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Ron chuckled. “Eugenia saw to it that the asshole who had her sister committed was buried in a numbered coffin out at the old asylum. Pretty much the working definition of an unmarked grave.”
“And Eugenia?” Pallas asked.
Ron pointed to an elegant monument in the center of the cemetery. “That’s her resting place. She wasn’t a Carnelian, but even if she had been, she wouldn’t have wanted to be buried in the family crypt.”
—
A half hourlater Ambrose got behind the wheel of the car and slipped on his sunglasses. He sat quietly for a moment, watching Ron Quinn disappear into the gardening shed.
“I think Quinn might have a psychic vibe,” he said. “Something about his aura.”
Pallas fastened her seat belt. “You can tell that from his energy field?”
“Maybe.” He started the engine, put the vehicle in gear, and droveout of the small parking lot. “I told you, I’m still working out how to read auras. It’s not like there’s a YouTube video with step-by-step instructions I can watch.”
“It’s the same with me,” Pallas said. “I’m still trying to understand how to interpret my automatic drawing.”
Ambrose turned onto the road that would take them back into town. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Considering what we’ve been through together in the past few days, you’re entitled. What do you want to know?”
“I’ve been wondering why it didn’t bother you to walk through the cemetery. You just strolled along as if you were in a park. All that death underfoot and it didn’t bother you at all, as far as I could tell.”
“The energy in a graveyard isn’t worse than it is anywhere else. In my experience, it’s usually more balanced, in fact. The mourners leave the usual baggage behind, but for the most part it isn’t hard to tune out.”
“I was thinking about the psychic vibe from the graves. A lot of the people buried under those stones probably died unpleasant deaths. There must have been the usual assortment of car crashes, accidents, and acts of violence. Some would have endured the pain and suffering of a long illness. And then there’s the despair of suicides. Sadly, most of us don’t get to die quietly in our sleep.”
“Ah, I see what you mean,” Pallas said. “The thing is, those people didn’t die in the cemetery.”
“Well, no, not right in the cemetery, but—”
“Everyone buried in the Carnelian Memorial Gardens died somewhere else,” Pallas said. “That other location is where the violence and pain disturbed the energy flow. By the time a body arrives in a cemetery the recycling process is well underway. Nature isprocessing the remains and making sure things are restored to a state of harmony.”
“That’s an interesting view of the cycle of life.”
“Ron Quinn is right,” Pallas said. “Cemeteries are for the living. The dead don’t need them.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Detective Logan ison a roll, career-wise,” Ambrose said. He clicked off the phone and dropped it into the pocket of his jacket. “According to the latest tweets from the Carnelian police, he is going to get the credit for exposing the drug ring that Fenner and Geddings were operating out of the Carnelian Sleep Institute.”
Pallas forked up the last bite of the cauliflower steak she had ordered. They were eating dinner at the vegetarian restaurant she favored, because when the decision of where to dine had come up Ambrose had been too busy talking to Calvin the Magnificent and checking police tweets on the phone to participate. He had not looked up from the device until the entrée she had ordered for him had been set in front of him.
“What is Logan’s theory of the crime?” Pallas asked.
“What you’d expect at this point,” Ambrose said. “Dr.Conrad Fenner was a disgraced sleep expert who was addicted to some of the drugs he ordered for the clinic. To pay for the habit he decided to sell some of the stuff to the college students. Emery Geddings was alreadyin that market. When he found out that Fenner was trying to horn in on his business he offered a joint venture.”
“Logan thinks Fenner and Geddings were in business together?” Pallas asked.
“It makes sense as far as it goes,” Ambrose said. “Logan suspects there was a falling-out between the two and Fenner probably murdered Geddings, but without a body and some evidence there’s no way to prove it. If Fenner was the killer, it’s a moot point now because he’s dead. As far as Logan is concerned, it’s all nice and tidy.”
“What about Margaret Moore and the college dean, Hugh Guthrie?’
Ambrose picked up his fork and finished the last of the mushroom bourguignon she had selected for him. “No mention of them in the police tweets.”
“Hmm.” Pallas put down her fork and thought for a moment. “What do you think they’ll do?”
“Moore and Guthrie?” Ambrose shrugged. “They’ll skate. Even if they are embezzling I doubt if anyone will be able to prove it, and of course they will deny all knowledge of the drug dealing.”
