The Darkest Corner

by Liliana Hart

  “That’s why we do it,” Deacon agreed. “You’ll meet the others over the next few days. All are allies to your country and to you. Dante is former MI-6, Elias was a Navy SEAL, Colin is French Intelligence, and Axel is Australian Intelligence. We no longer fight for our individual countries, but for one world. That allegiance to each other is important.

  “You’ve got to go through psychological and physical testing over the next couple of weeks. You’re feeling a little better now after the pain pill, but when it wears off that headache will come back with a vengeance. You might also have some hallucinations and some out-of-character behavior—meaning you’re going to get mad as hell and want to pound on whatever’s closest to you. You’ll also have some nightmares. It’s all part of the process.

  “Once those symptoms pass, we’ll move you to the room across the hall. It’s bigger and you can rehabilitate in more comfort. There you’ll start the debriefing process and learn about the organization, as well as be updated on current mission status. You should only be there a couple of days. Then you’ll move up to your permanent quarters on the second floor. Unless you want to find a place of your own. Dante and Elias both live off-site.”

  “Ten years seems like a long time,” Levi said.

  “It’s the blink of an eye when it seems like the world might not last that long.”

  “How do you stand it?”

  Deacon shrugged. “We’re not prisoners. We train, we fight, we work hard. But we’re free to come and go as we please. Elias likes to go to his cabin in Colorado. Dante will disappear for a few days at a time when things are slow, and no one knows where the hell he goes. It’s up to you. Ten years isn’t forever. It’s important to remember that.”

  Deacon decided not to tell him there were times being a Gravedigger felt as if it’d last an eternity. And who knew what was in store for any of them? It was something that occupied his mind from time to time. When the ten years were up, would Eve really let them leave?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tess considered herself a patient person. Sometimes. But after searching for Deacon for a good hour, she definitely wasn’t feeling patient. She still had no answers as to why the sheriff thought they’d been involved in some kind of commando raid robbery, she still didn’t have a van, and she assumed there was still a body on her table, though to be fair she hadn’t looked, and she figured Mrs. Schriever was good on ice awhile longer.

  She knew Deacon had to be around somewhere because his motorcycle was parked in the carport next to the carriage house. She’d braved the rain and pounded on his front door, but no one had answered. She’d even tried to figure out how to access the hidden room in the casket warehouse, but by the time she’d knocked on all the walls and tried every combination of things she could think of, she was starting to wonder if she’d imagined the room to begin with. Maybe Axel hadn’t disappeared through the wall that day. Maybe she was just crazy.

  Fortunately, no one had witnessed her attempt, as she’d more than likely looked like a madwoman. The rain and humidity made her hair about twice the size it normally was, and she’d alternated between muttering niceties and curses as she looked for the switch to open the wall. She’d even tried ramming her shoulder against it, but that had led to nothing but a sore shoulder and more curses.

  Tess returned to the house a little defeated and a lot wetter. She ran upstairs and changed clothes, opting this time for black leggings and a pale blue summer sweater. She also dug out of the bottom of her bathroom drawer the wrist brace from when she’d had carpal tunnel—the pain was getting worse, and as Cal had so adroitly pointed out, there was definitely some swelling around her wrist and fingers. The pressure of the brace immediately felt better, but she was going to have a heck of a time getting Mrs. Schriever prepared.

  She glanced in the mirror and decided her hair was a lost cause. It was still damp, and fuzzy tendrils were sticking out in every direction. She looked at her watch and decided there was no more time to waste. Either the man who wasn’t dead was gone from her table so she could work on Mrs. Schriever, or she was going to move him herself. Even if she had to roll him out the door and leave him in the hallway.

  By the time she was unlocking the embalming room door, she’d talked herself into quite a temper and was ready to go head-to-head with anyone who got in her way. The bodies that came through her funeral home deserved respect and her time and attention. She didn’t care that Eve Winter’s name was on the deed to the house. It was her funeral home.

  But when she pushed open the door to the embalming room, the table was empty.

  “Well, then,” she said into the silence. “That’s more like it.”

  Her heart thudded in her chest as she scanned the room quickly to see if he was hiding behind anything, and then she turned around to see if he was behind her. She didn’t like the idea of a strange man on the loose.

  Tess left the door open and went to the large walk-in cooler at the back of the room. Her pulse pounded and her hand trembled as she reached for the latch on the door. No one in their right mind would hide inside the cooler. Unless he wasn’t in his right mind.

  There was no reason to delay the inevitable. She looked around for a weapon and picked up the trocar, which was what went into the belly button and drained fluids from the body during an embalming, and then she wondered how she was going to hold it and open the cooler door at the same time with her damaged wrist. She finally decided to hold it under her arm so she could open the door with her good hand, since the door was heavy.

  Once she got everything situated to her liking, she pulled at the handle and slid the door back with a whoosh. Fog from the cold crept from the cooler, and she grabbed the trocar and held it up, ready to impale anyone who jumped out at her. Fortunately, the only person in the cooler was Mrs. Schriever, and Tess let out a nervous exhale and leaned her head against the cooler door.

  “What in the world are you doing, Tess?”

  Tess shrieked and wielded the trocar like a sword as she turned.

  Coming face-to-face with none other than her mother.

  Theodora didn’t look the least bit concerned that Tess was brandishing a weapon. Of course, Theodora never looked concerned over much of anything. She said worry didn’t do anything but give a woman wrinkles.

  “Mama,” Tess said, putting her hand to her heart. “You scared me to death. What are you doing here so early?”

  “I asked Sissy to do my roots and give me a trim, but she said she could only do them early because her husband had to leave for work by eight, so she had to be home for the kids. I tell you, people are too soft on kids these days. Nothing wrong with leaving them home alone for a couple of hours. Gives them a sense of independence. Look how great you turned out.”

  “Sissy’s kids are two and four,” Tess said, putting the trocar back where she’d gotten it. “It’s generally frowned upon to leave toddlers alone.”

  Theodora waved that bit of information away like she did anything she deemed unpleasant. “It’s neither here nor there. The point is I dragged myself out of bed at an ungodly hour, and I’m not even sure I like the cut she gave me. It’s so hard to let another stylist work on me. With my level of expertise, I guess I’m just too critical.”

  Tess wasn’t sure what level of expertise her mother was talking about. She’d dropped out of high school at sixteen when she’d become pregnant with Tess, and her grandmother had made her enroll in beauty school so she’d have some means to support herself and a new baby. In many ways, Theodora still had the naïveté of that sixteen-year-old girl, plus she had narcissistic tendencies, was a pathological liar, and an unapologetic gambling addict. It had made holidays growing up extra special, especially the Christmas Tess had gotten the penny gumball machine and then one day realized Theodora had taken all the pennies out of it to play the slots. But like her grandmother said, Theodora had a sickness. She always had, and all they could do was love her the best they could. Some days were easier than others. />
  Theodora had technically never graduated from beauty school, but she’d opened the Clip n’ Curl with the money her daddy had left her when he died, and she’d paid fifty dollars for a beauty license she’d ordered off of the back of a magazine. No one had ever bothered to question if it was legitimate. Theodora could sell snowsuits to Satan.

  Tess had to admit, her mother was a beautiful woman. At forty-seven, she could’ve passed for at least a decade younger. Glamorous was one of the words that came to mind whenever Tess thought of her mother—the other words weren’t as nice, but Theodora was still her mother at the end of the day, so Tess tried not to think them.

  Her mother had good qualities too, not to mention that not everyone had the personality to grow up in a house with a woman who’d been raised by the Russian Mafiya. Theodora’s free spirit didn’t do well under strict conditions. And there were moments during Tess’s childhood, when she’d needed the hugs and affection that her grandmother didn’t easily give, that she’d been able to turn to Theodora and cry or tell her whatever was on her heart. And then most times they’d sneak out for ice cream. More often than not though, after those bonding mother-daughter moments, life would get too heavy for Theodora and she’d take off for a week or two. But she always came back as if she’d never been away.

  Tess had never known her father. He’d come to Last Stop for a meeting at the mayor’s office. He’d been some kind of big-city attorney according to Theodora, but he could’ve just as easily been a trucker passing through. No one would ever know the truth, as Theodora preferred to believe her own truths.

  He’d stayed a full week once he’d set his sights on Theodora. Of course, he hadn’t known she was only sixteen at the time, as Theodora had developed into a bombshell rather early in life, and she made it a habit to lie about her age. She even had a fake ID she used when she and a couple of her girlfriends would drive across the border to the casinos. Between her curves and the fact that Theodora was nothing if not experienced, even at sixteen, he’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for her seduction.

  Theodora always said it was the best week of her life. He’d given her a good-bye tickle and headed back to his real life and family, and that was the end of that. The last tickle had resulted in Tess, and she’d always figured her mother never married because she was waiting for Tess’s father to waltz back into town one day and pick up things where they’d left off.

  And when Tess heard the happiness in Theodora’s voice when she retold the story, it was hard not to wish the best for her. She’d been miserable living at home, as Tess had always heard horror stories about her grandfather. He’d been abusive and enjoyed Stoli vodka more than most Russians, and that was saying a lot. Her grandmother had not only been raised in the Russian Mafiya, she’d also married into it.

  He’d been dead long before she was born, which Tess was eternally grateful for. Her grandmother loved her and Theodora in her own way, and she’d been able to show it more after her husband’s death.

  “Your hair looks lovely,” Tess said, knowing that’s the only thing Theodora wanted to hear. “Sissy did a great job.” And Tess wasn’t lying. Her mother’s hair was a little shorter than it had been and cut in an asymmetrical bob. It was cute and sassy and fit her mother perfectly.

  Theodora put her oversized Chanel bag on the counter and pulled out a couple of cases of hair supplies.

  “You’re white as a sheet, Tess,” she said in response. She looked concerned and came over to put the back of her hand to Tess’s forehead. “Cool as a cucumber. You need a man in your life. A live one. Men always put the color back into a woman’s cheeks.”

  Tess thought of the kiss Deacon had given her earlier that morning. It had definitely put color in her cheeks and heated her from the inside out. She was almost afraid to imagine what would have happened if he’d actually put his hands on her.

  “I’ve never defined my worth by having a man around to put color in my cheeks.” Tess almost rolled her eyes because she sounded like a prude, even to herself. She wasn’t a prude. She just didn’t want to be like her mother, looking for the next man she could depend on.

  “Your grandmother has been a bad influence,” Theodora said, pulling a thermos from her bag and taking a long sip. “After Daddy died she decided she never wanted to look at another man. But it would’ve been a lot easier on her if she’d kept her sheets a little warm instead of ice cold. All that feminism stuff. God didn’t create women so they could take the trash out.”

  Tess figured it was a great time to disappear inside the cooler and retrieve Delores Schriever. Talking feminism with her mother was like explaining to the pope why prostitution should be legal. It was a task best saved for never.

  She rolled Mrs. Schriever from the cooler and moved her next to the large metal table they used for embalming, which had the proper drain pans and other accessories to make Tess’s life easier during the process. As she’d told Cal, Mrs. Schriever had been embalmed the afternoon before, when she’d been brought in. It was always best to do it as close to death as they could because the body started decomposing immediately, and Tess was pleased to see Mrs. Schriever was holding up nicely.

  People were always under the impression that embalming preserved their loved ones forever, but it only slowed down decomposition. Everyone eventually ended up as bone and dust, no matter what chemicals flowed through the veins.

  It was easier to do hair and makeup on the larger table with the drains because they’d wash her down one more time before applying the makeup, and they’d wash her hair good before drying and styling it. The water would just flow into the drain below the table.

  “What’s in that thermos?” Tess asked, arching a brow at her mother.

  “Orange juice. I’m trying to be healthy.”

  “Really? Because all I smell is vodka.”

  “Just a splash,” she said, pursing her lips. “Vodka is a vegetable and oranges are fruit. It’s like a vitamin juice. Which means I can have chocolate cake for dessert.”

  It was hard to argue with that kind of logic. “Put my watch back on the table with my keys, please,” Tess said. She’d seen her mother pocket the watch and not think twice about it. She had to watch her constantly and always made her empty her purse and pockets before she left to go home.

  “It’s a lovely watch,” Theodora said, smiling dreamily as she took the watch out of her pocket and put it back next to Tess’s keys. “I could get a solid seventy-five for it at the Prance and Pawn. There’s a Powerball drawing next Wednesday. If you’ll front me some cash, I can pick some numbers for you too. We can split it seventy/thirty.”

  In Theodora’s mind, a seventy/thirty split was perfectly reasonable for her taking the trip to the gas station and letting a machine randomly pick five numbers for her.

  “I’m good. But I’ll see if I can find you a watch for Christmas.”

  “That’ll be nice. And maybe a new set of martini glasses. One of them broke, so I only have three. It’s bad luck to have an uneven number.”

  Tess sighed and focused on the job at hand. Work was the greatest escape there was. Delores’s body was covered with a white sheet and she was lying on a blue tarp that had two handles on each side. It was always best to jostle the bodies as little as possible, especially with the elderly because the skin was so thin and fragile. Tess snapped the four carabiners onto each of the tarp handles, and then she hit the switch. She kept her hand on the body to guide it as the pulley system lifted Mrs. Schriever off the gurney and onto the table.

  “Lord, I want you to just cremate me,” Theodora said. “I’d never want people to see my body looking like that. I’d want them to remember me in all my glory.”

  “So you’ve mentioned,” Tess said, unhooking Mrs. Schriever and pushing the gurney and pulley system out of the way. Theodora never missed an opportunity to tell this to Tess, over every corpse they worked on together.

  “You’d think with all the advanced technology nowadays they could
figure out how to stop the aging process. Thank God for plastic surgery.”

  “You’ve never had plastic surgery,” Tess pointed out.

  “No, but I know a doctor who said he’d fix me right up the second I started to notice any sagging. I’ve got his number listed in my emergency contacts.” Theodora snuck another drink of her vitamin juice and then said, “How much are you paying me? You know I don’t like working on the dead. It gives me the willies. And I had to turn away a couple of clients for this. You know how things start to ramp up before school starts.”

  “Fifty dollars, like always,” Tess said.

  “You think I could get away with charging fifty dollars at the shop? I mean, it’s a spa and salon, so they’re getting a full experience, not just a cut and style.”

  “No, I don’t think you could get away with it,” Tess told her. “A seventy percent increase in prices probably won’t be good for business.”

  Tess tacked the enlarged picture of Mrs. Schriever to the board so they could look at it for comparison. It was always best to have a recent picture of the deceased so they could make them look as much as possible like the way people remembered them. The only problem was that Mrs. Schriever’s family had given her a picture from 1962, complete with a jet-black beehive and blue eye shadow.

  “Now, what was Esther Schriever thinking giving you that photo?” Theodora said. “What are we supposed to do with that? I’m a beautician, not God.”

  For once, Tess agreed with her mother. “We’ll have to go as close to memory as we can. Esther dropped off all her mother’s makeup when she brought her clothes last night, so at least we know we’ll have a pretty close match. Go ahead and start washing her hair and I’ll do the body.”

  They each donned a plastic gown and gloves, and Tess soon realized she was going to have a problem with the wrist brace. She removed it, put on a glove, and then put the brace back on top of it. Her mother didn’t seem to notice the brace, and if she did, it didn’t cross her mind to ask about it, which didn’t surprise Tess since, after all, it didn’t directly affect her. They also put on polycarbonate face shields that looked a lot like welder’s masks, but they were made of clear plastic. Hair and makeup could be a messy business.