TEN

THE CORONER DETERMINED that Trevor’s death had been an “accident—no investigation pending.” Ellie was not surprised, but the ruling still felt like a punch to the gut. How could anyone determine cause of death under such odd circumstances?

No matter. Death certificates could be changed. Once Ellie and her family finished her own investigation, Trevor’s cause of death would be “homicide.”

After a closed-casket funeral service, Trevor was buried in a sacred place with his most personal belongings. Only elders and close family saw him to the earth. Later, Ellie’s parents hosted a public wake at a park outside the city. There, Trevor’s friends, coworkers, students, and extended family could gather and celebrate his life.

Former students dominated the wake. The black-clad children draped every bench like some dreary tablecloth. They picked at cookies and lemon bars, sniffling. Ellie realized that many, especially the youngest generation, had never been to a funeral before. The luckiest had no personal experience with death. Others had lost a grandparent or great-grandparent, somebody who died peacefully after a long life, as was right and just.

Most of the adults stood in chattering clusters. Regularly, the groups broke apart and re-formed with different members, much like a typical dinner party. Herself in a solitary mood, Ellie watched the gathering from an ant-free spot under a mesquite tree. She drank a cup of strawberry punch. Slivers of ice bobbed on the pink liquid, melting double time in the summer heat. How did Lenore handle the parade of condolences and hugs? How did anybody? Ellie was afraid she’d start crying if another stranger commented, “He was a good man.”

Beyond the crowd, a Mercedes-Benz pulled into the parking lot. Its paint shone like polished onyx. The luxury vehicle stuck out like a sore thumb among the more modest cars that belonged to Trevor’s circle. That’s what first caught Ellie’s attention. Made her suspicious.

Television crime dramas liked the refrain: they always return to the scene of the crime. This wasn’t a crime scene, but perhaps …

The car door popped open, and a tall man stepped outside. His black suit was a far cry from golf-course casual, but Ellie recognized him anyway.

Abe Allerton was at Trevor’s wake.

Ellie dumped her remaining punch on the grass, crumpled the plastic cup, and jogged toward the parking lot. She had no plan; did she need one? Yes, of course. She couldn’t just punch Dr. Allerton in the face, key his new car, and accuse him of murder. That would land her in a heap of trouble and endanger her family. Dr. Allerton didn’t know that anybody suspected him yet.

Just be cool, Ellie thought. Say hello. Play nice. Dig for clues. Make sure that the doctor isn’t here to kill Lenore, or something.

She suspected that Dr. Allerton would not cause trouble around dozens of witnesses. Then again, most people wouldn’t kill an innocent man, either. Ellie was prepared to use Kirby’s Big Howl if the situation called for a fight. Plus, the family-friend woolly mammoth could charge Dr. Allerton’s car and prevent his escape. Unfortunately, Ellie’s grandmother was old-school; that meant Grandmother never attended wakes. It wasn’t right, in her opinion, to speak so freely about the new dead. Although Ellie had commanded the woolly mammoth before, her grandmother had always been nearby, supervising. How would the big animal behave without her beloved master? Ellie didn’t want to chance a negative reaction. Grandmother had warned her that there were three places she should never summon something larger than an elephant: crowded places, confined places, and noisy places.

That said, it did amuse Ellie to imagine the Mercedes-Benz crunching under an invisible mammoth butt.

Dr. Allerton must have noticed Ellie’s approach, because he lowered his sunglasses and peered over the silver frames. Ellie relaxed her stance, shoulders dropping and fists uncurling. After tossing the empty cup in a mixed-material recycling can, she smiled. Too wide, at first; it was a wake, not a birthday party. Act natural, Ellie. “Hi,” she said. “This is a private event, um …”

“Abe. My sincere condolences. I’m here to pay respects.” He smiled the right way: sympathetic, bittersweet. Was it genuine? No. Couldn’t be. He just knew how to act, unlike some people.

“Sorry,” Ellie said. “You’re just so, um … well, I bet that suit costs more than every other suit in the park combined.”

He shook his head, his eyes crinkling with (fake, surely) compassion. “We all express grief differently. Mister Reyes taught my son two years ago.”

“Where is your kid?”

“With his mother. We’re separated.” He clasped his hands. “What a tragedy.”

“Are we … still talking about your divorce?”

“No,” Dr. Allerton said. “That was amicable. This. This is a tragedy. Although we met only briefly, Mister Reyes made an impression. He was an intelligent, passionate man, and he genuinely cared about his students.”

Ellie’s eyes burned; she could not maintain her faux-pleasant expression. “Yes. He was. He’s always cared about … about other people.”

“Are you family?”

“A cousin.”

Dr. Allerton reached out, as if offering a side-hug, but Ellie jerked back. Kirby barked once, a warning.

“Sorry. I should have asked,” Dr. Allerton said. He looked around, searching for the mysterious dog. At least he didn’t have keen ghost-detecting powers; Kirby was at Ellie’s side, a vague shimmer that blended in with the hot air rising over the asphalt parking lot.

“It’s fine,” she said. “What’s your son’s name? Some of Cuz’s students signed a card.”

“Brett.” Dr. Allerton pursed his lips and bowed his head, the figure of commiseration. “Where is Mister Reyes buried? Brett could not be here today—summer camp is wrapping up—but he wants to visit the grave later and say goodbye.”

“It’s a secret,” Ellie said.

Dr. Allerton looked up, and his sympathetic smile tightened. Was he anxious? Angry? “Secret?” he asked.

“That’s our way,” she explained.

“Brett is very upset. Mister Reyes was his favorite teacher. Maybe an exception can be made?” He looked over her shoulder, regarding a cluster of Trevor’s extended family, probably wondering whether they’d be more helpful than Ellie.

“Do you want to insult our elders?” Ellie asked. “Because that’s how it’s done.”

“Ah,” he said. “I forgot. You’re … Native American?”

“Lipan Apache.” Ellie answered. “Has anyone … told you how my cousin died?”

Allerton nodded, a subtle movement. She wished she could look into his eyes. There was a reason poker players wore sunglasses. They protected bluffers, liars.

“He had an accident,” Allerton said, softly. “Is that right?”

“I wish I’d been there when it happened. Could have helped. Somehow.” She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. “I’m here now. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Mm-hm.” He frowned and pointed at her side. “Sorry, do you see that glimmer in the air?”

“It’s my dog. Appear, Kirby.” Ellie felt a tingle of satisfaction when Dr. Allerton stepped back, startled. Kirby looked solid, though his edges crackled now and then, as if projected by a faulty lens.

“Ghost pet,” Allerton said. “How did you manage that?”

“Old family secret.”

He chuckled. “Oh, dear. I know all about those.”

Allerton’s laughter was gentle, polite. Ellie had to step back and collect herself, because another minute of good-natured conversation with a happy Dr. Allerton might make her projectile vomit all over his expensive suit.

“I gotta go,” she said.

“Be well.”

“Oh. Abe?”

“Hm?”

“That’s a new car, isn’t it? What happened to your old one?”

“Strange question,” he said.

“My friend is in the market for a reliable used vehicle.”

“Sorry,” Dr. Allerton said, “but I’m not selling. Goodbye.”

More like: Nice try.

As Dr. Allerton made a beeline for the snack table, Ellie paced around his car. It still had a temporary license tag on the rear window, with the dealership name—Mercedes-Benz of Mary County—beneath the numeric ID. The car wasn’t just new, it was fresh off the lot. Did Dr. Allerton lose his previous car in the same accident that killed Trevor?

Ellie’s father approached her. He had a hesitantly worried expression, as if anticipating the worst but hoping for the best. “Who is that?” he asked, looking in Dr. Allerton’s direction. “It’s not …”

“It’s the doctor.”

“The doctor? Murder doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“You talked to him? What does he want?” Ellie’s father put an arm around her, as if a hug could deflect the world’s evil.

“I dunno. Maybe he enjoys our misery. It’s messed up, but so is murder.” She watched Dr. Allerton a moment. The murderer sipped his lemonade slowly, as if drinking fine wine. “There is one thing,” Ellie said. “Dad, he asked for the location of the burial grounds.”

“He what? Why?”

“His son, Brett, wants to visit the grave.” Ellie shook her head. “That’s the story, anyway.”

“You don’t believe him.”

“I don’t. When I told Dr. Allerton that nobody can see the grave, he looked downright scared. Like he needs the visit more than his kid does.”

“All the more reason to keep it secret.” Ellie’s father started walking toward Dr. Allerton. “That man needs to leave. If he stays any longer, somebody might talk.”

“Wait!” Ellie grabbed her father’s hand. “Be sneaky.”

“Of course. Give me some credit. I’ve read hundreds of spy novels. Hundreds.”

Without further ado, her father crossed the park and introduced himself to Dr. Allerton with a handshake. Although Ellie could not hear their conversation, her father must have put his spy skills to good use, because within minutes, Allerton returned to the Mercedes-Benz. With a spray of gravel, the car reversed and sped from the parking lot. Clearly, Dr. Allerton did not care about speeding tickets. Why should he? A few hundred dollars was pocket change to men like him.

“He’s going to crash that pretty new car,” Ellie said. “What do you think, Kirby?”

Kirby, still visible, rolled over and sunned his belly.