I barely manage to hold in a gasp.There’s no way. Surely not …
“All right, you, I think it’s time you got some beauty sleep so you can think straight again.”
She giggles into the phone before sighing. “You’re right. But you and Duke are a really great match. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re an outstanding mom. You’re strong and resilient and kind and a hard worker and that’s just scratching the surface. You deserve a good man.”
The prick of emotion behind my eyes surprises me. Ihaven’t cried in … a long time. The emotional side of me has been shut off, out of pure self-preservation.
I finally manage to mumble, “Thanks,” and we hang up.
I lay my head down on Duke’s pillow, inhaling the leather scent he left behind.
The Redford family seems so idealistic in so many ways, but I can sense a darker side to them, something rippling under the surface, telling me to beware.
31
DUKE
Ipull the black ski mask down over my face and hold up the pistol. “How much time would we get for armed robbery?”
“For a dead body?” Sam pulls his mask down. “Damn, a long fucking time.”
“You’d have to protect me in prison. I’m too pretty.”
“You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“Quit fucking around. Let’s go.” Holden slams the door to the old blue pickup.
We bought it a year ago and keep it hidden in one of the older barns, only using it for whenever we need a vehicle for nefarious activities. It’s a 1966 model, so there’s no possibility of tracking its location with a chip. We left our phones at home. We’re ghosts tonight.
I grab the crowbar and the two heavy duty plastic bags out of the back seat.
Holden pulls his mask down over his face as we make our way down the dark road behind Old Harry’s and the funeralhome.
I looked up the obituaries earlier. There should be two bodies here. Old man Fleming died a few days ago in his double-wide with his face half eaten by a cat. He should be easy enough for us to identify.
Jed’s body is supposedly fully decomposed. The Sheriff told Warner no samples were taken and sent off yet, but they will be by next week.
We reach the funeral home without a single car passing by us.
I use the crowbar to pry open the back door. It’s not even dead-bolted. Our small town doesn’t usually have a corpse-robbing problem.
We each slither through the door and make our way toward the morgue room. The funeral home was converted from an old Catholic church once the Baptists started to dominate the town. We crawl through the empty baptistery, careful to avoid the puddle of water in the bottom. We have to search several rooms that were once for Sunday school classes. Finally, we enter a door that greets us with the hum of commercial refrigeration. Dead bodies need cold.
I flick the light on. Holden is searching through a stack of paperwork on a cluttered desk. I move over to the four small metal doors lined up against a wall.
I unlatch one, instantly regretting it when the stench of rotten flesh meets my nostrils. Resisting the urge to gag, I pull the body out and confirm that it’s Fleming. I push it back in and latch the door.
“Fuck,” I grumble under my breath.
I open the next one, but it’s empty. Sam is at the third, and he opens it and peers inside before closing it.
One more.
Sam opens it and looks inside before pulling out a small cardboard box.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
I move over to him, seeing that the space is, in fact, empty, aside from the box. I glance at Holden. His dark eyes are lasered in on the hole. I open up the box to see that it’s a small chunk of white bone and some teeth. A case number is written on the side of the box. Holden grabs a Post-it pad and scribbles the number down.