Thanks to my brother, Pat, for introducing me to the beautiful city of Savannah.

A very special thanks to the amazing members of the SavannahNOW forums. You taught me that Southern hospitality exists even in cyberspace.

At night I dream. I dream that I am more than I am. That I am strong. That I have a secret life. And in that life, I do things. Secret things.

Savannah medical examiner John Casper believed in what some scientists termed the cluster effect. Toss a bunch of anything down-seeds, flower petals, cards- they always grouped together.

Same thing with dead bodies.

They never came one at a time, but in bunches. The latest bunch had been large, leaving doctors and assistants working around the clock to process an unusually high volume that had their cold storage overflowing.

Almost caught up, people had headed home complaining of headaches from lack of sleep and too many hours spent inhaling formalin fumes.

Willy Claxton, the one remaining assistant, hovered nervously in the doorway of the main office, just off the autopsy suites. "Storm's blowing in from the Atlantic," he said. "They been talking about it on the radio."

John pushed his paperwork aside and leaned back, chair creaking. "Why don't you go home?" Even in the isolation of the morgue, his head had the heavy feeling that came with a dramatic drop in barometric pressure. "Before the storm hits."

"What about the last body?"

John glanced through the decedent's file. "Pretty straightforward. Looks like a heart attack."

John stood and stretched. He'd been there for over twelve hours. His joints ached, and his skin had a prickly, tight feel from too little sleep. "Help me get him on the table and you can take off."