Prodigal Son

CHAPTER 67

Even as the night ticked toward the dark start of a new day, lights were on at the back of the funeral home.

Insistently thumbing the bell push, Michael said, "See, another thing that doesn't make sense is why Victor Frankenstein would turn up in New Orleans, of all places."

Carson said, "Where would you expect him to set up shop-Baton Rouge, Baltimore, Omaha, Las Vegas?"

"Somewhere in Europe."

"Why Europe?"

"He's European."

"Once was, yeah, but not now. As Helios, he doesn't even speak with an accent."

"The whole creepy Frankenstein shtick-it's totally European," Michael insisted.

"Remember the mobs with pitchforks and torches storming the castle?" Carson asked. "He can't go back there ever."

"That was in the movies, Carson."

"Maybe they're more like documentaries."

She knew she sounded crazy The bayou heat and humidity had finally gotten to her. Maybe if you cut open her skull, you'd find Spanish moss growing on her brain.

She said, "Where is the most recombinant-DNA work being done, the most research into cloning? Where are the most discoveries in molecular biology taking place?"

"According to the tabloids I read, probably in Atlantis, a few miles under the surface of the Caribbean."

"It's all happening here in the good old USA, Michael. If Victor Frankenstein is alive, this is where he'd want to be, right where the most science is being done. And New Orleans is plenty creepy enough to please him. Where else do they bury all their dead in mausoleums aboveground?"

The porch light came on. A deadbolt turned with a rasp and a clack, and the door opened.

Taylor Fullbright stood before them in red silk pajamas and a black silk robe on the breast of which was appliqued an image of Judy Garland as Dorothy.

As convivial as ever, Fullbright said, "Why, hello again!"

"I'm sorry if we woke you," Carson apologized.

"No, no. You didn't. I finished embalming a customer half an hour ago, worked up an appetite. I'm making a pastrami and tongue sandwich, if you'd like one."

Michael said, "No thanks. I'm full of Cheez Doodles, and she's full of inexplicable enthusiasm."

"We don't need to come in," Carson said, showing him first the silver-framed photo of Roy Pribeaux. "Have you ever seen him before?"

"Quite a handsome fellow," said Fullbright. "But he looks a bit smug. I know the type. They're always trouble."

"More trouble than you can imagine."

"But I don't know him," Fullbright said.

From a nine-by-twelve manila envelope, Carson extracted a police-department file photo of Detective Jonathan Harker.

"This one I know," said the funeral director. "He was Allwine's funeral buddy"