Dark Path

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Is a nganga a cauldron filled with dirt, sticks, and stuff?”

  “Nailed it.”

  “He had two—a big one and a little one. And a tower of boxes filled with more sticks, coins, swords, shells, beads, and bones, among other things.”

  “These items are in boxes?”

  “Yes, filled with more dirt.”

  Rafael groaned. “That’s a big problem. A palero’s cauldron is sacred. It’s the source of his power. Now I’m not an expert, but I believe the cauldron is also where the spirits of the Dead are thought to reside. A human skull is placed in the cauldron for the spirits, to give them intelligence.”

  “This cranium was definitely in a box. A white box from the paper supply store,” Bodhi informed him.

  “So, here’s the thing. The nganga typically is used for destructive purposes. To work curses or in a criminal enterprise—never anything positive. The belief is that once the palero dies, his spirit is bound with the cauldron, increasing its power. There are very specific, secret rituals for the disassembly of a cauldron. I think it has to be taken apart in a certain way and buried—I’m not sure. But I do know it’s not supposed to be dumped into a bunch of boxes from the local office store and stuck in a closet.”

  Felicia pushed her empty flan dish forward. “Time’s up. But Bodhi, you forgot to ask him about the mercury.”

  He’d been so rapt, he’d managed to forget the bottles of poison rattling around in one of Mr. Gonzales’s boxes. “Right. Would a palero use elemental mercury in his work?”

  Rafael nodded. “He would. I don’t know the details, but the most common rituals in which mercury would be used are those to bring luck, love, or money or to ward off evil. I think the Palo mayombe practitioners may also use it to divine the future. It always seemed awfully risky to me.”

  Another thought occurred to Bodhi. “How did the social club learn that Mr. Gonzales was a palero?”

  Rafael sighed philosophically. “Ah, there are signs that they’d notice. The beads. The clothing. Ritual scratches on his body. And he, of course, knew what those statues of the saints in their rooms really were. Tensions simmered under the surface for a while. But I believe he made a play for Esmerelda, and Carlos reacted. That’s when things got really heated. He threatened to rat them out to Ms. Clarkson. Mr. Ruiz, the first of my parishioners to die, apparently confronted him in the locker room after a swim, and Mr. Gonzales cursed him.”

  Again with the curses. Bodhi opened his mouth to ask his next question, but at that moment, the sound of three ringtones interrupted the jazz music. He looked down at his ringing and vibrating pocket and noticed out of his peripheral vision that Rafael and Felicia were doing the same.

  As the words Cleo Clarkson was saying registered in his brain, he could tell from the way Felicia drew back in shock and Rafael lowered his head in sorrow that their callers were delivering the same news:

  Lynette Johnson had just been found dead—laying in her bed with a look of horror frozen on her face.

  Chapter Thirty

  The drive north was quick. And, for several long miles, quiet.

  Bodhi had insisted on giving the front passenger seat to Father Rafael. But neither of Felicia’s passengers was in a talkative mood.

  The camaraderie the three of them had enjoyed at Tita’s had shattered with the ringing cell phones, and the stress level in the car made Felicia feel as if she were choking.

  She glanced at her cousin, who appeared to be praying in the seat beside her. His white collar was back in place and he sat with his head bowed and his eyes closed. His lips were moving, but he made no sound.

  Her eyes drifted up to the rearview mirror and she checked on Bodhi. He appeared to be meditating. His head was unbent and his eyes were closed. His hands rested on his thighs and his forefingers and thumbs met in two ovals. His lips were not moving, but she could have sworn she heard a vibrating sound coming from his throat.

  Unable to pray or meditate, she found solace by zipping up the mostly deserted stretches of highway, imagining the car was a bird.

  Bodhi broke the silence. “Cleo said Lynette came back from her outing with her niece around seven o’clock and begged off dinner and board games. She said she was beat.”

  “Dr. Ashland wanted me to tell you that the body … she … was still warm when Ed called him to her side.” The piece of information had fallen out of her head almost as soon as Joel had shared it. Felicia scolded herself—this was no time to lose focus.

  “Eduardo Martinez found her?’

  “Yes,” Felicia answered miserably. “The only saving grace will be if those two sycophantic aides are also working.”

  Bodhi said nothing, but she thought she heard a hitch in his breath.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “They’re not working tonight. Cleo gave Charlene and Philomena both the night off because of their, uh, experience today.”

  Their experience. What he meant by that, she knew full well, was the unpleasant witness interviews where she’d blown up at Pastor Scott.

  Great. Another thing she could berate herself over. Her quick temper was going to result in even more suspicion being cast on Ed.

  She swore under her breath.

  Father Rafael opened his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She regretted the terseness of her tone instantly, but neither Father Rafael nor Bodhi pressed her on her obvious lie.

  “How did Mr. Santiago sound when he called you?” Bodhi asked the priest.

  Father Rafael considered his answer for a moment. “He sounded mournful, but not at all surprised. Julia’s not handling it well, though. Hector said he was going to call her grandson and ask him to come out to be with her. She’s terribly anxious about yet another death, and, of course, Lynette was one of her closest friends.”

  “Another death from within the circle of Santería practitioners has me feeling pretty anxious, myself,” Bodhi admitted.

  “Amen.”

  Felicia blinked. “You two don’t seriously think the ghost of Mr. Gonzales or his evil spirit or a bunch of bones sitting in a boxful of dirt killed them. Or do you?”

  She got no response. Then after a moment, Bodhi said, “I liked her.”

  “She was a likable woman, wasn’t she? And such stories.” Father Rafael laughed softly at some memory.

  Felicia pulled into the parking lot at the dock. She could see the yacht tied up and bobbing in its slip. The lights were on and the engine was already running. The captain must have been told to be ready for them.

  Not until she’d run across the lot and onto the boat did she realize that Pastor Scott and his blonde assistant were aboard. She hesitated, but the pastor acted as though she weren’t even there.

  She took a life jacket from the pile in the assistant’s arms and slipped into it wordlessly.

  Bodhi and Father Rafael followed a moment later and claimed jackets of their own. They sat, one on each side of her, and nodded to Pastor Bryce in silent greeting.

  The five of them looked at one another and waited for the boat to leave the slip.

  After a moment or two of inactivity, Pastor Scott called to the steward, “What’s the hold up?”

  “Sorry, sir. Ms. Clarkson told us there’d be six passengers. We’re waiting for an Arthur Lopez.”

  Felicia watched as the pastor’s head snapped back. “You’re taking your orders from Ms. Clarkson now?”

  The man ducked his head and said apologetically, “She runs Golden Shores, sir. As far as I know, they own this vessel.”

  Felicia passed the time as they awaited their sixth man watching the pastor’s face turn varying shades of purple. It occurred to her that hidden inside every tragedy was the seed of a comedy.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Golden Shores was in an uproar. Actually, Bodhi thought, uproar might be too mild a descriptor. It had descended into sheer chaos—helped in no small part, he was sure, by the arrival of the yacht and its six passe
ngers. The building buzzed with activity.

  Dr. Ashland pulled Bodhi aside. “Let me fill you in quickly, okay? Then I need to find Felicia.”

  Detective Williams appeared behind him. “You found me. What’s going on, Joel?”

  Dr. Ashland tugged on his earlobe. “It’s a helluva thing. I catalogued everything in Ms. Morales’s closet. So I figured I’d put on a mask and get started on Mr. Gonzales’s mess. I made pretty good progress, too. I even called out the hazmat crew and had that mercury taken out of here safely. I was just getting busy with those bones when Cleo came racing in.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Around nine. When the nurses rounded at eight o’clock for the shift change, Mrs. Johnson was sleeping. Chef Tonga had the kitchen crew send her dinner up when they were cleaning up for the evening. Which, by the way, there goes your copper poisoning theory. She wasn’t eating his cooking.”

  “I know, believe me. I already thought of that. I guess the chef can go back to cooking in his shiny copper pots and pans.”

  “Anyway, Nurse Martinez took her dinner into her when he passed out sleeping meds at nine o’clock. That’s when he found her.”

  Felicia shook her head. “What are the odds?”

  Dr. Ashland and Bodhi exchanged a look. The medical examiner’s expression seemed to say you talk to her.

  “Detective Williams, I know you don’t think Eduardo Martinez has anything to do with these deaths, but at this point, you’ve got to interview him.” Bodhi said it as gently as he could then braced himself for the explosion.

  But it never came.

  “I know,” she sighed. “I’ll talk to him while you two take care of Mrs. Johnson’s body. Father Rafael’s in there now, though. Can you give him a little bit of time?”

  “Sure.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.” She managed a wan smile before she turned and trudged down the hall.

  Dr. Ashland and Bodhi watched her walk away. Then Dr. Ashland said, “Are you comfortable if I leave you here and get back to the office? I want to get Mr. Gonzales’s things put away before Lynette’s body comes in.”

  Bodhi hesitated. “Of course. But you should know … apparently all that stuff has religious significance.” He didn’t know how to explain about the nganga. But it made him uneasy to send Dr. Ashland off to mess around with a palero’s altar and religious items.

  Dr. Ashland screwed up his face. “Really? I thought folks confirmed it’s not Santería.”

  “It’s not. It’s some dark magico-religious system.”

  The medical examiner sighed. “Well, that ship has sailed. His altar or whatever it was has already been disturbed. I just want to examine those long bones and skulls. There’s some trace blood, too. I’ll photograph everything before I move anything.”

  “I guess that’s all you can do.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, both thinking the same thought. It was nights like these that made forensic pathology worthwhile. Sure, neither of them would get much—if any—sleep. But this was what they were meant to do: dig into the messy business of death and make sense of it.

  Cleo’s eyes were dry but rimmed with red.

  “Did you speak to Lynette when she got back?” Bodhi asked gently.

  She nodded. “I ran into her in the hallway. She was in a great mood. She had one of those fancy cloth wine totes from a wine shop in Miami. She invited me to join her for a nightcap after I finished up for the evening.” Her voice broke.

  “How are Hector and Julia holding up?”

  “Not great. Mrs. Martin’s grandson Arthur is here for her. But poor Mr. Santiago has no one.”

  Bodhi held her gaze.

  She looked away and mumbled, “I can’t. Not now.”

  “I’m sure Father Rafael is comforting him.”

  She nodded. “Will Nurse Martinez be arrested?”

  “I honestly don’t know. That’s not my area of expertise, but I imagine he’ll at least be taken down to the station to be interviewed formally.”

  Her chin jutted out. “Okay, good.”

  “I don’t think he had anything to do with the deaths, Cleo.”

  “Maybe not. But people feel unsafe. We have to do something. And Pastor Scott wants to fire him right now. I’m going to at least put him on unpaid leave until this gets sorted out.”

  Father Rafael appeared in the doorway with his mouth turned down into a frown. “I hate to interrupt, but we have an issue. Two, really. Lynette’s niece is here and she says something’s missing from her room—two bottles of wine, to be exact. And Julia Martin is reporting that a novena candle has gone missing from her room.”

  A shadow of irritation glanced across Cleo’s face. It moved so quickly, Bodhi almost thought he’d imagined it.

  “Father, this really isn’t the time. I’m sorry to hear that, but at the moment we’re dealing with yet another death and—”

  “And your guests feel unsafe and vulnerable. It would help if they could at least have some security in their personal space.”

  She closed her eyes and her long lashes brushed her cheeks. “Of course, Father Rafael. You’re right. Forgive me.”

  She stood and addressed Bodhi. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to talk to Nurse Mumma about these petty thefts.”

  She walked out of the room as if she were weighted down with a boulder. Father Rafael smiled encouragingly when she passed by.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, he turned to Bodhi and said, “The wine and the candle were both for personal protection rituals. Julia is beside herself. And I can’t say I blame her.”

  “Golden Shores is going to suspend Eduardo Martinez pending an investigation. Maybe you should let Detective Williams know about the missing items?”

  “I will. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to sit with Lynette’s body if it’s okay with her niece.”

  He’d been putting off seeing her since they’d arrived at Golden Shores. But he knew avoidance wasn’t healthy. He had to face her corpse.

  He pushed himself to his feet feeling very tired.

  “Oh, Rafael?”

  “Yes?”

  “The disassembled altar is currently sitting in the medical examiner’s office—the cauldron, the boxes of dirt, and the rest. What should we do with it when we’re done?”

  The priest’s eyes were round and concerned. “I honestly don’t know. But I’ll pray on it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Felicia had to restrain herself from hugging her person of interest. Ed looked so dejected and beaten down, she wanted to cry.

  “Leesh, I don’t know what’s happening to these people. I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles.” His tone and his eyes implored her to believe him.

  The problem was that she did believe him. But that wasn’t enough. It would be reckless not to take a hard look at him. Six people had died during his shifts.

  There was a soft knock at the door. She gave Ed a look that said don’t even think about moving, then rose to answer the door. She opened it a crack and glared through the opening.

  “What?”

  Bodhi looked back at her impassively.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She yanked the door open and waved him in.

  “Are you taking Nurse Martinez to the police station?”

  “I have to. For his sake and mine, I’m going to need to have the interview videotaped.”

  “Can I ask him a few questions about Mr. Gonzales before you go? You can stay and listen.”

  “Sure. Knock yourself out. I’m actually going to make a few calls and arrange for a ride for you and Father Rafael.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out,” Bodhi assured her.

  “Nah, that’s one of the few perks of being a parish priest, people trip all over themselves to do you favors. I can scare up someone who wants to get in good with the Big Guy.”

  Before she left, she turned and crouched beside Ed’
s chair. “You’re one of my oldest friends, but we’re going to have to do this completely by the book. Dr. King is probably your best shot at getting clear of this, so tell him what he wants to know. Got it?”

  “I got it.”

  As she stood, a thought struck her. “One question, though: why did you request those extra shifts? I thought Marisole was giving you a hard time about working nights.”

  “She is. But that’s because she’s so tired. She’s pregnant again and chasing after Little Eddie wears her out. But, also, she’s pregnant again and a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment isn’t going to cut it for long. I wanted to crush my hours for the next six months and get together a deposit on a townhouse.”

  Her heart sank. “Congratulations to you and Mari.”

  He couldn’t even muster up a smile. “Thanks. It’s a terrible time to be suspended without pay.”

  She nodded and hurried from the room before she either burst into tears or punched her fist through a wall.

  “I just have a few questions,” Bodhi promised as he sat down across from the miserable-looking nurse.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve been trying to tie together the five—now six—deaths. To figure out how they all fit into the same pattern. But I’m starting to think they don’t.”

  Eduardo Martinez pulled a face that suggested he didn’t think much of the vaunted death cluster expert. “Why would you say that?”

  “Well, socially, Mr. Gonzales wasn’t close with any of the others, all of whom were close with one another. So, right there, he doesn’t fit the pattern.”

  “That’s because José Gonzales wasn’t tight with any of the other residents. If you want to know the truth, he was a pretty nasty guy all round.”

  Bodhi nodded. “And he wasn’t a practicing Catholic, correct?”

  “As far as I know, he never went to any church services. He didn’t participate in any other activities either, though. He spent most of his time alone in his room with the door closed.”