Down & Dead In Dixie (Down & Dead, Inc. Series)

by Vicki Hinze

“I think you’re going to need that imagination—and I’m going to need to stay on my toes or you’ll sidestep telling me anything, Daisy. You promised me no secrets and we’re married—what?—half an hour, and already you’re keeping secrets from me. That does not bode well.”

  “These kinds of secrets don’t count. They’re just thoughts, not real secrets. But I like it that you didn’t complain about being bald and toothless.”

  “I noticed that I lost my hair and teeth and you lost nothing.”

  “Course not. I’ll look then exactly as I do now.” I laughed.

  He did, too.

  Laughing. We were about to die, and we were laughing. “You know, I think we have to be as certifiable as Lester and Em—”

  Mark checked the rearview mirror, slammed on the brakes.

  The car skidded. Fishtailed. Spun out of control then slid across the road.

  Something thudded, crashed into the car. Debris flew. Smoke from the tires clouded around us, and we tumbled, slamming into the ditch. My body jerked toward the door, my shoulder smacking against the side panel. Pain shot through my arm, up my neck. I grunted, gasped, trying to catch my breath. What happened? Mark… “Mark?”

  “Daisy, hush.” He splashed me with fake blood and doused himself, then crammed the bag into his left pocket. “They hear you, and it ruins everything.”

  “That was on purpose?” I couldn’t believe it. “You knew that was going to happen and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Gripe later. Not now.”

  “Who is going to hear me?”

  “The cop who’s been following us and is running toward the car right now.”

  I dropped my voice. “You should have told me—”

  “Sorry, but would you please hush? We’re dead,” he muttered. “Dead people don’t talk.”

  “Or gripe.”

  “Shh!”

  The officer opened Mark’s door. “You folks all—oh, man.”

  “They all right, Kev?” A second man joined the cop outside Mark’s door.

  My eyes were closed so I couldn’t see him, but he sounded like Barry.

  “No. I’m afraid not, Barry.”

  “Man. I saw the deer run out in front of them. When they started spinning toward the ditch, I was scared it’d get ’em.”

  “This curve’s notorious for taking people out.”

  “In the last ten years, at least a dozen’s been called to heaven on it.”

  “At least.” The cop sighed.

  He hadn’t checked us for a pulse. Or done any of the things one would expect a cop to do in a situation like this. Why not?

  “Who are they?” Barry asked. “Locals?”

  “Don’t think so. I hadn’t seen either of them before.”

  “Lemme look.” Shuffling noises sounded, as if they were switching places.

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Recognize either of them?”

  “Yeah, I do. Oh, man,” Barry said, clearly closer to the window. “Mr. Perini just married ’em a little while ago.”

  “Newlyweds.” The cop let out a heartfelt sigh. “Sure hate to hear that.”

  “They seemed like nice people,” Barry said. “Hate it that they got killed here.”

  “It’s a bad curve,” the cop said. “How’s the deer?”

  I wanted to know that, too. I’d heard the thump.

  “DOA.”

  They’d killed a deer in this? Actually killed a deer? Inside, I felt sick.

  “It didn’t suffer. Was dead before it hit the ground.”

  “Mercy in that,” the cop said. “Keep watch no one comes around that curve and disturbs the scene, will you? I’m going to run back to the cruiser and call it in, grab a few things.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The cop’s footfalls retreated.

  Barry came close to the window. “Don’t freak out, Daisy. The deer was already dead. Lester told me to be sure to tell you. Pete Ladner got it hunting late yesterday. We . . . appropriated it—with permission.”

  Did everyone in Dixie owe Paul Perini favors? Regardless, I owed Lester another one. Knowing the deer was dead before the accident did make me feel better. And I had seen the sign about Pete Ladner going hunting at the funeral home, posted on the outside wall near Mr. Perini’s front door.

  The cop returned. “I’m going to drop some cones on the other side of the curve. Don’t touch anything, Barry. The coroner’s on his way and he’s in a foul mood.”

  “Why’s he in an uproar?”

  “He and the chief were still playing cards and some Detective from out of state came in looking for somebody. He brought an FBI agent with him.”

  Oh, no. Keller and Johnson. Had to be Keller and Johnson.

  “No kidding.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “Yeah?” Barry asked.

  “Chief had to fold and he had a full house. He’s not happy.”

  “So why is the coroner in a foul mood?”

  “He had four of a kind.”

  “That’d do it.” Barry clicked his tongue. “I’m seeing lights. Must be him coming down the road.”

  “Looks like.”

  “I hope he don’t keep us out here all night. I got to get home and let the dogs out.”

  “Won’t take long. They’re dead, we both saw what happened. Ain’t much to investigate when you witness it. Half an hour, tops.”

  In Biloxi, it took hours to investigate an accident and take statements and do all that had to be done when an accident happened. Course, those people were alive and would be filing insurance claims and liability suits, maybe. The police had to be prepared. When you have two witnesses and one is a cop, and the people involved are dead, it kind of cuts back on possibilities—unless the victims have heirs. Heirs could . . . well, spit.

  We’d been duped. The cop had to also be in on this with Mr. Perini.

  The team is ready.

  Barry and Kev, the cop—they were the team and Kev, being a cop, was wired. The whole thing had been recorded. Hard to fight that kind of evidence.

  And in my mind I again heard Mr. Perini’s, Trust me…

  Chapter 14

  Not one but two vehicles arrived within minutes.

  My adrenalin shot through the roof. There was no way the coroner would examine us and pronounce us dead, especially not with additional unintended witnesses. Barry stayed close to the vehicle and relayed information to us. Obviously, though I couldn’t open my eyes to see, he had been rigged with a two-way communications device.

  “Detective Keller and Special Agent Johnson,” Barry said, relaying the identity of the second vehicle’s occupants. “Keep them behind the tape,” he added to an unseen someone, probably on the radio.

  After a little bit of a distant heated dispute, a man’s voice sounded. “Let’s get this done. I need photos, measurements—all the usual for the record.”

  “The coroner,” Barry clarified. “Apparently the FBI and out-of-stater ain’t taking kindly to being kept behind the tape.”

  My heart thudded so hard, the coroner wouldn’t need to check it with a stethoscope to verify my death. He’d hear the beating, disputing my death—and Keller and Johnson stood close enough to see it happen.

  “Two more cars?” Barry said aloud. A long pause later, he added, “Marcello and Adriano themselves?” Another pause, then a worried, “Oh, man.”

  That jacked up my concern and fear. The entire entourage was there. Could the local cops keep them far enough away to protect our secret? I sure hoped they could, but these weren’t just your everyday-average citizens. These were men with the power of the federal government behind them and, worse, two heads of the strongest mob families in the world. We are so nailed. If one didn’t get us, another of them would.

  From the sounds, a multitude of people shuffled around doing what they do. Outside Mark’s door, the coroner told Barry to step aside. A camera flash went off repeatedly. My door o
pened and, since I leaned against it, I feared falling out. It took everything in me not to brace myself and shift. But a strong hand shoved me back into the car, and more flashes from a camera followed.

  A bag snapped open, rustling and sounds of the coroner withdrawing something filled the silence in the car. A full three minutes later, which seemed like a lifetime, the coroner placed something cold and metallic against my throat, then my chest.

  Panic set in. He had to know we were alive. Had to know it. What would he do? Did Paul Perini have a stronger hold on the coroner than the FBI or the mob? Having no clue, I began to sweat.

  Think ice! Think ice!

  If anyone, not just coroner, saw me sweating, they’d all know I was alive.

  He stepped back, and a crisp breeze filled the car. He left the door open.

  “Well?”

  Johnson’s voice. Definitely Ted Johnson’s voice.

  “They’re still dead,” the coroner answered flippantly. “That’s pretty normal here. Expect it’s the same wherever you’re from, Special Agent . . . what did you say your name was again?”

  “Ted Johnson,” the man said through his teeth.

  Turf war. The locals never appreciated being invaded by the feds. And the feds never appreciated standing next to two rival mob leaders and having their hands tied on being able to do anything about it because their star witness was dead. That tension just might be the luckiest break I’ve ever gotten in my whole life.

  “Tag ’em and bag ’em,” the coroner said. “Kev, you got everything you need?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then let’s get ’em to the morgue before morning traffic sets in. Otherwise, we’ll have even more white crosses beside the road here.”

  A whistle sounded and a vehicle drove up and parked alongside the car. The next thing I knew, I was wearing a toe tag, zipped inside a body bag, then being moved.

  Keller’s muffled voice carried to me. “Daisy was married? When did that happen?”

  “Just before the accident.” Barry elevated his voice so Mark and I wouldn’t miss what was said. Thoughtful of him, considering.

  “You’re sure the accident killed them both?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. I saw them in the car, and saw the wreck. Sad, thing. But it’s a bad curve. We’ve lost a lot of people here.”

  Agent Johnson interjected. “I saw all the crosses on the shoulder. Maybe you guys should consider a flashing sign or something.”

  “The poor kid never stood a chance.” Keller sounded genuinely regretful. “What caused the wreck?”

  “The man was driving. A deer bolted out of the woods and into the street. The guy swerved to miss it. Didn’t, but at least the poor thing didn’t suffer. I saw it all happen.”

  Johnson asked, “Anyone else around?”

  “Just me and Kev—that’s him right there.”

  “The police officer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Johnson persisted. “And you didn’t see anything unusual? No erratic driving, no significant variations in speed—no anything that might lead you to think something more than swerving to miss a deer happened here tonight?”

  “Not a thing,” Barry said. “If that’s all your questions, I really need to get going. Hope my dog ain’t busted a bladder. If not, he’s close. I’m never this late getting home.”

  “That’s it. Thanks for talking with us, Barry.”

  “No problem,” he said. “You’ve got my number if you need anything.” His footfalls grew weaker—walking away.

  Engines roared to life and several cars departed.

  “I guess that’s it, then, Ted.” Keller sounded disappointed.

  “Yeah. Without her, we’ve got nothing.” The frustration of not being able to make his case came through in Johnson’s voice. “Hard to believe that with two mob families after her, it’s wildlife that killed her.”

  “When it’s your time, it’s your time.” Keller paused, then added, “If it had to happen, I’m glad it happened the way it did. She was a nice kid. Let’s close it out and go home.”

  “Don’t you want to investigate further?”

  “No, I really don’t,” Keller said. “Daisy Grant is dead. We saw her. A cop witnessed the accident. What’s to investigate?”

  “Maybe she left something behind that’ll help us…”

  “Ha. You’d have better odds, going to heaven to get her to testify.” Keller grunted. “Give it up, Ted. It’s over.”

  “You’re right.” Johnson sounded irritated. “You’re right. I just . . . we were so close.”

  “Close doesn’t cut it,” Keller told him. “This isn’t horseshoes.”

  Car doors opened and closed and the vehicle, I presumed, that carried Keller and Johnson to the scene, departed. Where the Marcellos and Adrianos were, I had no idea. Perhaps they had left earlier. Someone had. Not knowing their whereabouts had me jittery inside, and the body bag had me hot and itching. Think ice.

  Finally someone approached the vehicle in which Mark and I lay stretched out side-by-side. I held my breath and prayed harder than I’ve ever in my life prayed.

  Other footsteps approached.

  “I want to see the bodies,” a man said.

  “Sure thing,” a second man said. “Coroner sealed ’em. I can’t break the seals. But follow me to the morgue. My boss will let you can take a look as soon as he logs ’em in.”

  “No,” the man said. “I want to see them now.”

  My fear doubled. I resisted the urge to fist my hands. Was it Marcello or Adriano? Marcello wanted me to live, but on sight, Adriano would shoot me dead.

  A third man piped in. “Sorry, he said. He’s a little emotional—friend of the victims. We’ll follow you to the morgue.”

  “No problem.” The backend of our vehicle slammed shut.

  The air stilled and silence fell. Footfalls rounded to the driver’s door, and then someone got inside. The engine started, and finally . . . finally . . . the vehicle moved.

  I took my first easy breath since our deaths.

  Chapter 15

  WHEN I NEXT opened my eyes, I lay flat on my back on a slab covered with a sheet. Mark lay toes up on a gurney beside me. Did I dare to move more than the edge of the sheet to see more? Trust me. I shouldn’t. But the temptation burned strong.

  “Daisy?”

  Someone called my name in a stage whisper. Unable to identify the voice, and fearing someone might be trying to trick me, I didn’t move.

  “Daisy? Mark? Ouch. Blast it all.” He’d stubbed his toe. “Where are you?”

  Sweeps of light from a flashlight crisscrossed the room. Why didn’t he turn the light on? Definitely Paul Perini. I sat up. “Over here.”

  Mark sat up, too.

  Mr. Perini smiled and walked across the long room full of gurneys. More than half were draped with sheets. “Place is busier than usual. I couldn’t spot you.”

  “Might be easier if you turned that flashlight off,” Mark sat up, “and the overhead on.”

  “It would,” he continued to speak softly, “but we’re being watched, so I’ll pass on that. No sense telegraphing ahead exactly when I walked in the room.”

  I counted the occupied gurneys. At least a dozen of them. The room was cold, dim, and utilitarian. Chills rippled up my backbone. “Seems like a lot of bodies for a small town.”

  “For some towns, but not for Dixie. Mine’s the only funeral home for miles.” Paul’s smile broadened. “Well, dying wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

  It hadn’t been. “Not really, though I would have appreciated knowing it was about to happen.”

  “Sorry. That was my call,” Mr. Perini said. “If you’d seen the deer, I figured you would tense up and maybe grab the wheel and you two would really get hurt.” He glanced at Mark. “For the record, your husband opposed you not being forewarned. I insisted.”

  I appreciated knowing that, and relented because Mr. Perini had a point. I probably would have grabbed the wheel to
keep from hitting the deer. But equally distracting was that this was the first time anyone had called Mark my husband. I liked it. A lot. “Someone at the scene demanded to see our bodies—a man—but another one with him said they’d follow us to the morgue. I’ve been laying here dreading the coroner coming to show us to them.”

  “That was two family goons.”

  “Which family?” Mark asked.

  “Adrianos.” Mr. Perini sighed. “Not an issue. Without a court order, no one will be coming in to see you. But they are both watching the morgue, the funeral home and half the businesses in town.”

  “Is that a problem?” Mark asked.

  “Hasn’t been yet.” He tugged at his red cap. “Try not to worry. We try to prepare for all eventualities and we’re pretty nimble at improvising.”

  That relieved and worried me. Oddities happened or they wouldn’t prepare for anything and the unexpected did crop up or they wouldn’t be good at improvising. “Now what happens?”

  “We wait three days for Jackson to get here, and then we have the funerals,” Mr. Perini said. “I know you wanted to avoid that, in this case, but if Adriano and Marcello don’t see you up close and personal themselves and watch the grand finale firsthand, they’re never going to believe you’re dead.” Paul lifted his hands. “It’s necessary. Essential to the success of our plans.”

  “That’s it, then,” Mark said, dragging a hand through his hair. “So we have to stay in here for three days?”

  Three days in the morgue didn’t appeal at all. It was dark, gloomy, smelled strongly of antiseptic, and being surrounded by dead people who might or might not really be dead felt spooky. It was cold, too, and frankly, a little creepy. Most morgues kept bodies in mini-vaults or drawers, not in one large room, and on the far wall, there were silver-handled, mini-vaults that could be sliding drawers. Did that mean all the bodies on gurneys in here were like us and not real bodies?

  I wondered. But I didn't dare ask. Surely if that were the case, Mr. Perini wouldn’t be so loose with using names and talking specifics. Then again, if the people on those gurneys weren’t dead, they had as much to lose as we did, so did what he said really matter? To utter anything overheard would expose them, too, and they had just as much to lose.