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

by Vicki Hinze

  “Don’t be sad,” Mr. Perini said. “You have much to do and I’ve said we’ll take care of this. Trust me.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure my heart was in it.

  “Barry will be back for you in thirty minutes.” Mr. Perini looked over at the clock on the monitor screen. “I guess now is the time to fill you two in on just how all this is going to work.”

  I’d been curious of course, but I didn’t want to infer a lack of trust in Mr. Perini by asking questions. Dying and starting another life taught a woman a lot of things. Patience, and to reach out and be a bridge. And that forfeiting control didn’t mean losing yourself. Sometimes it actually helped you find yourself and become a better person. I needed to think more on all this, but for the moment, knowing not asking how it would all work was a good thing. Mr. Perini had a thing about being quizzed, and Lester did, too.

  Interesting for Lester in particular, considering he’d been under cover and dishonest with me from the start. But in spite of that, I had no doubt whatsoever that he loved me, and he’d gone to great lengths to do what he could to help me and keep me safe. A bridge.

  A father.

  “Let’s sit at the table.” Paul grabbed a cup. “I always think better with a mug of coffee in my hand.”

  Chapter 21

  ROSE AND MATTHEW huddled at the surveillance screens and watched the dreaded arrivals.

  The little chapel had seven rows of double pews flanking its center aisle. Two huge sprays of lilies lay atop wooden tables on either side of the narrow room. One bore a pink ribbon, the other a blue. And heavy silk drapes hung ceiling to floor behind them. Just in front of them, perched on a wooden easel, stood a photograph of a smiling Mark and Daisy in their wedding finery. They looked . . . happy.

  Noises sounded from the apartment.

  Matthew took a quick look. “Lester,” he said.

  “Here you are.” His head and shoulders appeared at the doorway. “Paul says it’s time for your coffin stint.”

  My tangled nerves sizzled. “I’m going to cough or sneeze or something and mess this up. I just know it.”

  “You won’t,” Matthew assured me. “Neither will I.”

  We couldn’t. Our entire futures, our very lives depended on not messing this up.

  “Just think of Jackson. We have to be perfect for his sake.”

  For Jackson. “Right.” I took two steps, stopped and pecked a kiss to Matthew’s lips. “You’re playing me, and I know it. Using Jackson because you know there’s nothing I won’t do for him. I just wanted you to know that I know what you’re doing.”

  He smiled. “Whatever works.”

  “Move it, you two,” Lester interrupted. “It’s time to work.”

  We went down the back stairs and into the prep room, where Barry stood waiting.

  He did a double-take at seeing me in my wedding dress and Matthew in his wedding tux. “Best move it. People are starting to arrive.” He stepped aside.

  The two glass coffins I’d seen earlier stood waiting. That was both a blessing and a curse. They’d see us, be convinced we were dead. But if we so much as flinched, they’d see that too. So the exposure was both a blessing and an added danger.

  In short order, we lay inside our coffins. Lester adjusted the skirt of my gown. “You okay, Daisy girl?”

  No sense in lying about it. He’d know the truth anyway. “Scared stiff.”

  “I expect so, but there ain’t no help for it. This’ll be over soon enough and you can start your new life. Make it a good one, you hear me?”

  “I will.” Near tears again, I swallowed hard. “Lester, I—I love you.” No way could I tell him how much he meant to me and all that was in my heart.

  “Love you, too, Daisy girl.” He patted my hand, then crossed on top of me in the standard funeral pose. “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you, too,” I whispered. “You’ll keep an eye on Jackson?”

  “Yep, I surely will.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No need, darlin’. He’s mine, too. Taught him to fish, if you recall.”

  “And so much more.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “What he knows about being a man, he learned from you. Have I ever thanked you for that?”

  “A thousand times, Daisy girl. Bailing me outta jail, eating peanut butter for a week time and again. Oh, you’ve thanked me plenty.” He sniffled. “Now hush yourself and be still so I don’t have to kill nobody today, eh?”

  That widened my eyes. But I knew in a blink he wasn’t exaggerating, he was dead serious. “I won’t mess up. I promise.”

  He winked. “Now that’s the kind of talk I like to hear.”

  “Where’s Emily?”

  “Dead, remember?”

  “I know that. I meant right now.”

  “Watching from above, like the angel she is,” he said, his gaze rolling toward the ceiling. “Too risky, her being down here.”

  Watching from the surveillance room and, with Victor Marcello in the building, it was way too risky for her anywhere else in the building.

  “You’ve got plenty of air and we’ll get you out as soon as we can. Whatever you do, don’t move.” Barry started to lower the lid.

  “Wait!” I looked over at Matthew. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I couldn’t. Not for the first time here, not like this. “See you in just a bit.”

  He smiled. “In just a bit.”

  Mr. Perini walked in, ending the moment. “Jackson’s arrived. They’re all here. It’s time.”

  Barry closed the lid on Matthew’s coffin.

  Lester closed the lid on mine.

  “Blink if you can hear me.” Mr. Perini stepped between their coffins. “Okay, good. Lester, you go join Jackson. You two,” he said to Matthew and me, “no moving at all. No breathing deeply, or through your mouths. Here’s how it’s going to happen. We’ll wheel you into the chapel. I’ll open the curtain, announce that both of you requested there be no service or viewing, then Barry will close the curtain. They’ll all see you, but that won’t be enough.”

  It wouldn’t. I mouthed a question, hoping he’d understand. “Did Keller and Johnson get the court order to take possession of our bodies?”

  “No judge would grant any of them possession.”

  I innately knew there was a “without my approval” attached to that. Between Mr. Perini and Dexter Devlin, I felt confident that was the case. “Are you going to bury us?”

  “No, not bury.” He moved into position at the head of her coffin, motioned to Barry to move to the foot. “Burn.”

  * * *

  MR. PERINI AND Barry positioned the coffins at the front of the chapel, opened the drapes, and then placed the sprays of flowers atop our coffins, their movements methodical. I could see each step playing out in my head.

  “Okay,” he told Barry. “Let them in. Jackson first, then when he’s seated, the others can enter.”

  Barry had been with Mr. Perini a long time, which meant his words were for Matthew and me and not for Barry.

  Rustling sounds soon penetrated the glass surrounding me. The creak of wood—Jackson sitting down on the wooden pew—and then the low-key din of others shuffling into the chapel. Inside my mind, I saw them. Detective Keller and Special Agent Johnson entering and sitting on the right, near my coffin. Victor Marcello choosing to sit in the last pew on the left. For Edward, he would sit on Matthew’s side, and he’d surely be flanked by two of his well-dressed thugs. The stocky man with dark hair and eyes and heavy jowls Matthew described as Adriano would sit in the back near the entrance, fearful of being too close to Marcello and unable to exit. He too would be escorted by his men. Tank, I imagined, seating himself in a front-row pew close to Matthew, his expression set in stone, his gaze never wandering. He had to be on edge, sitting this close to Marcello and Adriano, knowing they bombed Jameson Court and prompted events that led to Matthew’s death, and still he remained helpless to do anything to them.

  Mr.
Perini quickly did what he said he was going to do, then the sounds of the curtain drawing closed filled the air.

  Marcello’s voice echoed through the chapel, confirming Mr. Perini’s supposition that seeing their bodies wouldn’t satisfy these men. “This isn’t over until I see them put in the ground.”

  Johnson agreed.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.” Mr. Perini sounded calm but firm.

  “Why?” Keller asked.

  “They aren’t being buried,” Mr. Perini said. “The bodies are being taken directly to the crematorium.”

  “Then we want to see them cremated,” Victor Marcello insisted.

  “Mr. Grant,” Mr. Perini said to Jackson. “As next of kin, we have to have your permission for anyone else to view the cremation—unless you all have court orders.”

  Not one of them uttered a sound.

  “Why is that necessary?” Jackson asked. “We all just saw them both. Why do these people have to intrude there, too?”

  Adriano gave the only answer they’d be getting. “We want to be there.”

  Mr. Perini interceded. “Mr. Grant . . . Jackson, we have a viewing room at the crematorium. They will be sequestered there and not intrude on you or the process in any way.”

  Jackson would understand that Mr. Perini wanted them sequestered. He wanted them pinned in place as long as possible. It afforded Rose and Matthew time they sorely needed to come out of this alive. Get it, Jackson. Come on. Get it.

  “All right.” Jackson said. “If they stay in the viewing room and don’t try to intrude, I’ll permit them to attend.

  “That’s for the best,” Mr. Perini said. “Gentlemen, if you’ll exit the chapel, we’ll prepare the bodies for transfer.

  Victor Marcello called out. “We need directions.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Perini said. “Barry, pass the gentlemen the printed directions to the facility, please. Mr. Grant, your limo is curbside out front.”

  Printed directions. Clearly Mr. Perini had been prepared for exactly this.

  And just as clearly, he had prepared Jackson.

  * * *

  THE DIXIE CREMATORIUM was a red-brick, six-story building two blocks behind Paul Perini’s funeral home. On each end, tall spires stretched into the sky, and a square emissions system stood like a spike near the rear of the building. At the other end of that tower, deep inside the building was a flue. One that would be important to us.

  The building looked exactly as Mr. Perini had described it when briefing us on this finale to our deaths and what we must do to finish this. While we lay in the hearse in our coffins, we heard the men gather near the building’s entrance.

  Mr. Perini spoke. “Mr. Grant, I’ll escort you. The rest of you may follow at a respectful distance. Detective Keller and Special Agent Johnson, if you’ll join Barry when you see him, he’ll have your authorization badges for entrance into the viewing room. Mr. Adriano and Mr. Marcello, you and your associates join Barry also, please, and keep your badge affixed to your lapels and in plain sight at all times. You all must stay with Barry the entire time you’re in the facility. No exceptions. I’m sure you understand, for safety reasons, they can’t have people in here, wandering at will.” He paused, and when no one objected or commented, he continued. “Mr. Tank, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying Mr. Grant, that would be helpful.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tank readily agreed.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Perini said. “I have duties, you see, and I’d rather Mr. Grant not endure this alone.”

  “Of course.”

  Mr. Perini seemed formal but compassionate and made it clear to everyone in the group that he was in total control and intended to fully exercise it. I didn’t have to see it to respect and admire his savvy. So much came through in his voice and in their reactions to it.

  All of the men had to be bristly at being in such close proximity to one another. There were histories here. Bad blood, too.

  Mr. Perini fell silent and in my mind, I imagined them crossing the white marble floor to the elevator he had described to Matthew and me. Them riding it down to the lowest level, two stories below ground. The doors would open and they’d file out.

  Barry opened the hearse and two men assisted him in moving our bodies inside, taking a different elevator and bringing us down to the bottom floor. Our elevator doors opened and we were wheeled into place in a cavernous, well-lighted room. The viewing room would be to the left, the furnace, as Mr. Perini called it, straight ahead, and his warning replayed in my mind. Don’t breathe deeply. Don’t move. No twitching or scratching—not now. You’ll be in full view of everyone until you’re transferred. There’s nothing to hide even the smallest of movements.

  “Here we are.” Mr. Perini said. “Mr. Grant and Mr. Tank, if you will please come with me. You have to identify the bodies.”

  “I just saw them at the funeral home,” Jackson said.

  “I apologize, Mr. Grant. But it’s state law. Before we can actually perform this service, we must have the next of kin personally identify the bodies.”

  “All right.” Jackson’s voice stiffened in what must be a common reaction. People did tend to get wired around dead bodies.

  Barry moved the forty feet to Mr. Perini’s side. “We’re ready to transfer them, sir.”

  “Excellent. Kindly escort these gentlemen to the viewing chamber.” He looked to Jackson and Tank. “It’s insulated so it’ll be cooler and more comfortable for you. Typically, we try to shield the loved ones from this part of the process, but in this case, that isn’t possible. Everyone will have a clear view of the bodies entering the primary chamber.”

  “The primary chamber?” Jackson asked.

  “Follow the conveyer belt. On the other side of the main door is the primary chamber. Beyond it is a secondary chamber for the actual fire. We seal the bodies in the primary chamber—see that metal door?” Jackson must have nodded because Mr. Perini went on. “The bodies will enter the secondary chamber on the conveyer and then that inner door will seal off the primary chamber. It isn’t—”

  “Do you use wood, or what?” Marcello asked.

  “Mr. Marcello,” Mr. Perini admonished him. “I can appreciate your curiosity, but we must respect the sensitivity of the situation. Now isn’t the time.”

  Jackson interjected, “I’m curious, too.”

  “In that case, some use wood. We do not. Natural gas.” Mr. Perini sniffed. “Ours is the latest technology, of course.”

  The men’s voices muffled. Apparently, they’d entered the glass-wall viewing room. Mr. Perini had said there were two rows of six blue padded seats. In my mind, I saw the men walk in and sit down, their gazes trained on the unobstructed view of the flames inside the outer door. It would be opened. Mr. Perini wanted the men to see the fire and flames, to assure them in their own minds, anything going inside would not survive. Their perception, while a bit macabre, was essential to our fresh-start success.

  Keller asked, “Did you check the credentials on this place?”

  “Yeah.” Johnson answered him. “It’s clean.”

  That seemed to satisfy Keller; he didn’t ask anything else. And Marcello and Adriano would have had to be deaf not to hear the exchange in the silent little room.

  Jackson stood near the two glass coffins. Barry and Mr. Perini, aided by the same two men who’d wheeled us down here, transferred our bodies from the coffins to white combustible boxes. He waited until the boxes were closed, then pressed a hand to each one and paused.

  Mr. Perini, from the rustle of fabric, clasped Jackson’s upper arm then their footfalls faded; leading him to, I supposed, the viewing room. I didn’t have to see Jackson to imagine his face. It would be pain-ravaged by grief; his eyes red, his cheeks flushed and tear-stained. He’d sit down in the first available seat in the nearest row.

  A door closed.

  My heart rate kicked up. The viewing room door closing, locking them inside.

  Now, I dared to squint to see, terrif
ied because even Mr. Perini had deemed this the most dangerous part of the entire operation.

  Two thick stone-looking slabs on wheeled metal frames stood waiting. On them rested single stones. Our boxes would be placed atop those single stones. The wheels rolled forward across the concrete slab floor, backed up and then rolled forward again. A metal clacking sounded—the conveyer belt had been turned on.

  My heart thundered. If not for the roar of the fire, closed door or not between us, the men watching would have heard. It hurt, as if it banged against my ribs, my chest wall. Suddenly, I was hot all over, pouring sweat. Mr. Perini had warned us about the heat and not to fear it. But with every pore in my body wide open and sweat drenched, I did fear I’d vaporize before the sweat soiled the cloth of my wedding dress and it burned to ash. Don’t worry, Daisy. Rose. Don’t be afraid, Rose. It’s going to be all right. Just for a few more seconds. No, don’t break out of here, don’t try to run. That’s certain death. Just try to breathe.

  My gut alarm said to escape. Every instinct in my body warned me to move, to run, to get away from the fire. It roared in my ears, burned in my nose, and I wanted to heed the warnings. Wanted to, but couldn’t. Lester and Emily and Mr. Perini’s images filled my mind.

  The battle raged fierce. Trust them. Trust them.

  The heat inside the box grew hotter. “Trust them,” I whispered. Hotter and then hotter. I can’t stand this. I can’t do it!

  The outer door slammed shut.

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. A few more seconds and it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Oh, God, let me be okay!

  A gear ground and suddenly we were moving, but not forward—upward. Upward, just as Mr. Perini had said. I began counting, as instructed. “One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. . . And on I went until I reached Twenty, one thousand.

  I waited.

  Nothing happened.

  My heart stilled, hung suspended in my chest. Had something gone wrong? Oh, no—we weren’t going to be okay! Terror paralyzed me.