Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [63]
“I pay attention,” said Jeff. “Darius died a few weeks after I got back from LA, and everyone at the foundation was talking about him then—the way you do when someone’s kicked the bucket unexpectedly like that. No one mentioned anything about him and Catherine having an affair.”
“So maybe what Biko saw,” I mused, “was indeed a one-time incident.”
“Or maybe they had a thing going,” said Biko, “but they kept it quiet.”
“And you can see why they might do that,” said Jeff. “There are internal politics at the foundation, like any other organization. So if Catherine and Darius were together, maybe the two of them made a point of keeping that off the radar. They both seemed like pretty private people, anyhow.” He thought about it and added, “In fact, except for what I’ve already told you, I don’t really know anything else about Darius.”
“Me, neither,” said Biko. “And he’s been at the foundation for about four years.”
“Did he have any family?” Max asked.
“There was a sister at the funeral,” Puma said. “From Chicago. I got the impression they weren’t close. Otherwise, the attendees were mostly people from the foundation and from his golf league.”
“He played golf.” There was contemptuous dismissal in Biko’s tone.
“We can’t all carry a sword, D’Artagnan,” I said. “Did Catherine seem very upset at the funeral?”
“That’s hard to say,” said Jeff. “Well, you’ve met her, you saw what she’s like. She plays her cards pretty close to her chest.”
“Cold, is more like it,” said Biko. “Mr. Phelps was kind of a cold fish, too.”
“Biko.” His sister’s tone warned him not to speak ill of the dead.
“Being deceased doesn’t make someone more likeable, Puma,” he said with some exasperation. “And the dead can feel free to listen to me say so, if they want.”
“Honestly, I always thought Darius was a pompous ass. And I’m not surprised to learn he was also an opportunist.” Seeing my inquisitive look, as I shoveled potatoes into my mouth, Jeff said, “Sleeping with the boss, I mean.”
I swallowed my mouthful and said, “Come on, it could have been plain old attraction. Lots of romances start in the workplace, and she’s a good-looking woman.”
“I don’t think so,” said Biko. “She’s all . . . stiff and chilly.”
“Oh, color me shocked that an eighteen- year-old boy doesn’t see what’s attractive about an intellectual woman in her forties,” I said. “But Darius might have.”
Biko shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Anyhow, even though I’d much rather not have met Darius’ zombie,” I said, “better me than her, I guess.”
Puma gasped. “Oh, yes! I mean, can you imagine? Having relations with a man . . . and then meeting his walking corpse? How awful!”
“Which brings me back to my original question,” Jeff said. “Why raise the dead? And why Darius? If, for a minute, we go with this crazy theory that you’re all stuck on, and say that Darius is a zombie now . . . Why him?”
“Excellent question.” Max patted his mouth with a paper napkin. “Why Darius, indeed?”
“Opportunity?” Puma suggested. “He had a nondenominational funeral.”
“Does that make a difference?” I asked.
Max nodded. “Without the inclusion of Vodou rituals, his corpse presumably was not prepared with any of the usual precautions against zombiism.”
Jeff froze in the middle of reaching for more green vegetables. I noticed that he was eating grilled salmon and avoiding the fried food and starches that I was gobbling. It occurred to me that his gladiator outfit was probably skimpy.
“There are usual precautions against zombiism?” he asked.
“Oh, indeed!” Max said with enthusiasm. “Traditionally, for example, the family of the deceased often kills the corpse a second time, in order to protect it from being raised by a bokor and enslaved as a zombie.”
“How do you kill a corpse?” Jeff asked in appalled fascination.
“Oh, usually you would plunge a knife into the heart of the cadaver,” Max said. “Alternately, you might behead the corpse in its coffin.”
Puma made a sound of assent and nodded.
“I just had to ask.” Jeff set down his fork. “I think I’m done eating.”
“You could also shoot