Matters of the Blood (12 page)

"But what if I'd told him?"

Both Bea and Tucker snorted at this.

"C'mon, Sis, you really think he would have listened?"

"He's right, Keira. Let's be honest here. Marty was about as fond of you as you were of him. He never listened to you about anything else, why would he have done so now?"

I shrugged Tucker's hand away and stood up again.

"I know, you're both right,” I said. “But I was responsible for him."

"And you went over there,” Bea said. “He wasn't there, was he?"

"No,” I agreed. “He wasn't."

"There, then.” Bea said it like everything was settled. I wasn't so sure.

"Now, if you want to do something, you should go talk to Carlton. I imagine that there's going to be a lot of red tape or whatever before you can even think about a funeral."

Oh, great, a funeral. I was going to have to plan my cousin's funeral. I looked over at Tucker who was trying not to chortle too audibly. He had another thing coming if he didn't believe I'd ask him to help with arrangements.

Bea stood up and glanced at her watch. “I'm sorry I can't be more help right, now,
m'hija,
but I've got to work the dinner rush. I can't expect my relatives to do it by themselves. She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Damn it, Keira, I wish there was something I could do for you. Stuff like this is always too weird. I never know what to say."

I got out of the chair and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Bea. It's enough that you're here."

"You know I'll help any way I can,” said Bea. “Just let me know if you need me. I'll be here until at least eight tonight, but then I can come over and stay with you.” She shot a sideways glance at my brother. “Although, I think Tucker here has a handle on things.” She smiled a brilliant smile and batted her lashes a little.

Tucker looked as if he'd been punched in the belly. His eyes narrowed a moment, then a thoughtful look crossed his face.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door.

"Thanks, girl. You know how much I appreciate it."

It was time to face Carlton.

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I took a deep breath and walked over to the booth where Carlton was muttering over a stack of papers. This could be awkward.

"Hey, Carlton,” I began, not exactly sure of what I wanted to or should say.

"Hey, Keira,” he replied, setting down the paper he was reading. He looked up at me, the expression on his face solemn, then puzzled as he saw Tucker.

"You remember my brother, Tucker?"

Carlton nodded. “Hey."

Tucker looked at me, then at Carlton, then disengaged my arm from his. “I'll just grab a cup of coffee, then go over to the deli,” he said. “I need to pick up a few things. Take as long as you need."

I frowned at him, wondering what he was up to. “Okay,” I said. “Meet me out by the car in about fifteen?"

"Sure thing. Carlton, good to see you.” Tucker smiled a little and left the caf?.

Shifting a few papers and making room, Carlton invited me to sit.

I slid in across from him, clasping my hands together on the table, mostly to keep from fidgeting.

"That was sure quick,” he said.

"What?"

"Your brother. He got here quick."

I smiled a little. “He was already here,” I said.

"Oh."

Carlton toyed with his mug for a few moments.

"How you holding up?"

Suddenly, I wished I had a glass of tea or bowl of popcorn or something to keep my hands busy. I felt awkward and out of place. It was one thing to talk to Bea and Tucker, but another entirely to talk to Carlton. I didn't have to hide what I was from my friend and my brother. The sheriff was another story. He'd expect me to be the bereaved cousin. To feel human emotions I wasn't familiar with.

I'd helped so many cross the veil over the last dozen years. Performed the deed for clan members who'd had enough of eternal living and wanted to move on, watched as death sentences were carried out by my clan chief. Those deaths didn't bother me. They were part and parcel of my world. I really did know Death well. But he wasn't supposed to visit my human cousin, not yet. Marty should have died of old age or illness. He was an undertaker, for pity's sake. Not a mob boss or a drug dealer. His life was about as risk-free as a human life got—yet he'd been murdered and right under my nose. My mind was numb, empty, guilt still at the top of the confusing emotions. Marty had been in my charge and I'd failed.

"I just don't know, Carlton,” I said. “This whole thing has been so bizarre. I keep feeling like someone's taken over my life and dropped me into a bad movie."

I started playing with a napkin from a stack on the table, folding and refolding it. “You know Marty and I weren't close. Hell, we were about as far apart as two relatives could be while still living in the same town. But, maybe if I'd stuck around until he got back, or—"

Carlton's hand landed on my forearm sending a quick buzz along my skin. “Stop that thinking right now, Keira,” he said in a stern voice. “What if you had been there and whoever attacked your cousin had attacked you too?"

They'd have been dead, instead, I thought, viciously. I'm not only an Escort to the other side, but I was trained to fight, most of us were. I'd danced with Death daily until two years ago. But I'd left the mortuary and left my cousin to his doom, running away from something as intangible as a vision, not wanting to face it.

Carlton pulled his hand back and absently wiped the condensation from the side of his tea glass. “You could have been hurt or killed, too.” He stared at his glass and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I don't want to be the adult here, Carlton,” I said. “I just want to go back to my house and pretend none of this happened.” I wadded up the pieces of paper napkin that I'd torn into shreds. “I want to go back to yesterday morning."

"Keira, I don't rightly know what to tell you. I can't make time run backward. All I can do is to try to figure out this mess and find out who did this to Marty."

He looked up; his dark eyes showed both sadness and concern. As I met his gaze, something else flared briefly behind the worry. Damn it, even with everything that had happened, his desire was still there, a small flame behind the darkness. I dropped my eyes and stared at my hands. How much more convoluted could this all get?

"Keira, I talked to my friend a little bit ago. The forensics tech...” He hesitated, as if to make sure I was listening. I'd picked up another paper napkin and was folding it into a fan shape. When I realized what he was trying to tell me, I set it down and placed my hands flat on the table. I didn't look up though.

He paused and took a sip of tea. “She's pretty sure Marty was already dead when..."

I let out a breath of relief. I'd imagined the worst—that my cousin had been alive and aware when his murderer stuck the tube into his jugular to drain him of blood.

"Does she have any idea how he died?"

"Nothing obvious,” he said. “No trauma to his body, other than the—We'll know more after the autopsy. Do you still want to see him?"

I nodded. “I really think I have to. Tucker's going with me. Where'd they take him? San Antonio or Blanco County?"

His face turned red and he looked down at his hands. After a moment, I caught the clue bus.

"Shit, Carlton, he's still here?"

"I'm sorry, Keira, but it's the only thing I could do for now. Both morgues are backed up. A bunch of staff are out sick. No one can come get him until sometime tomorrow morning. I'm trying to speed things up since it's a homicide, but no one's returned my call yet. We had to put him somewhere. It was convenient."

"Thanks, I get the picture.” I changed the subject. “I imagine you have to come with us?"

"Yeah,” he said. “I need to go through the place again, see if anything's missing. Take a look at his files, check financial records, you know. We did the obvious stuff, but I want to look for the not-so-obvious.” He looked at me, trying to tell me something with his eyes. I wasn't up to reading eye language.

"What, Carlton?"

"I hate to ask you this, but would you be willing to help me dig through the files? Maybe you'll be able to tell if something's missing or different?"

Damn it. Even dead my cousin was dragging me into things I wanted no part of. I'd been planning to take a quick look at Marty's body and then get out of there. But this could take a while.

"Maybe,” I said. “But honestly, I really didn't spend a lot of time there. I don't know how much help I'll be. Tucker would be more than useless."

"I'd appreciate it,” he said, keeping his voice soft. His eyes stayed fixed on mine. I saw a mix of emotions whirling behind them. I stared back, letting the doubt I felt reflect in my own eyes.

He looked away first. “Look, Keira, I promise,” he said softly, “this will be strictly business, routine."

I nodded. It would have to be. I wasn't about to let him get away with anything. Besides, my brother would be there.

The building looked much the same as always. Quiet, secluded. A beautiful structure, two stories of red brick and soft gray-green shutters making it look more like a large comfortable home instead of a house for the dead. Marty's grandfather built it when the family had first settled in the area almost one hundred years ago.

Carlton parked his truck in the front. We pulled in directly behind him. He'd wanted us all to ride together, but I'd wanted an escape route, just in case things got ... difficult.

One end of the yellow police tape across the door had come loose and the strip hung diagonally in front of the round stained-glass window, reminding me of an international “no” sign. All I could think of was “no death.” Yeah, right.

"Do you have keys?” I asked, a little belatedly, already turning to go back to my car for the set I kept in the glove box.

Carlton nodded. “I got them from the janitor. You wouldn't happen to know which key it is, do you?"

I shook my head. “No. I have a set, but I've never had to use them. I didn't exactly come by here very often."

Carlton was having trouble finding the right key. Evidently, none of them were marked.

"I locked the door when we left this morning,” he said. “After ... there, I got it."

The lock clicked open and the three of us walked into the hush of the lobby. It seemed quieter than normal, if that was even possible. No sounds broke the silence, not even the hiss of the ventilation system. It was truly a house of the dead now.

Damn it. I really did not want to be here, even with my brother. Marty's body was inside, cold and still, decaying with every passing minute. If I were smart, I should just leave it all the hell alone. Let the medical examiner's office come in the morning and pick him up, cut him open and make the official determination. We'd find out in a day or two. Carlton didn't really need us, he could just as easily sort through files all on his own.

But some piece of the darkness deep inside me made me come here; some morbid curiosity or just plain need to regain control over my discombobulated life. I needed to know.

"Is the prep room locked?” I asked, my voice over loud in the silence.

"Not exactly,” he said. “I didn't know the combination to the door, so I left it propped open in case I needed to get back in there."

Oh, great. My perverse brain suddenly pictured the room wide open, police tape strung across the entrance like the velvet rope in a museum diorama. In this corner, the bloody table ... at the far left, ladies and gentlemen, if you look closely, you can even see the body of the deceased. Step up now, don't want to miss the show.

Get a grip, Keira Kelly, I thought. Dead bodies weren't exactly unusual around here. Even if this one had been the proprietor.

A piece of duct tape was stuck across the locking mechanism of the prep room door; a small metal trash can kept it from closing. I started to step through and abruptly stopped. Carlton had followed behind me, he was so close now, I could feel his breath on the back of my hair. Tucker was behind the sheriff.

"I need to do this alone."

"I don't think you should go by yourself, Keira. I can—"

"Tucker can come with me, Carlton."

He stepped back. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.

"Are you sure?"

"I am.” I'd never been more sure of anything.

"I'll be in the office."

I let him leave, then took a deep breath, trying to will myself to move across the floor. The air smelled dry, a touch of formaldehyde lingered, mixed with a slight scent of something I didn't recognize ... not blood. My body hesitated, not wanting to make the move toward the stainless steel door at the far side, just opposite the no-longer-gleaming embalming table. There was the source of the odor. Smudges of black fingerprint powder smeared across the once shiny surface, dulling it. Everything was grimy with it, the work counter, the sinks and most of the equipment at that end of the room.

I stared at the table, wondering if Marty had felt anything when whoever began draining the life from him ... and the blood. Carlton hadn't lied. There wasn't a trace of blood anywhere. Just the dirty black powder. But I was letting myself get distracted.

"I don't smell anything.” My brother's voice was over-loud in the silent room.

"Anything like what?"

"Like what could have killed him,” he said. “The place is so ... sterile."

"Yeah, I know,” I agreed. “All those chemicals."

I looked across the room. “Shall we?"

"After you, dear sister.” He smiled and sketched a polite bow. Gee thanks, I thought. Let me go first.

After what seemed an eternity, we reached the heavy metal door that was the only barrier between me and the true Dead Zone—the refrigeration unit. Instead of wall cubbies with drawers that slid out bodies like loaves of bread on a proofing rack, this was a walk-in model. Four corpses, no waiting. The unit sat tucked into the far left corner of the prep room, its shining door hiding the fact that behind it lay the ultimate indignity of humans. The end of their sadly short lives, laid out like the daily butcher's special cut, $9.99 a pound, today only.