A Rose From the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

attempted by color and design to blend into the woods behind it.
    As we left the building I was surprised to see two police cars pull up—one from the county sheriff’s department and one from the New Chapel PD. On the sidewalk near the public entrance stood a group of sign-carrying protesters, along with a photographer and a camera crew from the local media. The seven protesters were dressed in brown burlap robes that tied at the waist with lengths of ropes. Around their necks hung strings of garlic bulbs, and their signs read, GO NATURAL and GREEN BURIALS SAVE THE PLANET .
    Sign in hand, their leader, a reedy, hollow-cheeked man with thick, iron gray curls covering his head like a fright wig, was urging them on through his bullhorn as they chanted, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
    As the cops exited the squad cars, Sybil came marching out of the main entry shouting, “Officers!” She made sure the cameras had swung in her direction before pointing to the group and calling, “I want those people arrested immediately.”
    “She’s the one you should arrest,” the leader shouted at the cops through his bullhorn. He used his sign to point directly at her. “She and all the other phonies that run the funeral directors’ association. They’re the reason we’re out here and not in there. They denied us the right to rent a booth.”
    “I can’t imagine why,” Marco said under his breath as the protesters booed and hissed at Sybil. “Abby, where are you going?”
    “Reilly’s here,” I called over my shoulder. “Didn’t you notice him get out of the car?”
    “I was hoping you hadn’t,” he said with a sigh, and started after me.

    After my father, who was now retired, Sgt. Sean Reilly was my favorite police officer in the entire world, partly because he had come to my assistance at least five times in the past year, and partly because he was highly tolerant of my natural curiosity. As a young rookie, Reilly had worked with my dad and still greatly admired him, and had also become fast friends with Marco during Marco’s stint on the police force.
    Reilly was a big, gruff forty-year-old with intelligent-looking hazel eyes and brown hair starting to show a bit of gray on the sides. He was an honest, no-frills kind of cop who preferred to play by the rules but didn’t feel he had to push anyone around to prove he was in charge.
    At that moment, Reilly was standing in front of his squad car sizing up the protesters. He saw me come up and said out of the side of his mouth, “Imagine finding you here.”
    “I knew you’d be thrilled to see me, Sarge. I’m attending a convention. What’s your excuse? This isn’t New Chapel PD territory.”
    “Sheriff’s department is running shorthanded because of a toxic-waste spill on Highway 20. They asked for backup, and lucky me, here I am.” He saw Marco come up beside me and managed a quick nod of greeting before his attention was drawn back to the leader of the small band of protesters, who was attempting to argue his position with Sybil. She was too busy posing for the cameras to notice.
    “These people are lunatics,” Sybil said into a microphone thrust beneath her face. “Look at them. They’re wearing burlap, for God’s sake.”
    “We’re not the lunatics,” the leader shouted through his bullhorn, his hollow cheeks puffing out in indignation. “You’re the lunatic! You and your self-serving committee of asses!”
    “Sir, you’re going to have to leave,” Reilly said, stepping between the two combatants. “You’re trespassing on private property.”
    “I’m not here to cause trouble, Officer. I’m an upstanding citizen who just wants to be able to promote my natural burial bags.” As the cameras focused on him, he said, “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Eli Cotton.” He offered a hand to Reilly, who was having none of that.
    “Do you know anything about natural burials?” Eli asked him, undeterred. “Here, I’ll show