The two men rose and Jack slipped past me. Part of me was insanely curious about what Alex would ask, but I could guess. Another part of me was glad I was alone, because that meant I could sit quietly and observe people. It was something I’d perfected in my years at the zoo, those solitary moments while feeding the reptiles.
I watched Barbie gesture wildly to two men in suits and rectangular gold lapel pins. Probably they were funeral home employees. I also spotted a few people who knew Dad and had gone to his funeral, like Rodney from the chamber of commerce, the postmaster, and the woman who worked the night shift at the convenience store near the interstate, who insisted that aliens landed in Wahoo on the regular.
I was about to wave Rodney over when I spotted a familiar face: Diego Viernes. Goodness. That took some guts, coming here. An animal activist in a room full of hunters. He was in all black—shirt, pants, sneakers—and blended in with the funeral staff. For a second, I thought he might actually be employed by the funeral home.
He leaned against the far left wall and slowly shifted to stare at everyone. He’d started with his left shoulder against the wall, then he moved so his back was flat to the wall, then turned to his right shoulder. Our eyes locked and he quickly looked down.
I jumped up and went to him. He’d turned his back to me and was starting to walk away, but I blocked his path.
“Hey,” I said. “Fancy seeing you here.”
He mumbled a hello. “Could you please move out of the way?”
“Wait. Why are you here? Why are you acting so weird?” I hissed.
He shushed me loudly and pulled me into the back corner of the room. We were at least three feet from the nearest group of people, men who smelled like sweat. Gene sure knew some real prizes.
Diego stood in the corner, facing the crowd. He waved me to one side.
“I’m filming,” he whispered. “My camera’s in my messenger bag.”
“What? Isn’t that illegal?” I scanned the room for Alex Holt. He and Jack weren’t back, and I noticed a few people sitting near where we’d just been.
“I’m collecting intel.”
“Quite the amateur investigator, hunh?”
He scowled. “Look who’s talking.”
I inhaled. He had a point. “Have you found anything out? Anything good? About Gene’s murder, I mean. Not about animals.”
“No. I’m just filming to get a video record of who’s here. I think there are a lot of poachers and exotic animal traffickers. Have you gotten any leads?”
While the idea of animal traffickers sounded a bit far-fetched, it was entirely plausible with this crowd. “None lately. Hoping to get something today, but...” My voice faded as I saw a bald head enter the room.
Bruce Doyle.
I looked at the door Jack and Alex had gone through. Then I glanced to the seats, which were filling up. Then back at Doyle, who was taking a chair near the front. An idea came to me. I turned to Diego, my back to Doyle. “Does your camera record sound?”
He nodded.
“Want to team up?”
“Hunh?”
“There’s a guy here who’s suspicious. See the bald man? He’s in the second row?”
“Black suit?”
“Yeah, him. He’s a developer. I think he’s up to something. You should sit near him during the service.”
Diego squinted one eye. “I was hoping to stand back here and get a panorama of everyone.”
“This guy hates the environment.” It was a slight fib, but probably not far from the truth if Doyle wanted to build homes on Gator Heaven. “Trust me.”
Diego nodded, the muscles of his jaw bunching.
“I want to see and hear the video. I’ll come by later with my partner.” Well, that sounded ridiculous. “I mean, my friend. Jack.”
