Page 76 of Sleep No More
“Money always makes a good motive,” Pallas said.
“Yes, but this is about more than money. I’m sure of it. We’re talking serious paranormal research and illegal experiments with an unknown drug.”
“I agree that the anonymous donor appears to be interested in something more than making money, but that doesn’t mean whoever it is can find a lot of dedicated employees who are willing to risk jail time by engaging in illegal pharmaceutical research.”
“True.” Ambrose shifted his gaze away from the bay and looked at her. “You go into an illegal research project with the staff you’ve got—not the loyal, well-trained professionals you wish you had.”
“Guthrie and Moore aren’t the only ones closely involved with the clinic. Jodi Luckhurst was also conveniently positioned to keep an eye on the project. And then there’s the mean-looking receptionist.”
Ambrose thought about that and then shook his head. “If Luckhurst was running this operation she would not have gotten emotionally involved with a loose cannon like Geddings. It doesn’t make sense. He put the whole project in jeopardy with his drug-dealing side hustle.”
“Maybe she thought she could use him and discovered too late that he was stealing drugs and selling them on the side.” Pallas hesitated,remembering the sadness in Jodi’s voice when she was told that Geddings had apparently not skipped town. “Or maybe she really was in love with him.”
“I think we can rule out both Luckhurst and the receptionist,” Ambrose said. “They seem to have lived in Carnelian for years. We’re looking for someone who is relatively new to the area.”
“I keep coming back to Guthrie and Moore.”
“I see them as pawns, not management.”
“Insects caught in the web?” Pallas said. “Like Fenner?”
Ambrose put on his sunglasses and started the car. “We may be too late. The killer is probably gone or preparing to leave soon, but we might be able to get a few more answers, or at least a little more context.”
“How?”
Ambrose drove onto the old highway. “Back at the start the librarian at the public library suggested we talk to the caretaker out at the town cemetery. She said he was an expert on the history of Carnelian.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I’ve been lookingafter this cemetery since I got out of the Army a couple years back.” Ron Quinn leaned on a shovel and regarded the well-tended grounds of the Carnelian Memorial Gardens with an air of satisfaction. “The place was real run-down when I took over. Weeds growing everywhere. Graffiti on the headstones. Grass was mostly dead. Nobody visited. No one left flowers.”
“It’s very peaceful now,” Pallas said. “Very calm.”
Ambrose looked at her, surprised by her reaction. In spite of her assurance that she could deal with the energy at a cemetery, he had been worried. He had anticipated that, at the very least, she would find it deeply disturbing to walk through a place populated by the dead. He had offered to conduct the interview on his own, but she had insisted on accompanying him. He reminded himself that she investigated cold cases on a regular basis.
Ron Quinn had been digging a fresh grave when they arrived. He had immediately identified himself as a fan ofThe Lost Night Filesand made it clear he was delighted to meet Pallas.The Lost Night Filesmight be a small operation, but it was clearly establishing a brand,Ambrose thought. According to his publicist he needed to get busy and do that. And he would—right after he finished the next Jake Crane book. Right after he got over his writer’s block. Right after he got his life back.
His to-do list was getting longer and longer.
But in the meantime, his status as “just the writer” had some serious advantages. It freed him to take a closer look at certain things without drawing attention, and one of the things that he found interesting was a certain vibe in Quinn’s aura.
“I like to think of this cemetery as a meditation garden now, a place where people can spend a few hours figuring out how to deal with loss,” Ron said. “It usually takes a while to learn how to say goodbye.”
“Yes,” Pallas said. She looked around. “Not that there’s anyone left to say goodbye to.”
“Nope,” Ron agreed. “The dead move on right away. Cemeteries are constructed for the living, not the dead.”
The investigation was veering off track, Ambrose thought. They were not here to get a gravedigger’s take on the meaning of life, death, and cemeteries. He tried to think of a way to get things headed in the right direction again, but before he could speak, Pallas continued her conversation with Ron Quinn.
“There is so much history in a cemetery,” she observed.
“That’s a fact,” Ron said. He swept out one heavily gloved hand to indicate the graveyard. “The history of Carnelian is all right here. All you gotta do is walk through the place. People do that a lot these days. Some are looking for ancestry information. Others want to get ideas for names for a baby. Some just want to sit for a while.”
He and Pallas stood quietly, contemplating the grounds. Ambrose took a quick look at their auras. Both appeared unaccountablyserene, as if they would be content to spend the rest of the day standing here, absorbing the atmosphere. It was time to take charge.
He cleared his throat to get their attention.
“We’re curious about the Carnelian family crypt,” he said, angling his chin at the large gray stone burial vault that dominated the scene. “Background research for the podcast.”