“Whoever is doing this has taken zombie poisoning to a level unseen since Papa Doc’s days,” Meg said after a few minutes.
“I don’t know. I mean, Miguel Gomez...maybe. They didn’t have a positive identification on the body, and his neighbor said he’d seen him. But Randy Nicholson... The man died in a hospital. There was a viewing at a funeral home, which almost certainly means he was embalmed. He was buried.”
“Except that he wasn’t in his grave,” Meg said. “Matt told me.”
“So you think the hospital staff was in on it?” Lara asked doubtfully.
“Hospitals aren’t perfect. The body could have been whisked away. Or maybe it was managed properly there and they were fooled by the effects of the poison, and something went on at the funeral home. Maybe someone paid them off not to embalm the body.” She turned to look at Lara, speculation in her eyes. “Meanwhile, we need to learn everything we can about Miguel Gomez.”
“I’m sure the Bureau has a massive file on him,” Lara said.
“No, we need to know what you can find out.”
“What I can find out?”
“It’s evident that he’s trying to reach you.”
“I don’t know if—”
“You have to embrace your ability to see ghosts, Lara,” Meg told her. “That’s all there is to it.”
8
Dr. Robert Treme was a cardiologist with an array of diplomas and certificates on his office wall to prove that he’d gone the distance. He was about sixty and appeared to have embraced his vocation, since his build suggested that he did just the right amount of exercise for his age and ate well, watching out for his own heart. He wasn’t defensive when he met with Brett and Diego, he was puzzled.
He had a file before him, which he readily handed across the desk to them. “I gave copies of all this information to the police, as well. I have a list of the nurses and personnel who were on the floor at the time of his death, including the orderlies who took the body to the hospital morgue and the morgue attendant. The nurse on duty called a code blue, naturally. Nicholson was seventy-eight, and when he flatlined, I happened to be at the hospital, just finishing rounds. We performed all the proper resuscitation techniques to no avail.”
“He died from congestive heart failure?” Brett asked. When Treme nodded, he went on. “And he was dead? You’re sure of it?”
Treme nodded gravely. “I have been practicing medicine for forty years. The man was dead. No pulse, no heartbeat. I don’t know who that was on the platform, but it wasn’t Randy Nicholson. If you doubt my words, you and the police are welcome to question everyone in the hospital at the time—including his family. I left them alone with him to say their goodbyes before he went down to the hospital morgue.”
“The man isn’t in his grave,” Brett informed him.
“Then, you need to be looking into body snatchers,” Treme said with certainty.
“Was he tested for brain waves?” Brett asked.
Treme leaned forward, irritated for the first time. “He’d had a bad heart for several years. He didn’t help it any by living on red meat coated in salt. He was in the hospital for congestive heart failure, and his heart gave out. He didn’t have Alzheimer’s disease and he wasn’t being tested for mental acuity or a brain injury, so no, he wasn’t tested for brain waves. Believe me, he wasn’t breathing. He didn’t have a pulse. He was in his room for over an hour after death so his family could say goodbye, and then he was in the hospital morgue before going to the funeral home. The man was dead.”
“Is there any possibility—any at all—that he was in a state that simply resembled death?” Brett asked.
For a moment Treme betrayed a hint of uncertainty. “If he wasn’t dead, it was an impeccable imitation of it.” He rose, apparently finished with the interview. “Gentlemen, if Mr. Nicholson’s body was not in his grave, I suggest you look to the funeral home. From the time I signed his death certificate, the hospital and the funeral home became responsible for the body. He had a viewing, so his body definitely made it as far as the mortuary. I really don’t see how I can help you further.”
It was a dismissal, and Brett nodded at Diego to indicate that it was time to go. That was it—all they could get at the moment. And it did sound as if they would have to move on and find out just what had happened after the death certificate had been signed.
* * *
While Meg had kept her nose in the books most of the way back, she was interested in learning more about the facility when they returned.
“I noticed last night that the place is locked and there’s an alarm. And a fence runs all around the property, right to the water. What’s next door on the left?” she asked.
“The land is owned by a museum, but they haven’t built there yet. They’re fenced, too. And actually, they have full-time security.”
“What about on the other side?” Meg asked.
“County property. Apparently an old guy used to sell bait and rent fishing boats from there. But when he died, the property reverted to Dade County.” Lara made a face. “It will probably be sold and turned into condos.”
“The way of the world,” Meg said. “So conceivably, anyone could come through from that side.”
“If they were willing to get wet, yes.”
“And what about the dolphin lagoons?”
“The lagoons themselves are fenced, with gates that are opened when there’s a major storm. There are thirty dolphins here, and they’ve been released ten times. Every single one has come back, because they all choose to,” Lara told her proudly.
Meg smiled at that. “Good to hear.”
“I don’t think this place is in any danger,” Lara said.
“I don’t think the dolphins are in danger. You’re my worry,” Meg said. “But back to the lay of the land. When you’re open, people can enter the facility proper via the parking lot or through the gift shop, right?”
“Exactly,” Lara agreed. “And if you follow the path to the left, you get to the docks, and if you keep going you end up here, at the offices. If you head straight, toward the water, you come to the education building. To the right of that you have the café, and past that, more lagoons. Cocoa is usually in the first lagoon, because she’s one of the main performers.” She smiled, realizing it sounded as if she were talking about a niece who was doing exceptionally well in school.
“I’ll have to meet your Cocoa,” Meg said. “And the rest of the staff. So far I’ve met your boss, Grady Miller, who reminds me a lot of Adam, and I bet he’s just as good to work for. And I’ve met Rick and Adrianna, who seem lovely. What about the rest of the staff?”
“Come on, we’ll take a walk and I’ll introduce you. I can tell them I’m just checking to see how plans are going for Sunday. We’re hosting a group called Just Say Thanks. They bring in military vets to interact with the dolphins. I’ve been told the effect on the vets is amazing.”
“I’m glad we’ll be here for it,” Meg said.
They left the office, and Lara headed toward the education building first. They waited outside the door of one of the classrooms and watched as Myles Dawson, their intern, enthusiastically lectured a visiting summer-camp group on the work they did. He showed a short video demonstrating that young dolphins were quick to learn behaviors from their trainers, just as they did from their parents. He talked about how dolphins learned both visual and verbal commands, and could even comprehend several commands combined sequentially. He also showed that dolphins were able to discern symbols and match like to like. He finished by saying, “These incredible creatures have been man’s friend for years. The tales of dolphins saving people from shark attacks are true. And remember, here at Sea Life they’re top dog, so behave yourself and follow all instructions when you’re interacting with them today, because you’ll get sent to th
e corner before they will.”
His words were greeted with laughter, and then the group filed out, smiling and ready for their adventure.
“Hey, Myles, I brought a friend to meet you,” Lara called to him. “Good class, too,” she added.
Myles grinned at that. A nice grin. He had longish brown hair and warm hazel eyes, and Lara knew that he liked to flirt, but she also appreciated the fact that he kept it within friendly limits.
“Thanks, and hi, friend of Lara,” he told Meg, offering her his hand. Then he turned back to Lara. “I heard your friends from the FBI were here. I’ve got to admit, I was afraid everything going on here would kill business, but it looks as if we’re already pretty much back to normal. Some people are asking about what happened, but that will go on forever, I guess.”
“I’d say that the accidental publicity definitely put us on the map,” Lara said. “Though maybe not the way we’d like to be.”
“This place is wonderful,” Meg said.
“It really is. I had this great idea that we put Lara in a bikini and have her ride across the lagoon on a dolphin’s back. That would really bring them in. But the bosses didn’t go with idea. They’re all about dignity around here, go figure.”
“Funny, funny, thank you,” Lara told him. “I doubt that my coordination level would be up to the task anyway. Meanwhile, Meg and I have been friends for years, and as you know, she and her partner, Matt, are both with the FBI. They’ll be hanging around, with Grady’s blessing.”
“Glad to have you—feels nice and safe,” Myles assured her. “Come on, I’ll take you back to meet Dr. Amory and his lovely second, Cathy Barkley.”
He led the way to the office behind the classroom, rapping at the door as they entered to herald their arrival. Dr. Amory was busy at his computer while Cathy was sorting through a stack of files. They both looked up, smiled pleasantly and stopped their work to meet Meg.
“Glad to have you here,” Dr. Amory said to Meg, standing to shake her hand. “And if you want any information on dolphins, come by any time.”
“Seriously, any time,” Cathy said. She was in her mid to late thirties, thin, and she wore wire-rimmed glasses and a very studious expression. She explained that she kept medical records on the dolphins and other inhabitants of Sea Life.
“I just love to talk about sea mammals. They’re so incredible. Dolphins’ life spans vary,” Cathy said. “In the wild, luck is a huge factor. Everything depends on how pristine their environment is, the availability of food and whether they run into a predator—or a motorboat. Here, where we can control the environment and provide medical care when necessary, two of our dolphins are in their late forties. In the wild, twenty to twenty-five years is pretty much the norm, and only about one percent of the entire population anywhere makes it to fifty.”
Lara thanked Cathy for talking to them about the dolphins and then said that they had to move on so Meg could meet the rest of the staff. They said their thank-yous, then headed over to the café, where Frank Pilaf was at the grill, and Juan Jimenez and Rosa Estancia were taking orders, bringing out food and picking up after those who didn’t pick up after themselves. Rosa, a warm and effusive woman, greeted Meg with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Meg looked a little surprised, but then Juan and Frank did the same. Rosa refused to let them leave until they were armed with bottles of ice-cold water.
“That was quite a welcome,” Meg said once they were out of earshot.
“You get used to that down here,” Lara said. “It’s the Latin influence. Everyone hugs and kisses everyone else.”
They paused for a minute at the front enclosure, where Adrianna and Rick were hosting the afternoon show and three of the dolphins were doing a synchronized leap out of the water, delighting the crowd of campers and other visitors. After a minute Lara nudged Meg, and they walked over to the showers and storage area on the far side of the left-hand lagoon. Sue Crane and Justin Villiers were there, collecting the towels the trainers used after their swims.
Sue was in her late twenties, Justin somewhere around thirty. They both had brown hair, but Sue was tiny with a perfect little gamine face, while Justin was very tall and skinny; they made quite a pair when working together.
“Good to have security around,” Sue said after Meg had been introduced.
That made Justin frown. “You don’t think we’re really in danger here, do you?” he asked Sue.
“I wasn’t suggesting we’re in danger—except from Lara stealing our jobs. You’re amazing with Cocoa,” Sue said, shaking her head.
“No fear there—I’m much better with words. And Cocoa’s the only one of the dolphins who even seems to notice me,” Lara said.
“Dolphins are really a lot like dogs,” Justin said. “You know how dogs seem to know if a person is okay or not? Well, dolphins are the same way. So, Lara, if Cocoa says you’re good people, we’ll keep you.”
After Sue and Justin left to handle the dolphins for the next encounter, Lara turned to Meg. “That’s it for full-time staff. We have local college and high school students who come in as volunteers to help out sometimes, but they’re not here on an everyday basis, and there’s a vet who comes when we call him.”
“Everyone seems terrific, and this is a great work environment,” Meg said.
“I think so,” Lara said. “Were you expecting otherwise? There’s no suspicion that anyone from here is involved in what happened.”
“It’s still good to know who everyone is.” Meg paused, then asked, “Now, what about Miguel? When am I going to meet him?”
Lara tilted her head questioningly. “Miguel Gomez? Meg, I’m still not sure I really saw a ghost. And even if I did see him, I have no idea how to introduce you to him.”
“You saw him in your office doorway, right?”
“Right.”
“Then, let’s head back there. He probably won’t show when there are so many other people around, but you’re one of the last to leave, right?”
“Usually, yes.”
“We’ll make sure that you are tonight,” Meg said, then shrugged. “And if he doesn’t show up here, maybe he’ll come to the house again tonight. If he does, we won’t be calling the police on him.”
* * *
The Diaz-Douglas Mortuary Chapel on Bird Road had been around as long as Brett could remember; Diego also knew the place well, since his great-uncle’s wake had recently been held there.
While he and Diego were heading to the funeral home, Matt Bosworth was on his way to the cemetery where they had exhumed Randy Nicholson’s empty coffin that morning. He was going to begin interviewing the employees. Someone, somewhere, had to know something, and the cemetery was a convenient place to start.
“It’s a pretty smart deal they’ve got going,” Diego told Brett. “When people want their service slanted toward the Anglo side, Douglas handles arrangements. When they speak Spanish, Diaz steps in.”
They’d done their homework on the business. It had been founded in 1940 by the current Douglas’s grandfather, then passed to his father. When the current Douglas had taken the reins, he’d joined up with Diaz, whose family had been in the funeral business in Cuba before coming to the United States.
The parking lot was almost completely empty, but it was early for viewing hours. The outer reception area was furnished tastefully in beiges and browns, with comfortable couches and chairs offering places for mourners to sit. The end tables all held large boxes of tissues, and there were three stations dispensing bottled water in sight.
As they stood for minute, letting their eyes adapt from the bright daylight to the dimmer artificial light in the room, a very pretty Latino woman in a blue high-button suit approached them and immediately offered her hand, “Geneva Diaz,” she said, and then, without waiting for them to introduce themselves in turn, went on. “Let me bring you
right to my husband and Mr. Douglas. We received a call from your office, advising us that you were on the way.”
Signs along the hall told mourners whose wake was being held in each room. They passed by a door that said Staff Only. When they’d come in, Brett had noticed a sign pointing toward the “receiving entry,” and he was pretty sure that this door led to the embalming room.
Geneva Diaz rapped on the office door before entering. The room held two desks, one for each partner. A nameplate identified the desk to the left as belonging to Richard Diaz, while the second belonged to Jonathan Douglas.
“Gentlemen, we’ve already been apprised of this strange situation,” Douglas said, stepping forward. He was a tall man who seemed somehow colored by his occupation, gray in color from his hair to his skin. His face had bloodhound cheeks and wrinkles, and he looked as if he wore a perpetual mask of sympathy and sadness. “We’ve gathered everything we have for you. I can’t tell you how appalled we are.”
Diaz was a younger, shorter man, with bronzed skin, sharp dark eyes and handsome features.
“We can’t begin to tell you how upset we are by this situation. We have a reputation for providing exceptionally fine service at a family’s most terrible time, and this is just...unheard of. Sit down, please.”
He indicated two chairs in front of Douglas’s desk, then perched on the edge of it while Douglas returned to his seat.
Brett lifted his hands. “We’re aware of your sterling reputation, gentlemen,” he said. “So how could this have happened?”
Douglas indicated a file. “Here are our records. We made arrangements for pickup from the hospital. When Mr. Nicholson arrived, I met him at Receiving myself and had him brought straight to the embalming room.”
“So he was embalmed?” Diego asked.
Diaz glanced over at Douglas, and it looked as if he were uncomfortable. “The family requested that he not be.” He sighed. “There are laws that deal with embalming, but generally, in a case such as this, the family has a right to refuse. Sometimes funeral directors won’t even tell you that—especially if there will be an open casket at the viewing, but Mr. Nicholson’s casket was closed.” He shrugged uneasily. “Strange, we still call it a viewing when the casket is closed. Wake. I guess that’s the right word. Or visitation. At any rate, his service was held here the night Mr. Nicholson arrived, and he was buried the next day.”