Джеффри Дивер - Nothing Good Happens After Midnight - A Suspense Magazine Anthology

Wayne disappeared down the hallway, toward his office.

“This better work,” Floyd said. “If we bring Antoine out in the middle of the night and we ain’t got nothing, he’s gonna be pissed.”

“It’ll work.”

Wayne returned. “All set.”

Next stop, Pine Valley. Eight miles east along a winding, two-lane, asphalt county road. They saw only two cars, both zipping by the other way. Before heading into town, Eddie guided the car off onto a dirt road and then across a field where he parked near a stand of pines.

Eddie stepped out. “This’ll work.”

Floyd removed a pair of saws from the backseat and they went at it. Took half an hour to take the tree down and cut the trunk into five pieces, each about thirty pounds, figuring the sections all told weighed about as much as old Jerry. Close enough. They lugged them to the trunk and lifted them inside.

“Let’s get this done,” Floyd said.

Pine Valley wasn’t much of a town and this time of night the streets were dark and deserted, only a couple of the bars showing any signs of life. Along the road that marked the north edge of the business district, if you could call it that, sat Grace Funeral Home. A wooded lot that backed up to a wad of trees, its front lawn and driveway sloping down toward the road. To the left of the low brick building sprawled the cemetery, dotted with a few trees and sprinkled with white headstones that seemed almost ghostly in the dark. They drove by, giving it the once-over before circling back. No lights on inside, no cars in the lot. Eddie switched off the headlamps, scooted up the drive, and whipped around behind the structure.

Getting in was easy. Floyd used a screwdriver to lever open the lock. In less than half a minute, they stepped inside, the odor of formaldehyde and death greeting them.

Eddie hated funeral homes. Never been in one, unless there was a visitation in progress. Those were all lit up and filled with people. Not like now where it was dark and spooky. The stillness was smothering, the echoes of their footsteps on the concrete floor unnerving.

“This place is creepy,” Floyd said.

“That it is,” Eddie said. “Let’s get at it and get the hell out of here.”

They found the cold storage area behind a metal door that grated and squeaked as they slid it open. Inside, the chilled air held a nauseating stench.

“Jesus,” Floyd said. “How does anyone do this for a living?”

Inside were two caskets, each supported by a metal stand. One open and empty, the other closed. It was pewter colored and the lid heavy. Floyd directed his flashlight beam inside.

A corpse. Covered with a white cloth. Eddie peeled it back. They jumped in unison. Jerry Crabtree’s body was wrapped in similar cloth, his exposed face a brownish, reddish mass of flesh.

Eddie felt his stomach lurch. He struggled not to vomit. “Good lord.” He stepped back. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Floyd said. “Think of it as two hundred and fifty bucks.”

Eddie took a couple of deep breaths, settling things. He nodded.

Twenty minutes later they had removed the body, placed the five tree sections inside, closed the casket all nice and tight, and ferried Jerry’s corpse to the trunk.

“What if they take a peek inside before the funeral?” Floyd asked.

“Don’t see why they would.”

“But if they do? What then?”

“No way they can connect this to us,” Eddie said.

“We better hope not.”

Eddie got in the car and sat behind the wheel. Sweat frosted his face and his stomach continued its protest.

“You okay?” Floyd asked as he climbed in the passenger seat.

“Mostly.”

“Let’s see what you got,” Antoine said.

They stood near the Ford’s trunk beneath the tree where they always made such exchanges. Eddie popped open the lid. Antoine peeled back the dingy canvas covering the corpse. He gave a start.

“What is this?” Antoine asked. “What the hell’d you do?”

“We didn’t do nothing,” Floyd said.

“He hit a tree,” Eddie added. “All we did was snatch him from the funeral home.”

Antoine looked at them. “You did what?”

“We figured it was better than digging him up tomorrow night,” Eddie said. “And he’s a day fresher.”

Antoine shook his head. “Don’t you think they’ll miss him? At the funeral?”

Eddie explained the closed casket service, the logs they had slipped inside. He closed with, “Clean and simple.”

Antoine smiled. Sort of. “That’s actually pretty clever.” He looked back at the corpse. “Not sure he can use this though.”

“Sure he can. The rest of him’s fine. Only twenty-eight and just forty-eight hours dead.”

Antoine hesitated, and then said, “Okay, get it moved.”

Again, he stood back and let Floyd and Eddie do the work. Once the transfer was completed, Antoine handed them the two-fifty, climbed in his car, and drove away.

Eddie followed him down the drive to the road. When Antoine turned right toward Pine Creek, Eddie went left. In the rearview mirror, he watched until Antoine’s taillights disappeared around a curve, then swung onto the gravel shoulder and pulled a quick U-turn.

“What’re you doing?” Floyd asked.

“I want to know where he’s going. Who he’s delivering the body to.”

“You think that’s wise? He might see us.”

“Not if we’re careful.”

Eddie raced back up the county highway, until he saw Antoine’s taillights disappear over a rise in the road. He flicked off the headlamps.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Floyd said. “And don’t run into nothing.”

Tailing Antoine was a snap. His was the only car on the road and once in town they could easily stay a couple of blocks back and follow his every turn. Just south of downtown, he climbed a steep drive to a massive antebellum home that possessed views over the town and the entire valley.

Eddie pulled to the side of the road. “What the hell?”

“Ain’t that Dr. Bell’s house?” Floyd asked.

“Sure is.”

Eddie watched Antoine’s car slide around the side of the mansion and toward the large white barn behind. The car came to a stop and the taillights went dark.

“What on earth does Dr. Bell need with a corpse?” Floyd asked.

Eddie thought about that but couldn’t come up with a reasonable idea. “Let’s go grab a beer and think on it.”

“I ain’t sure this is a good idea,” Floyd said.

“Me neither,” Eddie said. “But we got to know what’s what.”

“We do?”

“Ain’t you curious?”

“Course I am. But I don’t want to get caught neither.”

“It’s three in the morning. Ain’t nobody up and about.” Eddie motioned toward the mansion. “Not a light nowhere.”

Over a few beers at Floyd’s place they had decided that a look inside Dr. Bell’s barn was in order. Took Eddie a while to convince Floyd but finally he gave in. He always did. They parked in McGill’s lot, walked the two blocks to the edge of town, crossed the county road, and eased into the trees a couple of hundred yards from the Bell Mansion. They worked their way to the back side of the property, hopped the fence, and now stood near the barn’s corner, the rear of the mansion in full view. Bell’s Caddy sat near the back door.

“Now what?” Floyd asked.

“Find a way inside.”

That proved easy. The large double doors were closed but the lock hung loosely and unlatched in the metal loop. The door squeaked softly as Floyd pushed it open, then closed, once they were inside. The air seemed musty and laced with a slightly sweet, almost medicinal odor.

Eddie swept the interior with his flashlight. One large room, no loft, a series of tables lined up cross-ways in the center. Open bins filled with plastic barrels and stacks of cardboard boxes, alternated with tall lockers along the left wall. To the right, a massive industrial mixer sat near a low gas stove topped with four metallic stock pots. Along the far wall, shelves held rows of Dr. Bell’s Body Tonic.