A Rose From the Dead (20 page)

I
stared at Eli in astonishment. “You know who murdered Sybil?”

“Yes,” he cried, and then, as though startled by his own voice, he held a finger to his lips to hush himself, hunching his shoulders and pulling his head down into his robe like a turtle into his shell. “I told the police I knew who did it,” he said in a whisper. “I told them I’d lead them straight to the murderer, but they just laughed at me. I even showed them proof.”

My blood was really pumping now. “You have
proof
?”

Eli glanced over his shoulder, then reached into a pocket and withdrew his hand. Slowly, he uncurled his fist. “The murderer left these behind.”

I stared down at the two bloodred rose petals on his open palm, and instantly the words of Angelique’s rhyme sprang into my head:
“Find the petals and a killer, too.”
My gaze went back to Eli’s face. He was only a few feet away, watching me intently, his pupils fully dilated, giving him an eerie, almost crazed expression. Was Eli trying to trick me? Was he the murderer?

My cell phone began to vibrate. I glanced at the screen and saw that it was Reilly. For the first time that day, I was glad he’d called.

At once Eli’s hand shot out to clasp mine, startling me. “Please don’t answer that.”

“It’s just, um, a friend calling, but that’s okay. I’ll call him back later.” I slipped the phone inside my pocket, wondering whether I dared try to make an emergency call from there. But Eli was watching me too closely. Without giving away my sudden trepidation, I decided to play along with him. “Can you describe the man you saw?”

“That’s the problem. I didn’t see his face because I was hiding under a table two booths away. I only saw his navy shoes and trousers.”

“It’s going to be difficult to find him, Eli. People were dressed up for the banquet last night. They won’t be wearing those clothes today.”

His haggard face sagged. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Where did you find the petals?”

“At the top of aisle two, by the funeral-clothing booth. The man dropped a bundle of clothing onto the carpet, and the petals fell out. He picked up the clothes but not the petals. I guess he didn’t see them.”

“Did you notice anything else about him? Was he alone? Did he say anything? Make any phone calls?”

“He was laughing. And then I heard music and he ran off.”

The laughing would fit with one of the Urbans playing a prank. “What kind of music?”

Eli shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’d recognize the tune if I heard it again.”

“You told the police all this?”

“Yes!” Eli flapped his arms in frustration. “They wouldn’t listen to me. They said I was making up the story to protect myself. Protect myself from what? I asked them. All I did was hand out brochures. Where’s the harm in that?”

“Then why did you hide from them?”

“Because they told me when they took me away the first time that I’d be arrested if they had to come back again.”

“Yet you still came back.”

He waved his arms in the air. “Don’t you see? This was my golden opportunity to spread the word. If I can get morticians to read my brochures, they’ll understand that what I’m promoting is the right thing to do. I know how these people think, you know. I was the chief embalmer for a big mortuary for years.”

That surprised me. It also made Eli more credible.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “It was a good job. But then my conscience started talking. ‘Eli,’ it said, ‘how can you condone the use of precious land to bury a bunch of boxes and cover them with big, ugly blocks of stone when that land could be turned into a nature preserve or a woodland? How can you work for people who sell extravagant coffins that most people can’t afford anyway? What difference does it make what you’re buried in? Who’s going to see it when you’re six feet under? Wouldn’t the money be better spent going to the family or to a charity?’ So I bought myself an industrial sewing machine and went into business.”

I was finding it more and more difficult to believe that Eli had anything to do with Sybil’s murder. As Grace had pointed out, his beef was with the funeral industry, not with Sybil. And if he had shut Sybil in the casket, why would he have stuck around? He could have fled the building before he was discovered.

“Eli, would you know the man’s laugh if you heard it again?”

He nodded vigorously.

“Then maybe I can help you.”

Eli’s hollow cheeks folded like an accordion as he smiled. “Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me. See, I have a plan all figured out. There’s an escalator at the back of the hotel that goes to the lower level. If I can get down there—”

“You won’t need to get into the hotel.” I pointed toward the parking lot where the races were being held. “Your man is right over there. All I need to do is get him to laugh for you.”

My phone vibrated again. I had to give Reilly snaps for persistence. I pulled out the slim silver case and held it up. “I have to take this call or my friend will think something is wrong.”

“Go ahead. Just please don’t tell him I’m here.”

“I won’t.” This time I meant it. I didn’t want to frighten off the man who might be able to solve the murder. I checked the screen and was surprised to see that it was Marco calling. “Hi, what’s up?”

“Where are you?” Marco asked.

“I’m about to step onto the parking lot behind the convention center. Where are you?”

“Heading toward the Midwest Funeral Directors’ Association booth to see if I can find Billingsworth. He seems to be MIA. Have you talked to Reilly yet?”

“No, and that man just won’t take the hint that I don’t intend to talk to him.”

“He’s not calling about the fourth-floor thing, Abby. He wanted to alert you that Eli Cotton is on the loose.”

I glanced at Eli, who was picking burrs from his robe. “Is that bad?”

“Cotton was being detained by the police for questioning in Sybil’s murder, but he managed to slip out about an hour ago. Reilly thought he might try to find you.”

So Eli wouldn’t know we were talking about him, I said only, “Why would he do that?”

“Because Mr. Wack Job kept saying he had to find the little freckle-faced redhead who tried to keep him from being arrested. He had the crazy idea that you would help him, or as he put it, save him from certain death. So be careful. Stay close to the crowds and keep your eye out for him. The man is a loose cannon. He could be dangerous.”

I glanced at Eli, who was smiling as he watched a butterfly flutter by. I turned away to say quietly, “Marco, he’s not a wack job and he’s certainly not dangerous. In fact, Eli knows who—”

I heard a sharp intake of breath and stopped abruptly, turning wide-eyed toward Eli. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It just slipped out.”

He hunched down into his robe again, a frantic look in his eyes. “Why did you say that? I don’t want to go back to jail. Now I have to leave.”

“Eli knows who what?” Marco asked.

“Hold on,” I said to Marco, then covered the phone with my hand and whispered, “Don’t leave, Eli. I won’t let them take you to jail.”

“Abby, who are you talking to?” Marco asked.

“I’m talking to”—at Eli’s pleading glance I finished—“myself. I’ve really got to get to the races now, before the Urbans leave. I’ll let you know what happens afterward.”

“Abby, hold up a minute. Is everything okay there?”

“Better than okay. Some evidence just came to light that is going to point to the killer.”

“What kind of evidence?”

Eli was frantically shaking his head.

“Marco, I’ll explain later.”

“Sunshine, you’re worrying me. I know someone else is there. Is it Eli? He found you, didn’t he? Okay, keep him talking and try not to upset him. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Marco, I can handle it. You go see the colonel—”

Too late. The line was dead.

Why wouldn’t Marco trust me? Annoyed, I snapped the phone shut.

“Your friend is on his way, isn’t he?” Eli asked, chewing on his lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Eli. Yes, he’s coming.”

Eli’s deep-set eyes widened fearfully as he looked around, as if expecting the cops to jump out from behind the trees to arrest him. Snatching my hand, he put the petals in them and curled my fingers around them. “Keep these for me.” Then he turned and ran into the woods.

“Wait, Eli. How will I find you?”

He was too far away to hear me. I uncurled my fingers and stared down at the velvety red petals.
Hmm.
I’d been hoping to find a way to get Ross to talk to me. Maybe these would help.

Slipping the rose petals into my pocket, I headed for the clearing, stepping from the shade into bright sunshine. Ahead was the black asphalt parking lot of the convention center, which started at the loading docks behind the building and ended at a long stretch of sand dune due north. The dune sloped gradually to a flat sandy beach and ended at the lake.

The parking spaces near the building were filled with the exhibitors’ vans and trucks, but the entire rear portion of the lot was empty. There was a crowd of men at the back hooting, thrusting manly fists into the air, and chest-butting each other, not dissimilar to what cavemen must have done eons ago.

As I drew nearer, I saw Ross standing behind a casket painted to look like an Indy 500 race car, with four wheels attached to the bottom, red and black racing stripes down each side, and the UMS logo on the front and rear. Seated inside, his hands on a steering lever, was Jess the Mess, wearing racing goggles and driving gloves. Five other colorful casket–race cars were lined up beside theirs, each with a driver inside and a team partner behind.

A man holding a whistle near his lips called, “Everyone ready?”

Ross crouched behind his casket-car, hands braced on the rear. “Bring it on, dude.”

At the whistle, the men behind the caskets pushed their entries over the top of the sand dune, then stood back and let gravity do the rest. Far below, two men stood at the finish line, waiting to call the winners.

As the crowd cheered, I stepped up beside Ross to see the action. If I hadn’t been on a mission, I would have enjoyed watching the crazy caskets speed down the dune, spewing sand, forging ruts that immediately filled up again, and hitting depressions that tossed the drivers from their seats. “Won any races yet?” I asked.

“No, but I’m about to win this one. Come on, Jess!” he hollered. He glanced my way briefly but didn’t seem particularly surprised to see me. “Did you come to cheer us on, Red? We could use a cheerleading section.”

At that moment a loud clamor went up as the first casket crossed the line. It wasn’t Jess’s, though. “Damn, I thought we had it that time,” Ross said. He knuckle-pressed a guy standing nearby. “Nice job, man.”

“Yeah, better luck next time,” the other guy said. He noticed me and winked. “There’s your lucky charm, Ross. Put her in the driver’s seat.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I prefer real cars. Listen, Ross, I need to talk to you.”

He gave a sharp sigh. “If you’re here about Sybil, I’m done talking. She’s a dead issue.”

“A dead issue. Good one,” his buddy said, and they knuckle-pressed again, snickering.

Ignoring the tasteless remark, I said, “You might change your mind when you hear what I have to say.”

“Sorry. Not interested.”

“Really? Because I know it was either you or Jess who killed Sybil.”

Ross quickly ushered me a few feet away. “Jeez, will you keep it down?”

“You want me to keep it down? Then make this easy for both of us. Tell me which one of you was actually at the bar last night.”

“Okay, I get it now. You’re on another fishing expedition.” He said quietly, “Watch out, Red. One of these days you’ll reel in something you weren’t expecting.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Define it any way you want,” he said with a smug grin.

Common sense said to stay cool—after all, Ross was a murder suspect, and that meant he could be dangerous—but his cocky attitude really pushed my buttons. “What are you going to do? Lock me in another phone booth—or maybe a casket this time?”

“A little help here, bro,” Jess called as the drivers grunted their way up the sand dune, pushing their casket-cars in front of them.

“Get lost,” Ross said to me, starting toward his brother.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me which one of you was at that bar last night.”

He spun around and came back, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Do you honestly think I’m going to confess
anything
to you? Did you forget I was
cleared
? Now, go play with your flowers before I get my lawyer to slap a restraining order on you.”

Well, that approach hadn’t worked. I turned around to scan the parking lot for Marco. Not that I needed his help, but what was taking him so long? “Fine, Ross. I’ll go—straight to the detectives. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated to hear what I dug up.”