by Ann Yost
A coffin. She’d forgotten all about her plan to re-visit the church tonight. Somehow, the idea of peeking into a coffin had seemed more doable in the early evening, when she was surrounded by people. But she thought about the goal she’d set out for herself. They weren’t any closer to nailing Blanche’s murderer than they had been three days ago. What if the definitive clue was lurking in that box? What if, as she suspected, Epps and Prendergast were using corpses to ship drugs or other contraband and the box was empty?
There was only one way to find out.
She got to her feet, trying not to listen to the silence down the hall. This time she armed herself with a flashlight. At least she’d be able to see in the dark. If there was anything to be seen.
****
Luke looked into Crystal’s perfect face, and he listened to her musical voice. She’d missed him, longed for him, made a terrible mistake, could he ever, ever forgive her? Yada, yada, yada. He waited until she’d presented her case which consisted, pretty much, of describing her own unhappy state of mind.
“Nothing would be different,” he said. “I couldn’t make you happy before. Nothing has changed.”
“But it has,” she said, eagerly. They were sitting on a small loveseat near the front bedroom window and she leaned up against him. “You’re not overseas anymore. You’ve come home.”
“I still have to work a lot of hours. The business takes all my time, and I’m in debt.”
A shadow flitted over those exquisite features. People always asked Crystal why she hadn’t pursued a career in modeling. She had a variety of answers depending on the questioner, but Luke knew the truth.
Modeling was hard work, and Crystal was essentially lazy.
“You’ll make a lot of money, Luke. I know you. You’ll make a success of your business. It’s just a matter of time.”
He wondered if she even knew what his business was. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She pursed her full, lush lips. How had he ever considered that expression sexy? How had he never comprehended the extent of her self-centeredness? The answer was sobering. He had known. He’d wanted her anyway.
“I know I hurt you,” she said. “I wish I could take it back. I don’t even know what I was thinking. It was just that you were gone so much, and after we were married, it wasn’t the same.”
It hadn’t been the same. He hadn’t felt the same. He’d stopped worshipping her, and on some level, she’d known it.
“Do you hate me?”
He shook his head. The passion he’d felt for her had died long before the marriage, but he hadn’t laid it to rest. He felt a surge of gratitude to Blanche for bringing him home and to Jessie for making him face the demon.
Crystal inched closer. She was offering him a closer look, a touch. Incredible he’d never figured this out before.
“If you don’t hate me,” she whispered, bringing her lips close to his, “then you must love me.”
She’d never been deep. She’d never been rejected either. Trust a goddess not to know that the opposite of love wasn’t hate it was indifference.
“I’ve made a commitment to Jessie,” he said.
She waved her hand, dismissively. “She won’t hold you to that.”
Crystal was right. Anyway the commitment was more implied than spoken. “Maybe not, but I plan to hold her to the commitment she made to me.”
It didn’t end there, of course. Crystal Wetherington was used to getting what she wanted. She argued and pleaded, cried and pouted. By the time she’d run out of words, they were both groggy with fatigue.
“Let me stay in your room,” she said.
“Fine.” They went up the back staircase. She sprawled on his bed, already half asleep. He took off.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” she murmured. When he heard the soft, even breathing and knew she was asleep, he shed his suit. He slid into a pair of jeans. He might be exhausted, but he and Jessie had some serious talking to do. His pulse raced at the prospect of waking her. She’d be tousled and drowsy and warm and, he hoped, welcoming. He let himself out into the hallway. The quiet of the upstairs was broken by an unmistakable “click.”
Luke’s mouth set into a grim line. Someone was coming in or going out, and it didn’t take extra sensory perception to figure out who it was. He flew down the stairs, threw his leather jacket on over his bare chest, and snagged the hook of her slicker before she’d made it through the arch.
“Where,” he asked in a low, but deadly voice, “do you think you’re going?”
****
Emotions warred in Jessie.
She did not appreciate manhandling, and her business was none of his business. But his scent, as always, made her knees weak and his green glare held her captive. Besides, when all was said and done, she didn’t really want to visit Miss Letty alone.
“Going to check something out at the church.”
His eyelashes flickered. She loved the way they swept his high cheekbones.
“The coffin?”
She nodded, waiting for a reprimand or an out and out order that she not go. It didn’t come.
“Wear something else.”
She blinked. “I can’t believe you’re arguing about wardrobe.”
“The yellow is too easy to see.” He sounded impatient.
He had a point. He opened the front door, and she found a dark cashmere coat. Kit’s.
“Not that.”
Jessie shivered. Was that jealousy in his voice or was he afraid she’d trip on the coat? He reached into the closet and brought out a navy blue jacket with an oversized “MHH” embroidered on the pocket.
His letter jacket. He helped her into it, and she transferred the flashlight and her cell phone into the pocket.
“Does this mean we’re going steady?”
“Yeah.”
The walk to the church at eleven p.m. was cold and lonely. Clouds scudded across the sky alternately revealing and obscuring the moon.
Despite the lighted tree on the Green, it looked less like Christmastime than Doomsday.
Jessie kept her head down. She decided not to ask about the rendezvous. It was hard to talk over the noise of the wind. Besides, she knew what he’d say. He was finished with Crystal. He wanted to start over with Jessie. Her heart twisted. He would do what he thought was right.
Her discretion lasted until they reached the side door of the church.
“You give any thought to how we’re going to get in?”
She answered with a question of her own.
“Did you enjoy the stroll down Memory Lane?” His scowl goaded her.
“You guys must have had a lot to catch up on. You were together a long time.”
“Crystal fell asleep.”
“I’m surprised you left.”
He blew out his cheeks and let out a long, harsh breath. “It’s been a long day. Could we discuss this at a later time?”
Jessie was appalled. What was she doing? She didn’t have the right to interrogate Luke on his personal relationships. “No problem.”
“Great. Now, about the door.”
She reached passed him and turned the knob. It opened easily.
“Luke,” she said, “how come you’re not yelling at me about snooping around?”
“We need answers. This seems like the quickest way to get ’em.”
The look they exchanged assured Jessie they were on the same side in the investigation. She rationalized his involvement. Even the Lone Ranger had had a partner.
****
Dennis Prendergast slipped a baby blue cashmere sweater over his dress shirt. It was damn cold in the drafty building. It was getting harder and harder to get out of his comfortable office and make his way through the barely lit corridor down to the parlor. Mort had told him to check the coffin every fifteen minutes, but over the past three hours, nothing had changed, and he started to extend the intervals. Damn Letty. She was as much trouble dead as she’d been alive.
&n
bsp; Dennis knew this wasn’t about protecting the corpse. Epps was afraid someone would figure out the scam. Probably not Ezra Smith. More likely Blanche’s nosy little niece or that green-eyed devil who lived with her. Two more days and Dennis wouldn’t care who knew what, but he couldn’t leave now. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and people expected him to be in the pulpit.
Besides, there was the last payoff to collect.
The big payoff.
Dennis ground his thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets. Another hour and he could leave. All he wanted to do was go home, dive under the cream-colored down comforter Ellie had given him last Christmas.
He let out a grunt. It was time to do the rounds. His steps slowed as he approached the open door. The parlor was like a small living room attached to a kitchenette. Bible studies were held there, book groups and committee meetings. At least they’d been held there until Mort ordered the church locked. Now the place smelled musty, stale. He glanced at the coffin. It was still there, of course, propped up on the church truck and surrounded by a velvet skirt. He thought he heard a sound, and his heart sling-shot in his chest. It wasn’t the coffin that drew his attention, but a door at the back of the room. The door that connected St. Michael’s with the Epps Mortuary.
Everyone in town believed the door was locked on both sides, but it wasn’t. Mort controlled the door just as he controlled the whole operation. Dennis shivered again. He’d learned his lesson. Next time he’d forego the easy buck. Next time he’d stick to sex.
A phone rang. He jerked back like he’d been hit, and his heartbeat tripled. It was Mort. Had to be. He searched his pants pocket for his cell, then he remembered. He’d stopped carrying it because it stretched out his pants. The irritating ringing was coming from his land line. He sprinted down the hall, panting with the exertion by the time he got to the receiver.
“I’m recovered, sugar,” the voice drawled. “And I’m ready to make all your dreams come true.”
****
Miss Letty Appleby’s coffin sat in the middle of the shadow-filled room like a guest at some phantom birthday party.
Jessie shone the flashlight on the smooth coffin surface. There was no latch.
“It’s pressure sealed.”
“Like Tupperware?”
He turned to look at her, a glint in his emerald eyes.
“You can get in; you just can’t get out. It keeps the elements from getting at the body, and when the earth shifts, the coffin doesn’t pop open.”
Jessie shivered as she imagined being buried in the shifting earth. Luke read her mind.
“It’ll come to us all eventually.”
Death was a deep subject, a rich subject, and any other time, her imagination would have embraced the subject, but not now. Not with Luke’s long, blunt-tipped fingers on the coffin. They looked powerful against the smooth wood. They were powerful. And gentle. Jessie longed to feel them on her skin.
Then the lid creaked open. Luke stared into the dark.
“Is she in there?”
“Yeah. Wanna take a look?”
“That’s okay. I believe you.”
“Let me know if we get company.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“Check things out. Stop talking.”
She waited for a few minutes. He leaned into the coffin. She thought he was feeling around the body or maybe under it. Not a good image.
“Luke.”
He twisted around. “Patience, Grasshopper.”
She surveyed the room, circling it with her eyes. The door was open to the hallway. She’d hear if anyone approached. She started to get antsy. What if somebody caught them there?
“How much longer?”
He grunted something unintelligible. She crossed her arms across her waist and moved a few steps to the left. Anxiety gathered in her stomach and formed a knot in her throat. Her hands began to shake. She had the strongest premonition that they should leave.
She drifted closer to Luke. His big body drew her, and she reached out to touch him through the leather jacket. He was solid, dependable. She kept her hand there and noticed the trembling eased.
She started to relax and almost didn’t hear the faint scrabbling sound. It could have been a mouse, but she didn’t think so. Her eyes riveted on the door at the back of the room. Someone was there.
A single thought cut through the panic.
Luke was a sitting duck.
She hurled herself at him. Off-balance already, he toppled onto Miss Letty. The lid wobbled for an instant then dropped. Jessie dropped, too. She flattened herself against the floor and bit back a moan.
She’d locked Luke in the coffin.
Chapter Sixteen
Jessie was horrified.
The intruder might figure out someone was in the coffin. If so, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Luke would be a dead duck.
If not, Jessie squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heart to slow down. If not, when morning came, Luke would be buried alive.
Of course, if he survived, he’d probably kill her.
All she knew for sure was she had to save him. But how? If she moved she could get shot. But then, maybe the intruder didn’t have a gun, didn’t mean any harm. Or, maybe, she’d imagined that rustling sound.
Another sound, soft and furtive, reverberated through her like a gunshot. Oh God. She pressed herself against the floor, hoping, praying, but an instant later she knew her prayers would go unanswered when the floor underneath her vibrated as if someone were crossing the room, or walking over her grave.
Holy shit. A second vibration triggered a horrified shudder. She pictured a jackal stalking a sheep. For a moment she was paralyzed with fear, but she fought it off. She’d dragged Luke into this right from the start. He was only in this predicament because he’d been watching out for her. She couldn’t just lie here and wait for the axe to fall.
She had to save Luke’s life even if it meant he’d spend the rest of it with the blonde goddess.
She tried to focus on the enemy. Who was it? Epps? Prendergast? Neither prospect was consoling. They were definitely up to something. They both packed heat. And if either or both had killed Great-Aunt Blanche and Miss Letty, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a couple of snoops.
She reviewed her options. She could provide a distraction by jumping up and racing across the semi-dark room out into the hallway, but she couldn’t outrun a bullet. Without her, Luke would be left to an unthinkable fate.
Or she could wait here with her heart ricocheting off her ribs and use the element of surprise. After all, unless he was a bat, the intruder couldn’t see much in the unlighted room.
The next vibration was as light as a caress, but it seemed to explode inside her. The danger was so close. If only she could leave a message. She thought of her cell phone sitting, uselessly, in the pocket of her yellow slicker. There was no pen or paper, no lipstick or blood with which to scrawl a note. She was, literally, Luke’s only chance.
Sweat gathered under her armpits and dripped between her breasts. Making as little noise as possible, she pulled her feet up under her so she was ready to pounce. She felt another vibration. Her heart was pounding so hard and so fast she wondered if she’d pass out. Oblivion beckoned but she couldn’t respond.
Tears built up behind Jessie’s eyes. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want to die, either. She wanted them to live. Together. For an instant she forgot about Crystal and all the reasons they couldn’t have a happily-ever-after. She wasn’t just fighting for their lives. She was fighting for their future. She positioned her flashlight so she could bring it down hard on the intruder’s head.
Of course she wouldn’t be able to reach his head. She’d have to settle for his chest or his stomach or—that was it. She’d aim for his groin.
She felt the ground shake again just before she heard an ominous click. She pulled back her arm, sprang to her feet, and swung the flashlight as hard as she could just as a gunshot crack
ed. She swatted at the air, her momentum carrying her in a circle and knocking her to the ground. The shooter missed, too, but he wouldn’t a second time. Now he knew she was there, sprawled and panting on the floor. She heard the click again. She just hoped someone caught the bastard after she was dead. And Luke. He’d be buried alive.
“He’s in the,” she croaked, but her words were cut off by a shriek followed by the clacking of stilettos on linoleum.
“Oh my god, Denny! I heard a gunshot in the parlor!”
The vibrations started again. They were quicker and faster. Would the gunman shoot Lois? The door opened and closed, softly. No. The intruder had slipped back into the silence of the mortuary.
“C’mon, baby, that was just the cork from that bottle of bubbly.” Dennis Prendergast’s voice was slurred.
He and Lois were at it again. That left only one reasonable conclusion.
The stalker was Epps.
Jessie lay on the floor, visible from the doorway if either of the lovers had gotten that close. She willed them to go back to their business.
“It sounded like a gun,” Lois maintained.
“C’mon back here, hon. I’ve gotta gun just waitin’ for you.”
****
Luke could hear Jessie gasping and puffing as he dragged her through the empty streets. Fueled by adrenalin and rage, he ran full-out, allowing no quarter for her much shorter legs.
He vaulted up the shallow steps to Blanche’s front porch. He stopped so fast she slammed into him as he dug out his key. He cursed. The instant they were inside, he pinned her shoulders against the door.
“Goddammit,” he bit out. The golden eyes held no fear, only contrition and something else that reached into his chest and under his heart. Her lips parted, and he wanted to drill into her hard enough to split her in two.
Need clawed at him like an animal trapped in a box. He didn’t care if the rest of them woke up and sold tickets. No way he’d make it upstairs. He had to have her. Now. Her hands were on his face, her tongue in his mouth. Thank God she felt the same.
Desperate to feel her soft skin, to lose himself in her warmth, to possess her. Desperate to get inside her, his fingers tangled with hers over the snaps on his old letter jacket. Finally, it was open. “Shit,” he growled. “Overalls.”