Glynis looked up the hospital’s address with her cell phone and Jake punched it into the oblong gray box of the GPS system.

Alhambra Hospital turned out to be a hospice center, a place where people went to die.

“I hope we’re not too late,” Glynis muttered as they hurried across the cool lobby to the front desk.

They were.

“Dr. McGruder died last night of a coronary infarction,” said the elderly woman at the desk. “He was suffering from Alzheimer’s, poor man.”

“Coronary infarction?” Glynis echoed.

“Heart attack,” said Jake.

Looking at her computer screen, the receptionist shook her head sadly. “Poor man. He had no family at all.”

“Who brought him here, then?” Glynis asked.

“A friend of his, apparently. From back in his hometown.”

“And he had a fatal heart attack last night.”

“Yes,” the woman answered. “His friend was visiting with him at the time. Poor man, his Alzheimer’s was so advanced he didn’t even recognize his friend.”

Jake asked, “He didn’t recognize the man who was with him when he had the heart attack?”

“That’s right.”

“Who was he? How can we get in contact with him?”

The receptionist shook her head. “He’s probably gone back north by now. He just left instructions for the body to be cremated and then he headed for the airport.”

“Has the body been cremated?” Glynis asked.

The woman said, “In two days. State law.”

“We’ve got to stop the cremation,” Glynis said urgently. “Get an autopsy.”

“Why?” Jake asked.

“To see if he really had Alzheimer’s!” she snapped. “This is all too damned convenient to be true.”

“You don’t think that—”

But Glynis was already asking the receptionist, “What’s the friend’s name? How can we get in touch with him?”

The woman tapped at her computer’s keyboard. “No information on his address. He must live back where Dr. McGruder lived, though.”

“His name?” Jake repeated.

“Um … Perez,” the woman said. “Ignacio Perez.”

Homebound

HOMEBOUND

Jake still felt stunned as he sat beside Glynis in the cramped coach section of the flight out of Florida. He was in the middle seat, Glynis on the aisle. The middle-aged woman drowsing in the window seat was grossly fat. Jake hoped she wouldn’t awaken and have to get up during the flight.

Leaning so close their heads nearly touched, Glynis asked again, “And this Perez person works for Senator Leeds?”

“I got the impression that he works for somebody who supports Leeds,” Jake said. “Somebody connected with the casinos on the reservations.”

“Someone connected with gambling.”

Jake nodded. “There are five casinos across the state, all owned by Native American tribes.”

“I wonder how much money they rake in,” Glynis mused. “I suppose I could look it up.”