lisa had her own car. When I left, the lot was empty, and everyone was gone."

"Well, that's all very interesting, and I'll be sure to tell the police about that. This might have something to do with Lisa not showing up for work today."

"You tell that detective that I had nothing to do with it. They'll be questioning me again because I got a record."

Mary turned on the coffee maker. "Relax, Bill. I keep telling you, you've got nothing to worry about. Go fetch the driver while I get this fresh coffee going. Then run those suits over to the dry cleaners. I wonder if Preston's got some more donuts in his office. We're going to run out if they're hungry.

"By the way, Mary, you should have a look in the barn in the cemetery. Boy does it smell, like when we found that body bag in the grave the other day. Something has died in there, for sure!"

"Did you look around? A dead animal perhaps."

"That's what Mike thought too, but we couldn't find anything. Nothing obvious. Some flies on the ground in the back, like something had been there and was dragged off."

"Okay, Bill. I'll check it when I get a chance. Might have to call animal control. It's probably a dead groundhog. Remember when you had to chase that groundhog through the mausoleum last year? The one that kept eating the flowers and burrowing under Mrs. Hamilton's tombstone?"

"Yeah, Carl finally killed him with his rifle. Oops, you weren't supposed to know about that. It's illegal to fire a gun in the city. We knew that trap thing was never going to work. Maybe his relatives have come back to avenge him."

Mary laughed. "Perhaps. Carl probably killed another one and forgot to mention it," Mary suggested. "Or he buried it and some neighborhood dog dug it back up. Ah, there's the door. Let Jim in, will you, Bill?"

Bill opened the door and let a policeman carrying a camera inside the foyer.

"Coming," Mary called out. She quickly signed the release papers for the body and left them on the desk. Together Mary and Jim walked across the street to the cemetery.

"I'll put the papers in your truck," Mary told the driver. "Make yourself at home until we're done."

Mary waved to Mike who was reseeding some graves near the truck. Mary led Jim down the paved path to where a large flat-bed truck was blocking the road. They went around to the vault waiting on the ground. The lid was still off, and together they managed to open the lid of the exposed coffin so he could look inside.

Slipping on her plastic gloves once again, Mary peeled back the clothes of the corpse and showed the policeman the old incisions where organs had been extracted. The camera flashed at a rapid pace, the man anxious to get away from the corpse. Then they shut the lid for good and signaled Mike that she was ready to load the vault on the truck. That would require the wench on the truck and a lot of manpower to maneuver the heavy object safely onto the truck.

Mary and Jim returned to the funeral home where Mary made a copy of the woman's file. She told him to give the papers to Dan when he returned to the station later.

"This may be related to the things going on recently or it may not," Mary said. "I'd rather be safe than sorry. So now you have your evidence."

"No problem, Ms. Shepard. I'll get these back to Detective Owen right away."

"Thanks." After plying the driver with coffee and donuts, Mary sent him and Mike back to the cemetery to load the truck.

Fifteen minutes later Mary returned to Preston's office and was surprised to find Sam still there. Preston looked annoyed.

"Where have you been? We've been discussing the future of the funeral home in your absence."

"The police came to take pictures of the corpse we're exhuming. I had to be present." Mary glanced at Sam to see his reaction to her announcement, but he sat there without expression. Did he already know why?

"What's wrong with the body? Why would they want pictures of an old corpse?" Preston asked.

"Because this corpse is missing her ovaries like the others. The relatives have been reading the newspapers, and they asked me to check."

"So that's why you were over there so long. Was she a donor?"

"We don't have a record of that. That's why I asked Sam if he remembered anything about her. Her file is missing some crucial records."

Sam's expression changed to anger. "That was back when I first started here. I can't remember every body I process. Besides, my name is not on her papers, is it? You said it wasn't."

"You're correct," Mary agreed. "The papers say Mr. Ghent was responsible for the embalming. You assisted."

"Then there you have it. I don't remember anything amiss or Mr. Ghent would have called it to your attention, surely. It has to be a mistake at the hospital," Sam concluded and folded his arms over his chest. Mary thought he looked guilty.

"Well," Preston said, getting up. "I have an appointment with Newlenberg Engravers. A family wants an angel monument put in, and I have to okay it. The family is meeting me there. Mary, you're in charge as usual. Sam, we'll continue this conversation soon."

"I'll be unpacking some supplies if anyone needs me," Sam grumbled and left the office in a huff.

Mary turned to Preston. "That's funny. Bill told me Sam was here last night unloading supplies. He came in after the memorial and had words with Lisa."

Preston looked surprised. "He was? I never saw him."

"He and Lisa were arguing in the embalming room. Bill said Lisa stormed out and left. No one has seen her since."

"Now that's odd, isn't it? What could they have been arguing about? They hardly know each other. Lisa is always at the front desk. When did they have time to even talk? Sam's not her type."

"Older and bald? Probably not. They had a falling out about something, according to Bill. Something's going on, Preston. Some files are missing, and others are in Lisa's desk. Someone has been leaking out information. Do I have to mention the two attempts on my life? This funeral home is central to somebody's twisted plans. You and I are just in the way. Especially me. He said so before he locked me in the freezer to die."

"No doubt you're right, Mary, but paranoia is consuming you. I know you're thinking that Sam may be behind all this, but where's the proof? All you have is a string of coincidences. I know you aren't happy that I want to divide up the funeral home between you and Sam. Sam is not your favorite person right now, and you might want him to be guilty more than you care to admit. We can't accuse anyone without ironclad evidence."

Mary thought for a moment. "If he is behind all this, he will soon show himself. He can't keep up this masquerade forever." And she would be waiting.

### Chapter Eighteen

An hour later Mary and Dan were sitting at a table at Burger King enjoying hamburgers and fries. Mary had accepted Dan's surprise offer of lunch. "It would be really convenient for him if I died. Where does he get off asking for a partnership in my funeral home? He's only been with us since August, and suddenly he's a full-fledged funeral home director? He doesn't know the people in the area. How can he expect people to trust an outsider?"

"What did Preston say?" Dan asked.

"I didn't get to hear that part. I had to take your policeman out to photograph the body. The truck was already there. All I know is Preston wasn't against the idea. He wants someone in charge all the time in case the other is sick or on vacation."

"That does make good business sense, Mary. Has Sam given you any reason to make you think he wants you out of the loop?"

"No. It's the impression I get."

Mary watched Dan dip his fries into ketchup. "Preston thinks I'm jealous of Sam. He wants us to work together."

Dan looked at his watch.

"When do you have to be in court?" she asked.

"By three. Say, did you want to practice shooting your gun at the lake tomorrow? I have the day off. Are you free?" Dan asked her.

"So far. I do want to learn how to shoot. It may come in handy real soon."

"I hope not. But a trip to the lake is always relaxing. I don't suppose you fish?"

"I bury people, Dan. Fishing isn't one of my hobbies. I tried to tell Sam that."

Dan smiled at her. "Well, fishing is very peaceful. Don't knock it until you try it."

"Maybe you should date Sam. He has his own boat. By the way, did Lisa's mother file a missing person's report?"

"Not yet. She said she'd come in after work if Lisa didn't come home first. She wants to think Lisa is hiding at a friend's house, because she dented the car or something."

"I hope so. I saw your home phone number in Lisa's Rolodex. How did she get it? Isn't it unlisted?"

Dan looked surprised. "Gee, I haven't any idea. I don't give out my home number. Does she know my son? They do go to the same high school, you know. Maybe he gave it to her."

"Did he ever date her?"

"No. At least I don't think so. But I'm never home, and his girlfriends are his business. I've never seen him with her."

Then Dan's cell phone rang, and he had to say goodbye. An elderly man had been found dead in his car outside Kroger. He had to investigate. Mary was left by herself to finish her lunch. After he left, she wondered what it would be like to be married to Dan. With his phone or her phone always ringing, they'd be strangers in a short time. Perhaps they were better off being friends. He didn't have to make excuses to leave.

She called Preston from the restaurant and checked in. He told her she had an appointment at three for a husband and wife who wanted to line up their funerals ahead of time.

"I want to drop by the hospital on my way back, Preston, and check on the Dekle woman. I need to see if she was actually a donor. If she was, then we don't have a crime. Any word from Lisa?"

He answered no. Mary found the parking lot at the hospital packed. Only by circling many times did she find a space to pull the van in. Once inside, she waited her turn for the elevator and went down to the morgue.

Dr. Jenkins was busy with an autopsy. Mary wondered if the corpse was the man Dan had brought in this morning from the bar fight. She found Dr. Jenkins' secretary, Callie, and asked her for any records on Brenda Dekle.

"Why?" the secretary looked puzzled. "You're not the next of kin. We can't release records without permission."

Mary showed her the exhumation order. "We're missing some files at the home, and I need to check on whether she was an organ donor or not."

The secretary was still reluctant. Finally, she told Mary to wait, and she slipped into the autopsy room.

A few minutes she returned. "Dr. Jenkins said it was okay. She's almost finished. She says she wants you to wait for her."

Mary took a seat while the secretary punched up the information on the computer. Then she made a copy for Mary. Mary scanned the sheet.

"So she was a donor. The box was checked," Mary said. "Who is this Dr. Lopez? Does he still work here?"

At that moment Dr. Jenkins appeared, still dressed in her blue scrubs. She pulled her face mask down to talk.

"Dr. Lopez? Never heard of him, and I know everyone in this hospital," Dr. Jenkins told her. "Why do you have to know whether she was a donor or not? Has something else happened?"

"Brenda Dekle was exhumed this morning and when I identified her, I noticed that there were incisions over the ovaries. Like the others. I thought I'd check to see what the hospital records said. Strangely, ours seem to be missing. And now you're telling me this Dr. Lopez doesn't exist."

"Isn't that what happened over at Simpson's Funeral Home? A body was exhumed that was marked donor, but the husband said he never signed anything? The signature was bogus."

Mary nodded. "That's how this whole thing started. I don't know how long this has been happening but judging from Brenda Dekle, at least since August. Do you ever remove ovaries if you have a donor?"

"No. It's not what anyone needs. You can live without your ovaries. It's the heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and eyes that people are after."

Mary sighed. "So, I do have a crime here. Some weirdo collecting ovaries."

"Did you report it to the police?"

"Yeah, but the body went with the court order. The police took photos. Would the ovaries be removed before you see the bodies? Are you the only one allowed to do that?"

"No, I wouldn't necessarily be the one to remove the organs. For example, a cardiologist would remove the heart and pack it properly. I don't see donors very often because they are operated on and then sent on their way. My job is to determine death in suspicious or unusual cases. If someone died in a car wreck and cause of death is obvious, then the trauma doctor arranges for the organ removal and the body comes down here only for storage. I only do an autopsy if the family requests it in those cases."

"I see. So the ovaries could have been removed without your knowledge, the body sent down here for safe keeping, then moved to my funeral home."

"And none would be the wiser," the doctor explained. "So we don't know how many people have been illegally operated on and how many grieving parents or husbands didn't notice. How many I didn't see because they didn't require an autopsy."

"That's what makes this whole thing so hard to comprehend," Mary said. "Stealing from the dead. Disrespect. Hurting innocent people who can't bear the thought of having their loved ones cut up for parts."

"It's all about the money, I guess. But things like that aren't supposed to happen in nice towns like ours. We're lucky the newspaper hasn't picked up on it. All of us would be out of a job." Dr. Jenkins reached back and untied her gown. She hung it up on the coat rack.

Mary stood up to leave. "Is there anything special going on here today? Why is the parking lot so full?"

"There's a lecture by Dr. DuFrey on his new clinic, and a bunch of protesters have gathered to call for the end of his stem cell research."

"The protestors are giving him and his work a hard time, aren't they?"

"Live embryos are used in the research. Naturally, people always object to using embryos in anything. They think doctors use aborted babies in their research. That's not true, of course. That would be illegal. They only use frozen embryos left over from fertility clinics."

"And that's legal?"

"Not any more. They are limited only to what is presently in supply. They can't freeze embryos for the sole purpose of doing research on them. They have to be left over from fertility tries, and the donors have to give permission. Recently, the government has allowed the research to go on as long the rules are followed. Dr. DuFrey is federally-funded, and he has a stack of grants. I understand he is experimenting with new techniques at the present, and the government is quite interested."

"But how will Dr. DuFrey be able to continue his research when his supply runs out?"

"I'm not sure. He's got a lobbyist in Congress trying to change the law. I suspect he'll win because it's the way of the future. People want cures for diabetes and spinal injuries more than they want embryos. You see, that's the argument. Are embryos people? Do they have souls because they are alive and could potentially become a person? It's a question for philosophers. And in this case, it's not easy to see what is morally right."

"I've never supported abortion," Mary told her. "But I've certainly known people that should have never become parents." Her own parents came to her mind.

"Now there's a true statement."

Mary said goodbye to Dr. Jenkins and headed back up to the lobby. She asked one of the volunteer receptionists where the lecture was being held and joined a group going to the fourth floor where the meeting rooms were. When she got off the elevator, she squeezed between the people in the hall until she reached the crowded room. There was standing room only. Mary slid beside some men holding up signs by the door. Dr. DuFrey was standing at the podium, his voice magnified by his microphone.

"Stem cell research represents the greatest hope for the future of mankind. There are no limits to what we can accomplish by using the body's own DNA to defeat our enemies like heart disease, spinal injuries, diabetes, and organ transplant rejection. The list is endless. Let others debate the issue of whether life begins at conception. I don't have an answer for that. I'm a scientist. These embryos have no future other than to be used for the benefit of mankind. Soon we won't need embryos to develop viable stem cells. We're working on a new discovery that will change medicine forever! Your fears are groundless."

Several in the crowd heckled the doctor. "Baby killer! Murderer!" Signs bobbed above heads.

Mary noticed someone she knew in the crowd near the side exit. She was sure she recognized Sam, but as she squeezed further around the man in front of her, she saw Sam leave. She only got a clear view of the back of his bald head. Then she wasn't sure. There were a lot of bald men in the room. Didn't she just leave Sam at the home? She looked at her watch. This was his lunch time.

Now she was curious. Did Sam know Dr. DuFrey? Could he be secretly working for him? Stealing body parts? Paranoia, indeed!

Suddenly the crowd began to move. Someone had stormed the stage and was attempting to hit Dr. DuFrey. The doctor was calling for the police as some of the doctors jumped on the man and pinned him to the ground. Mary knew now was the time to leave before fighting erupted. She had had no idea how sensitive the subject of stem cells was. Mary inched her way back toward the door. On her way out, she picked up one of the fertility clinic's brochures off the table in the hall.

Back at the funeral home, Mary found Preston copying some papers at the Xerox machine next to Lisa's desk.

"The police called and said they wanted a copy of Brenda Dekle's file and Lisa's Rolodex."

"Any word about Lisa?" she asked him. He shook his head. "Is Sam here?"

"No. He left when you went to lunch. He hasn't come back yet. Why?"

"I stopped by the hospital on my way back and ended up at a press conference for the fertility clinic. I thought I saw Sam there."

"Why would he be interested in that? You probably just thought you saw him. He told me he had some errands to run in town. He took the money to the bank since Lisa was gone."

Mary nodded. "Okay. Maybe I just saw someone who looked like him. Lots of bald men in town. No reason for him to be there, like you said. Or there could be a reason you don't want to hear about."

"Like he's meeting with his evil boss?"

"It's a possibility. He sure hightailed it out of there when he saw me," Mary said. "But I won't discuss my theories with you until I have further proof. You just keep an eye on him! He's up to no good, I tell you."

"Okay, Mary. But I still think you are barking up the wrong tree. I rarely misjudge people."

Mary laughed. "Preston, you misjudge everyone. Lisa was a rotten receptionist. You loved her. What about that boy Johnny Finkle whom you hired to drive the hearse to the church for the Cregar funeral? He dropped the body off at the church, and the police picked him up the next day joy-riding in West Virginia. Thank God the hearse was fixable!"

"Maybe I misjudge people a little, but Sam's no car thief."

"You don't know what he's hiding. Until we know for sure that he has nothing to do with all this, I'm not going to let my guard down for a second. You shouldn't either. The enemy may be right here in the next room!"

### Chapter Nineteen

Dan picked Mary up about nine o'clock Saturday morning in his gray Honda Civic. The sun was bright and the air fresh with a slight breeze from the west. Mary gently laid her pistol on the floor board in the back. She left her bag of bullet clips beside it. With all her bandages removed, she finally felt free.

"Winter is finally over and spring is here. It's my favorite season," she announced. "Flowers, warm weather, and green grass."

"Ah, we've had snow in May before. Don't get too comfortable," Dan warned her.

"Yes, but I feel optimistic. It's all the tulips in the cemetery. The return of Mike and Bill to the lawn mower. The buds on the trees. I'd like to think the cold weather has gone north."

They drove out of the city and took Route 33 toward the West Virginia. Lake Hutchen, nestled between two slopes, was a favorite local vacation spot. People camped, hiked, and fished at the lake. A development of cabins dotted the shore.

"Sam Goins, our embalmer has a home up here. He's the real Grizzly Adams. He brings his nephew up here often, but I understand his sister doesn't share his love of nature."

"Didn't you say he started out as a doctor but changed his mind in medical school?"

"Yes, he told me he dropped out of medical school in his second year. I never heard the reason why. He would have made an excellent doctor."

"I thought you hated the guy."

"I do, but I have to admit he's good at what he does. Smart too. No doubt he could have been a doctor if he had finished."

"Where did he go to school?"

"It's on the certificate on his desk in the embalming room. I have to confess, I've never looked at it. Preston assured me it was real."

"And he's not married?"

"No. If you knew him, you'd know why. Not exactly a sweet personality. More like a cranky bachelor. Has a widowed sister in town that he stays with when he works for us. They moved here in August when Preston's embalmer was retiring. He applied for the job from Maryland where he's from."

"Dr. DuFrey is also from Maryland. Wonder if they know each other. How did he hear about the job way over here? Did you advertise on the Internet?"

"Preston doesn't even know what that is. Won't touch a computer. No. We didn't have to advertise. Preston heard about the opening from some relative of his, he told us. Preston checked him out, saw that he was certified, and hired him. He had a spotless record."

"And he just comes when you need him?"

"Yes," Mary explained. "He doesn't have to stay at the home nine to five like me. Sometimes we're very busy, and sometimes we just page him to let him know we need him. It's an arrangement that has worked well these past nine months until now. If he becomes a partner in the business, I would expect him to be there all the time. He may not like that. I don't know that I could count on him when I needed him. He might be out fishing."

They passed a sign saying that the lake was ten miles away.

"Where are we going exactly? Where do you shoot?"

"The department has a gun range next to the park land. We all have to be accurate and competent with firearms, and so we're required to practice on a monthly basis. I usually come here with my partner Harry when we get a day off."

They passed the entrance to the park and traveled a little further to a gravel road. Dan turned down the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

"Here we are," he told her and pulled up to the shooting range. They were alone today, Mary noticed. In front of her, past the car, was a marked area in the grass. Target boards were set up against a large dirt bank. Mary handed Dan her Bersa Thunder. She carried the bullets and the clip. She watched Dan load the clip.

"You have to get comfortable with carrying and holding the gun, Mary. You can't be afraid of it, just respect it."

Carefully, Dan inspected the gun and saw that Preston had recently cleaned it. He shoved in the clip and pointed out to Mary where the safety was.

"Light," Mary said, raising her arm to a shooting position.

"Use two hands for better accuracy," he told her. He held her arm to steady it and then grinned.

"I think I'll enjoy this. Think of the target as Sam's bald head," he laughed.

Mary aimed and fired. Mary was startled by the slight recoil and dropped the gun. It hit the ground, narrowly missing Dan's foot.

"Mary! You can't be dropping a loaded gun. You could hurt someone! Not to mention ruin an expensive weapon. This had to put Preston back some paying for this."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I was just surprised. Let's try it again."

Dan carefully picked up the gun and put it back in Mary's hand. "You have to expect it to recoil some. For every action, there's a reaction. At the same time, you have to keep it steady when you fire." This time he wrapped his arms around Mary from the back and steadied her arm. They aimed together, and Mary felt herself fall into his chest when she squeezed the trigger. Dirt flew ahead of the target.

"Close," Dan said.

"Not even," Mary answered.

"It takes practice. You can't kill people with accuracy over night. You have to practice. That's what they tell all the new recruits."

"Oh Dan! They don't!"

They worked at it for an hour, and then Mary complained about her sore arm. Dan took over and showed Mary how he could hit the target.

"Show-off," she commented on his skill.

"I have to be," he said.

"Have you ever killed someone, in the line of duty?"

"Yes. Several times. Not in Newlenburg but in Norfolk. It isn't something I'm proud of, but it's something I am trained to do if it becomes necessary. I like to think I'm saving someone's life when I fire. It's usually true."

"I don't think I could, Dan. I couldn't shoot someone, even if he was coming after me. It's one thing to see a corpse. I can completely detach myself. It's another thing to watch a person go from living being to a dead person on a slab and know it was my fault."

"I think if it was you or him, you would fire, Mary. Survival takes over, and you'd do whatever it took to live."

Dan had brought a surprise picnic lunch in the back of the police car.

"Kentucky Fried Chicken. Only the best for you," he told her. "They donated to the cause."

"They gave it to you free?"

"Yes. I stopped a robbery there last year. Ever since, it's been free chicken. It's this kind of appreciation that keeps my waist expanding. Makes up for the dismal salary."

"Not just the donuts?"

Dan laughed. "Chicken and donuts, a policeman's steady diet."

They decided to drive to the lake for their picnic. They stopped near the first boat loading platform and found a picnic table in the shade. Dan unrolled a red checkered table cloth and took out the boxes of food. He handed her a Coke, a paper plate, and a plastic fork.

"Dig in!"

After lunch, Mary boxed up the remains and threw away the trash. Since it was a pretty day and Dan didn't have his pager, Dan offered to take her on a tour of the lake in his car. She admired the cabins they passed and waved to several people who were fishing along the bank. Row boats with afternoon fisherman dotted the water.

They came to another boat dock where Dan pulled in.

"This is where most people unload their boats. I come here to fish in the summer with Harry on his boat. By the way, what's the story about Jim Benton and Connie, your sister? Jim says Connie is pretty moody. They're always getting into fights, and she often says she never wants to see him again. A day later she comes over like it never happened. You're not like that, are you?"

"No, but she had a harder time than I had at home. Abuse. It affected us both, but Connie suffered the most, I think. She's never gotten over it. She has a hard time dealing with men. She likes to torture them."

"That explains it. Jim will take that only so long. You'd better warn her."

"Why? There's a lot of Jims in this town at her beck and call. He'd better get out while he still has his head. She'll eat it for breakfast."

"I'm glad I saw you first!" Dan laughed.

They got out of the car and stood on the pier looking at the water. It was greenish today, with gentle ripples slapping the bank. Mary paused at the railing, reflecting on her past.

"Our father was not a nice man, and Connie watched him beat my mother and drink himself to death. That kind of a childhood does something to a person. Connie is insecure. Inside she's still a frightened little girl. She likes to mistreat men because it's her way of getting back at our father. I've watched her do it over and over."

"I'll warn Jim."

"Oh, I think he knows. Better stay out of it, Dan. Connie will play out her wrath until Jim puts an end to it. It has to be him that puts her in her place. She won't respect anyone who lets her walk all over him."

Dan was surprised. "Connie seems so self-confident. Even full of herself. I would never have guessed she suffers from low self esteem."

Mary sighed. "Connie is an actress. On the outside, she's better than you, and she wants you to know it. On the inside, she's afraid that everything will crumble, and she will be exposed as a fraud. Don't tell her I said any of that. She would deny it."

"I'm glad you're not so screwed up."

"Who says I'm not. I'm an undertaker. Many people would argue that there's something wrong with that."

"You don't like to deal with real live people?"

"It's been suggested by my ex."

"Well, I deal with real live people every day and sometimes I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. Real live people are overrated."

They decided to take a walk around the lake to finish their trip. Dan pointed out the well-worn path leading from the boat dock. Mary reached down and touched the water of the lake with her finger.

"Very cold!"

"It's a mountain lake. You wouldn't swim in it unless it was the middle of August. It's fed by mountain streams. That's why the trout fishing is so good."

They walked in silence for awhile. Then Dan began to talk.

"Mary, I've been thinking. We seem to get along pretty well, don't you think?"

"I like you, yes."

"Shall we officially go out on a date? Like ordinary people."

"What would that look like?" Mary asked him. "Our meetings seem to center around organ snatching and attempts on my life."

Dan took her hand. "True. Call this date number one, then. We understand that our relationship will be based on quality of time, not quantity. I respect your job, you respect mine. Deal?"

"Deal. I think we understand each other. Friends first. Then we'll see. Hey, what's that?" Mary crossed the path to the other side. She reached down and pulled a small, black handbag out of the brush. It was stained by mud and moisture.

"Somebody lost her purse." She handed it to Dan, wiping her hands on her pants. "Someone may have reported it."

Dan slowly opened the bag and looked inside.

"There's a wallet in here. It wasn't stolen then. I wonder how it ended up here." He pulled out the wallet and placed the handbag in the grass.

"Whose is it?" Mary asked, puzzled. "Why are you putting it back?"

Dan's face turned to stone. "Lisa McCutchen."

"Oh my God!" Mary shrieked. "I knew it! Something did happen to Lisa. Oh, that poor girl."

Dan pulled out his cell phone from his jacket pocket and asked for his partner, Harry.

"We may have compromised a crime scene," Dan said, putting his cell phone away. "They're on their way. We can't touch anything else. They'll want to fingerprint you, to distinguish whose prints are whose. We'll just have to wait." They headed back to the boat dock and Dan's car.

Mary glanced out at the water. "Where do you think Lisa is? Out there somewhere, weighted down by some rock?"

"Maybe. Worse case is that she's been dumped in the lake to hide a murder. I doubt she tossed the purse here on purpose. I bet her car is around here too. They may have to drag the lake."

"Maybe she isn't dead, Dan. Maybe she's hiding from her mother up here in one of those cabins. She could have been kidnapped, don't you think?"

"I hope so," he said, but without enthusiasm. Mary sat down on the dock to wait. "I can't believe this. Why would anyone want to hurt Lisa? She's only eighteen, for God's sake."

"Why is someone trying to kill you, Mary? There is something you and Lisa know that the murderer thinks will get him caught. Who saw Lisa last? You, at the funeral home?"

"Actually Bill said he walked in on Lisa and Sam in the embalming room after the memorial service, around nine-thirty. He said they were arguing and then Lisa drove off."

"So I need to talk to Sam. Sam the embalmer. Sam the one with medical training. Sam who has a motive for removing you so he can have the funeral home. It all seems to come back to him." Dan reached inside his car and pulled out his notepad. He sat down next to Mary and began taking notes.

### Chapter Twenty

Thirty minutes later two squad cars and Dan's partner, Harry, arrived at the boat dock. Dan and Mary led them to the spot where they bagged the purse and took pictures.

Harry pointed out drag marks across the grass from the purse to the bank. He gazed down the bank into the lake. He got a branch and dragged it in the water around the edge of the bank.

"Deep here," he commented. Then his stick stuck an object. A pale foot floated up toward the surface. "Bastard didn't throw her too far. Body in the water! Call the ambulance!" he called out to Dan.

Mary, Dan, and Harry stood at the bank. Mary felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She was getting awfully emotional about a girl she hadn't really liked.

"I don't think anyone deserves to die that way. I know you will tell her mother she's dead," Mary said. "But what will I tell her when she calls me at the funeral home?"

"Here's one of those times, Mary, when you have to be detached and objective. Like you are with all the other clients you deal with day in and day out." Dan took her hand. "You won't do Lisa any good by falling apart now. Her mother will need you to be strong and to take charge. It's what you do best, I hear. She won't know what to do."

Dan led Mary back to the boat dock to wait for the ambulance and Dr. Jenkins. Dan and Harry cordoned off the crime scene with yellow police tape and returned with their camera, gloves, and specimen bags. Two officers were dispatched to look for Lisa's car in the area.

As Mary sat alone on the dock gazing at the water, she wondered why this had happened and if they would ever know the truth of Lisa's involvement in the attacks against her and the organ snatching. Then she heard Dan call out her name and stood up.

"Call Preston and ask if he has Sam's cabin's address. I think we may want to check it out," Dan told her.

"Do you really think Sam is involved? I didn't think anyone was listening to me."

"No idea if he's involved or not. But he was the last one to see her alive, and he does have a place up here. Definitely had opportunity if not motive."

Mary found her cell phone in her purse in Dan's car. She dialed the funeral home, but there was no answer. She tried Preston's home, and he answered on the fourth ring.

"I was out in the garage," he explained, huffing and puffing on the phone.

"I've got some bad news, Preston," Mary began and told him of the day's developments. "Dan wants Sam's cabin address. Is it at the home in his file?"

"I doubt it. I think he purchased it after he came to work for us. I'll call his sister, but she will think it's strange that we don't page him directly like we always do if we need him. I'll make up something."

"Dan doesn't want us to alert him."

"Alert him to what? He can't be serious. Our Sam, the murderer of Lisa?"

"I know, but I hate to say I told you so. Too many things are adding up. Sam may not be what he seems. Dan needs to check him to either arrest him or clear him for good. He was the last one to see Lisa, and there may be evidence linking him to this murder and more. Here comes the ambulance and Dr. Jenkins. Do me a favor and call Joey. Tell him I'll be late. I have to go back to the police station, make a statement, and be fingerprinted."

"Okay. I'll call you back with that address if I get it."

Mary waved to Dr. Jenkins as she climbed out of the ambulance.

"I was already at the hospital when the call came through so I thought I'd ride along. How did you get involved in this? I just saw you yesterday. Does trouble follow you everywhere?"

"I think so," Mary said. "Bad karma, my sister told me."

Mary explained about the shooting practice with Dan and how a seemingly romantic walk around the lake had turned into a crime scene.

"You were just at the wrong place at the right time."

"More bad karma? I now know what happened to my receptionist and why she's not coming back. I want her back at her desk goofing off with Preston. Not in a casket."

Dr. Jenkins started down the path. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mary. I'll go see what I can determine. Unfortunately, the police will have to come up with the answer to the biggest questions of all, why this happened and who did it."

Dr. Jenkins asked the paramedics to wait until she examined the site before retrieving the body. In the meantime, they got on their wet suits in case they had to go into the water.

A call from Dr. Jenkins took them down the path carrying a tarp. Mary followed to the yellow tape and paused, watching Dan and Harry hand their samples over to the police officers.

Dan motioned the paramedics forward. "We're ready to remove the body." One slipped down the bank and slowly into the water. The grimace on his face told her the water was cold, even though he was wearing an insulated suit.

"She's here against the bank, head down. Her head seems to be tangled in a root," the paramedic said. He was carefully guiding a foot toward the tarp the other paramedic was spreading out on the bank. Then the other paramedic slipped into the water too. They carefully lifted the body, feet first up the bank and onto the tarp.

Mary gasped. Lisa's body was still clothed, but her clothes were dirty and stretched around her bloated body. Her face was distorted but recognizable. From her training, Mary knew Lisa hadn't been in the water too long. Otherwise, her skin would be too soft to get her out of the water in one piece.

The paramedics climbed out of the water and went to get the gurney while Dr. Jenkins examined the body.

"Did she swim?" Dan called over to Mary.

"I don't know," Mary answered. "You'll have to ask her mother. Why, do you think she drowned?"

Dr. Jenkins shook her head. "She didn't drown, did she, Mary? Can't you see the cause from there?" She pointed to Lisa's swollen neck.

"She was strangled, Dan. See the red marks on the neck. Hand or rope, Dr. Jenkins?" Mary strained against the police tape.

"We'll see in the autopsy what bones are broken, and I'll give you an answer then. No rigor mortis. Film over the eyes and hemorrhages. Too cold in the lake. I'm saying death occurred probably eight to twelve hours ago. Roughly."

"That fits, doctor. She was seen about nine-thirty last night. We know she went somewhere, was murdered, and was dragged and dumped here. Poor kid."

"Is she tied into what has been happening at the hospital?" Dr. Jenkins asked. "Or is this some random killing? An abduction?"

"She is definitely a part of it," Mary said firmly.

"Mary thinks so, but we have to have proof," Dan retorted. His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

"The car has been found," he announced to Mary. "Not far from here. Let's go, Mary. Dr. Jenkins, I'll see you at the hospital later."

Dan and Mary returned to the car and headed west on the lake road.

"Preston called in Sam's cabin's address, and the car is near by there. It's beginning to look more and more like your embalmer is a great suspect. We'll pick him up for questioning and search his cabin as soon as I can get a warrant," Dan said.

Mary shook her head. "Sam's too smart to dump a body and the car near his cabin. Something about this doesn't add up, Dan. It's like he didn't even try to hide the murder. If he's as evil as I'd like him to be, then why would he be so obvious about it? With all the woods up here, he could have made her disappear forever."

"Maybe he thought he was above suspicion. Thought no one would find Lisa so soon. You have to admit our finding the body was just pure luck. We literally stumbled upon it."

Mary shook her head. "I think someone wanted the body found as soon as possible. That's why it was rolled down the bank rather than dumped in the middle of the lake. And that purse, anyone could see it there along the path. If we hadn't found Lisa today, some camper would have. You'd still be out here on a homicide case."

They spotted the squad car parked on a fire trail. Beyond the squad car, Mary saw Lisa's car pulled behind some trees. Police officers were there, and crime scene tape surrounded the area. Mary remained in the car and watched as Dan walked over to the car. She rolled down the window to hear the conversation.

"Keys are still in the car, Detective. Some files from work thrown in the back seat," an officer told Dan.

"Radio the lab and tell them we need the forensic team from Alexandria sent in. We just aren't equipped to deal with all this. You certain no one has entered the car?"

"Yes, sir. We were waiting for you."

"Harry? Could you take Ms. Shepard back to the station? She'll need to be fingerprinted. Also, her shoes will have to be printed as well because she walked in the crime scene."

Upon hearing that, Mary gathered her purse and stepped out of Dan's car.

"What about my gun? I can't take that into the station."

"Leave it in Harry's car until he can take you home. Don't say anything to anyone about this, Mary. I know you've already told Preston. I just don't want Lisa's mom to hear it accidentally before we have a chance to see her."

"No, of course not. We're used to keeping secrets. I expect Lisa's mother to call me, though, after you have broken the tragic news. I hope she'll let us handle the funeral. It's the least we can do for Lisa. Will you be in touch?"

"Later. I have a lot of work to do. Hey, Mary," he lay his hand on hers. "I really enjoyed today. I'm just so sorry it ended this way."

"So am I."

He smiled. "So much for a first date."

### Chapter Twenty-One

Back at the office, Mary sat at Lisa's desk still wondering why. The policemen had arrived at Mrs. McCutchen's door about a half an hour after Mary had left the lake. Preston went over to her house to make arrangements and take the information for the obituary. The date of the funeral couldn't be fixed until after the autopsy was finished. Mary notified the answering service that they were without a receptionist and calls were to be forwarded to her number and then Preston's after five. As soon as possible, they would have to advertise for another receptionist.

Mary sighed. Death was a natural part of life, she realized. But murder was unnatural and shocking, especially when someone so young died. She only wished she knew what Lisa had been involved in that led to the brutal end of her short life.

"You were just a fool," she said aloud.

Suddenly Mary heard movement in the back part of the building. She jumped up, anxious to hear what Preston would have to tell her. When she got to Preston's office, it was empty. Mary grew anxious, realizing that someone else had entered the home. She raced back into her office and pulled out the gun newly placed in her top drawer. She started toward the noise, gun raised and loaded.

The noise was coming from the embalming room. It couldn't be Sam because he was at the police station. He came in as she was leaving, giving her a cold stare. She hoped he was in a jail cell by now and out of the funeral home business and her life forever.

Mary opened the door, her gun leading the way. Sam stood at the coat rack, slipping on his white overcoat. He almost dropped it on the floor.

"Mary, what are you doing here?" Then he saw Mary's gun. "What's with the gun? Mary? Get a grip. You should put that thing away before someone gets hurt. Are you really going to shoot me?"

She lowered the gun, pointing the barrel toward the floor.

"I thought you were with the police," she explained. "I panicked when I heard the noise. You totally surprised me."

"And you thought I'd been arrested, didn't you? I had a feeling that you and Preston were blaming me for all this strange stuff going on around here. You in particular have been acting funny around me. I get the distinct feeling you don't want me to work here."

Mary lowered her gun. She slipped the clip out into her hand. "You're trying to take away everything I've worked for all my life, Sam. This funeral home is mine, not yours. You're a newcomer. I grew up here. Preston was like a father to me. I've been at his side all these years. I don't want to share this place with you. There, I said it."

"Feel better? Mary. None of this comes as a surprise to me. You're so hung up on who Preston loves best that you can't see things rationally. I don't want to take anything away from you, Mary. This is business. We would be a great team if only you would get over yourself."

Mary crossed her arms in a huff. They stared at each other.

"Maybe," she grumbled out loud.

"And you told the police you thought I was involved in the organ snatching? I can't believe you would think that."

"Then why you have been acting so strangely around here, Sam? Brenda Dekle's body was violated, and you assisted in the embalming. Dan said he was looking for someone with medical training. I know you dropped out of med school. What about the other day when I saw you at DuFrey's press conference? You slipped away as soon as you saw me. Bill told me you were the last one to see Lisa alive and you were fighting. It all adds up to murder, Sam."

"No, it doesn't, Mary. I'll explain to you just like I explained it to the police. Sit down. Preston and you have it completely wrong. I did drop out of med school. When my mother died of cancer, I changed my mind. Doctors aren't gods after all. They failed to save my mother. I thought I'd be more helpful in the mortician field, and found I have a knack for it."

"Oh, you're handy with a knife, I'll give you that, but you're not the only one in the building who can dress a corpse, Sam."

Sam pointed to the chair. Mary sat. "Don't be a child, Mary. Dr. DuFrey is my cousin, and he helped me get into college. Before I moved here, he called me up and said he was thinking of coming here to operate his clinic because Virginia has very loose laws about stem cell research. I was at the press conference to hear what my cousin had to say. Then my sister paged me. I didn't even know you were there."

"But what about that argument with Lisa?"

"I didn't want to stir up trouble, Mary. I didn't tell you that I found Lisa in Preston's office with her hand in the safe and the keys in her pocket. She wouldn't tell what she was after. She had a bunch of papers in her hands. I read her the riot act and threatened to tell Preston. She knew she would get fired. I thought she was after the cash and the papers were just something she grabbed when I caught her."

"Bill saw you in the embalming room arguing."

"Yeah, she followed me in there trying to get me to change my mind about telling you and Preston that she had opened the safe without permission. She wanted me to give her one more chance, and I finally gave in. Preston liked Lisa so much, and I didn't want to disappoint him by telling him our sweet and innocent Lisa was a thief."

"Do you really think she was stealing the cash?" Mary pondered.

"You'll have to have Preston check the safe to see what's missing. Anyway, you guys and the police have been barking up the wrong tree. I could never harm Lisa. What for? The police already searched my cabin and my sister's house. Guess what? No body parts."

Mary looked down at her feet. "You've been cleared?"

"Yes, that's right. Why would I be so stupid as to dump Lisa's body so close to my summer home? Everyone knows I live up there part-time. Someone wanted me to look guilty, so they placed Lisa there so I would be first on the suspect list. Then they dumped the car practically in my driveway to make sure the charges stuck. But it's not going to work, Mary. There's absolutely no evidence against me. Besides, I'm telling you I didn't do it! If I wanted to kill you, I've had ample opportunities over these past nine months. You owe me an apology."

Mary was silent for a moment. "I guess I've been mistaken about you," Mary finally said. "I jumped to conclusions. I think you can understand why I might think you were behind all this. You could have the funeral home if I were dead and the whole cemetery to hide your bodies in."

"I do look suspicious if you look at the facts. But my sister will tell you I was home all night when you were dumped in that grave. I even stopped by the Jiffy Mart and bought worms for fishing the next day. The clerk remembers me, and I have the receipt."

Mary sighed. "Then who are the killers that are ravaging the bodies of the dead and who strangled our receptionist? I can't make sense of all this. I'm scared, Sam. This has turned my life upside-down." Tears began to roll down her cheeks. Sam placed his arm on hers.

"Do you want me to resign? Would that make things right again between us? I couldn't work if with you thinking I'm some kind of crook."

"No, Preston wouldn't like it. It would be too hard to replace you."

"What would you like, Mary? It's not up to Preston."

Mary looked up. "I need you to stay, Sam. I could really use a friend around here, not an enemy."

"I'm not your enemy, Mary. We'll get through this. You have to be strong for all of us. The Mary I know and love is fearless. I've never seen you afraid of anything or anybody."

Mary nodded. "I'm not really that strong, Sam. It's mostly an act of defense. I've always had to take care of myself. I think the stress is finally getting to me."

"It's getting to all of us. When is Lisa's body coming here? I came by to check on the schedule and finish those supplies."

"Depends on the autopsy. It will definitely be closed casket. She is in bad shape from the water."

"That's a shame, especially for her mother. Well, I'll get back to unloading the new supplies. Why don't you go home and get some rest, Mary. You look beat. I'll lock up."

Mary smiled at last. "Thanks, Sam. I'm going home to hug my son. See you tomorrow." Before she left, she put the gun back into her desk, glad that she hadn't shot Sam by accident. Tomorrow she was giving the gun back.

### Chapter Twenty-Two

The next couple of days were a whirlwind. Mary and Sam conducted three funerals and at the end of the day of the third funeral, Mary had to admit that Sam indeed had the right stuff to be a full partner at the Preston Smith Funeral Home. Besides embalming, Sam helped Mary set up the displays for viewing, carried flowers, and ushered. She had even let him call and place orders for flowers. He said he wanted to experience it all so she showed him the ropes. He found it was a sunrise to sunset job and then some. His fun at the cabin would have to wait until he got done with his duties.

At the end of the day, she sat down with Preston. "I was wrong, Preston. Sam is very capable of running this funeral home. He's certainly proven his worth these last two days by helping me in this rush. And no complaining."

"I thought you might change your mind once you saw him in action. He just has to learn how it goes. He's got the brains and the ambition. You two will make a great pair. What did you think of his idea of hiring an assistant also?"

"After this week, I can agree to that. I don't know how we did it all these years, just the two of us."

"We gave up our lives, Mary. That's how."

Sam knocked on the door and stuck his head inside the door.

Preston waved him in. "Come in, come in. We were just talking about you."

"I hope it was all good. Dr. Jenkins called while you were in the warehouse. She said to pick up Lisa tomorrow. The report is about done so she's releasing the body. I know that's good news for Mrs. McCutchen. Have you heard anything new from the police on the investigation?"

Mary frowned. "Not a word. Dan's been so busy with the case that I haven't been able to reach him. The newspapers are accusing the department of incompetence and bungling the whole case. Since they let Sam go, they don't have a single suspect. I'm sure Dan's trying to put an end to all the bad publicity."

"He can't without coming up with at least a theory," Preston commented. "They've reached a dead end with the black market selling organs angle. They can't give the press anything new. People are getting scared."

"They should look at the facts," Mary said. "Only Lisa was murdered. The other victims were already dead. It's not like there's a mass murderer out there preying on the common citizen."

"But they've been awfully hard on one undertaker in town," Sam said as he pulled up a chair and joined them. "I was almost framed. Mary was almost killed."

"Yes, it's been rough," Mary told them. "But I'm still here."

"We're awfully glad," Sam said. "By the way, since we are finished here for the night and there's no viewing scheduled, I thought you two might be my guests at a little dinner party my cousin, Jonathan DuFrey, is giving at his house. He said he would like to meet you. There'll be doctors and hospital officials, but I know he invited Mr. Simpson and some of his staff as well. It's catered. What do you say? Mary's interested in what my cousin does in the lab and now's her opportunity to find out what really goes on there. I understand he's on her suspect list."

"Free food you say?" Preston inquired, patting his ample stomach.

"And lots of it, if I know my cousin."

"What time should I pick Mary up?"

"Wait. Maybe I've got plans!" Mary protested. Preston laughed.

"You never go anywhere. Going to Walmart does not constitute a night on the town. Come on, Mary. You always tell me how important it is to make contacts in the community so they will think of us first. You're not going to let Simpson steal future clients, are you?"

"Never. Okay. You and Sam work out the details. I'll call Joey. I wonder if the moths have finished off my cocktail dress. As if I could get into it in the first place."

"You look just fine, Mary," Sam told her. "Anything you have in your closet will be suitable."

"You're sweet to say that, but my zipper says otherwise. I'll see what I can get into."

Sam drove after all. After meeting at the funeral home, Sam drove them to the party at the DuFrey estate just outside Newlenberg's city limits at seven. Sam was dressed casually in khakis and a light brown sports coat. Mary had found her yellow-flowered cocktail dress in the back of the closet and managed to get the zipper up after quite a struggle. It had been years. Now she was beginning to think that Connie was right and that she needed to update her wardrobe. How many black dresses should one person have?

"This is all I own," Preston pointed to his black suit. "I have four, and they all look like this. What's the point in buying anything else?"

Mary agreed. "It's definitely you."

Sam gave the keys of his Honda SUV to the young man parking cars, and they got out. "What a mansion!" Mary marveled, looking up at the huge two-story building. The lawn and grounds were expertly manicured with azaleas and spring flowers. Pink dogwoods lined the driveway and surrounded the house. The house itself was made of red stone and resembled an English country house.

Preston laughed. "Lots of money, Sam. What happened to you?"

"I'm from the poor side of the family."

A maid let them in and directed them past the various antiques and statues in the hall to the brick patio and pool in the back. A large crowd was there. Waiters carried colorful drinks on trays, and a buffet of food lined the wall.

Preston whistled. "What a spread!"

Mary agreed. "I had no idea you were related to the rich and famous, Sam."

"Ah, Jonathan's a regular guy. We used to climb trees and shoot squirrels in Maryland when we were boys. We went to the same lousy high school. He's just awfully smart. I can't really be jealous over all this glamour. He earned it. I'm not sure I'd want all those people with signs after me all the time. There he is, in that crowd. Hey, Jonathan!"

Mary thought he looked just like his pictures in the paper. Dressed in a blue sport jacket and tan slacks. Standing side by side, it was easy now to see the resemblance in the face between Sam and his cousin. Sam introduced them.

"Ah, we meet at last," the doctor exclaimed, shaking Preston's hand. "Sam talks so much about the Smith Funeral Home and its fine crew. I'm so glad he has found a comfortable niche there."

"Try co-owner, Jonathan. Mary's giving me a promotion."

"Congratulations! Sam gets a permanent home, and you get an excellent man. Everybody wins!" the doctor said. Sam's sister Linda joined them. She also shook Mary's hand.

"I've talked to you many times on the phone, but it's a shame we've not met until now."

Mary smiled. "I've heard a lot about you too." Linda Grayson's short hair was streaked with gray. She was tall and thin, Mary noted, but she also resembled Sam in the face.

"Sam told me you helped him decide to move to Newlenberg," Preston said to Dr. DuFrey.

Dr. DuFrey took a drink from the passing tray and offered it to Preston. "Yes. He was working as a part-time embalmer in Maryland. I heard at the hospital about the retirement of your Mr. Ghent and quickly suggested he drive down and check out the area. He fell in love with the wilderness around here."

"No one likes to hunt and fish like Sam," Linda said. "He must have been a pioneer in a past life."

"How are you taking to Newlenberg?" Mary asked. "I'm sure it was quite a change from busy Maryland."

"I couldn't be happier. It's quiet and peaceful. My son Jeremy will be starting third grade next year, and I want him to grow up in a place without the crimes and gangs of the big cities. He's one of the boys in the pool."

Mary turned and spotted Sam's nephew throwing a ball to another boy.

"I'm sure Sam is a great role model for your son," Mary found herself saying, thinking again of Joey's absent father.

"He's been a big help. Since my husband died, Sam has taken both of us in. Jeremy and his uncle are very close." Now Mary really wondered how she could have ever thought of Sam as a killer. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was a shame that Sam hadn't married and had a family of his own.

Mary sipped her drink. She recognized many of doctors and nurses from the hospital. Then to her surprise she recognized her sister Connie coming through the crowd on the arm of a man she didn't know. Dressed in a very short but elegant green cocktail dress, Connie waved to Mary and whispered into the ear of the man. The man in his forties and a blue Hawaiian shirt led Connie to her sister. DuFrey introduced him.

"This is my assistant, Dr. Steven Malcott. Steve, this is Mary Shepard and Preston Smith. They own the funeral home where my cousin Sam works. Did you want to introduce your guest, Steve?"

"This is Mary's sister, Connie so I think they know each other already. Mr. Smith, I've seen your van about town. Catchy slogan. I read about some trouble you have been having over there lately, something about bodies being misplaced. I hope you got that all taken care of."

"Actually the case hasn't been solved yet," Preston told them. "And a couple of days ago our receptionist was murdered and dumped in Hutchen Lake."

DuFrey looked surprised. "Oh goodness, that's awful. Was her murder related to the body found in the cemetery?"

Preston shrugged. "We can't be sure. The police are looking into it. They have several leads, but alas, they have gone nowhere. Every time we think we have it figured out, something else happens and we're back to square one."

Malcott frowned. "Must be terribly frustrating for you and the business."

Sam excused himself and wandered off to the pool to chat with his nephew. Mr. Simpson grabbed Preston's arm and led him off in another direction saying they needed to talk shop. Mary was left alone and standing beside Dr. Malcott and Connie.

"Dr. Malcott, how do you assist Dr. DuFrey at the clinic? Is your specialty stem cells also?" she asked.

"Actually, my training is in pathology. I was assistant pathologist at the hospital in Winchester before coming to Newlenberg. I'd heard about Dr. DuFrey's fertility work at a medical conference before I moved here. When the hospital was able to recruit him for their new clinic, I just had to work with him. Together, he and I are developing some new sources for viable stem cells that we hope will make the fight over embryos unnecessary. Did you attend the public forum the other day at the hospital with Sam?"

"I was there only for a little while, until the fighting broke out. I didn't get to hear all of Jonathan's speech. He didn't exactly outline his new discoveries. The crowd was too interested in heckling him or protesting abortion."

"Unfortunately, the general public has little understanding about the science of stem cells. I'm afraid a detailed explanation of our patents would be lost on the protestors. I told Jonathan that he should just ignore them and get on with the work. They'll come around eventually when they see progress."

Mary sipped on her drink. "You said your new discoveries would end the controversy. What are you using in place of embryos?" Mary asked.

He put his finger to his lips. "I'd rather not say at this time. We are at a critical point in our experiments and can't compromise our security now. You understand. A lot of people want that information. Fortunes are riding on it."

"Of course," Mary agreed. "You don't want anyone stealing your new ideas."

"Exactly. Well, it was nice chatting with you. I need to talk to Dr. Richardson about a procedure tomorrow. I'll leave Connie here to keep your company." Malcott went into the crowd and disappeared.

Mary grabbed Connie's arm. "So what gives, Connie? What happened to Jim and men in uniform?"

"Jim who? He's ancient history. I've decided to upscale my life. What's wrong with Steve? Isn't he wealthy enough? Educated enough? All that talk about patents and fortunes. Doesn't that sound better than a policeman's salary?"

"I don't really know this Steve Malcott, but I'm surprised at how quickly you change men, Connie. You caught me off guard when I saw you with him, that's all. I wouldn't begin to tell you who to date. How did you meet Steve anyway? You don't exactly run in the same circles at the hospital, do you?"

Connie pulled a blue color swatch out of her purse. "Yes we do, Mary. He called me and asked me to decorate his apartment. He's been here a short time and never settled in. He said I came highly recommended. He's single. Rich. What's not to like?"

"But how did the client relationship suddenly change into a date?"

"He's a man and I'm a woman. Figure it out Mary. I am very attractive, you know. Why not me?"

Mary finished her glass and looked around for another. Connie could be such a pain. "Why not you, indeed? I wasn't claiming you were ugly, Connie. You're the most beautiful woman here, I'm sure."

"I do agree with that. Look at that awful dress Mrs. Klingel is wearing? My cat wouldn't wear that!"

"Be nice, Connie. Not everyone has your fashion sense or trim figure."

"Speaking of dates, who are you here with? How did you end up at the who's who in Newlenberg party? You were the last person I expected to see tonight. I thought you never left that funeral home of yours."

Mary grabbed another glass of champagne on the waiter's tray. "Sam invited me. He's our embalmer, the host's first cousin. See him over there at the pool? That's his nephew he playing with."

"Gads, Mary. He's bald and old. What's possessed you? That embalming fluid has gone to your head. Where's Dan, that cute detective that was hinting he wanted to be more than friends?"

"Out with your Jim Benton and the rest of the force solving the crimes of Newlenberg. He's very busy. Besides, this wasn't a date. Sam just didn't want to come alone, and we've decided to become partners in the funeral business. We're going to be seen together often from now on."

"Purely business?"

"Sure."

"That's a relief. You make quite an ugly couple honestly. And that dress! What were you thinking? You should have updated your outfit, Mary. You've been wearing it forever. We've got to go shopping and get you a new wardrobe. Look, there's George Brennan, the richest real estate man in town. Wow, I see a lot of wealthy and prominent people here. I need to make contacts. It can't hurt. Now, where did Steve go? He promised to introduce me to his friends. I can't stay here talking to the town undertaker all night. I'll see you later, Mary."

"Okay, Connie," said Mary as Connie walked off into the crowd. She sighed. She and Connie were as different as day and night. Mary went off to look for a place to set her empty glass and find Preston. Suddenly she wasn't interested in the party anymore. She felt like a frump in the too-tight dress. Connie always made her feel bad about herself.

She decided to walk over and meet Sam's nephew. He might be the most interesting person at the party after all. At least he wouldn't tell her she was fat and out of date.

### Chapter Twenty-Three

By ten o'clock, Mary was yawning, slightly drunk, and Preston had eaten too much. They asked Sam to take them home. After saying goodbye to the host and Sam's sister, they asked the valet to return his car. Ten minutes later, the teenager returned with Sam's silver Honda SUV.

"Does this thing get good gas mileage?" Preston asked him, trying to stretch the seat belt around his large stomach. Mary slid into the back and buckled up.

Sam turned and helped Preston get the belt locked in place. "No, not really, but it's got four wheel drive, and it's good in the mountains. Heavy enough for most snows but if we get twenty inches, I stay home. Only a Hummer could get me to the lake in that weather."

They pulled out of the driveway and onto the main road back to Newlenberg. Mary glanced out the window at the darkness, again thankful that spring had come. The night air was still chilly, but the days were getting warmer. The sky was full of stars.

As they traveled up a hill, the car suddenly began to swerve. Preston grabbed the door handle. "What's the matter with this thing, Sam?"

"I don't know! All of a sudden I've lost the steering. Oh God, the brakes don't work either!" Sam fought the steering wheel while pumping the brakes furiously. The car continued down the hill at an ever increasing speed, crossing over and then swerving back across the line. More and more the car refused to follow Sam's lead with the wheel. Mary fought panic as she realized they were heading for a crash. She held on for dear life in the back seat.

Ramming the clutch, Sam forced the vehicle into a slower speed with a loud grinding noise. Gradually the car slowed. As the hill leveled out, they lost speed until finally Sam was able to limp the car off to the side of the road. They continued to roll forward.

"Hang on," Sam warned as he yanked the emergency brake, and the car stopped abruptly, throwing his passengers forward against the safety belts.

Sam turned around to look at Mary, gripping the back seat. "What in the world? This is a brand new car! Everyone okay?"

"I wish I hadn't eaten all that," Preston moaned holding his stomach.

Mary snapped her seatbelt loose and breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm glad I drank three glass of champagne. Took the edge off of almost going over that bridge."

Sam reached over Preston and got his flashlight out of his glove compartment. "Stay here. I'm going to get out of the car and walk around to see what the problem is. I'm going to check the engine too. Be right back."

"Wow, that was some ride." Preston turned around to look at Mary. She was white as a sheet. "We could have been killed if Sam hadn't been such a good driver. The river is right there." Preston pointed to the opposite side of the road.

"You know, Preston, I am thinking that was the idea. We were supposed to go into the river."

Sam opened the door. "Got your new cell phone, Mary? Call 911. The car's been tampered with. The brake line's cut, and God only knows what they did to the steering. We can't get home. This was no accident."

"That's what Mary just said," Preston told him.

"Who invited you to this party?" Dan asked Sam when he arrived forty minutes later.

"My cousin, Jonathan DuFrey. Hey, I'm often invited to his house for get-togethers. This wasn't unusual."

"He invite you himself, in person?"

"No, his secretary called my sister."

Dan wrote on his notepad. "So his whole staff knew you were coming?"

"Yes. Jonathan's too busy to oversee every detail."

"You say a valet parked your car? Ever seen him before?"

"Jeff? He also mows the lawn and does other odd jobs for the rich folks in the housing development John lives in. He's a permanent fixture around the neighborhood."

"I see," Dan took more notes. "Any reason someone would want you dead? Jeff for example?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm an undertaker. I'm everyone's friend. Or depending on how you look at it, the last person people want to deal with. I told you that when you questioned me about Lisa."

Dan pressed on. "Date any married women, Sam? A fight recently at a bar?"

Sam gave him a funny look. "Do I look like a lady's man to you? I don't even drink, and I hardly know anyone in this town. My friends are Mary's friends and business acquaintances. I meet people through my work or at the store up at the lake where I stay on my days off."

Mary nodded. "They don't care about Sam, Dan. Maybe it was me they were after. But to get me, they had to target all of us. And we were sitting ducks in Sam's car."

Dan put his pad down. "That's where I was heading, Mary. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure you were in that car. Even in a crowd, they can get to you."

Mary's face went tense. "So, it doesn't matter where I go, does it? Someone is watching and I can't hide. Tonight I almost got my friends killed. Next time it may be Joey. They can get to me whenever and wherever they want."

Sam pounded on his hood on his SUV. "You'd better catch these idiots, Dan! We want to keep Mary alive. Someone needs to pay for my car. "

Dan looked up as the tow truck arrived.

Sam's sister Linda came next to pick them up. Her son Jeremy was asleep in the back seat. Sam's car would be towed back to the station for investigation. Sam and Mary squeezed themselves together in the back against the child's car seat while Preston sat up front.

Mary watched Dan's headlights trail off into the distance as he headed to the mansion to interview who was still at the party and to find Jeff, the valet. He had some explaining to do.

### Chapter Twenty-Four

Dr. Jenkins sat at her computer, pecking out a report. Her typing was slow and done one finger at a time. Coming from the era before computers, she preferred her old typewriter. She just couldn't get parts anymore. A stack of death certificates lay on her right and autopsy forms overflowed on her left.

"Paperwork," she grumbled to herself. The police needed everything yesterday, she thought. When she finally finished her report on Lisa McCutchen, she printed it, and swiveled in her chair to face her desk. Here files were piled up like a tower. With her secretary on vacation for a couple of days, there was no hope of catching up any time soon.

Dr. Jenkins glanced at the clock. It read ten p.m. That was okay because she had no place to be and no one but a lonely dog to report home to. At times like this, she was glad she had never married.

"I'm going on break," Fred, the orderly, yelled as he walked by on his way to the elevator. She knew he'd be heading to the vending machines in the nurses' lounge upstairs. There was one nurse in particular he was hoping was on break too.

"Take your time," Dr. Jenkins called after him. Secretly, she hoped the man would finally get that date. Fred was a hard worker and good employee. She didn't want him to end up like her, all alone on holidays.

Dr. Jenkins opened the top file on the stack on her desk and looked once more at the autopsy report on Lisa McCutchen. Strangulation. She was dead before she went into the water. Rope burns on the neck and hands. Duck tape residue around the mouth. Unlike the latest bodies she had been asked to examine, Lisa had no incisions. She had her ovaries and her organs intact. This was murder, plain and simple. Someone wanted to shut her up, Dr. Jenkins thought. What had Lisa known and threatened to tell that got her killed?

Well, Dr. Jenkins had a good idea, and tomorrow she planned on sharing her insights with the local police. Heads were going to roll, big important heads.

Dr. Jenkins yawned and stretched her arms. Her work here was done for the night. She had some cleaning up to do in the autopsy room so she got up and walked down the hall. The semi-darkness of the morgue reminded her that she was all alone, except for the dead. When she went home, only the night orderly remained on duty to admit bodies from accidents, hospital deaths, and homicides. Fred had a long night ahead of him.

Dr. Jenkins walked around the four boxes near the door. Because of the organ thefts and the attack on Mary Shepard, cameras were being installed in all the hospital halls and the morgue. The workmen would come on Thursday the memo said. No longer could anyone sneak around in her morgue and get away with it. Big Brother would be watching.

She pushed open the doors and turned on the light to the autopsy room. All the tables were empty except the one where Lisa McCutchen rested under a white sheet. When the orderly returned, he would place her in the refrigerator for Smith's pick-up tomorrow. Dr. Jenkins was gathering up her rubber gloves and crumbled surgeon's gown when she thought she heard a noise in the hall behind her.

She paused. Why was the orderly back so soon? Dr. Jenkins peered out of the glass windows of the autopsy door but saw no one in the hall. Strange. She could have sworn that there was somebody there.

"Fred?" she called out. No answer.

"I've got to go home and get some rest," she said out loud. "The dead are talking to me."

She went back to cleaning up her work area. Only a few minutes went by when she heard more noises. She thought she heard the door slam. Afraid someone was in her office, Dr. Jenkins decided to call a security guard. Then she realized the phone was in her office. Her cell phone was on her desk. The intercom in the morgue was disconnected in preparation for the installation of the new cameras.

There it was again, the sound of someone moving around in her office. She looked around for a weapon and picked up a dirty scalpel from her table. She wished Fred would come back. What was taking him so long? His fifteen minutes was up. Damn that cute nurse! She needed him now.

She tiptoed to the window and again looked out into the hall. This time she saw that the door to her office was wide open, even though she remembered closing it. She could make out a figure moving back and forth. Then there was a large crash as her computer fell to the floor and glass broke. The man was scattering papers everywhere.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my office? I'm calling the police!" she yelled as she came out into the hall, scalpel in hand. "I've got a weapon." She stood at her secretary's desk where she frantically reached for the phone. No dial tone. The line was cut and draped over the desk. Now Dr. Jenkins realized she was in trouble. There was no where to hide. The intruder turned to face her. She recognized him at once.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in? I've already called security. They'll be here any minute," she bluffed.

"I think not," he answered. He held up the missing pair of keys and twirled them around his thumb. In the other hand, he waved a gun. "The phones are not working, are they?"

"You'll never get away with this. Destroying my computer won't keep anyone from figuring out what's going on. I was so blind for so long but now I'm on to you and your cohorts. You don't want to add another murder to your growing list of crimes."

"Actually," he said. "I do. I don't want you talking." He pulled a pair of latex gloves from his shirt pocket and began slipping them on.

"That's not going to happen, buster! You can tell your boss that!" Dr. Jenkins looked around for an escape. She was trapped at the end of the hall, and he stood in her way.

"I can't believe it was you all this time. It took me so long to see the whole picture. You had access to the funeral homes. You could come in here at any time of the night and day and no one would question it. You, of all people! Did you do the hacking yourself? Strangle that poor girl in there to cover your tracks? Have you no conscience at all?" Dr. Jenkins eased back toward the autopsy doors. She hoped desperately the doors would open at the elevator, and Fred would come to her rescue. Where was he, anyway? It was way past his break time.

"Conscience? No. I lost it years ago in war. After years of handling the dead, I'm cold as that freezer someone put Mary Shepard in. That's it, Dr. Jenkins, keep moving. You're heading in the right direction."

"Fred will be back any minute!" she yelled at him.

"No, he's locked in a closet upstairs. Unconscious, I'm afraid. I hope I didn't hit him too hard. Quite a headache he'll have when he finally wakes up. If he wakes up."

Dr. Jenkins frowned. It dawned on her that she completely trapped with a mad man. "Save me from what? Why are you after me?"

"You have put the pieces together, haven't you? My boss would prefer someone less, let's say, intelligent in this job. Someone who would cooperate with his plans."

Dr. Jenkins suddenly turned and ran, screaming as she went. Her shrill voice echoed through the dark and empty hall. She made it to the autopsy room and slammed the heavy door shut. Bracing the door with her weight, she fumbled with her keys in her pocket and tried to lock the door. The man shoved at the door, but she managed to click the lock.

She was stuck with no way out of the autopsy room. Gripping her scalpel, she backed away from the door. She looked around for some equipment she could shove against the door.

Then she heard him insert the key into the outside lock and open the door. She had forgotten he had the lost pair of keys.

She backed around Lisa's gurney. "You stole our keys!" she accused him.

"I have keys to everything. You're quite sloppy about security around here, Dr. Jenkins. So sloppy that a mad man broke into the morgue tonight and crept upon you while you were working late. Then he murdered you with your own scalpel. That's what the papers will say tomorrow."

"You are truly mad!" she yelled, holding up her scalpel. She watched in horror as he pulled out an identical scalpel from his pocket and put the gun down on the counter.

"I believe this is yours. You should take better care of your things," he said, advancing around the gurney. Dr. Jenkins pushed Lisa at her attacker and headed toward the door screaming for help.

She reached for the door but stumbled back as she felt a sharp pain in her neck. Grabbing her hair, her assailant stabbed at the base of her neck. A quick stroke severed her spinal cord, and she died instantly. She fell lifeless into his arms, and he slid the heavy woman over to an empty gurney. He struggled with her body, tugging on the arms as he lifted her onto the gurney. Her legs dangled off the sides as he went in search of a sheet. Then he slipped her legs in position and covered her with the white sheet he'd found under the counter.

Next he moved to the sink and washed the scalpel until the all visible blood had vanished down the sink. Then he rinsed his gloves. After he dried the knife, he placed it back on her tray with the others.

Checking the hall, he flicked off the light and left through the delivery door, relocking the doors as he went. Once back in the van, he peeled off his gloves and rode off into the darkness.

### Chapter Twenty-Five

"Help me!" the groggy orderly yelled, banging on the door of the closet with his fists. He startled a nurse standing at the candy machine. She came over, picked a key from her heavy ring and unlocked the door. Fred Delaney fell into her arms, almost knocking her over.

"Help!" she cried to those in the hall. "Fred was locked in the closet. He's hurt!" Someone dialed the police.

As the sun rose around 6:00 a.m., Dan Owen and his partner Harry made their way into the hospital parking lot.

"I'm sick of this place," Dan remarked.

His partner nodded in response. "Nothing good happens here."

"It's like some evil virus has taken over this town and is spreading," Dan continued. "Our second homicide in a couple of days. How do we keep our jobs?"

"No one wants our jobs!" Harry said.

"Stuff like this never used to happen around here. Domestic shootings. Drunk drivers. Occasionally someone robbing the Seven Eleven. But to murder the medical examiner. That's just plain out of our league!" Dan told him.

"Out of our league or not, we're the ones responsible to putting these pieces together. And by God we will do it!"

Dan sighed. "God make it soon."

They drove up to the morgue outside doors. Already yellow police tape was draped across the front. Dan noticed that some officers were investigating a yellow Ford Bronco near by. Dan walked over and hailed one of the men.

"This Dr. Jenkins' car?" he asked.

"Yes. No evidence that anyone tampered with it. Who ever killed her wasn't interested in stealing her car. It was still locked when we got here."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "This wasn't about stealing a car."

They entered the morgue and the smell of a rotten corpse assaulted them full blast.

"Oh my God!" murmured Harry, and he ran back outside. A policeman handed Dan a mask.

"The undertakers are on their way. That drowned victim was left out last night, and she was already in ripe condition," Office Benton explained through his mask. "We put her back in the refrigerator, but the smell is hard to get rid of."

At that moment, Dan saw Mary and Preston enter the morgue. Behind them came Bill rolling a gurney. Bill had a mask on, but his face said he was still struggling with the strong odor of rotting flesh.

"After a few minutes, Bill, your nose will adjust and stop smelling. You'll be numb. That's how we do it," Mary was telling Bill. She could tell he wasn't convinced.

"Mary, what a mess this is," Dan said sadly.

Mary just nodded. "Why are we always meeting at crime scenes? I can't believe this has happened. First Lisa McCutchen, and now Dr. Jenkins. She was my friend, Dan. This madness has got to stop. Can you tell us details?"

"Only what the newspapers already know. Dr. Jenkins was apparently working late last night, and the orderly had gone on break upstairs. Someone knocked him in the head and locked him in the closet. A nurse found him several hours later. Meantime, the murderer went to the morgue and assaulted Dr. Jenkins with some kind of very sharp instrument, maybe a scalpel we think. He stabbed her in the neck and cut her spinal cord. There was very little blood. She died instantly. Then he placed her on one of her own gurneys and covered her up. No prints. He was very careful. Her computer was wrecked so we don't know what she was working on when he surprised her. We do know she had an appointment with the director of the hospital to talk about some urgent matter today. That may have gotten her killed. Bastard cut the phone lines so she couldn't call for help."

"And precise. He knew what he was doing. How many people would know exactly where to severe the spinal cord?" Mary asked. "He has to be a doctor."

Preston agreed. "And strong. Dr. Jenkins was a large woman. I'm sure she put up quite a struggle. He didn't have an easy time of it."

Dan's eyes were blood shot from the lack of sleep. "Harry's checking the doctor roster last night. Checking twice every single alibi. We're going to find out who was here and who had the opportunity. Maybe he made some mistakes this time. He's going to lead us right to him eventually."

Preston shook his head. "So Dr. Jenkins had finally figured it out. That's what got her killed."

"I can't think of any reason to kill a medical examiner unless she knew something about the other murder or the organ snatching. She must have stumbled upon something and was ready to spill the beans. He got her before she could turn him in. That's my theory, anyway. I don't guess I have to remind you that you are under the strictest obligation not to talk about anything you hear or see here."

Mary saluted. "Of course not. We want this murderer caught as much as you do. Maybe more. We're here to pick up Lisa. Her mom has agreed to a quick burial this afternoon due the circumstances. We'll hold the memorial tomorrow. Carl is fixing the grave now."

Dan nodded. "A temporary medical examiner has been appointed by the hospital to fill in for Dr. Jenkins. Maybe you know him, Dr. Steven Malcott? He's Dr. DuFrey's assistant who happens to be a pathologist. He's around here somewhere going through her secretary's computer and accounts for us. We're hoping Dr. Jenkins may have left a clue there, one that the killer missed when he trashed her office."

"We'll say hello before we leave," Preston said. "We'll need a copy of the death certificate. If he can find it."

Dan went off to consult with the other officers. Dr. Jenkins was in the refrigerator awaiting an autopsy after the police were done dusting for prints. Mary had no desire to see her. She already knew Simpson Funeral Home would be picking the body up because she'd heard through the church grapevine that her niece had requested them to do the funeral.

Mary went to help Bill load up Lisa while Preston visited Dr. Malcott in Dr. Jenkins' office to get a copy of the signed death certificate. Bill maneuvered the body into a body bag and was covering up the bag with a sheet when Mary appeared at his side.

"She sure is heavy," Bill remarked. "When she was alive, she was such a small thing."

"The decomposition produces gas and makes the body bloat. It also causes that smell. You'll have to shower before you go home because the odor will stick to your skin, even your hair follicles. Take several showers. Sam has some chemicals that will help."

Preston held the door open as they navigated out the morgue doors and to the van.

Preston tapped Mary on the shoulder. "Is Sam going to handle the transfer or will the body be embalmed at this last date?"

"No embalming at this point. I think it would be best if the transfer to the casket took place outside and that the body be interred immediately. Carl and Mike have the vault in place. Lisa's mom wanted to see the body one last time, but I advised against it. To lose a child is an awful thing, I know, but this could be worse. We'll take pictures regardless. I prefer she remember Lisa the way she was in life."

"Did she decide on an empty casket at the memorial?"

"She said no. Just flowers and pictures," Mary answered.

Preston agreed. "That'll be fine. I'll go run the obituary over to the newspaper. Sam coming in?"

They got into the van and started for the funeral home. Mary rolled down her window. "Yes, he's got some projects he's working on in the embalming room he needs to finish. He told me he got his car out of police impound this morning and his friend towed it to Happy Auto. They're going to have to order some parts so Linda will be dropping him off. I said I'd give him a ride home."

Mary suddenly remembered. "By the way, did you check the safe to see what was missing? I'll need to tell Dan."

"She wasn't after money, Mary. The cash was all there. The employee files were missing. I kept them in there because I didn't want Lisa snooping around in everyone's business."

"Whose files exactly?"

"Mike, Carl, and Bill's. As you know, Bill's sensitive about his jail record. I didn't want Lisa looking at the personal stuff that was none of her business. So I threw them in the safe."

"How strange, Preston. The police found the files in the back seat of her car after she died. I saw them through the window. They're bagged as evidence at the station. Why would Lisa want personal information on the groundskeepers?"

"Blackmail?"

"Everything in those files is common knowledge, Preston. What could she use that anyone, including the police, couldn't find out?"

"We can only guess, Mary. I would have thought she would have taken the money. But evidently she had plenty."

Mary stared at him. "What do you mean by that, Preston?"

"Her mother went to close her bank account and got quite a shock. She had twenty thousand dollars in savings. She's using it to pay for the funeral."

"Then my next question is who was paying Lisa on the side to tell him what bodies were coming in."

"Exactly. Our sweet Lisa must have led a double life. I can hardly believe it. I would never have thought Lisa was capable of anything like that. She was just a child," he said, looking out the window.

"I thought so too, just a harmless, silly teenager. Then again, I thought Sam was removing and selling organs on the side. But as it turns out, Lisa was the one involved in something illegal while Sam is a good-hearted man who cares about his family. There's not a dishonest bone in his body. I was totally wrong!"

Preston looked at Mary. "There have to be others out there, Mary. Lisa didn't bury you in that grave or stuff you in that freezer. She didn't cut Dr. Jenkins' spinal cord or knock Fred in the head. Lisa didn't cut the brakes on Sam's car either. There's someone else behind all this. Still got the gun?"

Mary grimaced. "In my desk. A bullet clip too. I meant to give it back after I pointed it at Sam the other day."

"I won't hear of it. Just slide the clip in and keep it handy."

They unloaded Lisa's body while Mike readied the casket Lisa's mother had picked out earlier. Using the sheet wrapped around the decaying body, they transferred Lisa to her casket. As a last gesture, Mary lay a bouquet flowers in her arms as she arranged the body. They photographed her and shut the lid. Mike sealed it shut. Mike and Bill put the casket back into the van and crossed the road to the cemetery. They would place the casket in the vault and complete the burial.

"Goodbye, Lisa," Mary whispered, tears welling up.

Mary shuffled paperwork on her desk, finding the new ad she had written for a secretary/computer technician. Now she would have to advertise for a funeral home assistant as well. Unable to concentrate on that, she reached for another invoice.

She needed to order a pink granite tombstone for Lisa, but she had left the catalog in the warehouse. Lisa's mother had requested it because pink was her favorite color. It went with the pink carnations for the memorial service tomorrow night.

Needing the order number off the stone, Mary reluctantly got up out of her chair. The bright sun warmed her as she walked across the parking lot and around the home to the warehouse out back. Formerly a house, Preston's father had added a warehouse to the shell. Inside was a showroom for caskets and vaults. In the back half of the warehouse were tools, extra barrels of Lanol-Tex embalming fluid and 5-Purpose Cavity Fluid, and boxes of latex gloves stacked against the wall.

Bill whipped past Mary on the lawn mower, waving as he went by. Pulling out her keys, she unlocked the door to the warehouse and flipped on the light. Her tombstone catalog was right where she had left it, on top of a walnut casket on display. As she thumbed through the book to find a number, a small flash of light caught her eye.

Out the window she saw a blue sedan drive up into the alley beside the warehouse. She saw two figures in the car and left her monument book open to slip over to the window and take a closer look. She saw Carl and another man sitting in the front seat. The driver's back was to Mary, and she couldn't see his face.

Carl was waving his arms, his face flushed with anger. Mary wished she could hear what they were saying. Carl suddenly got out and slammed the door hard. The man spun out of the alley, passing Bill as he drove by.

Mary raced back to the catalog just in time as Carl opened the door to the warehouse.

"Mary, you surprised me!" he uttered as he saw her standing there.

She held up the catalog. "Left my catalog in here by accident. Where have you been? I saw the car outside."

Carl looked down at his feet. Mary could tell he was upset. "At the hospital straightening out some paperwork on my wife," he said.

"Is everything alright, Carl? Has your wife's condition changed?"

"No, it's about the same. Still dying. Medicated. That was the insurance man I was talking to. They want me to turn off the life support or they'll disallow my claims."

"Oh no!" Mary gasped. "They can't make you do that!"

"She had a living will, Mary. Asked not to have her life prolonged. I haven't been following her instructions. I felt like I owed her to keep on fighting. But now that things are so hopeless, I think I have no choice but to let her go. The money is about gone. When I pull the plug, the insurance man will go away."

Mary sighed. "What a terrible decision to have to make, Carl. I don't know what to say."

"It's alright, Mary. I know what I have to do. I just don't want to do it. I'll have to tell the kids and hope they'll go along with me. It should be a family decision."

"Oh yes. Everyone should be in agreement," Mary nodded. "Let us know how we can help."

"Thanks, Mary," he said and went to get the weed eater from the corner. Mary took her catalog back to the office, wondering how Carl bore the tragic weight of his dying wife on his fragile shoulders.

### Chapter Twenty-Six

When Preston returned from the cemetery, Mary told him about Carl's wife. They walked back to the funeral home together.

Preston looked sad. "She's suffering, you know. It might be the right thing to do. He can't save her."

Mary was puzzled. "It just doesn't seem right that an insurance company should be allowed to pressure people like that. It's really not their business, Preston."

"A living will, Mary? Legally, Carl can be prosecuted for not following her wishes. See if you can get the agent's name. I'll report him. Let the company know he's stepping out of line. Carl doesn't need any more pressure on him."

Mary found Sam manning the phone at Lisa's desk. "Ordering lunch? I didn't think you knew what a phone was for, Sam."

Sam handed her a bunch of messages. "Thanks a lot. The phone was ringing, and Preston had gone out to the cemetery. You were nowhere to be found. What's a future partner to do? Advertise for a receptionist soon, will you? This is driving me crazy. I can't even take a decent message. I have a doctor's handwriting," he protested. "And telemarketers are the worst!"

Mary chuckled. "Isn't that the truth!"

"But seriously, order us a pizza. I'll spring for it."

"Sure, Sam. The usual pepperoni? Let me ask Bill what he wants and then you'll get your lunch."

"You're an angel, Mary."

Sam disappeared to the back. Mary went out and signaled Bill to stop mowing. "Where's Carl gone? He just got here."

"Gone back to the hospital. Said he'll finish clearing the dead flowers away at the cemetery later this evening. Did you need me to do something? I'm going to finish the mowing next at the Gardens."

"No, I don't need you. Sam was ordering pizza and wanted to know what kind you wanted. By the way, I was just wondering if you noticed that car by the warehouse this morning? The one that Carl got out of. Have you ever seen it around here before?"

Bill nodded. "Sure. Lots of times. I thought he was some friend of Carl's. He gives Carl a ride from hospital sometimes."

"The man in the blue sedan? Do you know who he is? Did Carl mention a name?"

"No, but I've seen them together several times. He would drive up and roll down his window to give Carl an envelope. Carl would put it in his pocket. Mike said he'd seen him at the hospital a few times so he thought he knew Carl that way. Was helping some way with his wife. We never asked, afraid we might upset him. You know he gets pretty sad if you mention his wife."

Mary nodded. "Of course, Bill. We're all walking on eggshells here. He told me the man was an insurance agent."

"That would explain the envelope. They're all about forms."

Mary felt uneasy. She couldn't put a finger on her suspicions but wondered why an insurance man would give Carl a ride to work. He didn't seem to be helping the situation, upsetting Carl at a time when Carl needed support. She decided to get the insurance's man's name the next time she saw Carl.

Dr. Jenkins' funeral was held the next day at four o'clock. Preston and Mary left Sam in charge of the funeral home while they drove over to Newlenberg Methodist Church. Mary felt odd sitting in the church and not directing the funeral from behind the scenes. She wasn't used to being just a person in the crowd. Most of the people there were her colleagues from the hospital. Unmarried and from Massachusetts, Dr. Jenkins had few living relatives. Mary glanced around to see who she knew once she and Preston were settled at their pew.

Nurses. Orderlies. A few friends from the church. Everyone spoke in hushed voices as the church slowly filled up. As the music began, Mary suddenly noticed Dr. DuFrey and his assistant, Dr. Malcott enter the sanctuary. They sat down opposite her in pew across the aisle. Dr. DuFrey waved at Mary.

Preston leaned over and whispered to Mary. "How did Malcott get Dr. Jenkins' job so fast?"

"He's the only pathologist for miles around. Sam said his job at the morgue is only temporary. Just until they can advertise for a full-time replacement. He's very much committed to working with Dr. DuFrey, so Sam tells me."

"He does the autopsies then?"

"Yes. Pathologists are trained to do autopsies and other surgeries. They run the blood tests, even do biopsies if they need to on live people. I'm sure that's why he works for Dr. DuFrey. His experience would be invaluable in research."

"Good with a scalpel, right?"

Mary stared at him. "Preston, what are you suggesting? That he killed the good doctor?"

Preston put his finger to his lips. "Shh, Mary. You're starting to get carried away again. I'm merely stating a fact. A doctor. Access to the morgue. Access to hospital keys. Oh, the funeral's starting."

Mary grew silent, but her mind was racing. Everything Preston said was true. Malcott did have a set of hospital keys and he was trained in all types of surgery. Now he had control of the morgue.

After the service was over, Preston announced he was hungry. He wanted to stop for lunch at their favorite restaurant. He stopped to talk to some friends at the door while Mary watched Dr. DuFrey and Dr. Malcott walk by. Her eyes followed them to a blue sedan in the parking lot.

Mary pulled on Preston's sleeve. "Preston, that's the car!"

"What car, Mary?"

"The car I saw yesterday parked at the warehouse. Carl told me he was the insurance man who had given him a ride from the hospital. Which one is this so-called insurance man, DuFrey or Malcott?"

Mary watched the car pull away with Malcott at the wheel. "Malcott," she whispered. "Preston, Carl lied to me. There was no insurance man he was arguing with. It was Malcott all along. Bill said the man in the blue sedan was giving Carl envelopes. Not insurance forms. What then?"

Preston hustled Mary into the car. "I don't like what you're thinking, Mary. Do you really think Carl could be a part of this? Try to hurt you? Move bodies? After all we've done for him and his family. It doesn't make any sense."

Mary thought for a moment. "Blackmail?" she offered. "Financial trouble. Some kind of leverage that Lisa found out about and was fixing to use herself. That's why she took those files. And that's why someone killed her."

"Mary, Lisa took everyone's files including Carl's. What about Mike or Bill? Maybe they're trying to frame Carl. He's old and depressed. His wife is dying. I don't think he could kill anyone. He just doesn't have it in him."

Mary looked out the window. "I know how it sounds, Preston. Carl's been loyal to us all these years. It almost sounds crazy, but what if someone was making him to these things? What if he had no choice?"

They pulled up to the Chicken Shack and ordered chicken meals to go. Mary was still thinking about Carl when they got back to the home.

She found Sam in the embalming room sitting on the floor. He was busy applying labels to boxes of embalming fluid. Sam's eyes lit up when he saw the chicken.

"It's Preston's favorite," Mary explained.

Sam held up his fork from the bag. "Mine too! Great minds think alike!"

"Have you seen Carl today?"

"No, not today. But he could have come in, and I wouldn't have seen him back here. As you can see, I've been preoccupied."

Mary looked down on his bald head. "What exactly are you doing down there, Sam?"

"Putting dates on the fluids so nothing goes bad. Then I'm arranging things in order so I can use everything in a timely fashion. When Carl packs this stuff away in the warehouse, I forget where everything is, and things expire. I'm trying to create a better system. This stuff is too expensive to waste."

Mary was impressed. "Sounds like you've thought this through."

"Surprised? I have a lot of other suggestions to make this funeral home more cost efficient."

Mary smiled. "Well, I'm sure Preston and I would be glad to hear any suggestions you might have. I have some ideas myself. We should make some time to discuss them."

Sam looked up into her eyes. "Over dinner? Say Six-thirty?"

Mary frowned. "Just the two of us?"

"Preston's retiring. I think we should determine this funeral home's future, don't you?"

She nodded finally. "Okay. Six-thirty it is."

Time flew by. Mary planned another funeral, called her suppliers, and arranged times for interviews with applicants for Lisa's job. After Preston went home, she locked up.

Then she and Sam slipped out to dinner at the local deli up the road.

"You certainly won't get fat here," Mary said. "I was expecting a more, let's say, interesting place."

"On my salary? You were the one complaining about a cocktail dress you couldn't get into the other night."

"I don't have a weight problem, skinny man. The dress shrank. Never mention a girl's weight. It offends her. No wonder you're not married."

"I'm not married because my girlfriend died after we got engaged. Sherry was special, and I haven't found anyone as wonderful as her. She was one of a kind."

Mary turned red. "Sorry, Sam, I didn't know. I thought you were just a cranky batchelor."

"So I heard from Preston. Not so. I can be friendly. Sometimes. You can't tell me you're not in the same boat. Preston tells me you never even went on a single date after your divorce."

Mary smiled. "Wish I could say that wasn't true but it is. I did go to the lake with Dan Owen. I thought that might qualify for a date until we discovered Lisa's purse. Then it became a police investigation. Not very romantic."

Sam sipped his beer. "You think you might go out with him again?"

"Haven't heard from him. I kind of think that's how it would be if we were more than friends. More alone than together. That really isn't what I'm looking for. I'm pretty independent but sometimes I just like talking to someone, someone I don't have to do a funeral for."

Sam nodded. "I hear you! It gets lonely in this business."

"Next time, I'll take you to a place where they have wine glasses and real napkins."

Sam chuckled. "They have places like that in Newlenberg? Their sandwiches arrived. Sam chewed on his dill pickle. Mary asked him how Dr. DuFrey had influenced his life when he was growing up.

"We're pretty close. He's my best friend. When I finished mortuary college and he told me he was moving off to Virginia, I was afraid that that was end of our friendship. Jonathan had always kept an eye on my sister and me when we were growing up because my father died young, and my mother was sick with cancer. He helped me get into med school and recommended me for a scholarship to mortuary college."

"He sounds like a wonderful man."

"He is. Why are you asking?"

Mary fingered her straw. "Why would your cousin be so insistent that you follow him to Newlenberg?"

"He didn't insist. He asked. My sister and I are all the family he has left. We're happy to live here. You aren't suggesting again, Mary, that I'm part of some scheme of Jonathan's to dig up bodies and sell body parts? Didn't we go over that before? I was cleared, remember? And it was my brake lines that were cut. I could have drowned in the river with you."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I know you're not involved, Sam. But I do question your cousin. I just find it quite a coincidence that this body part snatching began the minute he came to town."

Sam put his fork down. "You don't give up, do you? They offered him a great deal of money to move here. I don't think he picked Newlenberg deliberately. He was actually thinking of moving to California. He was lured here by a large offer of money."

Mary leaned forward. "So who offered him the money, the director of the hospital?"

Sam sipped his Coke. "No. It was Dr. Malcott. He got the hospital to make a substantial offer. He saw the great potential in Jonathan's work. Thought it would put Newlenberg on the map."

"What do you know about Dr. Malcott's past?"

Sam pushed his plate away. "Not much. He came here from Winchester. I think he's really from Alabama. Evidently he has always had an interest in stem cells. He'd read about Jonathan's work and got himself on the staff."

"He mentioned to me that he was working on a big break through. Do you know what this secret project is? Could it involve creating, say, stem cells from dead tissue?"

Sam shook his head. "Dead tissue? Organs from the dead? How could such a thing be possible? Once life ceases, the tissue breaks down immediately, within twenty-four hours or less. I don't have to tell you that."

Mary balled up her paper napkin. "But it would explain why placentas and ovaries are being taken from corpses."

Sam scratched his chin for a moment, thinking. "Don't forget that other parts such as kidneys, hearts, and livers were taken too. That has nothing to do with stem cell research."

Mary grabbed her purse. "Perhaps that was to throw us off the trail. Everyone knows that kidneys and livers are in great demand. But ovaries? Placentas? Fetuses? That only makes sense if you're doing stem cell research. He could cut out the other organs to disguise what they were really after."

They got up to leave. "Aren't the police supposed to come up with theories like that? Are you sure you're not a policeman rather than an embalmer? You got a badge under that jacket?" Sam asked, shaking his head.

Mary laughed. "Other people have asked me that recently."

"Mary. Let this go. I've known Jonathan all my life. He wouldn't do anything illegal. And he wouldn't order Malcott to." They headed toward the door. "No, Sam, I'm not accusing your cousin of anything. Dr. Jenkins was sure he wasn't involved. Too ethical. Too famous. Very exposed. No, I am more concerned about Dr. Malcott. He's the one who took Dr. Jenkins' place as medical examiner. Now he has access to all the bodies in the county. He could take anything he needed during an autopsy, and no one would be the wiser. Those bodies he doesn't autopsy would be found at the funeral homes where he would be alerted by someone who worked there."

Sam held the door open. "Like who? Lisa McCutchen?"

"Like Carl," Mary said. Sam's eyes grew large. She continued, "I've seen Carl with Dr. Malcott. Don't you think that's odd? What could they have in common?"

"More than you know, Mary. They were both medics in Vietnam. Same unit. Served two hellish years together. Saw a lot of killing and death. Didn't I tell you that?"

Mary was silent. "No, you didn't," she finally said. "And I think it might be important."

### Chapter Twenty-Seven

That night there was a service for a retired school janitor named Thomas Clemson who had died in his late sixties of a sudden heart attack. Mary and Mike carried the flowers out while Bill parked cars. Sam had prepared an open casket, and Mary noticed that the corpse was dressed in a nice blue suit that the family had purchased just for the funeral.

Mary was watching the relatives form a line to greet the family, standing like stoic soldiers beside the casket. A daughter was weeping. Sam appeared at Mary's side and whispered that a body had come in from the hospice and that he would be leaving it in the cold storage room until tomorrow. He had a soccer game to catch with his nephew Jeremy. Mary would have to lock up.

"Of course. You enjoy your nephew. They don't stay little for long," she said thinking of Joey.

Mary checked her watch. It was now eight o'clock, and the line was thinning out. She sent Mike home to his family and then checked again on the relatives. They were leaving and taking some flowers home with them. Mary offered to take them to their cars, but the grandson said he would take care of it. Mary was about to lock the doors for the night when she saw Connie's yellow convertible drive up. Connie bounced out and walked up to the door.

"Catch you at a bad time? Looks like they have all gone home. Everyone departed?" Connie asked. Mary opened the door, motioned her sister in, and then locked the door behind her.

"The family just left, and I'm closing up for the night. What brings you here so late, Connie? You didn't call."

"Well, I called Joey, and he told me you were here. Preston off tonight?"

"He's off most nights. These fifteen-hour days are getting to him so I cover for him so he can get some rest. He's old, remember?"

"Oh, I remember alright. He was old when he was young. I wanted to talk to you about something. Can we go in your office?"

Mary was puzzled but led Connie to her office. She turned on the desk lamp and closed the drapes. She motioned her sister to sit in one of the soft blue chairs at her desk. Connie leaned back and wiggled into the chair. She rubbed the armchair.

"I'm glad you went with this fabric, Mary. I'm sure it makes a great impression on your customers."

"To be honest, Connie, I think the furniture is the last thing they notice when they come into my office to make final arrangements. Mostly, they're miserable and in a lot of pain. But I think the furniture turned out well, Sis. Thanks for helping with the office make-over."

"You're welcome. Well, maybe I should get to the point, Mary. You know I'm seeing a therapist, Dr. Jenner, over on Baker's Street. We've had two sessions so far, and now he thinks it might be helpful if you came to one of my sessions."

Mary took her sister's hand. "Okay, I guess. Is it the drinking?"

"That's part of it. The drinking has gotten a little out of control. Killing the pain. I know I always seem like I have it together. Great apartment. Lots of money. Great clothes. But I'm empty inside, Mary. I needed someone to talk about my life that wasn't involved in it. I'm depressed."

"I've sensed that. So you want me to come to a session? How will that help you?"

"You were there when we were growing up. He just wants your observations on how our family life was before Preston Smith stepped in to save us. You said I was too small to remember anything, but I remember lots. I bet you remember more."

"Oh Connie, must we drag it all back up? You've got everything you ever wanted. Except a husband. But I've never been convinced that you needed a husband in the first place."

"It's not about romance, Mary. I'm not looking for Mr. Right because I'm not sure what he would look like. Mary, I have to rehash it because I was molested. You can't imagine the guilt I've suffered over that." Tears came to Connie's eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks. Mary sat back in her chair, stunned.

"Molested? How? When?"

"Good old dad. When he was drunk and you were cowering under the bed in the next room so he wouldn't beat you."

"Oh Connie, I'm so sorry. I suspected, but I didn't know for sure. Did Mom know?"

"She must have, but dad beat her too. She couldn't stand up to him. She didn't dare say a word to anyone about it. So it went on and on."

"You'll have to forgive me. I truly didn't know. I'm sorry I couldn't help you, but we were little kids. No one would believe us. He was a sick, demented man. I'm glad you're seeing someone who can help you get through this and put it behind you. Let me know when you need me to come. I hope I can be useful."

Mary handed Connie a tissue, and they were silent for a minute. Then Mary looked up and held her finger to her lips. They listened. There was the sound of a door opening next to the office.

"Someone's in the embalming room," Mary whispered. She carefully opened her desk drawer and took out Preston's gun.

Connie's eyes grew large. "It's probably just that Sam guy. Where did you get that gun?" Connie asked softly.

"He wasn't coming back. Someone thinks we've all gone home. He can't see the light in my office."

"What's in the embalming room that anyone would want? Drugs?" Connie whispered.

"There's a body in the cooler." Mary picked up her cell phone and dialed 911. She asked for a police car.

"Shall we just wait here?" Connie asked. The noise next door was getting louder, and Mary could hear the wheels of a gurney squeaking.

"No, here's my chance to solve the case and put a stop to this." Mary found her bullet clip at the bottom of the drawer. She carefully slid it into her gun until it clicked.

"He might have a gun of his own and really know how to shoot it, Mary. You'll shoot yourself in the foot. Wait for the police," Connie pleaded.

"I'm just going to peek through the door. If I can only catch a glimpse of him . . ."

"Don't be a hero, Mary. You've been hurt enough."

"Precisely. Keep the door locked after me." Mary, gun in hand, quietly opened the door and peered out into the hall. All was dark except for the glow under the door of the embalming room.

Mary inched her way to the door and slowly turned the knob. It was locked. Mary reached inside her suit pocket for her ring of keys. In the dark, she fumbled with the ring searching for the key with the round head that would open any door in the home. Just as she found it, the keys slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a crash.

Mary crouched to retrieve her keys but knew she was too late. She heard running feet and the sound of the back door slamming against the brick wall. A siren sounded in the distance, and by the time Mary got the door open, all she could see was the night through the open back door. She heard wheels squeal down the alley by the warehouse. When she glanced to the right, she saw the open door to the cold storage and a body and gurney blocking the door.

Connie poked her head in the open door way. "Did you see him? Who was it?"

Mary frowned. "He heard me and ran out the back. I didn't get a good look at him. Again."

"What did he want?"

Mary pointed to the body, now uncovered and the sheet thrown hastily on the floor. "Sam said it was a hospice patient. I assumed it was a senior who had died of cancer. But look, it's a young woman."

"I'd rather not, Mary. I'm not gross like you."

Mary ignored her. "Someone knew she was coming in and knew she would be here overnight. He also knew Sam would start the embalming in the morning. No embalming fluid in the body tonight. Perfect timing."

"And that's important?"

"If you're stealing organs, it is!"

Detective Harry Lincoln poked walked through the open back door with Officer Jim Benton. "Hi, Connie. Mary, you reported an intruder? Looks like he got away."

"It would be you," Connie said with a huff, glaring at her former boyfriend. "Are you following me around?"

Jim stared at her. "Of course not. Mary called dispatch, and I was in the area. It's a small town, Connie. Let's be professional, shall we?"

Mary was standing over the body. "Incisions for organs. Someone was operating without a license. I would guess he got the kidneys, liver, and ovaries. I interrupted him before he could get to the heart. See, he began cutting here," she pointed. "I'll get my gloves and have a look."

"Oh my God," Connie rolled her eyes. "Don't you dare."

Mary squeezed her sister's shoulders. "Maybe you should go home, Connie. It's been a stressful day for you. The detective and I have work to do. That would be okay, wouldn't it, Harry? You can talk to her later. She won't be really helpful tonight."

"Or anytime," Officer Benton mumbled loudly to himself.

Harry smiled. "Sure, you go Connie. Mary can fill me in."

"Great. I'm out of here," Connie said. She went out the back door since the front was locked up and disappeared, heading for her car in the lot out front. A walkway connected the front and back lots, and she started down the sidewalk.

Mary slapped on latex gloves from a box on the counter. Then she heard Connie scream outside. Jim bolted out the door with Mary right behind him.

Connie was standing at the edge of the back parking lot. Jim fumbled with his flashlight.

"You didn't get very far, Connie."

"Don't shine that thing in my face, Jim!" Connie yelled at him. "I stepped in something gross, and it ruined my shoes! What is it?"

Jim's light followed Connie's legs down to the ground, and Mary saw a red blob of flesh draped over one of Connie's expensive Italian pumps.

"Looks like a kidney," Mary told her.

"Oh gross! Get it off, Mary! This is the worst night ever!"

"There's an organ cooler over here," Harry said. "He must have dropped it in his haste to get away. Ever seen one of these before, Mary?"

"Actually no."

Connie looked up from her shoe, exasperated. "I tripped over it, fool. What about my shoe! Get it off me before I throw up!"

"Careful, Connie, it's evidence," Jim told her.

"Shut up, Jim. It's disgusting!"

"Calm down, Connie," Mary said. She reached down and slid the bloody organ off her shoe and into the wet grass. "I've got several spare pairs of more sensible shoes in my office, Connie. You'd better leave those here and borrow mine. Come on. I'll be back in a minute, Officer Benton."

"You can call me Jim. We're practically family."

Connie stared at him. "No, we're not!"

Connie tried to scrape the blood off her shoe in the grass. She only smeared more blood into the fabric of her shoes. In the end she left both shoes in the grass and went back inside barefoot after Mary.

"Some weirdo owes me a new pair of shoes, Jim!" she yelled over her shoulder. She continued to grumble. "Organs everywhere. Bodies. What kind of place is this?" She looked back and saw she was leaving bloody footprints on the linoleum. "I think I'm going to be sick." She ran to the bathroom.

### Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next day when Mary returned to the funeral home, she found Connie's shoes bagged and laying on her desk where Jim had left them. She dropped them into her trash can. No amount of cleaning would save them.

Sam came in and asked where the body was. Mary called in Preston and filled them both in on last night's events. She even pulled Connie's shoes out of the trash to show them.

"The body was taken back to the morgue for further examination. I'll call the family this morning and break the news. More bad publicity, I'm afraid," she told them.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't your fault someone broke into the funeral home," he said.

"No one broke in, Sam. They had keys, and they knew the body was here. Who picked up the girl yesterday, Preston?"

"Carl. He was already at the hospital, so I gave him a call. He said he'd be happy to bring her over. That was about five o'clock, before the service started. Then Carl went home."

"You saw him leave, you're certain?" Mary asked.

"Oh yes, I had a conversation with him at his car. He said he was going back to the hospital."

Mary sighed. "Only two people knew that girl was here. Carl and Sam. Each of you has a copy of the keys to the embalming room. Now, Sam can you prove you were at that game last night?"

Sam frowned. "Of course I can, Mary. My sister and nephew were there with me. Hold on." Sam dug around in his pocket and pulled out a ticket stub. "See!"

"That leaves Carl. Where is he?"

"Not here at the moment. Hasn't checked in," Preston said. "Bill thinks Carl is still at the hospital at Mahalia's side. I think they are disconnecting her today."

"I'll just give him a call over there," Mary said dialing the number. She got George, Carl's son, on the line. He told her that his mother remained comatose, declining steadily. Carl had painfully signed the papers for ending life support. He asked a nurse to find Carl, but no one had seen him since last night about six o'clock.

Mary had a bad feeling. "Six o'clock? Where has he been since then, Preston? He never went back to the hospital like he told you. He's lying again," Mary insisted. "He should be with Mahalia in her last hours."

"So what do you think?" Preston asked them. "Was it Carl last night? Is he hiding from us? Has it been him all along?"

Mary looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "I can't believe that. I won't believe that. I just want to ask him and have him tell me the truth. No more lies. Do you really believe that Carl is capable of murder? Of shoving me in vault and burying me alive? Of hacking on corpses?"

Preston sat down in the office chair. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Mary. Don't the police want to talk to him after last night?"

"Detective Lincoln asked me to let him know when he came in. He wants to catch up to him here and talk. He didn't think it was right to drag him out in front of his family at the hospital."

"I see. Let the police get to the bottom of this, then. We still have a business to run. Give the girl's family a call, and I'll retract the funeral announcement," Preston told her.

An hour later, Mary felt the need to get out of the office and away from the stress. Since she had to see about a sinking grave in the western section, she headed to Serenity Gardens Cemetery across the street. Outside, dark clouds were gathering back against the mountain. In the distance she heard thunder rolling her way. As she passed Bill clipping around a tombstone, he remarked that a storm was brewing. He went off to gather his equipment before the rain hit. Mary hurried along the paved path in the direction of the equipment barn. That's where Carl usually parked his car.

She paused at the leaning stone of Agnes Millwood. A corner of the grave had sunken in causing the stone to lean to one side. This was one of Carl's jobs, to keep the tombstones level.

She walked on to the large shed where the backhoe and small bulldozer were parked. Although large, the building was disguised by a row of pine trees. As Mary entered the grove, she looked around for Carl's car and didn't see it.

Suddenly she was startled by the loud clanging of heavy raindrops on the roof of the metal shed. Mary quickly slid the door open on the shed enough so that she could squeeze through. The sky opened up, and rain poured down with heavy drops. Mary decided to wait out the passing storm in the shed.

Right away she noticed a bad smell, the smell of a dead animal. She remembered then that Bill had already complained, but she hadn't had time to check it out.

"Phew! Something has definitely died in here!" she said out loud.

She fumbled with the light switch. She quickly looked around for an animal carcass, perhaps a rat laying nearby. She found nothing. Going around the bulldozer, she paused. There on the ground was a patch of dark earth covered with flies. Something was buried there right under the surface, and Mary recognized the smell of something rotting. She looked around for a shovel but couldn't find one. They were in the workers' trucks.

Thunder sounded overhead. She wandered over to the boys' workbench, looking for something to prod the earth. Various toolboxes sat on the counters, and wrenches were strewn here and there. Keys hung on the cork board. Mary glanced at the key sets and read the labels. There were keys to everything on the grounds. She saw keys for the warehouse, bulldozer, backhoe, funeral home, mausoleum, and van. Carl had a key for every occasion, Mary noted.

Outside, the rain continued to pour as the spring shower passed overhead. Mary stumbled over an open red toolbox near the bulldozer. Another ring of keys tumbled out at her feet. She picked them up and read the labels. Suddenly she felt weak and had to lean against the counter for support.

She couldn't believe what she was reading. These were keys from the hospital. One for a second floor closet. One for the kitchen. One for an operating room. One for the morgue.

Mary's head reeled from the blow to her spirit. She dropped the keys on the counter, realizing she had just added her fingerprints unwittingly to the killer's.

It had to be Carl. Carl, who let her ride the mower with him in the cemetery when she was little. Carl, who had worked side by side Preston for several decades. Carl, who had made his family part of her family.

She had to put her personal feelings aside. Carl had been trained as medic in Vietnam. Faced with all the medical traumas of war including operating in the field, he was quite capable of removing organs. He was no stranger to blood. Mary glanced back at the dark patch of earth buzzing with flies. What was really under that dirt? Who had Carl buried there?

Mary looked down at the toolbox. Did she dare? She gingerly began moving some tools around in the box. In a second she saw what she was looking for, a scalpel. Why would Carl have a scalpel as a groundskeeper? There was only one use she could think of, murder.

The rain outside stopped. She had to call Dan, but her cell phone was in her office. Mary replaced the keys in the toolbox and started out of the shed into the now bright sunshine when she heard a car coming down the path.

Mary paused to shut the shed doors. By this time Carl had seen her. He parked his car beside the shed blocking her way.

"What'cha doing in the shed, Mary?" he asked getting out of his car.

"Looking for you. I thought you might be down at the shed, Carl, but I didn't see your car. The Millwood tombstone is leaning, and the relatives want it fixed. I wanted to show it to you. Been at the hospital?"

"Yeah. They disconnected Mahalia. It was hard."

Mary looked in his eyes, and he looked away. He didn't know she already tried to find him at the hospital. It was another lie. His son hadn't seen him since yesterday.

Mary and Carl walked to the tombstone and talked about how to fix it. Then she left Carl there and returned to the funeral home without looking back. It took all her resolve to act normal and not run, screaming, into the home.

Once safe inside, she hurried to her office and dialed the police station. She was transferred to Harry, Dan's partner. Dan was over at Simpson's, investigating another case of organ theft, Harry told her.

She quickly told Harry what she had found in the shed, her suspicions about Carl, and the link between Dr. Malcott and Carl.

"I can't even believe what I'm saying. Carl is like a brother to me. I love him. We've always taken care of him and his family because they were our family. I can only think he's being forced to do these things against his will. He's never lied to me before," Mary explained. "If he was in trouble, he should have come to us."

"There's probably more to it than you know, Mary. He's not by himself. So we need to question Carl. You say he's at the cemetery now? Could you call him into the office and detain him there while I get to the shed? You don't want him destroying the evidence before I get there."

"I'll try." Mary beeped Carl on his cell phone, not really sure about what she was going to say. It went to voice mail. Looking out of the window, she saw Carl weed-eating around the mausoleum. She knew he couldn't hear her. She buzzed the embalming room.

"Sam, listen. The police need to look in the shed, but they want Carl occupied."

Sam was puzzled. "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you later. I need for you to have Carl carry boxes over to the warehouse. Could you go get him? Pronto?"

"Sure, Mary. But you'll owe me an explanation."

"Absolutely. But later, Sam. We have to act now. Trust me."

Mary heard Sam walk past her office and out the front door. After a few minutes, he returned with Carl, and they vanished to the embalming room. Mary was standing at the window when she saw a white Oldsmobile turn into the cemetery and disappear among the pines. She then hurried across the street to meet the detective.

Harry greeted her at the shed, a shovel in one hand and a camera in another.

"I'm afraid I already contaminated the scene when I went in there. I picked up the keys, and my footprints are everywhere."

"Who else could have been in here?"

"Bill or Mike. Even Preston. We all come in here off and on for various tools. The boys use the bulldozer and backhoe almost every day."

Mary slid back the door and flicked on the light switch. He put the shovel down and began taking pictures.

"What's that smell? Quite an odor you have in here! Not another body in a bag, I hope." Harry held his nose. "Leave the door open!"

Mary led the detective back behind the bulldozer and pointed out the discolored spot covered with buzzing insects. He handed her the camera and got the shovel from the trunk of his car. Pulling out latex gloves from his jacket pocket, he told Mary to stand back. Harry gagged as the first shovelful of dirt revealed rotting flesh.

Harry backed away. "What do you think it is? Human tissue?" he asked her.

"Organs, I think." Mary poked at the black mass with her pen. "That's a heart. I wondered all along if this organ snatching was just a cover up for taking something else less noticeable. This proves it. Someone has been dumping useless parts here. An animal probably dug them up after smelling the blood."

"We'll leave that for forensics to have fun with. I've had enough." Harry left the shovel against the wall. "Show me the keys."

Mary directed Harry to the toolbox on the floor.

"Here's where I found the keys and the scalpel," she told him. Using his gloved hand, Harry fished around in the box. He lifted the ring of keys out and slipped them into a specimen bag. Then he found the scalpel.

"Blood," he observed looking at the tip.

"The scalpel that killed Dr. Jenkins?"

"I don't think so. We think he used one of her own in the morgue to cut her spinal cord. This is probably the one used for organ removal. The lab will tell us."

Harry ushered Mary out of the shed and back to his car.

"Where are your groundskeepers?"

Mary pointed across the street. "Carl's in the warehouse, and Bill is mowing over there." Bill was watching them from his riding mower. "Mike's in town picking up our stationary order. He'll be back soon."

"And Preston Smith?"

He went to put an obituary in the newspaper. He usually goes home for lunch and sometimes an afternoon nap if he knows I'm here. I can reach him on his cell phone if you want."

"Not yet. Is that Carl's car there by the shed?"

Mary nodded. Harry opened the door to his police car and called for back-up on his radio.

"We'll take Carl in for questioning," he explained. "In the meantime, don't let anyone into the shed. I'm marking it with police tape right now. Put a call in to the medical examiner."

"You might want to leave the new medical examiner out of the picture for right now, Harry."

"Why? He'll have to identify the body parts as human remains."

"I think our new medical examiner is involved with Carl in this whole business, Detective. I saw Carl arguing with him yesterday, and Bill tells me he's seen him with Carl here in the cemetery several times. Malcott gave Carl an envelope."

Harry frowned. "You're saying that the medical examiner is aware of Carl's activities?

Mary nodded. "I'm saying that the medical examiner is the leader of the organ snatching ring. Only he's not looking for the typical organs like hearts or livers to sell on the black market. He's after ovaries and placentas to produce stem cells. You guys have been going in the wrong direction all along."

"If that's true, then we have been really stupid."

"No, Malcott's just that clever. He had everyone in the palm of his hand. Why would you suspect a renowned doctor?"

Harry crossed his arms. "He always had an alibi, Mary. Every single time."

"He got Carl to do the dirty work. Or someone else. But Carl is the key to this case. Arrest him, and he'll tell you everything. In his frantic state of mind, he'll probably confess on the spot. Sam is supposedly keeping him busy right now at the warehouse."

"Are you going with me, to get Carl?"

Mary slowly shook her head no. "I don't think I want to see this."

### Chapter Twenty-Nine

Detective Dan Owen decided to stop by his apartment to make a sandwich. His rumbling stomach told him he couldn't miss lunch again because of his workload. He was only human, and he was sick of fast food.

"A man's gotta eat," he told himself.

He paused at the front door to collect his mail and carried the pile inside. Dumping the letters on the table, he called out to his son. No one answered. He looked on the refrigerator where Calvin's hospital work schedule was posted and saw that he was working the afternoon shift. Calvin worked very long hours, Dan thought, for a part-time employee. He was never home.

Pulling out the ingredients for a bologna sandwich from the refrigerator, Dan lugged the mayonnaise and bologna back to the table. He slipped into a chair and proceeded to grease the bread with mayo. Piling his sandwich together, Dan popped the top on a cola and relaxed.

With his free hand, he leafed through the mail. He separated the envelopes into bills and junk mail. At the end of the pile, he noticed that Calvin had a letter from the Newlenberg Trust Bank. He hadn't realized that Calvin had an account there. Hadn't they opened a joint account at National downtown when he started at the hospital? He certainly hadn't signed for any other accounts at Newlenberg Trust.

Curious, he ripped the envelope open. As he unfolded the pages, his eyes widened. A balance total of $30,000 caught his attention. His sandwich fell from his hand, and Dan suddenly didn't feel like eating. This had to be a mistake.

He read down the columns. Two deposits had been made this month alone, one for $6,000 and another for $8,000. The most recent was two days ago. Dan thought back. Dr. Jenkins had died that night, and his son had been at the hospital. As an orderly, he would have access to keys. "No, he was home by ten," Dan told himself aloud. His son was not a killer. Then how did he get the money?

Dan's mind raced. Drugs? Stealing equipment from the hospital? He even wondered if Calvin was being paid to throw his baseball games. Who could be paying him?

His cell phone rang and broke his frantic thoughts. Coming back to his surroundings and remembering he was still on duty, he punched the phone and said, "Yeah, Harry?"

"Mary Shepard found the missing organs in the cemetery shed where they had been buried. Some animal dug them up. She also found the missing set of keys from the hospital and a scalpel in a workman's toolbox."

"Whose box is it?"

"It's used by all three men. But she says Carl has been behaving strangely, being very secretive in his actions. He's going to the hospital, but when she checks, he's nowhere to be found. She thinks he's being blackmailed by someone at the hospital, particularly Dr. Malcott. I think we need to bring him in for questioning.

"Sure, let's do it. Send the forensics team to look at the organs. Pick up all three men for questioning so Carl won't know what we're doing. Get search warrants for their homes and cars. Right now, I need to tie up a few loose ends, Harry. They're connected to the case. I think we may have another suspect when I get back. Make sure you keep all this quiet. We don't want the news traveling to the hospital. I'll explain later."

"Okay. Meet you at the station. We're moving in to arrest Carl now."

Dan woofed down what remained of his sandwich. Bank statement in hand, he drove downtown to the Newlenberg Trust Bank and asked for the manager. He described the situation, but the man was stoic. There were rules to follow. Even if Dan had a suspect in a murder case and wanted access to his records and copies of past statements, the manager said he would need a court order.

"It's all confidential, sir," the manager explained. You're not authorized to view the statements without permission from the account holder."

Dan flashed his badge. "I'm the investigating officer and his father. I can come back shortly with all the legality you need and publicity to make your bank notorious or you can go ahead and give me what I need right now. You can't believe how painful all this is, to investigate your own son. Let me get Judge Wilkerson on the line to talk to you."

Dan quickly dialed his phone and got the judge's secretary. He caught the judge eating his dinner at his desk. After a few minutes, he handed the phone to the manager.

"Very well, Detective. I'll get you the copies you need. The judge is sending over the paperwork to authorize your investigation." The manager left Dan sitting in his office. Dan stared at the wall waiting for the manager to return. Inside, his world was crumbling all around him.

Many times he and Calvin had discussed this bizarre case of missing body parts, cemetery burials and assaults against Dan's new friend, Mary Shepard. Never had there been any hint of deceit from his son. But he had known and been a part of it all along. Now he prayed that Calvin had no part in Lisa McCutchen's death. He couldn't bear to think that his son would face the electric chair and that he would help put him there.

The manager returned with the paperwork. Dan noted that deposits had started in August of previous year. That was when Calvin had started at the hospital.

Dan thought about all the obvious clues he had brushed aside. Mary had already told him the mutilations that she knew of dated back to August. Calvin had started working for the hospital around the same time. Joey Pruett had mentioned to his mother that Calvin was getting a new truck. Everyone but him knew about Calvin's large cash supply.

"Calvin, you made a fool out of me," he confessed to himself.

Feeling sick and almost ready to cry, he thanked the manager for the records and left. There was only one thing he had left to do, confront his son. Perhaps he would spill everything right away. Perhaps he had been a pawn in this whole scheme. Whatever happened, he knew his life would be forever changed. How could he face the guys at work knowing that the answers to this puzzling case had been under his nose the whole time?

"Stop your raving, Carl. I'm tired of your hysterics. I've put up with it all year," Dr. Malcott told the old black man sitting across from him in his office. Carl was shaking, perspiration pouring off his forehead. Malcott punched his intercom button.

"Callie, page Calvin Owen and have him come to my office."

They were in the morgue. Carl had come rushing in, screaming about the police in the shed. Sam and Mary had tried to divert his attention by sending him to the warehouse, but he had sensed something was up. Then he'd seen Mary run across the road where a man was putting police tape across the shed. That's when he had high-tailed it out of the funeral home. Now there was no going back. The police knew everything.

"Awfully careless of you, Carl. Weren't you supposed to be discarding the trash in graves? Why did you dump organs in the shed where anyone could find them?"

"That was the day of the blizzard, remember? The ground was frozen so I quickly buried them in the shed. Then I forgot about it. Now the ground's thawed and blood has seeped up through the dirt. A rat smelled it and dug it up. Mike and Bill thought there was a dead animal in the shed and complained to Mary. I didn't have the opportunity to take care of it without witnesses. With Mahalia in the hospital, I let it slide. Besides, Mary never goes in there. She must have had a reason. She was looking for evidence. I tell you, they know everything by now!"

Malcott pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Mary has always been too interested in our business. We've managed to fool everyone up to now, even Calvin's father. The police have been going around in circles for months following false leads. We even took care of Lisa. Relax. They still can't prove anything. They have keys in a box and some organs buried in a shed. So? This is all Mary's speculation. Could be anyone who works there. You should have stayed and let the police question you. They don't have any evidence at all."

"But they would have checked up on me. I wouldn't have an alibi all the times I wasn't at the hospital when I said I was. My son George keeps asking me where I've been. He's knows I've been covering up something."

Malcott looked annoyed. "I could have had a number of people all vouch for you, Carl. Now you look guilty because you took off. Well, can't be helped now. You're out of it. This is the end of the road. I can't afford the police getting a hold of you. I'll have to arrange for you to disappear from the area. Don't worry, I have many friends who are invested in our enterprise."

Carl frowned. "What's going to happen to Mary? To Preston?"

"An accident. They know too much. You can figure the rest out."

"No, Dr. Malcott! You can't just kill them. They've been so good to me and Mahalia. Let's all disappear and start over at another hospital. We can just melt into the crowd," Carl pleaded.

"I'm too visible, Carl. A big time doctor soon to be famous all over the world for my medical discoveries. I can't let anyone stop me. Not you. Not Mary Shepard. Not the Keystone Cops of Newlenberg. Relax, I'm not asking you to kill anyone, Carl. You and Calvin have bungled things every time. And didn't I pay you well enough, keep your poor wife on life support? All I asked for was some help, some cooperation. All I got was incompetence. You've ruined everything. Ah, here's Calvin, the other fool."

Calvin, dressed in his orderly whites, came into the room.

"Carl here says he's been discovered at the funeral home. The police are there now, looking for him. We're going over there after I receive word that they have left and have a conversation with Mary Shepard. We hope she'll see reason this time and stay out of our business. Her sister Connie is our ace in the hole. She happens to be redecorating my apartment at this very moment."

Calvin's face showed worry. "What are you going to do with Mary's sister? Kill her? I don't want any part of that."

"A hostage, idiot. If we have her sister, then she won't talk to the police. The whole investigation will fall apart. She'll even go along with us, wait and see. In the meantime I want you to keep your eyes and ears open around your father. We need to know what he knows, what he suspects. Things may get intense. He and Mary seem chummy. As always, you don't know me or Carl. Only communicate with me through e-mail."

"Okay," the boy answered. "When do we move next?"

"I just got word of a highway accident. Two young teenagers coming in. Since I am acting medical examiner now, it'll be a piece of cake. I won't need you tonight."

"What do you do with all the body parts you steal?" Calvin asked.

"Why, Calvin, I make a miracle, an absolute miracle of life. The blind will see, the lame will walk. I am God. And what is your part as God's helper?"

Calvin looked at Malcott in amazement. He wondered for the first time if he saw madness in those cold eyes.

"I destroy the records in the incinerator," Calvin answered. "I listen to what's going on down at the station. That's what you pay me for."

"Add to that the excess organs I must remove to keep the idiot police thinking there's a black market for kidneys and hearts. I can't trust Carl to handle the matter. He's leaving our service. Get back to work for now."

Calvin looked surprise, but he moved to the door. After Calvin disappeared, Dr. Malcott reached into his drawer and pulled out a revolver. He slid it into his briefcase.

"What's that for?" Carl asked.

Malcott laughed. "Seeing reason is often easier when there's a gun."

### Chapter Thirty

Mary and Preston sat in the embalming room while Sam read the death certificate. A corpse had just arrived from the hospital, and Sam was putting on his gown and gloves.

Preston was talking. "A Mr. Kyle Donaldson, retired business man. Died of a heart attack on the golf course this morning. The widow will be in at three to iron out the details. Has a big family so we'll have to give them time to get in. Say Wednesday night at seven o'clock. That will give you time, Mary, to prepare the photos and get the flowers arranged. Go ahead and select a suitable site for the grave."

"I'm thinking under the dogwood tree," Mary told him.

"Excellent. I'll get a funeral package prepared."

Sam prepared to put on his face mask, then paused. "Any word about Carl? All of a sudden, he took off out of the embalming room like the room was on fire. I knew then that your plan to detain him was over. He outguessed you." He began unrolling the white sheets wrapped around the body. Mary moved to help him.

"He's no idiot, Sam. No, the police haven't found him yet. He's not returned to the hospital either. Just vanished. Bill and Mike are still at the police station finishing up the investigation. I'm wondering where Carl's hiding."

"Didn't he leave on foot, Mary?" Preston was puzzled. "An old man like that with a heart condition couldn't get very far."

"I think someone picked him up," Mary told him, thinking of Dr. Malcott. "Maybe he's hiding at the hospital. He wouldn't want to be far from his wife. If he has extra copies of the spare keys, he could hide anywhere."

Sam assembled his embalming fluids and the hoses he would need for the twenty-one hour process. When he took a break from processing the body two hours later, he joined Mary and Preston at the receptionist desk, awaiting Mrs. Davidson. Preston hung up the phone.

"The bank just called, Mary. The paperwork is finally done for you to sign the ownership papers. You can have this place by the end of the month, and I'll be in Florida lying on the beach very shortly. I already have a buyer for the house."

Mary was excited. "That's wonderful news, Preston. I've been giving it a lot of thought lately, and Sam and I have been talking. He does have a lot of good ideas for this funeral home. I feel very confident about taking him up on his offer of partnership."

Sam smiled. "That's right, Preston. We worked our differences out just like you hoped."

"That's great news. I'll give the lawyer a call again and have the contract reworded to include the two of you. Can you put up a down payment to buy me out, Sam?"

"I inherited a big sum from my father that I have been saving all these years. I was going to buy my own funeral home with it, but this is a good investment for me. Just let me know the amount and I'll arrange the cash."

Preston smiled. "That'll work out perfectly, Sam. By the way, I found a replacement for Lisa. They're sending him over from the community college. He comes highly recommended."

Mary frowned. "So did Lisa. A boy? You're putting a male in this job? We've always had a girl."

Preston shrugged. "Let's be practical, Mary. I let Lisa get away with murder because she was cute. This guy has great computer skills. He's going to update our files and learn the business at the same time. Name's David. He'll give our business a more modern look. If he works out, Mary, then he can become that assistant you're looking for."

"Okay. Ambitious, right? He reminds me of me," Mary laughed.

"Yes, he does. A real go-getter. He comes in at five to get a tour and introduction."

Mary nodded. "Okay, I'll meet him then."

They were interrupted when Mrs. Davidson, an elderly lady in a dark brown suit, opened the door. She entered with a cane, and Mary moved quickly to help her inside. They ushered her into Preston's office and shut the door to discuss her husband's upcoming funeral.

When they were comfortable, Preston placed his hand over hers and asked quietly, "How can we help in this hour of need?" Mrs. Davidson dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. Then together they began the process of burying the dead.

Around five the new assistant candidate David Finley came into the office, and Mary walked him around the funeral home. He wasn't allowed into the embalming room where Sam was busy with Mr. Davidson, but Sam poked his head out to say hi and shake his hand.

Agreeing to start work the next day as their new business manager, David left at six. Mary watched David drive off in his old Subaru station wagon.

"How did he do?" Preston asked.

"Everything you said about him was true. Ambitious all right. Sharp. He'll work out fine. Wasn't crazy about wearing a suit all the time or being the one to answer the phone. I told him he had to dress for success. As for answering the phone, I told him it was good experience in dealing with people."

Preston stood up and stretched. "Great. I'm calling it a day. Bill and Mike tell me there's a city-wide search for Carl going on. I wonder if his children have heard from him?"

Mary shook her head. "I'm sure they're in the dark as much as we are. You go home. Sam and I will lock up. I have some paperwork to finish. Joey's over at a friend's house trying to finish up his last paper of his high school years."

Preston sighed. "Where did the time go? I remember when he was still riding a tricycle. Now he's all grown up. Hey, still got that gun? You keep it until they catch Carl. Keep it close."

"Right in my purse, although I'm not sure I could use it. I haven't practiced enough to get comfortable. I couldn't hit anything with it if I tried."

"Just make an old man happy and have it with you. With Carl hiding from the police, I would feel better if you were protected."

"Oh, I think they're running from the law now. They don't care about me anymore. The police have all the pieces to arrest them."

After Preston left for the day, Mary went back to her office and stared down at a mountain of papers. There were bills to send out, death certificates to copy, and orders from Sam for supplies. There were monuments to purchase and sample caskets waiting for pick-up in Maryland. She would have to send Bill with the truck on Tuesday.

Then her cell phone rang. She fished around in her purse and pulled out the blue cell.

"Mary, here."

"Mary," came a faint voice. "It's Carl."

Mary was shocked. "Carl? Where are you? The police want to talk to you. What's going on, Carl? What have you gotten yourself into?"

He sounded sick. "I'm in big trouble, Mary. You gotta help me." His voice was low, and she strained to hear him.

"Carl? I can hardly hear you. Where are you?"

"In the warehouse, Mary. I'm hurt. Please come and help me. Only you. Don't tell anyone. No cops. I'm here and I'm bleeding, Mary. He shot me. I'll tell you everything if you'll just come," he pleaded.

"I'll be right there." Mary started to run from her desk but on second thought, went back to her desk and slid her cell phone into her purse. She might have to call an ambulance.

She yelled to Sam who had his door open, "I'm going to the warehouse." She heard no reply so she hurried out. Sam may have slipped out for dinner. The sky was still light, but the air was cooler. As she walked next door to the warehouse, she saw no car. She wondered if Carl had been hiding there all day.

She reached for her keys, but the door was open and slightly ajar. The lights were off, however, and Mary stepped inside timidly, fumbling for the light switch.

"Carl? Carl, are you here?" she called out.

As the lights came on, Mary was confronted by a man holding a gun. She recognized Dr. Malcott. He was dressed casually in blue jeans and a white shirt, having discarded his hospital jacket. In his gloved hand was a revolver.

"Hello, Mary. I believe we've met at the party. I'm a friend of Connie's."

"Of course I know who you are. You're Dr. Malcott from the hospital. What have you done with Carl?"

He pointed his gun. "Carl's over there. He met with an unfortunate accident with my gun."

Mary turned. "He said you shot him. Why would you do that?" Mary saw Carl sitting on the floor beside a casket, blood on his work shirt and pooling beneath him. His hands and feet were tied with rope.

Carl looked weak leaning against the casket. "I'm so sorry, Mary. I got in over my head. This is what I deserve for listening to him. It was Mahalia, you know. I couldn't pay the bills," he said. "That bastard's crazy. He thinks he's God."

Dr. Malcott shook his head. "All doctors are gods, Carl. I'm certainly not crazy. Just very efficient. You were sloppy, and our Mary here was on to us as soon as you made mistakes. I don't leave loose ends. By the way, Mary, have you heard from our sweet Connie lately?"

"Why? What about Connie? Where is she?" Mary demanded.

"Safe at my apartment. I'm watching over her, you might say. She's cozy at the moment tied up in my kitchen. She's my insurance in case you think about not cooperating."

"Cooperate? I want to see you behind bars! You were the one that locked me in the freezer, weren't you?"

"Of course. You're an extraordinarily lucky woman, Mary. First Carl and Calvin tried to bury the problem, so to speak, but you resurrected yourself from the dead. Then breaking out of a freezer, well, all I can say is you're quite resourceful. I arranged for Calvin to cut the brakes so you'd drown in the river, but good old Sam saves the day. What a driver! I've never seen anything like it. You just wouldn't die no matter what we did."

Mary knew she was in danger. She was facing a crazy man who was capable of anything. If she could only reach her gun in her purse, she might stop him. "So Calvin Owen was a part of this too?" She stretched her left hand around her back and pulled her purse toward it. The purse was unzipped and open.

Carl moaned in pain and Malcott briefly glanced his way. "Oh yes. Lisa was Calvin's secret girlfriend. I needed someone in the funeral home to tip me off when a viable specimen came in. Lisa and Carl were easy to bribe. Then Lisa got greedy and insisted on more cash. When I said no, she threatened to expose Carl's past. Prove to the cops that he had been a medic in Vietnam. That would have led them to me and my service in Vietnam. That link had to be broken. So Lisa had to die. I told Carl to do it, but he chickened out."

Mary glanced over at Carl and saw that he was now unconscious and lying motionless on the floor. He would die soon if she didn't get help. She had to distract Malcott while she got her gun. Talking quickly, she started to slowly slip her left hand behind her back into her pocketbook. In a second she felt the gun.

Mary's hand was moving the gun inches at a time. "So it was Carl that tried to bury me alive that night? You must be proud of yourself, corrupting an old man who only wanted medical care for his wife."

"Me, the bad one? It was Carl's idea, actually. You'd have been dead before morning, but who knew you had a cell phone in your pocket? The idiots never checked. Carl thought you had recognized his voice and panicked. But in the end, that blow to the head helped you forget. But to make sure you forgot for good, I arranged a visit to your hospital room in the night. But that didn't work out, did it? Even Calvin couldn't manage a simple slice of Sam's brakes. I could have been rid of all of you in one swoop!"

The gun was in her hand now. "How did you strangle Lisa?" She had to keep him talking.

"Carl lured her to the car. When he backed out, I took it from there. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed it, ridding my business of such a pest. Shutting her up for good. You really should screen your help, Mary. They lack good character."

Mary's eyes widened. "Like your good character! How could you kill such a young girl? You're a monster!" Mary countered, her hand tightening around her gun.

"Easily. Mary, come now, we're both professionals. We both understand death. Undertakers don't like living people. They're too complicated, too hostile. A dead person is docile and easy to manage. It's the best state for a human being."

"That's an awful thing to say. Human life is very precious to me."

"Then you would appreciate what I'm trying to accomplish here. Our legal supply of stem cells has been cut off by government do-gooders. Pro-lifers get closer every day to shutting us down. My chance to save humankind has been stifled by stupid men. In order to help this planet, I'm forced to turn to alternative ways to obtain the cells we need. So I rob from the dead. Who am I hurting?"

She slowly began pulling her hand out of her purse. "You attempted twice to kill me. You strangled Lisa. You shot Carl, and now you want to know who you're hurting? Carl's right. You're totally insane."

Dr. Malcott just smiled, swaying on his feet like a cobra and glancing from time to time at Carl.

"What about Dr. Jenkins? Did she know about your dirty racket? Was she in on it too?"

"Poor Dr. Jenkins. She couldn't leave well enough alone. You put the idea into her head that it was Dr. DuFrey that was stealing body parts and forging donor forms. So she started watching the clinic. I caught her in my office once. She mumbled something about needing authorization for this or that, but I knew she was snooping. That same night when Carl visited her as the angel of death, he found my whole file up on her computer. Did you know she planned to turn me in the very next day? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of one Dr. Jenkins. But don't worry, Mary. She didn't suffer. The scalpel was quick, and she was dead in an instant. Carl saw to that. You should have seen him in Nam. He was brilliant."

Mary had the gun securely in her grip inside her purse. It was slowly slipping off her shoulder. "A wonderful man turned evil by you and then snuffed out to cover your bloody tracks."

"I'm not evil, Mary. Just practical. I can see you won't respond to reason so maybe I'll go to Plan B. Take Carl here. You came upon Carl hiding from the police. Both of you struggled over the gun and were shot. The police will find both sets of fingerprints on Carl's gun. I'll be free to carry on my work with the help of the medical examiner's position, and you'll be out of my way. That's how it could go if you won't cooperate with me. Want to hear Plan A?"

"Plan A? Cooperate? Why would I help a madman?"

"I could save Carl's life if you would agree to be my eyes and ears here at the funeral home. It's not too late to save him. Obviously, Carl can't continue in his old job. He'll disappear. Connie will be free when you give me your word you'll stop this investigating on your own and help me in my project. Otherwise, everyone dies starting with you."

Suddenly, the door knob turned. Sam entered in his white coat. "Mary? There you are." Then he stopped, seeing Carl lying in his own blood on the floor. Sam turned and that's when Dr. Malcott aimed his gun away from Mary and fired in his direction.

### Chapter Thirty-One

Mary suddenly jerked her gun out of her purse and let the purse fall to the floor. She was aiming the gun when Dr. Malcott shot Sam at the door. Sam crumbled to his knees, his hand on a growing red spot on his right thigh.

"Hey, that hurts!" Sam yelled, unable to comprehend that a bullet had struck him.

Malcott chuckled. "Oops. I guess Jonathan will miss his cousin. I won't."

"Drop it or I'll shoot!" Mary yelled, pointing the gun with both hands at Dr. Malcott.

"Oh, Mary. How resourceful of you! I wouldn't have thought you'd think to carry a gun. Belong to your policeman boyfriend? No matter. First of all I don't believe you have the guts to shoot me. Second of all," he placed the barrel of his gun next to Sam's head. "I don't think you want me to kill the embalmer. I don't care if he is Jonathan's favorite cousin. He's not critical to my plan."

"You can't get away with this! End this madness before we all die," Mary pleaded.

"Of course I'll get away with it, Mary. And you're right. You will all die. Now you've dragged poor Sam into our business. I tried to be reasonable, but now too many people know what they shouldn't know. Sad. I've been right under your nose for a year now and you haven't noticed until now. How many bodies has Carl hidden for me in this cemetery, you think? I guess you'll never know."

At that moment, Sam jerked at Dr. Malcott's gun and knocked him off balance. He sank to one knee but recovered, pointing the gun at Sam.

"I've had enough of you!" he shouted angrily.

Mary fired. Dr. Malcott was struck in the forehead and fell backwards with his arms outstretched across the linoleum. Blood covered his face.

Mary let her gun drop to the floor and slowly slid down the wall to the floor. "Is he dead?" she whispered.

"I hope so," Sam answered, reaching for Dr. Malcott's gun and yanking it out of his dead hand. "It was either him or us, Mary. You did the right thing."

Mary slowly crawled over to Carl and felt for a pulse at his neck. "He's still alive. Barely. I'll call 911." Next she checked Sam's thigh. The bullet appeared to have gone through and missed the bone.

"I'll live," Sam announced. "Why was he trying to kill us?"

Mary explained Dr. Malcott's scheme to retrieve viable stem cells from freshly dead bodies. Carl and Lisa had been his contacts at the funeral home while Calvin Owen his eyes and ears at the hospital.

"My cousin won't believe this. Seems you were right all along about Malcott. He was crazy."

"I hope the police believe us," Mary said.

Flashing lights came up to the door of the warehouse followed by two ambulances. Detective Dan Owen was the first person through the door.

"You okay, Mary? Looks like a blood bath in here. I was on my way to warn you when I heard your call. But I see I was too late. Jim found your sister at Malcott's apartment. She's fine."

"That's a relief. Dan, your son. He said your son was part of this," Mary stammered. "I'm so sorry."

Dan nodded. "Calvin's already in custody and confessed to helping Dr. Malcott steal bodies and forge donor forms. He burned organs in the furnace to cover their tracks. Then he let Lisa be killed. I've heard the whole sorry story."

"How did you find out?"

"I figured it out this afternoon when I saw a bank statement by accident at home. That's when I knew for sure. I even called up your son, and he told me Lisa and Calvin were an item at school. Joey thought he was into drugs, but he didn't want to tell you because he thought it might ruin our relationship. He wanted Calvin to be a good guy. So did I."

Dan helped Sam and Mary out of the door and let Sam sit down on the grass. Sam didn't want to go to the hospital when the ambulance arrived but Dan insisted. "You just relax, Sam. This is no time to be a hero. You're shot. That's got to hurt. Just remember everything you just went through and tell the officer here. The next ambulance will be awhile because there's been an accident out on Highway 81. Carl's the most critical so he'll go first."

In a few minutes, Carl was brought out on a stretcher.

Mary stopped the attendant. "Is he alive?"

"Barely," he told her. "He's lost too much blood. We'll do all we can."

They brought out Dr. Malcott next with a sheet over his body. As Mary sat down again next to Sam to wait for the next ambulance, she saw Preston running across the alley.

"What happened?" He was out of breath, and Mary made him lean against the wall until he had calmed down. Then she told him of the night's events.

"Carl shot? Sam shot? A dead man in my warehouse. Mad doctor? Thank God you weren't hurt!" He hugged her. Then he offered to take Sam to the hospital. It would be faster than waiting for another ambulance.

Dan gave the okay and they left. He brought Mary again into the room and went over the details. Mary's eyes filled with tears as she saw the chalk outline of Dr. Malcott.

"Is it finally over, Dan?" she asked wiping her tears. He gave her a handkerchief. "Have we found all the criminals involved in this?"

"We think so, Mary. Malcott can't hurt anyone anymore.

Carl has probably paid for his crimes with his life. My son will go to jail. Malcott killed Lisa. They all got what they deserved."

"Except you, Dan. You didn't deserve this. I know your heart is broken."

"He's my son. I love him, no matter what he's done. But I can't forgive him. He's ruined too many lives with his deceit. I can't help him now. That's up to his lawyer. You'd better go home now. Come down to the station first thing in the morning and sign your statement." He handed over her purse. "I'll keep the gun for now. It's evidence."

Mary agreed and then walked past the policemen rushing in and out of the warehouse. Her walk back to the funeral home was a lonely one, thinking of Dan. This would change him forever. She wondered if he would ever trust anyone again. She wanted to go home and hug Joey. The world had suddenly become an hostile and uncertain place.

The next morning Preston and Mary drove to the hospital to see Carl. The nurse told them he was in Mahalia's room as his children had requested and wasn't supposed to have visitors. George, though, insisted they come and opened the door for them. They found Carl conscious, and on oxygen. His eyes were closed. A respirator lay beside his bed, but he refused to let them hook it up. The bullet had been removed overnight but Carl's vital signs were failing. His body had finally worn out.

George sat between his parents. "He can barely talk, but he keeps asking for Mary. His heart's failing. I think he wants to tell you what happened before he dies."

Mary and Preston pulled up chairs next to Carl's bed. George lightly squeezed his father's hand. "Mary's here, Dad," he whispered into his ear.

Carl's eyes opened. "I was coming back for you," he rasped. "At the cemetery."

Preston looked at Carl. "You didn't really mean to kill her, did you, Carl?"

"I was coming back to dig you up, but my car overheated at Turner's Grocery and I couldn't! By the time I got some water in the radiator, the cops were there at the cemetery."

"Don't talk, Carl. You should rest. You've lost a lot of blood," Mary told him, patting his arm.

"But I want to tell you I wouldn't have gone through with it. Calvin reported to Malcott, and he would have killed all of us if he'd known I was going back to get you out of that grave. I didn't care. I'd dug you up myself." Suddenly, Carl began to cough. George gave him some water through a straw.

"Malcott came to me last summer when Mahalia went into the hospital. My old pal from Vietnam. Said he knew where I worked. Could I use some extra cash, some help on the bills? I wouldn't have to do anything much. Help him at the hospital to remove some organs. Dispose of the leftovers in graves at Serenity."

"So you stole a copy of the hospital keys and let yourself in and out at the morgue?" Preston asked.

"Yes. He gave me cash. I was hooked, Preston. I needed the money because I had reached the end of the insurance's allowance. They weren't going to pay anymore, and I'd have to sell the house."

"So you removed the organs?"

"Yes, Mary, and he took them up to his lab. Then there was that mix-up with the body at Simpson's. The husband found out and wanted the body exhumed. We knew it would lead back to the hospital, so Calvin took the body while the men were at lunch. That night he dropped it off in the Thompson grave when I had already dug a grave over at the other end. The idiot got lost and so when I saw it the next day, I had to act surprised. But you see, I was surprised. It was supposed to be in another grave. Mike and Bill wanted to call the police. I knew then that it was just a matter of time before the truth came out."

Preston leaned forward. "Why didn't you just tell us what was going on, Carl? We could have gone to the authorities."

"I didn't think what we were doing was so bad. The people were already dead. Malcott said it was for the good of mankind. Then Mary stumbled upon us in the cemetery. Malcott flipped out. He was obsessed with removing Mary. The cops were stupid, but Mary was too smart. So he went after her at the hospital. When she escaped, he really lost it."

"What was Lisa's part in all this?" Mary asked.

"She was the lookout. She called him when we got a young female. She came in with me during the night when I would remove the organs prior to embalming. She watched the door."

Mary shook her head. "But how come Sam didn't notice?"

"Malcott made sure the death record always showed donor. Lisa copied the phony forms for me on your machine. We had so few and they were so far between that Sam was in the dark. He thought more young people were donating organs these days. It was a piece of cake."

Preston shook his head. "It could have gone on forever. How many graves have spare people in them, Carl? People without organs?"

"Never you mind, Preston. You'll never untangle it. I didn't keep a record. No one needs to know. Let the dead lye."

Mary looked at Preston. "He's right, Preston. We won't be doing anyone or our business good by digging up graves now. We should just let it go. Carl, what happened to Lisa? Why did she end up dead?"

"Lisa threatened to expose me. Malcott wanted me to kill her and bury her in one of the graves, but I couldn't do it. In the end, he took care of her himself. Tried to make it look like Sam had done it. He was always jealous of Sam and his relationship with DuFrey."

Carl sipped more water.

"That's enough," his son George said. "Your heart is weak. This is only upsetting you further."

"Mary has to know the truth, George. I won't die with that on my conscience. Malcott was worried about Jenkins. She had it in for him. DuFrey had mentioned Malcott's project to her so she put two and two together. Malcott said I had no choice but to kill her." Carl's head fell back against his pillow. A tear fell down his cheek. "I regret that most of all."

Preston and Mary looked at each other. Carl remained quiet, his breath heavy and his eyes closed. An alarm suddenly sounded above Carl's head, and George jumped up and ran out the door. A second later, a doctor and several nurses entered. Preston and Mary left the room and waited outside in the hall. George joined them.

"It's his heart. He's in cardiac arrest. The gun shot has weakened him even further," George explained. "Maybe it's for the best. Mom's almost gone. They say she'll only last a day or two since life support has been turned off. This way they can be together. I think that's all he ever wanted, for them to be together forever. He didn't want to go to prison over this." Then George began to cry quietly.

Mary hugged him. "This has been very hard on you, George. We're so sorry you have to go through this. It's not really fair, losing both parents at once."

The doctor opened the door and told them Carl was gone.

### Chapter Thirty-Two

"Florida in August is like an oven. Tell me again why you wanted to live here?" Connie whined. She and Mary relaxed in the cushioned white wicker chairs on the screened-in porch sipping iced tea, dressed in shorts and tourist T-shirts. The air-conditioning was not enough. A ceiling fan kept the room tolerable. Outside, the temperature was close to one hundred, according to the thermometer on the patio. Mary found Florida's air thick and sticky.

"You can't even breathe out there," she told Preston as he bustled around the small kitchen.

"Here's lunch," he announced, bringing in a tray of cold chicken salad sandwiches. "Shall we call Joey in?"

Mary laughed. "No. Let him play in the pool for awhile."

"But he's been in there all morning. I'm running out of sun tan lotion. Guess he'll just borrow more from his new female friends, the Roller twins."

Last Friday, Mary, Connie, and Joey had helped Preston move into his new home in the retirement village of Happy Acres outside Tampa. They had driven the moving van down from Virginia taking turns at the wheel while Preston had flown on ahead to open the house and get settled. After unloading and arranging the furniture many times until Connie was satisfied, they had all stayed for a small vacation. Now the week was up and tomorrow they would return to Newlenberg and their old life. Joey would be starting community college soon majoring in social justice, and Mary needed to get back to the Smith Funeral Home. Connie had a date.

Reaching for a sandwich, Connie asked, "Who was that who came over with the tuna casserole this morning?"

"Mrs. Roller, the widow down the street. Her two teenage granddaughters are here visiting before they start college at Florida State. I think they have taken quite a liking to our Joey. That's why he won't come out of the pool."

Preston had introduced Mary and Connie as his daughters to everyone in the retirement community as they toured the grounds on Saturday. "Everyone is so friendly here," Preston told them later. "You're the only thing I'm going to miss here in Florida."

"You can always come back and visit!" Mary chimed.

"So can you. Consider this your vacation home," he told her.

"What a silly idea, Preston! You live in the blue hair capital of the USA," Connie told him. "I want to go to Miami where the action is. Not wheelchair central."

"Well, Connie, you can stay home, then," Preston said. "Mary and Joey can come down when the snow is up to their necks in Virginia."

Preston took a sandwich from the tray and sat down beside Mary. "What did Sam have to say this morning when he called?"

"He signed the last of the papers this morning at the lawyer's office making us legal partners in the business. He's got two funerals today, and David is working overtime overhauling the computer system. He's about got Sam talked into buying a faster model to update our files. He says our current computer is too slow, and we need to change with the times."

Preston chuckled. "What did Sam say to that?"

"He believes progress is a good thing. He's looking at computers after work. David is getting of list of what we need."

"That's all fine and good, Mary, as long as David and Sam don't forget about our priorities. People, Mary. People are what matter the most. It doesn't matter how quickly we can churn out an obituary. It's how we help them grieve and lead them through their troubled times. That's what they remember the most."

"Don't worry, Preston. I'll keep Sam and David in line. We won't give up that part. That's what I do best."

Connie frowned. "Oh Mary! I keep telling you to do something fun with your life. This funeral home stuff is so depressing!"

"Did he say how the rest of the trial is going?" Preston changed the subject. "I'm glad we were able to leave town after our testimony."

"He said Dan had to testify against his own son after I finished last week. I can't imagine how that felt. Pretty rotten, I bet. Dan told him Calvin was making a deal with the prosecutor's office. He's hopeful that Calvin will be out in a couple of years, and he can get on with his life."

Connie looked doubtful. "How do you start over after something like that?"

"Calvin won't be the same when he gets out of prison, but I hope he'll have a new appreciation for life. Hopefully, crime won't appeal to him anymore."

"You think he'll take up the priesthood, Mary?" Connie smirked.

"No, but I think he's really sorry about his part in all this. He made a bad judgment call, and it ruined his life. He was just a kid that lost his way, lured by the smell of easy money."

"What will Dan do after the trial?" Preston asked.

"He's requested a transfer to Richmond. Says he can't live in a small town where everyone knows his son is a criminal. I think he blames himself for not being home. I tried to tell him Calvin made his own decisions, but he feels it was his fault that Calvin was so easily tempted by Malcott."

Preston sipped his iced tea. "I'm sorry to hear that Dan is leaving the area, Mary. I know you liked him a lot."

"I did, but Dan has to do what is best for him. He's not the same man I met a month ago. He needs time to rethink his life. It's hard to get over a hurt like that. We'll always be friends."

Connie laughed. "Friends don't pay for dinner and a movie, Mary. Friends are boring. Now that Dan's gone, Jim Benton has been promoted to detective. He'll be the big crime fighter in Newlenberg."

Mary looked at Connie. "Are you still seeing Jim, Connie? I thought you said he was out of the picture. Too poor for you."

"Well, Jim did save me when I was all tied up. I guess I have room for a goofy cop in my busy life."

"It won't last," Preston whispered to Mary.

They chewed their sandwiches. Footsteps bounded up the steps and the porch door swung open. Joey stood there with a towel around his waist and dripping water on the rug.

"How's the water?" Mary asked.

"How are the twins?" Preston laughed.

"Awesome!" he shouted. "They had to go in for lunch. We said we would meet later. It's too bad we're going home tomorrow. I could get used to this place."

Mary shook her head. "You can't take the twins home with you, son. There are other girls waiting for you in Newlenberg. These girls have a date with their own university. Maybe they can visit you in Virginia."

"Maybe I can visit them in Florida! They have police academies in Florida, don't they? Preston, these girls are really cute!"

"State's full of cute girls, Joey."

Joey went off to get out of his wet bathing suit and dry off for lunch.

Preston turned to Mary. "Did Sam talk about Mahalia's funeral? Were there a lot of people there?"

"Yes. There was a huge crowd, Sam said, and the church was packed. He buried her next to Carl in the plot you and he had picked out long ago under the oak by the fence. He said it was a beautiful service. The whole family was there with half of the town. And they thanked the funeral home and you for helping to take care of the family all these years. The stones aren't up yet but they'll be arriving next week, thanks to your generosity."

"Carl was always a good employee. It was a pleasure to help him and his family in their time of need. I'm just sorry how it all ended. Carl didn't deserve that."

Connie threw her napkin down. "He buried Mary alive, or have you have already forgotten that? He deserved exactly what he got. You guys have a short memory. I can't believe you went to his funeral."

"We knew the real Carl, Connie," Mary told her. "You didn't. He was forced into doing those horrible things by a madman. Carl wasn't himself in the end."

"Well, actions speak louder than words," Connie said.

Preston finished his sandwich. "So all the loose ends in my life have been tied up. Very good. Now I shall concentrate on the rest of my life knowing that you and Sam have everything under control at the funeral home, and Connie is content to be the best decorator in the city."

"That's a fact, Preston," Connie agreed.

"What will you do with yourself, Preston? I would go bonkers around here. There's nothing to do. And the heat! I'd never go outside," Mary said.

"I like the heat. At my age, you don't feel it. There's a lot to do, Mary. I can go down to the community center and play cards. Or I can go fishing with my new friend Ned next door. I can go to a restaurant in Tampa with a group on our community bus. They offer all kinds of day trips. What I won't be doing is worrying about my funeral home. I've carried that burden all my life, and now I give it freely to you. A life without stress. Better late than never."

Mary nodded. "You truly deserve it, Preston. No one has worked harder."

"Give me a break," Connie moaned.

"Retire early, Mary. That's my advice to you," said Preston.

Joey came back into the room and grabbed a sandwich. Preston went off to get him a glass of tea.

"This place is great!" he muttered in between bits of chicken. "Preston needs someone to mow his yard. I think we should visit regularly."

Mary laughed. "It never rains here except during a hurricane. The grass is dead most of the year so don't get your hopes up."

"Then I can be the pool man," Joey said.

Mary laughed at him. "We have swimming pools at home, Joey. They also have girls in them. You'll have to adjust. Soon you'll be in school at the community college. I can't tell you how proud I am of you. This is a new beginning for all of us."

"Can't wait to start classes. When we get back, I'll be working for Sam part-time, right? I'm going to need the cash."

"Yes. Bill and Mike are waiting to boss you around. Bill is now head groundskeeper, and we probably won't hire another man until fall. You can fill in for the rest of the summer. You'll be working outside mostly and helping with funerals. Does your suit still fit?"

"It's a little short in the arms, won't button, and my socks show. Guess I outgrew it years ago."

"Then we'll get you another. You have to look your best."

"I have lots you can borrow," Preston told Joey, handing him a glass of cold tea.

"You're bigger than me," Joey said. "I don't think they'll work."

"I may be old and fat but the suits are the best money can buy. Take my suits and have them altered. It'll save you a bundle."

"Never alter a used suit, Joey," Connie advised him. "It's the height of bad taste. A good suit should mold to your body. It should glide on you, not puff out like a sail on a boat."

"Money doesn't grow on trees, Connie," Mary told her.

Connie smirked. "Oh for heaven's sake. I'll buy him a suit, Mary. My gift to the awkward teenage years."

Mary smiled. "Connie, you're too kind."

Connie sighed. "I can't have my nephew embarrassing me around town, can I?"

"Can we come back to Florida, Mom, to visit? I know Preston will miss us," Joey said.

"Miss a funeral home?" Connie protested. "Not on your life. Look around. Everyone's already dead around here. No excitement whatsoever."

"Sure there's excitement, Aunt Connie. The wild talk around the pool is that a handsome new widower just moved into #357. The former funeral home director is available and loaded. All the ladies are excited! What a catch Preston Smith is, they're saying! They haven't even seen your suits."

"Oh my!" Mary laughed. "You're going to like it here, Preston. You may never have to cook again. The widows are lining up."

Then the phone rang, and Preston went to answer it around the corner in the kitchen. Only one person had his new number. "It's Sam," he called out. "He says he has to talk to you, Mary. I told him you would be home tomorrow, but he said it couldn't wait."

Mary swallowed her last bit of chicken salad and reached for the phone.

Preston and Joey listened to the conversation.

"Mary here. What's so important? You found what? You found it where? Well, of course. Did you call the police? Did the newspaper show up yet? TV too? Oh no! Could be murder? Yes, we could take a flight out tonight. Okay. I'll let you know when we land." Mary handed the phone back to Preston.

Joey frowned. "Here we go again!"
