Due to the lack of space, the desk was shoved back close to the wall and, although the woman wasn't particularly large, she seemed almost jammed behind and under it; a phone, a large blotter/calendar, and a walkie-talkie were arrayed on the desktop, but no pictures or other personal items, although a little stand with free dog-eared pamphlets-Grief Is God's Way of Saying Goodbye, Eternal Rest for Your Loved Ones-perched at the front edge, next to a brass nameplate that read "GLENDA NELSON-MEMORIAL CONSULTANT." File cabinets separated her from another desk, empty at the moment, and the rest of the cottage served as a small shop where artificial flowers could be picked up for mourners doing some last-minute shopping.
"Welcome to Desert Palm Memorial, gentlemen," the woman said in a mechanically mellow voice, with a practiced smile and wholly unengaged eyes. "I'm Glenda-how may I help you?"
Brass flashed his badge. "This is Doctor Grissom from the crime lab; I'm Captain Brass. We were here early this morning-for that exhumation?"
"Yes, of course! Mr. Crosby informed me of that."
"Well, that's who we're looking for-Mr. Crosby. Is he here this early?"
Her smile disappeared but her eyes came alive. "I'm sorry, Captain, but he's not scheduled to come in today."
Had Crosby taken the day off, Grissom wondered, because the cemetery manager knew they might be back?
"Is there any way I can help you?" the woman asked.
"It's about the exhumation-there's a problem."
She frowned and seemed to Grissom a trifle alarmed, despite Brass's typically low-key manner; problems around here were fairly limited-the guests at this hotel didn't likely complain much.
The woman said, "Well-Joe and Bob didn't mention any difficulties…."
Brass said, "Thing is…is it Mrs. Nelson?"
Grissom felt this guess on Brass's part was substantiated by evidence: The woman had on a wedding ring and diamond.
"Yes-it's Mrs. Nelson. But Glenda is fine."
"Mrs. Nelson, we opened that casket at headquarters, and we found the wrong body inside."
She blinked and thought about that and then blinked some more. "How in heaven's name is that possible?"
"Our question exactly," Grissom said.
The woman glanced at the phone on her desk. Grissom could tell she wanted to pick it up, probably to call Crosby, but she didn't reach for it. She'd been left in charge, and she would deal with it.
Finally, Glenda said, "You'll have to forgive me…I wasn't here earlier…. Can you tell me the name of the person you were supposed to exhume?"
Brass said, "Rita Bennett."
"Oh yes. From television." Glenda rose and went to a filing cabinet nearby; computers had not come to Desert Palm-not uncommon with such facilities.
"Rita Bennett," she repeated to herself. She opened the second drawer down in the file cabinet and thumbed through a few files before finding the right one. "Section B, row 3, plot 117."
Grissom restrained a smile. On the green grounds nearby, with their headstones, eternal flames, and floral arrangements, loved ones rested in serene dignity; but here in the office, a file cabinet would do as final resting place.
Brass was checking his notebook. "That's what Crosby gave me-section B, row 3, plot 117…. Mrs. Nelson, do you mind walking us over there?"
Glenda frowned. "I can't leave my post," she said, as if that desk really were her battleship. "What would happen if someone came in?"
Grissom and Brass exchanged quick looks, both thinking the same thing: No MO was on file with LVPD for perps prone to heisting artificial flowers from cemetery offices.
"I'll tell you what," she said. "I could call Bob on the walkie and have him take you back."
"Why don't you?" Brass said pleasantly.
Glenda called Bob.
While they waited for Bob's arrival, Brass asked a few more questions, beginning with, "Mrs. Nelson, is there any way one body could be…exchanged…for another?"
Glenda looked at Brass like he'd just blurted a chain of obscenities. "Captain Brass! This is not a used parts store-urban legends about organ thieves do not take into consideration such small factors as embalming!"
"I didn't mean to suggest-"
"We take our responsibility very seriously!"
Grissom bestowed a charming smile upon her and said, "Of course we understand that, Mrs. Nelson-but it's not impossible, is it?"
The gentleness of Grissom's tone calmed her, and she considered the question finally. "We would notice a disturbance in the ground. We are very particular about our landscaping. We're proud of the service we perform."
"As well you should be," Grissom said with a nod and a smile.
"But what about," Brass asked, "before the body is buried?"
Shaking her head, Glenda said, "The caskets are locked, for one thing; and for another, there are people at the graveside for the service…."
"Always?"
"Usually. Then after that, the vault is sealed and the vault with the coffin is lowered, then covered. The only people who would have any opportunity at all, for what you're suggesting, are Bob and Joe, and they're both good men."
"Can you give us their full names?"
"Roberto Dean and Joseph Fenway," she said, "but you're wrong about them."
Grissom smiled again. "We don't have any opinion about them, Mrs. Nelson."
Brass was jotting the names in his notebook when Bob showed up on a rider lawn mower. They thanked Mrs. Nelson again, and she nodded rather coldly, and they went out to greet their old friend Bob, who already knew what they needed from Mrs. Nelson's walkie-talkie summons.
In the Taurus, Grissom and Brass followed the rider mower around to section B, row 3, plot 117-and found the open grave from which they had removed the vault this morning.
"Bob," Brass said out the car window, "you're sure this is plot 117? Section B, row 3?"
Bob, sitting on his mower, made a face, and not a terribly intelligent one. "Think I'm likely to make a mistake like that?"
"Of course not," Grissom said. "But do you have a map, or chart…?"
Bob had both-a map of the entire cemetery and a chart of section B. He withdrew them from a back pocket of his dirty jeans and unfolded them and came over like a carhop to share them with the detective and the CSI.
"Bob," Grissom said, studying the folded sheets, "this is the right grave, right?"
Bob nodded, and there was pride in his voice when he said, " 'Round here, guy's gotta be careful what hole he sticks it in."
"Words of wisdom."
Waving at Bob from the Taurus, they drove back to the office and found Glenda fidgeting behind her desk and not terribly happy to see them return.
"Are you satisfied now?" she asked. "It was the right grave, wasn't it?"
Brass shook his head. "Right grave-wrong body."
Glenda's voice got very small. "This is terrible…this is awful…. Our reputation…"
His charming smile nowhere in sight, Grissom said, "Don't you think the loved ones of the deceased deserve better than your concern for your reputation?"
Glenda swallowed and stared at nothing. "You're right…. I should be ashamed." Then she raised bright, alarmed eyes, gesturing to herself. "Certainly you people don't think we had anything-"
Brass hesitated, and Grissom stepped in. "We don't think one of your employees did this."
Relief softened her features.
"But," Grissom added, "that doesn't mean they didn't. We just have no evidence to support that notion…so we'll be looking other places."
Cutting in, Brass said, "Like for starters, the funeral home that officiated over Rita Bennett's service."
"Which one was that?" Glenda asked.