The Quiet Type

by Summer Prescott

  “Fine.”

  “Good. I’ll call the irritating gentleman personally and ask him when he’d like to come in. I want you to be pleasant and professional in dealing with him.”

  “Of course,” Susannah agreed, a strange look on her face.

  Andre stared at her for a long moment.

  “Your contribution to this establishment is highly valued, Susannah, I hope you know that,” he said quietly.

  “Thanks,” she tried to smile and failed, miserably.

  “I’ll let you know when he’ll be coming in.”

  “Can’t wait,” she rolled her eyes and rose from her chair. “We done?”

  “We are indeed,” he replied, watching her go.

  CHAPTER 32

  * * *

  The Spider and the Fly

  Bradley Dobbins straightened his tie and sipped at a lovely Pinot Noir which, tonight, was free. He was determined to milk the status he’d achieved by registering a complaint for as much and as long as he could. He would order every expensive item that took his fancy, and a few days later, he would complain again. He planned to repeat the cycle either until the restaurant denied him entry, or until Susannah was fired, which was what he was hoping.

  He’d gotten nowhere when he visited Timothy Eckels at the mortuary, so he figured he’d try to take the back door, the mortician’s wife, as a means of getting him. The plan was to make Tim angry enough that he’d get careless, and Bradley would be there to reveal him as a serial killer. He knew in his bones that the mortician was hiding something, and he firmly believed that Sheriff Arlen Bemis had arrested the wrong man.

  When Susannah Eckels approached his table, she seemed to be glowing with an odd kind of excitement, which he found strangely disturbing. Perhaps she had a bit of a crush on him, and was actually enjoying the extra attention. If threats and trying to get her fired didn’t work, he could always flirt with her, lead her on, and encourage her to reveal whatever she might know about her husband’s activities. Bradley Dobbins knew he was a handsome man, and if she had elected to marry the bloated cadaver who was Timothy Eckels, she’d be positively swept off her feet by a handsome, successful catch like himself. He’d never touch her of course, but he’d employ a proven system of reeling her in, then holding her at arm’s length, in order to underscore her attraction to him.

  “Good evening Mrs. Eckels,” he greeted her, making certain that she took notice of his devastating dimples.

  “Good evening Mr. Dobbins,” she replied tonelessly.

  “Dr. Dobbins,” he corrected.

  “Yes of course. Dr. Dobbins. I apologize that you weren’t satisfied with your food when you dined here last week,” her voice was wooden, a frozen smile pasted on her face.

  “You wouldn’t have been satisfied either, Susannah,” he used his most seductive voice and look.

  “I’m not satisfied with anything less than perfection when it comes to my food, Dr. Dobbins,” she replied, holding his gaze.

  “Obviously you’re a woman who can appreciate…good food,” his gaze traveled up and down her body, then he switched tactics. “Which is why I found it particularly disappointing that you allowed such filth to come from your kitchen.”

  Susannah showed no outward reaction, he couldn’t gauge whether or not he was getting to her.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” her voice and face remained blank, neutral. “What would you like to try for this evening’s meal?”

  “Something without animal hair in it for one thing,” he quirked an eyebrow at her.

  “Hold the hair, got it. Anything else?”

  Brad leaned forward, putting his head on his hand and gazing at her with a boyish smile.

  “You hate it, don’t you Susannah? It bothers you when someone criticizes your cooking, doesn’t it? Gets under your skin…” he chuckled warmly, again getting no reaction from Susannah.

  She stared at him.

  “I’m not sure that I know what you’re talking about, but I assure you that I’ll create a fabulous dish for you this evening.”

  “Hmm…a tough cookie, eh? Okay,” he nodded with a smirk, and proceeded to order three appetizers, the daily special, soup, salad, and two desserts. “And make it snappy, I have other engagements,” he demanded with a pleasant smile.

  **

  Susannah’s blood boiled, but outwardly, she remained as cool as a cucumber. Fortunately, the veterinarian had come in at a time when they’d normally be busy, but tonight the crowd was light.

  “Tanner, I need your help,” she barked, coming into the kitchen.

  “Sure thing,” the young man replied, putting down a large box of potatoes.

  “Does your phone have the ability to record video?”

  “Of course, why?”

  “You’re going to track my every move for the next half an hour, can you record that much?”

  “Yeah, but why? Are you making a cooking show?” Tanner was confused.

  “No. Instead of kissing ass, I’m going to be covering it,” Susannah replied with a strange smile on her face.

  “Umm…okay,” the young man replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What specifically do you want me to record?”

  “The food. Keep your camera on the food at all times.”

  “Got it. Okay, are you ready?”

  “Let’s do this,” she nodded grimly, and he turned the recording feature on, following Susannah as she went about making the vet’s food from start to finish, including after it went to garnishing, and when the servers picked it up to bring to the table.

  Bradley Dobbins called for Susannah to come to the table when each item was served, and had her stand there while he tasted it, which Tanner discreetly recorded from the corner of the room. After he’d had his last taste of dessert, he asked for her yet again. When she stood obediently by the table for the last time of the evening, he leaned back in his chair contentedly, locking his fingers behind his head and sucking imaginary particles out of his teeth.

  “Well, Miss Susannah, that was a mighty fine spread you prepared,” he nodded his approval.

  “Thank you,” she replied formally.

  “Don’t even begin to think that this is over,” he smiled smugly. “I’m going to continue to be a thorn in your side until your husband admits to what he’s doing. How do you feel about that Susannah?” Dobbins asked as pleasantly as if he were inquiring about the weather.

  “I’m glad that you enjoyed your dinner. Have a nice evening.” Susannah turned to go and Dobbins tried to grab her, as he’d done before.

  Anticipating his intentions, Susannah dodged gracefully out of reach, nearly sending the veterinarian sprawling.

  “I’ll be back Susannah,” he chuckled nastily.

  **

  Susannah’s insides churned as though she was inhabited by a writhing ball of angrily squirming snakes. She’d gone along, she’d apologized, she’d played nice, all the while wanting to tear Bradley Dobbins from his chair and set upon him with sharp instruments. He’d enjoyed tormenting her, thriving on her discomfort, but she hadn’t given an inch. He’d never see her sweat, no matter what sorts of internal resources she had to draw from to stay strong. She would bide her time, and then she would strike, and when she did, the smug Dr. Bradley Dobbins would wish that he’d never been born.

  Knowing that men like him were never even remotely interested in women like her, Susannah found it repulsive when he’d turned on the flirtatious charm. She’d make him pay for his nonchalant familiarity, she’d make him pay hard. Her father had made it quite clear her entire life that she was plain, fat, and completely undesirable. She knew her limitations and accepted them. For this arrogant bastard to taunt her by acting as though she might be a fun plaything, was offensive to the extreme, and Susannah didn’t take offense lightly.

  She wanted to kill him, wanted to take her time in killing him, making him stare at her while he suffered. She’d arrange to have him wide awake and aware while she did a myriad of unsp
eakable things to him. The knowledge that he was going to die would be an obvious and tangible thing to him. He’d know it, see it, hear it, smell it…taste it. Normally a “clean” killer, Susannah had visions of bathing in Bradley Dobbins blood, swimming in it, reveling in it. If the vet had any idea of what was flashing through her mind while he attempted to verbally torment her, he’d have run screaming into the night, never looking back.

  Oh yes, Susannah had a special endgame planned for Bradley, and in the meantime, she wanted to keep him as paranoid and scared as possible. She hated that he’d chosen to direct his anger at her innocent Timmy, but sometimes innocents got caught in the crossfire. Considering the matter carefully, she felt that Timothy would probably prefer to have her interact with the vet, rather than having to deal with him directly. She was much more equipped to handle difficult people in a manner which seemed socially acceptable…oh the screaming irony.

  Meanwhile, the urge to take the life of the vet burned within her, consuming her thoughts, causing her hands to shake. For the first time in a very long while, she felt as though she might have to take another life in order to quiet the rising darkness within. She hated to do it, but she found herself looking at those around her to see who might be abusing their power, and why. If she happened to discover a tyrant who took advantage of others, she might be able to do the world a favor and let their lifeblood ebb from them, ending their tyrannical reign and feeding her need. It was akin to public service, really.

  CHAPTER 33

  * * *

  A Deal With the Devil

  Tanner was more than grateful that he’d trained Elmo to stay quiet whenever someone came to the door. He’d been working on a rabbit that he’d discovered run down on the road, when a knock unexpectedly sounded at his door. Heart thumping, he stood over his latest project, which was splayed out over his tiny kitchen table, wondering what he should do. He stayed motionless, hoping that whoever it was would just go away, but pressed his lips together in frustration when the knock sounded again, more loudly this time.

  “Hang on,” he called out, hurriedly throwing the tools of his hobby onto the large flattened cardboard box that he was using on top of the table as a work surface.

  He picked up the cardboard, and balancing it carefully so that nothing would tip off of it, he walked quickly to his bedroom, lying the project on the floor in front of his closet. The apartment was small, so there was nowhere else to stash it where it wouldn’t be seen by his drop-in visitor. Elmo followed him, sniffing at the rabbit curiously, his brilliant red plume of a tail swishing back and forth.

  “Stay here. Good boy,” Tanner whispered, scratching Elmo’s head between his ears and closing the bedroom door.

  As he walked back toward the bedroom, the knocking sounded again, even more insistent this time. The young man opened it, shocked to see his boss on the stoop.

  “Doc?” he frowned, wondering what on earth the veterinarian was doing in this part of town.

  “Evening Tanner,” the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “May I come in?”

  “Umm…okay. My place is like…small and gross, but…” the young man shrugged.

  “I’m sure it’s fine, this won’t take long,” the vet insisted, awakening suspicion in his employee.

  Tanner opened the door wider, letting his boss in, and gestured to the shabby couch that was the only piece of furniture in his miniscule living room. Grabbing a chair from the kitchen table, he sat down facing Bradley Dobbins, feeling very strange.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked, his face impassive.

  “I have a proposition for you, young man,” an unholy light seemed to gleam in the veterinarian’s eyes. “How would you like to make a great deal of money?”

  “I’ve always wanted to go to college…” Tanner replied carefully.

  “I need you to do something for me, and I’ll send you to college and then some,” Dobbins smirked.

  “I’m listening.”

  **

  Timothy Eckels had a dilemma of major proportions. He had a fresh body on the slab that needed to be prepared for a memorial service the following day, and an emergency pickup order had just come in from the sheriff, who insisted that he come out right away. If he did the irascible sheriff’s bidding, he wouldn’t have nearly enough time to go through the embalming and preparation procedures that needed to occur in order to have the body on his metal table ready to meet his friends and loved ones for the last time tomorrow. Tanner came bounding down the stairs and saw that his boss was visibly distressed.

  “What’s wrong?” the perceptive young man asked.

  “There aren’t enough hours in the day,” Tim muttered, torn between the task at hand, and the absolute reality of incurring the sheriff’s wrath if he didn’t show for the pickup. The less than bright lawman already thought that Tim might be capable of murder, and was looking for any reason to hassle him.

  “Do you need some help? What can I do?” Tanner asked.

  “Well, the sheriff will never turn over a body to you, and you wouldn’t know how to transport it anyway,” the mortician sighed. “And you can’t exactly start the embalming process for me, so, no, I don’t think you can help.”

  “I can do the exsanguination and preservation for you. I’ve seen you do it lots of times. After I’m done, I can finish the cavity prep and get him dressed, so that all you have to do tomorrow is put on the finishing touches,” Tanner suggested.

  “You haven’t been properly educated,” Tim frowned, inwardly admitting that the idea had appeal.

  “You’ve seen my taxidermy. It’s pretty much the same process, and I’m very precise.”

  “I suppose you could always call me with any questions,” the mortician pursed his lips. “And I’d most likely be back here with the next body before you even got to the cavity prep.”

  “Then go,” Tanner suggested. “I’ve got this.”

  “I could lose my license if anyone ever found out about this. No, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Tim shook his head firmly. The phone on the wall in the prep room jangled loudly, startling both of them.

  “Hello?” Tim answered, impatient.

  Tanner could hear the sheriff’s tirade as Tim held the phone away from his ear.

  “I understand. Yes, I’ll be there shortly,” his jaw flexed.

  “Should I prepare your equipment?” Tanner asked when his boss hung up the phone.

  “Please,” Tim nodded. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

  **

  Tim had the address that the sheriff had given him written on a page in his cadaver log. He kept track of every pickup, the dates, times, places and circumstances of each visit, knowing that such details might be important later. He flipped open the current page and verified that the mailbox that he was in front of indeed marked the driveway of the deceased. He’d driven to the middle of nowhere, and there was no house in sight, just a lane that led into a stand of trees, and a battered and rusted mailbox.

  “Yes, 4312 Warner Rd., this is it,” he muttered to himself.

  He pulled into the lane and drove slowly on the barely-there path through the woods, finally rounding a bend a couple miles in, and caught sight of the sheriff’s car. He pulled up and noted that Arlen Bemis was standing on the front porch of a shabby house that had pile after pile of random items stacked at least six feet high all across the porch. The sheriff looked decidedly sour, and Tim found himself hoping that the surly man wouldn’t be abusive.

  “Bout time, Eckels,” Bemis growled as Tim climbed the rickety steps to the porch. “Thought you’d decided to friggin’ walk out here or something. Stiff’s in the back bedroom. Now that you’re here, I can finally get home and attend to my dinner. Next of kin is in the living room. Have fun,” Arlen smirked, heading toward his car.

  “Shouldn’t you stay until I get him out?” Tim called after him.

  “Nope, he’s all yours now, not my problem,” the sheriff plunked down into the driver’s seat
and shut the car door before Tim could respond.

  The introverted mortician felt decidedly awkward having to open the front door of the shack and enter by himself, but the sooner that he got in there, the sooner he’d be able to get back to his work at the mortuary. He had a funeral to prepare for. Taking a breath, determined to be brave, Timothy opened the door and the first thing that hit him was the smell. There was death, that was certain. He’d smelled that sickly sweet odor more times than he could count, but there was also something more…much more. The cacophony of scent nearly overwhelmed him, stinging his eyes and irritating his throat and the lining of his nostrils. There was a pungent smell of ammonia and animal waste, as though several cats lived in the home and had no litter boxes, and an underlying stench of rot – rotted food, rotted plaster and wood, and rotted teeth.

  The door could only be opened about eighteen inches because there were more piles of random stuff, newspapers, cans, bottles, clothing, bags of trash, and a huge assortment of cheap and broken household items, stacked up to the low ceiling of the filthy home. Tim sidled in, thankful that he wasn’t a large man, and tried to take shallow breaths, feeling less than safe about the fouled air entering his lungs.

  He walked down the only hall that was accessible from the doorway, and saw a scraggly-haired woman sitting in a recliner with stuffing poking out of it, a one-eyed mangy cat in her lap.

  “You the funeral guy?” she asked, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he saw now why there was a pervasive rotted tooth smell in the home.

  “Uh, yes, that’s right,” he nodded, hating how it tasted when he breathed through his mouth.

  “My baby’s in the back,” her lower lip trembled and she pointed a shaky finger in the direction that Tim had been heading.

  “Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied, ducking out and wondering what sort of state the deceased must be in if this was the condition of the living in the home.