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

by Vicki Hinze

  “You won’t be staying here, no. You’ll be leaving with me.”

  Mark had been speaking softly, but dropped his voice even lower. “Is it safe to talk openly in here?”

  Clearly his mind had gone exactly where mine had been. Were these people all dead? Or were they like us?

  Mr. Perini answered, but my specific question remained a mystery. “It’s safe.”

  “We’ll be at the funeral home, then?” Mark asked.

  “Not exactly.” Now Mr. Perini lowered his voice. Why? Only he knew. “You’ll be at a special place—one where you’ll be safe.”

  That he’d whispered had me second-guessing the alive-and-breathing-and-faking their-death corpses versus the really-dead-and-faking-nothing corpses present in the morgue. Trust me. Mr. Perini had said it was safe to talk, so I trusted him. Still, I took my cue from him and whispered close to his ear. “Has Jackson been told?”

  “Dexter is handling that—hopefully before Keller phones your brother. I have to say, the detective seemed genuinely upset at your death.”

  He had. “I’m not sure it was personal. I was his star witness.”

  “I think it was personal,” Mr. Perini said. “Barry radioed in that, when the photographer opened your door, you were falling out and flinched. Keller jumped the crime-scene line and shoved you back in the car. He probably saw the flinch.”

  That surprised me. “But he told Johnson I was dead and it was over. It was time to close the case.”

  “Yeah, he did.” Mr. Perini looked me right in the eye. “He can’t protect you, and he knows it.”

  I slanted a glance at Mark.

  “We got lucky.” He cocked his head. “Keller made his choice—to protect you.”

  “That’s how I see it . . . maybe. Maybe not,” Mr. Perini said. “With both families at the scene, Keller didn’t have a lot of wiggle room. If he’d pushed, odds are good the situation would have disintegrated into gun-play. That Johnson showed up looking for a fight. If he found one, Keller might well have been caught in the cross-fire.”

  “That makes more sense to me.” I didn’t doubt Keller cared, but let’s face it, I’m nothing to him. Saving his own skin likely mattered more than me or his case.

  Mark shifted the topic. “What about Rachel and Chris?”

  “Dexter is also handling them,” Mr. Perini said. “Don’t expect much. He’ll deliver the news that you’ve revoked the power of attorney and they’re not inheriting and then notify them of your untimely demise. They won’t likely be focused on your death and those emotions, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean,” Mark said, his voice world-weary in a way that proved he’d been used and discarded before, where another thought more about what he or she wouldn’t gain than about what Mark lost. I hated it for him.

  “You won’t be at the funeral home until just before time for the service.”

  “Where will we be?” I asked.

  “I have a friend with a place. You’ll like it. It’s isolated. Quiet. Peaceful.” He lowered his voice yet again, to just a whisper of sound to be certain no one else heard. “Sampson Park. No phones. No computers. No modern conveniences, but special. Most importantly, you’ll be safe there.”

  Mark raised a question that niggled at me, too. “Why not just hold us at the funeral home?”

  Paul leveled his gaze. “Because Marcello and/or Adriano are going to demand to see you and I’m going to refuse, and when I do, I expect they’ll insist. They can’t find you if you aren’t there, which they won’t know, of course, but you’ll be safe and Barry and I will deal with them.”

  Paul was sending us to Sampson Park to keep us out of the line of fire…

  “Barry or Lester will bring you back on Monday. Funeral’s at two o’clock, so we’ll retrieve you that morning.” He touched our shoulders. “Now, no more talk. Lay down and play dead so we can get you out of here.” He tossed them each a body bag. “But first, crawl into your traveling apparel.”

  Mark slid in and pulled the bag up to his waist but, still seated, he paused and looked at me then at Mr. Perini. “Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  The worry on Mark’s face concerned me, too. Had he seen or heard something?

  “Daisy and Mark are dead. They aren’t married anymore.”

  True, but nothing new. We’d discussed that several times. My stomach fluttered a protest. Just as we’d discussed that Rose and Matthew Green wouldn’t be married at all.

  “Well, yes.” Mr. Perini seemed baffled. “Marriage is ’til death.”

  Mark looked away, then at me. “I don’t want to start this new life without you. Will you marry me—again?”

  I didn’t stop to think, just reacted. “Yes.”

  Mark smiled and turned to Mr. Perini. “Could you marry us again, please?”

  “Well, yeah, I can. But I won’t.” A little flustered, he frowned. “Not in a morgue. You’re sitting in body bags on gurneys. What kind of memory of your wedding is that?”

  “We want to be married, Mr. Perini,” Mark said.

  Getting a little tense. Before it got any more so, I interceded. “You married us in a funeral home the first time,” I reminded Mr. Perini. “Funeral home. Morgue. Bridging that gap isn’t a big leap.”

  “What about the license? I don’t carry one around in my pocket, you know.”

  “We’ll sign it when we get to the funeral home,” I said.

  “We can have a ceremony as soon as we get there.”

  “No,” I said. “Now.” What if we didn’t get there? He said everyone is watching.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?” he asked Mark, who nodded, then looked to me. “Absolutely sure?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. And I meant it. Maybe it wasn’t the best choice I’d ever made in my life but, right then, it felt like the very best. My gut alarm sent up a go signal, and I heeded it. “Life can change in an instant. We don't want to risk it.”

  “Understandable, considering. Lester won’t like it much, not being here to witness it but, well, all right.” Mr. Perini took in a breath that hiked his shoulders. “Where you’re going is a nice place for a honeymoon . . .”

  And so Paul Perini, funeral home director and justice of the peace—and live bait retailer—married Mark and me for the second time. Me, sitting in my body bag on my gurney, and Mark, sitting in his body bag on his gurney.

  When Mr. Perini pronounced us husband and wife, we managed a peck of a kiss, then settled back and readied to depart. I could have sworn I’d heard a sniff, but it was probably just my imagination. It bends toward vivid anyway, and in a morgue… well, one’s apt to think one sees and hears all kinds of things. And that’s all I dared to think or speculate on that.

  Mr. Perini zipped our bags then wheeled us outside. From the voice, it was Barry who assisted him in transferring us from the gurneys to the hearse.

  Brief as it was, the sun on the bag felt good. It hadn’t been cool in the morgue, it’d been cold. And the diffused heat seeping through the bag warmed my flesh and bones and felt wonderful.

  It seemed odd even to me, but I lay inside that hot, itchy bag smiling. We were safe for now, and Mark had married me not once but twice.

  I had a husband. A family beyond Jackson. And while we were homeless, we were not hopeless. We had friends and money and something many would forfeit their eye teeth—both of them—to have: A chance to start a new life together with a sparkling clean, blank slate.

  The magnitude of that gift hit me hard and, at that second in time, I believed with everything inside me I was the luckiest woman in the world.

  Chapter 16

  BARRY DROVE THE hearse straight from the morgue to Paul’s funeral home. When he unzipped the body bags, the high ceiling and bright fluorescent lights confirmed that we were in the huge metal building behind the funeral home proper. The large, heavy door had been closed behind us.

  The still air felt cool and refreshing on my face.
I crawled out of the back of the hearse. My Cinderella dress looked a lot worse for the wear. “Whew, I’m glad that’s over.”

  Barry laughed. “I’ll bet.”

  Mark came out behind me. “Where’s Mr. Perini?”

  Seeing even fake dried blood splattering his white shirt flipped my stomach.

  “He went to do the paperwork for your wedding—the one at the morgue, I mean.” Barry’s bushy beard parted and a flash of white teeth appeared in the mouth-gap. “Now that’s a story worth passing on. Shame you won’t be able to tell it.” He checked his watch. “Stay put in here for another thirty minutes. I’ll be back to drive you to Sampson Park.”

  “Okay.” I said, looking around at a multitude of equipment and vehicles.

  Barry went through a door that opened into an internal breezeway to the funeral home.

  The garage looked like any other only on a much larger scale, except for the three hearses parked inside and two long rows of medical-type equipment I didn't recognize. Two normal vehicles and a workbench, stacks of a menagerie of furniture, odds-and-ends and lawn equipment, and shovels and hoes lined the west wall. A tall stack of new boxes not yet put together that had to be seven-feet long lay flat on a wooden platform. “Wonder what he does with those?”

  “Not a clue, and I wouldn’t hazard a guess.” Mark sat down on the edge of the workbench.

  “Me either.” A body would fit inside, but cardboard? I shuddered and took a few steps so the boxes fell out of my line of sight. Why wasn’t it hot and stuffy in here? The air smelled fresh and clean—ah, a filtration system. I visually followed the ducts. “Mr. Perini’s interests are diverse. I wouldn’t be surprised to see anything stored in here.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  We chatted about the wreck and the worries that all our enemies being in Dixie created. We didn’t talk about our second marriage. Despite the abnormality of it, we both seemed pretty relaxed. That’s hard to imagine in our circumstance, and I can’t say I understand it totally myself, but like Lester says, what is, is. Ain’t no help for it. Weary to the bone, I decided not to look at any of it any closer. There would be time for that. For now, I chose to accept the good and be grateful for it. That included Mark.

  “Daisy?”

  “Mmm?” A pair of yellow gardening gloves too small for any man I’d seen here lay on the end of the workbench. Mark sat on the other end of it.

  “Thanks for marrying me again.”

  Uncertain but happy. I felt both more than heard either in his voice. He craved a little assurance, and remembering my honesty pact, I gave it to him. “I want to be married to you, Mark.”

  “Why?”

  Too tender. “Later. I’m not keeping a secret. I’d just rather talk about this later. I’m punch-drunk tired and so are you. When we have this conversation, we need to be alert and fully awake.”

  “But you agree that we do need to have this conversation.”

  “Definitely.” I turned and looked at him. “We made a commitment to each other. Not once, but twice. Before and after.” I paused, trying to gauge his reaction, but it seemed as if a mask had slid down over his face. His expression told her nothing, and his body language hadn’t changed. “I intend to keep it. Do you?”

  “I do.” He didn’t hesitate. “Which kind of makes the conversation we need to have moot, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess it does.” I smiled.

  He smiled back, and something cold inside me melted. I’d felt that feeling before, but not to this degree. It’d been honest then, but not strong and solid. More wispy and mingled with hope. This was much different. More potent, more fixed. This warmth was meant to stay with me the rest of my life.

  The door leading inside opened and Mr. Perini and Barry walked out. “I’ve got your papers ready to sign.”

  We stepped over to the work bench and affixed our names in the appropriate places, making our marriage legal. Inside, I felt almost giddy, and from his smile, Matthew did, too.

  “Congratulations Rose and Matthew.” Paul passed over a miniature copy the size of a business card. “I’ll hold the originals for you for . . . after.”

  “Thanks,” Mark said. “So what’s next?”

  “It’s Barry’s regular quitting time, so he’ll be taking you to Sampson Park now. We need to stick to regular schedules around here, especially since we’re being watched every second.”

  That worried me. “Where are Lester and Emily?”

  “They left right after the wreck. But they’re close, and they’ll be here for the funeral.”

  “Okay.” I supposed that was wise. I mean, why would they hang around a funeral home because someone they knew died? Anyone would consider that odd, much less our crew of suspicious enemies.

  “You’ll need to both scoot down on the floorboard, so it looks like Barry’s leaving alone.” Paul walked us to an old red truck. “We’ll see you on Sunday at one.”

  “Okay.” I looked at Mark. “Front or back?”

  “Back. I’m a little bigger than you are. More of me to scrunch down.”

  I stepped back and he climbed in and curled up on the floorboard. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Perini.” When he nodded, I got in and slid down to the floor, curling my legs under me, then leaned my head forward to be sure it was a safe distance below the dash.

  Barry got in, tossed a towel over Mark, a jacket half on the seat and half over me, then cranked the engine. The garage door opened and then he drove out. “Man, those people are everywhere.”

  “Watch for cameras,” Mark said in a muffled voice.

  Barry inched down the long gravel driveway and then pulled out onto the less bumpy and smoother asphalt road. “I gotta go by the house and let the dog out. Then we can get on the road. I do the same thing every day. If I skip it—”

  “Don’t skip it.” Mark and I both said.

  “It means you’ll be down there another fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. What choice did we have? Cramped muscles or bullets in the head, I’m going to pick cramped muscles every time.

  “They following us?” Mark asked.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Ten minutes later, Barry braked to a stop. “We’re there. They’re still on us, so it’ll be a bit.” He parked, let out his dog, then whistled to call it, and seemingly settled in for the night. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty.

  An hour later, I asked, “What’s taking him so long?” My legs had given up on feeling needles and had gone numb.

  “Something’s spooked him,” Mark whispered.

  “What do we do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” That troubled me.

  “Nothing.”

  It made sense. Obviously, they were still watching or Barry would have come back. Since he hadn’t, anything we did would be a mistake. “Okay.”

  In the quiet that followed resignation, I gave in. Worn out, I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  * * *

  THE CLICK AND creak of the car door opening awakened me. It had gotten dark outside. The interior of the truck lit up.

  “It’s me. We’re okay now.” Barry started the truck, put it in gear and took off. “Sorry about that. We had two separate cars on us. No choice but to wait them out.”

  “Good that you did,” Mark said, but I sensed his relief that we were back on the road.

  “Can we get up yet?” I think I’d lost all blood flow from the waist down. It felt as if I had.

  “Best give it a few more miles to be sure.”

  I accepted Barry’s edict without complaint. After all, the man was putting his life on the line for us. We knew it. He knew it. So with no other options, I rested my head against the seat and again closed my eyes.

  When on the run and unable to act, sleep. Odds are good, you’re gonna need it.

  The world according to Lester . . .

  Chapter 17

  “
ROSE? ROSE, WE’RE here.”

  Mark—Matthew. Mark and Daisy were dead. Matthew and Rose were who we were now. I had to remember that even if just awakening and stumbling in the fog of sleep.

  The door to the truck stood open behind me, and Matthew waited on the pavement. He reached in. “Let me help you out.”

  On unfolding, pins and needles pricked my legs and had me wishing they were still numb. Pain spiked through my back from a catch in my side. “Yeow.” I grabbed a hold of Matthew and scooted out of the truck. When my feet hit the pavement, that pain shot up my legs through my whole being. My left arm was stiff. I rubbed it, paused and shook one leg, rotating the foot, then rotated the other and looked around.

  A broad arched sign rose above a wrought-iron gate. “Sampson Park.”

  Though it was dark, the parking lot was well lighted. From what I could see in the diffused light, the grounds beyond the gate looked lush: tall oaks, leaves sprinkling the ground, and islands of thick green bushes. On the right, an armed guard stepped out of the tower-like arch that swept skyward and across the road.

  “Evening.” The guard dipped his chin. In his sixties, I guessed, and not a crease in sight in his prim blue uniform.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Green.” Barry stepped forward. “Darby is expecting them.”

  “Just a moment, please.” The guard stepped back into the arch and pressed something on the far wall. “Mr. and Mrs. Green have arrived.”

  “Please deliver them to the Village, cottage number seven.”

  “Right away.” The guard stepped out. “Any cell phones, iPods, iPads or tablets, laptops, or other electronic devices?”

  “No.”

  “Any cameras, recorders, other communications equipment or devices?”

  “No.”

  “Good. All are barred from the park. If you’re caught with any of those things, you’ll be arrested.”

  “Arrested?” Mark couldn’t or chose not to retain his surprise.

  “It’s essential to the guests, sir.”

  When it became obvious that’s all the explanation he’d be getting, Mark said, “I see.”