The Silent Wife (Will Trent #10) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,127

smelled of embalming fluid and Old Spice, the same two scents she had associated with him since the age of ten.

He said, “My goodness, you look all done up. Were you on your way to a party?”

Sara smiled. “I’m here on business. I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

“I’m always here for you, Sara. You know that.” He waited for the receptionist to buzz open the door. “Let’s go back.”

Brock’s office overlooked the embalming area, which put him at the back end of the building. He caught Sara up on gossip as he led her down a long corridor, past several closed doors and a large employee breakroom. His mother’s asthma was acting up again, but she seemed content with the retirement home. He’d heard the pastor of the Heartsdale Methodist church had left under a cloud of suspicion. He was trying a new dating app for singles in the funeral business called Lucky Stiffs.

Sara asked, “It didn’t work out with Liz?”

He winced. Brock’s dating life had never been easy. He changed the subject, asking, “How’s your mama and them?”

“Will is doing great,” Sara said, engaging in a bit of wish fulfillment. “Daddy is semi-retired. Mama is still running around like crazy. Tessa is thinking about becoming a midwife.”

Brock stopped at the door to the warehouse. “Well, that’s wonderful news. She’s such a loving person. I think she’d be a terrific midwife.”

Sara felt guilty that she hadn’t reacted the same way when Tessa had mentioned her plans. “It’s a lot to learn.”

“Anybody can memorize a textbook. Look at me. You can’t learn compassion, can you? It’s either there or it’s not.”

“You’re right.”

Brock laughed. “You’re the only woman in my life who ever tells me those words. Come through.”

He opened the door to the main part of the warehouse. The pungent stench of formaldehyde hit Sara like a rock to the face. The chemical was the main ingredient in embalming fluid. She counted at least thirty embalmers leaning over thirty bodies. Most of the workers were women and all of them were white. The funeral business was notoriously segregated.

Sara stepped over a long hose snaking across the floor. A sucking sound came from the drains. Thirty pumps chugged as they forced fluid into thirty carotid arteries and blood out of thirty jugulars. The final handling took place at the loading docks. Caskets were either loaded into waiting mortuary vans or boxed for shipment.

Brock said, “I just came from a meeting about Honey Creek Woodlands. They’re really taking a bite out of us.”

Sara had read about the green burial movement. Looking around the warehouse, she understood why people were opting to forgo embalming and choosing to place their loved ones in a more natural setting. She said, “There’s something to be said for ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

“That’s blasphemy in this building.” Brock laughed good-naturedly. “Thank goodness for Macon-Bibb County. They passed an ordinance requiring leak-proof containers for every burial. We’re hoping we can get legislation passed on the state level.”

“Speaking of vaults.” Sara was grateful for the opening. “I’ve got a possible exhumation on a victim from three years ago. According to the funeral home, she was placed in an air-sealed vault.”

“Composite or concrete?”

“Not sure.”

Brock opened the door to his corner office. Florescent bulbs offered the only light. The two windows looking out at the warehouse were covered by dark wooden shutters that were tightly closed. The room was spacious, or at least Sara thought it might be. Brock had never been a tidy man. Stacks of papers and books were everywhere. His filing cabinets were overflowing.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve lost two secretaries in the past three years. I can’t blame the first one, but the second one liked a nip at lunch, and you know how I feel about that.”

Brock’s father had been a high-functioning alcoholic, an open secret that the town kept because drinking had only made him more pleasant.

Brock asked, “Do you want coffee or tea?”

Sara wanted a hot shower to rid herself of the formaldehyde. “No, thank you. I’m still technically on the clock.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.” Brock cleared off a space at a small table for Sara to sit down. He took the other chair. “Now, I’ll spare you the legal mumbo jumbo about there being no guarantee that the body will be preserved. You and I both know the odds are good, especially since it’s air-sealed. Unless the vault is concrete. That might be a problem. We’ve seen some degradation over