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

“So much for your brilliant idea,” Antoine said.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked. “It worked.”

“Did it?”

“Well now, we weren’t thinking they’d ever know, but even if they do there’s no way it comes back to us.” He tapped his cousin’s shoulder. “Or to you and Dr. Bell.”

“Not yet.”

“If they was going to, they already would of. Don’t you think?”

“I think Dr. Bell ain’t happy. I think I ain’t happy. I think you two shouldn’t think so much. You’re not very good at it.”

“It was a good plan,” Eddie said. “How’d we know they was going to look inside? I mean, it being closed and all.”

“But they did.”

“It still ain’t gonna cause us no grief.”

“You better hope not.” Antoine’s eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles gave a couple of pumps. “No more stealing from funeral homes. Dig them up like you’re supposed to. No one will look after they’re buried.”

Eddie nodded.

“And no more big ideas lest you run them by me first.”

Thursday evening, Eddie and Floyd were again at McGill’s. It was nearing two a.m., closing time, and only half a dozen people remained. A few stools down sat a visitor. Skinny guy from Maryland, on his way to New Orleans, stopping for the night. At least, that’s what he jawed to Wayne the bartender about. He’d had more than a few beers and wobbled, even when planted firmly on a barstool.

“You sure about this?” Floyd asked, speaking just loud enough for Eddie to hear.

“Seems easy enough,” Eddie said.

“Should we talk to Antoine first?”

“Screw him. He don’t own us.”

“But he’s the guy who pays,” Floyd said.

“Bell does that.”

“Not directly.”

“Maybe it’s time to cut out the middleman.”

“Bell won’t like that,” Floyd said.

Eddie cut his eyes toward his cousin. “He just might. One less mouth to feed. And we’ll get more money.” He nodded toward the visitor, leaned near Floyd. “Especially if we can bring him a real fresh one.”

“I don’t know. I ain’t sure I like this.”

Eddie smiled. “You never like what I think up. Until you dwell on it a spell. Then you see the wisdom. Way it always is.” Another smile. “Besides, ain’t nobody going to miss him.”

“Someone will.”

Eddie shrugged. “Not no one around here.”

The guy dug in his pocket and pulled out a few wadded bills. “How much I owe you?” he asked.

“Make it seven even,” Wayne said.

The man laid a five and three ones on the bar. “There’s a dollar for you.” He slid off the stool and shuffled toward the door.

Eddie paid their tab. Once on the street, they saw the guy. Half a block away, weaving his way down the sidewalk. The street was otherwise deserted. They caught up to him as he reached his car and struggled to unlock the door.

“Hey buddy,” Eddie said. “You okay?”

The guy looked up, grinned. “If I can get this door unlocked I sure will be.”

“Don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive. Can we help you? Where you going?”

The guy straightened up, wavered, caught the car roof to maintain his balance. “Bartender said there was a motel just down the road.”

“There is,” Eddie said. “Pretty nice one. Why don’t we take you there?”

He seemed to consider that. “Can’t leave my car here.”

“No problem. My cousin’ll drive you there and I’ll follow along. That way you’ll have your car in the morning.”

“You’d do that?”

“Sure. We’d be obliged to.”

Seven-thirty in the morning found Sheriff Amos Dugan behind his desk, staring at the nervous young couple before him. Robbie Peters, seventeen, high school junior, football player, and Betty Jane Marks, a sophomore who played clarinet in the band.

“What can I do for you youngsters?” Dugan asked.

Robbie glanced at Betty Jane. “We saw something the other night.”

“Something like what?”

“It was last Saturday night. We’d gone to a movie over in Pine Valley. Then we...” again, he looked at Betty Jane.

“Just relax, son,” Dugan said. “Tell me what you came here to say.”

“We went parking for a while. Over in the cemetery.”

Dugan laughed. “Me and the missus used to do that when we was your age.”

That seemed to relax the couple.

“We like it because it’s quiet,” Robbie said.

Dugan nodded, laughed again. “It is that.”

Robbie smiled. “Anyway, you know it’s right next to the funeral home. Grace’s.” Dugan nodded so he continued. “We saw a car come up and park behind it.”

Dugan sat straight up. “Go ahead on.”

“Two guys went in the back. They had flashlights and seemed to be carrying stuff in and out for the better part of a half hour. Seemed odd.”

“Any idea what they was up to?”

Robbie shook his head. “We was too far away to see good. And we were afraid to leave. Didn’t want no one knowing we was there.” He glanced at Betty Jane again. “She missed her curfew ’cause we had to wait until they left.”

“And my daddy wasn’t happy,” she said.

Dugan nodded and smiled. “Parents can be that way.” He looked back at Robbie. “I take it you couldn’t identify these guys?”

“Like I said, we was a good piece away and it was dark.”

“Their car? What kind was it?”

Robbie smiled. “That I know. I like cars. It was a forty-nine Ford. Black.”

“And it had that brown stuff on the fender,” Betty Jane said.

“Primer?” Dugan asked.

“Yeah,” Robbie answered.

“If it was dark how come you could see that?”

“When they left, they circled around by the cemetery. They was only maybe fifty feet from us. I was afraid they’d see us but they didn’t. Anyway, we saw the fender then.”

After the kids left, Dugan picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary, out front at the reception desk. “Clarice, you know where Travis is?”

“Sure do. He’s standing right here, drinking coffee and looking like an idiot.”

Dugan loved Clarice. Her irreverent sense of humor kept him and Travis on their toes. “Well, send the idiot back here.”

Travis walked in. “What’s up?”

Dugan told him the story.

“I know that car,” Travis said. “Belongs to Eddie Whitt.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure he’s got a forty-nine Ford with a stove-in left front fender.”

Dugan nodded, then stood. “Maybe we should go have a talk with him.”

“You thinking Eddie stole Jerry’s body?”

“Looks that way.” Dugan shook his head. “Means he’s probably the one what dug up Wilbert Fleming, too.”

Eddie turned up Dr. Bells’ drive.

“I still think we should’ve talked to Antoine first.”

“Don’t you see his car? Up there by the barn?”

“Course I do. I just meant maybe we should’ve met him out at the usual place. Showing up here, Dr. Bell might not like it.”

“He will when he sees what we got.”

Eddie parked next to Antoine’s Chevy. One of the large double barn doors was cracked open a couple of feet so they stepped inside. Dr. Bell and Antoine stood by one of the tables, mixing a pot of liquid with a large wooden paddle. It smelled almost like stew. Almost.

“Morning,” Eddie said.

The two men whirled toward them, surprise on their faces.

“What the hell you doing here?” Antoine asked.

“Got a new one for you,” Eddie said.

Antoine walked toward them, the scowl on his face deepening. “Didn’t I tell you to never come here again? We got a place to do this. A private place.”

Eddie nodded, smiled. “This one’s so fresh I thought we’d get it to you right soon.”