by MJ O'Neill
With everyone else at the morgue, things had not gone so smoothly. No matter what I said, it always seemed to be the wrong thing. “Some days, I feel like I’m in a foreign country. We don’t seem to have anything in common. I wear bright, inviting colors, but no one will talk to me.”
“Look, sweetie, no one can blame you for being slow to adjust to your new circumstances, and not everyone can be as open to newcomers as I am.”
“Maybe. But if we’re going to smoke out the weasel in our midst, I’m going to have to change that. We need a plan.” I crossed my legs underneath me and took out my notebook to review everything again.
“Well, whoever wiped the video had to have computer expertise to do that, and with that level of skill, they could have hacked in and looked at the morgue’s schedule. That’s how they’d know you were the one working,” he said, pulling some dead leaves off one of his plants.
“Okay, so our first priority will be to figure out if any of the other morgue attendants have good computer skills. If they won’t talk to me, maybe one of them will talk to you?” I looked up at him, hopeful, knowing it was a stretch of a favor.
“I don’t exactly mix with the morgue crowd. If we really want information, there’s only one good source...”
“Don’t say it.” I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath.
“Marshall,” he said in a firm tone.
“I asked you not to say it,” I said, exhaling the breath I was holding. “I’m not sure I can stomach Marshall this early.”
“We need info, and Marshall’s a man in the business.”
I needed the information. And not just for me. “It’s all so awful. This girl, the Jane Doe they took, was beautiful and young, younger than me. And someone beat her to death. Now someone’s taken her. She deserves for people to know how and why she died. And she deserves respectful closure.”
“I’ve got to be going, Daryl.” Momma Claiborne strolled to DC. Despite her size, she gave the impression she could float. “It’s my beauty day. Make sure Kat gets some of my leftover fried chicken. I swear that girl’s gonna wither on the vine. And if you go anywhere, make sure you lock up the house.” With a kiss to DC’s cheek and a wave to me, she was gone.
We grabbed the chicken as instructed, and with food in tow, we headed out to the greenhouses for lunch in the garden. As we rounded the bend, heading for the table and chairs by the first greenhouse, DC became noticeably tense.
“Oh, damn! There’s someone in there.”
“Where?”
“In the greenhouse, on the left. See? Watch, there’s light flashes moving around.”
I peered at the window of the greenhouse in the distance, trying to look casual in case we were being watched, and there it was, a gleam of bright light, as if the sun’s rays were hitting a diamond and reflecting back. “Maybe Momma let someone back here?”
“Not without telling us, and she’s headed for her beauty day.”
“Maybe it’s an animal,” I said, trying to keep DC from freaking out and running screaming from the house. “Let’s go check.”
We quickly clambered out the back door and into the garden between the main house and the greenhouse. Crouching down, we crept near the greenhouse to get a better look.
“You go first,” DC whispered.
“Why me?”
“Your family has more experience with criminal activity, and besides, I just did my nails,” he said, sticking out his pristinely manicured hand to show it off.
“My dad’s in prison for money laundering. That hardly qualifies me to take on an armed intruder,” I whispered as we moved past the door of the first greenhouse, toward the door of the second. The greenhouses were both long and narrow, with little narrow paths running between the rows of tables holding the plants and cuttings.
“Armed? You think they have guns?” DC asked in a high-pitched whisper.
“The Department of Justice estimates that a home invasion occurs every ten seconds or about eight thousand times a day,” I whispered back, reaching for a rake and a hoe leaning against the greenhouse. “But an article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that the intruder was armed in only about twenty percent of home invasions, so maybe not,” I continued, handing him the rake and mumbling as much to myself as DC, although he always seemed to appreciate my journal references. “But it’s good to be prepared.”
We slinked around the side. “Also of note, thirty percent of the time, the intruder was someone the victim knew.”
“I’m getting out of here, anyway,” he said and turned back to the house.
“Don’t you want to know who’s in there?” I asked, tugging his shirt and pulling him back.
He smacked at my hand. “All right, now. There’s no reason to get physical.”
“Then man up. I’ll go first, but you better have my back,” I said, and raising my hoe, I slowly opened the door.
We looked utterly ridiculous, and if the intruder was anything more than a raccoon, we were in trouble. Even then, I wasn’t sure we could handle it.
“Bloody hell, you idiot. What’d you go and do that for?” said a gruff, obviously agitated voice from the rear of the greenhouse.
“It looked sharp. I wanted to see if it would hurt,” a softer, more juvenile voice replied.
“You know, for a genius, you’re a real dumbass. I can’t take you anywhere without you getting into trouble,” the first voice said.
Whoever they were, they were too swept up in their own internal conflict to notice that we had come into the greenhouse.
“Let’s split up,” I whispered. “We’ll surround them.”
“Okay, let’s go that way,” DC said, almost clinging to me as we moved.
“That’s not really splitting up.”
“What if they attack me?”
“Use your rake and rake their eyeballs out.”
“Okay, good idea. It sounds like Izzy got one of them, anyway.”
Izzy was DC’s giant fishhook barrel cactus. He had several, and Izzy was the biggest. It stood almost as tall as me, with sharp protruding spines that would nip someone’s skin at the smallest brush.
I circled to the left, wielding my hoe like a fierce weapon, and DC headed to the right. As soon as I got to the back of the greenhouse, I recognized one of the men as none other than Flynn and stood up tall from my left flank position.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, standing up.
The men appeared startled, and the scrawny one screamed, pulling his gun and firing into the ceiling. One of the Plexiglas ceiling tiles instantly shattered, sending the plastic glass raining down on top of us and causing DC to let out a wail. I ducked for cover to avoid the falling glass and any further potential stray bullets.
“You idiot,” Flynn yelled, taking the gun from the scrawny kid before he could do more damage.
Once the glass stopped falling and it appeared Flynn had the renegade shooter under control, I came out of hiding. DC already stood in the middle of the greenhouse, chastising the kid.
“Neutron, I’m gonna sue your scrawny little ass for ravaging my abode.”
“Technically, this is your mother’s place,” the kid replied, clearly not realizing that he was winding DC up even more. The kid was short and wore glasses—which made his bug eyes look twice as buggy—jeans, and a T-shirt that paid homage to Slayer.
“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” DC asked, pushing his way toward the kid, Flynn in between them. “I’m an officer of a premier horticulture organization. I have money and power behind me. Don’t think you can just march in here and deface my sanctuary.”
“I hardly think the local pot growers’ association qualifies as a premier horticulture society,” the kid quipped.
“We’re a substantial force in the economy, and I’ll show you how much power we have, you property-wrecking dumbass!”
“Oh, shut it,” Flynn said. “And calm down. I’m sure Burns will pay for any damag
es.”
“What are you two doing here, anyway?” I asked, stepping in before DC could further escalate things.
“Burns sent us,” the scrawny kid said.
“McPhee has you following me now?” I asked.
“I’m Neutron,” he said, offering his hand. When I didn’t take it, he gave a slight bow.
“I thought you said he was a genius,” I said, looking at DC.
“Really?” Neutron looked up from dusting himself off and smiled at DC.
“A genius with no damn common sense. What made you think that firing a gun in a glass building was a brilliant idea?” DC asked.
“It was an accident. I’m injured,” he said, showing his bleeding finger, “and I was startled.”
“Because you stuck your damn hand on a giant prickly plant,” Flynn said, and the three of them started arguing again.
“All right!” I yelled over their commotion. “Only one of you gets to talk, or I swear to God, I’m going to beat each of you over the head with my hoe.”
“She can do it too,” DC said in my defense. “She’s a black belt, and her dad works for the mob.”
“DC! You, Neutron. Why did Burns send you to watch us?”
“You’re being followed.”
“Followed? By whom?”
“We don’t know, but we tracked them here. They have a car outside Momma’s house, so we circled through the back.”
Before I could ask any more questions, gunshots fired into the greenhouse from every direction. We all hit the floor.
Chapter 5
When the shots started spraying, the glass of the greenhouse shattered. We ducked the falling shards and made our way out the back of the greenhouse, through the grassy alley, racing to the SUV.
And we ran smack into the body-snatching man from the morgue. I stood inches from him, frozen. He stood in the middle of the road near the SUV, still, his machine gun casually tossed over his shoulder like dry cleaning. He smiled at me.
“Kat!” DC’s voice broke my freeze.
I ran to the truck. The door popped open in front of me, and I dove in as the engine revved. I sat upright and straightened my outfit while Neutron floored it. We drove right past the man, who was still standing in the road. His stare followed us as we passed him. He barely moved except to give me an evil grimace.
“Am I shot? Someone check me. I feel holes in my suit. I think a bullet grazed my midsection. Someone check me.” Once we had all made it into Flynn’s SUV, DC frantically patted his body, looking for wounds.
“You bloody idiot, you’re not shot!” retorted Flynn.
“Bloody? Where’s the blood?” DC asked.
“It’s an expression,” Flynn replied.
“I’ve seen my maker today, and it’s all y’all’s fault. I feel ill,” DC said and put his head between his knees.
“Do not hurl in my truck!” Flynn yelled.
“Stop yelling at him,” I said. “You’re only making him more hysterical.”
“We’re gonna need protection now. Someone’s gonna have to get me a new identity,” DC went on.
“Did you know that the Federal Witness Protection Program spends over forty million dollars annually providing new identities?” I was tired, my patience was wearing thin, and I wanted him to change the subject.
“Really, forty million?” The question was muffled. DC lifted his head. “I would have thought it was higher than that. We need to figure out how we’re going to get our slice of that forty million.” DC became calmer as he contemplated how we would do that.
“How did you know we were being followed, anyway?” I asked them.
“We were following you and figured out that we weren’t the only ones,” Neutron said, his bug eyes shifting from the road to the rearview mirror to the side mirrors and back, nonstop.
“Why were you following us?”
“To see if you knew where the stolen body was.”
“I’m on probation for that and almost burst a lung chasing that same maniac corpse kidnapper through the hospital as I was trying to help you. Do you honestly think I have anything to do with it?”
“Dunno. Rumor has it your family may have mob ties. There could be a connection,” Neutron said.
“That’s true,” DC chimed in. “You could be dangerous and just not know it.”
McPhee’s office was in Clayton, an inner-ring suburb of St. Louis, and the county seat. It was a bustling business and cultural district and home of the annual St. Louis Art Fair. We pulled down a narrow alley and key carded into a garage under a towering building. We got on the elevator, and Neutron key carded again, pushing two buttons.
The elevator whirled to life and stopped after a short hop, the doors opening to reveal a sleek steel door with McPhee Security etched into it. Key-carded doors flanked both sides of the elevator hallway. No other signs appeared. The lighting was low, and there were no people.
Flynn got out first. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure seeing you again, but we’d both know I was lying. Have fun.”
Neutron pushed another button then followed Flynn out the doors. The doors started to close.
“Burns, what kind of idiots do you have runnin’ this place?” DC asked. “Do you know what that bug-eyed moron did to my greenhouse? Do you have any idea how much damage has been caused? And I don’t even want to know if those lunatics with the guns shot up Momma’s house, because if they did that, I’m sendin’ Momma for you and that bug-eyed moron.”
“DC, my friend,” Burns said, moving to meet DC, an almost smile curving the corners of his mouth, his eyes brighter, warm with affection. He draped his arm around DC and squeezed lightly. “I hear you were very brave today.” This flattery stopped DC’s hysterics cold.
“Yes, I guess I was, wasn’t I, Kat?” he calmly asked, smiling at me.
“Yes, you were,” I agreed, happy to see DC’s smile.
“I hear you handled yourself quite well too. Is it Katherine or Kat?” Burns locked his eyes on me again. He moved close enough I could smell him. McPhee smelled exactly like I would have imagined if I had thought about it—yummy and musky.
“In 1989, Katherine was the twenty-sixth most popular girl’s name of the year. My parents were traditionalists.”
Burns didn’t even try to hide his amusement at my social tic, which caused me to instantly blush and turn away, looking about the room. “DC calls me Kat, but I like him,” I said, glancing at him. At that, McPhee looked... hurt, maybe?
“Burns is an interesting name. Family origin?” I asked, hoping a change of subject would help.
“Yes, sort of. My mother’s way of paying homage to our deep-rooted Scottish origins and her love of poetry.”
I searched my memory. “Oh, Robert Burns, then!” I turned toward him. “‘But little mouse, you are not alone in proving that foresight may be vain: The best laid plans of mice and men...’”
“Go often awry and leave us nothing but grief and pain for promised joy,” he completed, stepping closer, his eyes locked to mine.
“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure where the joy is, but my day has been nothing but pain and grief,” DC said as he examined one of the holes in his suit.
“Ah, but you are the fierce Braveheart,” he said with a chuckle, a thick brogue coloring the words.
“To be honest, I’m not sure we fared all that well,” I added. I was feeling overwhelmed. I hadn’t expected my day to include a shootout, and now I was in a strange office, talking to a man I originally thought was one person but who now seemed to be someone else. Steadying myself, I began looking at the pictures of Ingenisys’s projects around his office. “What is Ingenisys, anyway, Mr. McPhee?”
“Burns, please. We match business investors here with worthwhile projects in the Middle East.”
“Isn’t the Middle East dangerous?” I eyed a photo of Burns surrounded by village children playing soccer. He looked... happy. For whatever reason, since I’d met him, he looked more haunted than anything. I wo
ndered if that look had to do with my missing body and the death of Gillian Mathers.
“It can be, but that makes the projects more important. It will never get better there if the economy doesn’t change. That’s something I would think you would understand with your economics background.”
I raised an eyebrow. Not many people knew I had a minor in Econ, an appeasement to my father. Burns’s gaze became intense again, even as he casually leaned against the side of his desk.
“There’s some great new research on positive outcomes from pooled microlending that could help your cause,” I said.
He held up a Journal of Internet Banking and Commerce from his desk. “It’s a little thick to get through. I’d be interested in your perspective sometime.”
“You run the business?” I asked.
“This branch. It’s headquartered out of New York. An Army brother of mine is the founder.”
“And you run the security business we saw on the floor under this?”
“Yes, it helps pay the bills, and clients rich enough to afford security tend to make good prospects for investing.”
“Burns is a security genius,” DC said. “He’s a badass Special Ops guy who can take you out with a single finger. I’ve seen it before. You don’t want to get him mad. He’s gonna teach me.” DC made karate animations. “Especially now that I have to change my identity.”
DC was interrupted by Neutron’s reappearance. He had changed from his camos into Dockers and a button-down.
“Neutron, why don’t you take our hero here to see Bradley for a change of clothes?” Burns asked as Neutron approached with a scrunched-up face.
“I think my life’s been in jeopardy enough today. Bradley will shoot on sight.”
“Who’s Bradley, and what did you do to him?” I asked, turning to DC.
“Bradley’s our office manager, and DC set his desk on fire,” Neutron said.
“Now, come on, you know it wasn’t quite that simple. Okay, maybe it was. But I had a hankering for s’mores. That’s not a craving you can dismiss lightly, all that melted marshmallow and chocolaty goodness.” DC smiled. Chocolate was one of his favorite things. “The cigarette lighter got hot. I ended up with a blister. We’re lucky my whole finger didn’t burn off.” He held up his index finger for inspection.
