Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 (14 page)

“You’re out late,” she said.

“Picking up a route for someone. Need you to sign here, ma’am.” He held out his machine, and she squiggled something on it with her finger. He handed her a small box.

“Thanks. Good luck with the route pick up.”

“Thanks.” He made a vague gesture and took off without looking back.

Hannah turned the box over, noting the return address was local but not familiar. Before she closed the door, she looked at the car again. No glow. Was it her imagination that made her see the vague outline of a figure. No reason to think it had anything to do with her, but she still felt uneasy. She locked the door and looked at Ferris before lifting the package and giving it a small shake. It rattled softly.

“Something small.” She looked at the address again. Didn’t ring any bells—or did it? She handed it to Ferris and pulled out her phone. Entered the address. Stared at the result.

“What?” Ferris asked, giving the box a small shake, too.

She held up the phone. “Happy Endings Retirement Community.”

Ferris looked confused for a minute, then his eyes widened. “Charlie?”

“Ironic and romantic.” She tapped the box. “And unexpected. I have to meet this guy.”

Ferris held up the box. “May I?”

“Please.”

He ripped at the tape and pulled the flaps back. Dug through the paper and pulled out…

“Your missing evidence.” The ring had been cleaned and it shone in the light from her overhead lamp.

“Is that all?” Hannah took the box and sifted through what was left. At the very bottom she found the note. She held it up, then opened the single fold and read, “If you’re determined to meet me, lose the parade.”

“
W
hat
?”

Dunstead heard her shriek through the walls. Might have heard it in Mississippi. Didn’t know the old broad had it in her. Alone in the room next to hers, he allowed himself a grim smile. Thought she was playing him like old Miz St. Cyr had played him. She was wrong, but by time she realized it, he’d have what he wanted. And she’d pay for it. She’d pay for it all and give him his walking away money.

He moved closer. The more he knew, the better it was for him. She was hiding something. Her voice was quieter, as if she’d remembered, but stress and panic kept it shrill and penetrating.

“What do you mean—science? Harold didn’t care about science! He added and subtracted, he didn’t—exactly which organs did he donate to these
grateful
recipients? Problem? Of course not, it’s just such a shock. And his funeral—having it without his body makes me uncomfortable, Mr. Jensen. It’s a jazz funeral, too.”

Like that made a difference. Dunstead almost snorted. Women. There was a longer pause, but he heard her efforts to calm her breathing, even through the wall.

“I just think that is something you share with your wife. I don’t understand—distress me? Well, he was right about that. The thought of—”

Dunstead has a feeling she paused for a shudder for the lawyer?—he figured it must be the lawyer catching it—that he couldn’t see.

“—someone doing that to dear Harold, parceling him out like, well, a buffet or something. It’s very distressing. And knowing he’ll never be decently buried—I can’t imagine what he was thinking. Or what he was helped to think.”

That last comment held a chill that Dunstead was glad wasn’t directed at him. And confirmed his feeling that he shouldn’t trust the broad further than he could toss her. Wouldn’t be turning his back on her either. Oh no, he wouldn’t.

“I want to know who got Harold’s parts, Mr. Jensen—what do you mean it’s confidential? They know about Harold—oh. That’s confidential, too.” There was a pause. “I just have this fear I’ll be walking down the street and Harold’s eyes will look at me from some stranger. I don’t think I could bear that.”

Dunstead’s gaze narrowed. She hadn’t seemed that stupid to him. So what was it about the scattering of her husband’s parts that really bothered her?

“
P
arade
?” Hannah sank onto her couch and looked up at Ferris. “Does that mean—that sounds like he thinks someone is following me?”

“Parade implies more than one someone.” Ferris sat down next to her, the ring sitting partway down his index finger. “Good calling card. I wonder if that’s why he pinched it?”

“I’m still stuck at wondering how it ended up in the coffin. And what happened back then? And—” she stopped.

“—if your dad knew anything about it?”

She looked at him, knew her eyes were wide, figured they were worried, too. “Yeah.”

“You’re assuming he’ll tell you what happened.”

“Charlie? If he’s like Zach, he might not.” She frowned, absently tapping the note with one finger. “But he sent me the ring. Interesting move.” This was back in the realm of living motives. Her “corpse” had abruptly come to life. It was disconcerting. And exciting. Someone with actual answers IF he was willing to cough them up. If.

“Either he wants you to stop looking. Or he—they?—need help,” Ferris said, using his thumb to push the ring around and around the first joint of his index finger.

That made sense. She realized something else. “If he thinks I’m being followed, then he must be following me.” Did she believe him? It was on the creepy side, thinking of being followed by anyone. “I can’t think of one person who’d want to follow me, let alone a parade of them.”

“Guido Calvino?”

Hannah’s frown deepened. Was this round two? Since round one got called on account of a rain of bullets? The coffins were what had brought her to the attention of St. Cyr and Calvino. Afoniki had probably gotten a report about the meeting. And it was the only thing she’d done recently that was, well, slightly interesting.

“That’s not good,” she finally concluded. She sure didn’t want to lead him to Charlie. Would he know who he was? “Would he care about him or them now? He wasn’t even born.” Most of them involved now hadn’t been born then. “The only one who might still care is Afoniki, the old one.” So if Guido was, possibly, having her followed, who else was in the “parade?” She looked at Ferris. “He wouldn’t have someone on Ingrid, too, would they?”

In his eyes, she saw him connect the dots.

“I doubt it, but we should probably have her take a good look around.” He looked worried. “It’s kind of crazy, but what if Afoniki and St. Cyr are having you followed because Guido is? That’s the only reason I can think of for all the interest.” He rubbed his head like it hurt.

“That is a bit crazy, but I can’t think of another reason either,” she admitted. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Maybe they expected something else to be in those coffins.”

“Guido did look a bit relieved,” Hannah recalled. “I thought it was weird.”

“Or they are all paranoid.”

“They probably survive by being paranoid,” Hannah said. “And I just happened to have fueled it by doing something sketchy.” She covered her face with her hands. “Maybe I panicked for no good reason? If I’d left Charlie’s ring there, listed it, it would have been one more weird thing. No second visit from Guido—” And she wouldn’t have been there when he got shot at. Thus fueling his curiosity and hers, she had to admit. No case, no—would she and Ferris still be hanging out if she hadn’t?

He touched the back of her neck. “No matter where you left it, it would have gone missing. Charlie apparently knew it was in the coffin. He went there to get it back.”

“I suppose.” She took the ring from him and studied it. “It’s just a class ring.”

He covered her hand with his. “What happened to yours?”

She hooked her thumb over his. “I never got one. I didn’t graduate with my class.”

There was a pause while she waited. She didn’t know why she hated telling people she graduated early. He smoothed her hair back from her cheek.

“Lucky you.”

She looked at him then, a small smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “Do you think he took the brick, too?”

“You can ask him when we meet him.”

“If Charlie hadn’t thrown in the warning, I’d have gone over there tonight.” She took a steadying breath, feeling a small pang for the kissing interruption. She thought about that. She could totally believe Charlie was related to Zach. “So how do I lose my parade without looking like I need to lose my parade?”

“
S
he should have
it by now.” Ellie looked up from the book she’d been pretending to read. “You sure you weren’t too cryptic?” It was still a trait that frustrated her in this man of hers. If he’d been a little less cryptic—then Toni would never have been born, she reminded herself. As bad as those years with Bett had been, she could never regret Toni. And now there was Nell. She ached to see Nell with her own eyes. Her arms had been empty for so long. They’d wanted—but the danger. They couldn’t risk it. Hadn’t dared risk staying in contact with Toni and Phil. She’d never tried to find them. Wouldn’t be here now if Nell hadn’t—her hands curled into fists.

His big hands covered hers. “She’s smart that one. Don’t know how Zach managed it. Must a got her genes from her mama.”

Her gaze lifted, met his gaze. The face around the eyes had aged, but the eyes were the same. First time, she knew. Still knew. This was the one for her. She freed one hand so she could put it against his cheek, rough because of the late hour.

“There’s risk for her.”

“And for us. But it’s time, Ellie. Been hiding long enough.”

“I know.” She hesitated, but not saying it didn’t mean he didn’t know what she was thinking. “Do you think I’ll get to see her before—”

“We’ll make it happen.”

“Do you think she’ll understand?”

“She’s got your face, Ellie. I’m betting she’s got your heart, too.”

“
H
ow can
you be sure that her death will be blamed…correctly?” she asked, once more in her sweet, old lady mode as she handed him the information he’d asked her for.

Dunstead wasn’t fooled. Not that he had been. But now he was sure she weren’t no sweet old lady. There was something about her, something that stirred an old memory. Was it her eyes? He wasn’t sure. Didn’t like thinking on the past.

“I know where to drop the scoop where it will do most good. It’s all in who you tell,” he added when she looked skeptical. He didn’t mention it wouldn’t forward her goals, just his. He also didn’t tell her he was using the plan created by old lady St. Cyr. In that plan, the murder would have implicated her niece, what was her name again? Oh right, Mira…Mirabelle? Stupid name. Old lady St. Cyr had gone off her own script when it didn’t work out the first couple of times, but that didn’t make it a bad plan, just bad luck. Timing was everything and this time, the timing felt good. He’d get what he wanted and she’d pay for it.

“I don’t want this traced back to me. I’d be very…upset…if that happened.”

Her lashes lifted and Dunstead felt ice in his veins for the first time. His throat dried. And the memory kicked again, then slid away, leaving him with a feeling he was messing in something bigger’n he thought. She planned to kill him when he was done. He’d seen that look before. Well, he’d just have to make sure he got in the first shot. He wasn’t going down this time. Sure wasn’t gonna die without some people paid for what they’d done.

“It won’t, ma’am,” he said. He knew how to sound respectful. Cowed. He’d had lots of practice. His dad had talked of being loyal, staying strong. They’d fooled him, too. They demanded loyal, but they didn’t give it. Not to likes of him, maybe not to anyone. Don’t give it, don’t get it. That’s what he’d tell his dad—memory flashed again. But this wasn’t the place for remembering.

He rose, knowing exactly how to look dumb and loyal. “I’ll take care of it. You want a war? You’re gonna get a war.” He touched a finger to his temple. Could tell she liked that.

Her smile was that of a cat in front of a bowl of tuna. “I had a feeling you were the man I needed, Roger.”

Even her voice kinda purred.

Dunstead had to turn his back on her to leave. Didn’t like it. Didn’t plan to do that again. Back in his car, he flipped open the folder she’d given him. The mark looked into the distance, unaware she was being photographed for death. It was too bad. Not a bad looking broad for a morgue doc. She shouldn’ta been born a Baker. And her big brother shouldn’ta messed in his business.

H
annah studied
herself in the cheap full-length mirror, curious why she was reluctant to leave her apartment. On some level, she was aware that she wasn’t immune to the usual body image issues. And she might have her own version of those issues when she factored in her brainy girl thing, in particular the blonde brainy girl thing. It was messed up and only Google knew by how much. Not even a Facebook meme could help her, though she lived in hope.

Periodically she applied science to her feelings. She knew that what she saw when she looked in the mirror was not real. Even the camera added five pounds and how much she added depended on that dreaded “time of the month.” How much she hated that depended on which day it was in the month. Couldn’t say she ever had “thin days,” but there were days she felt less fat and her hair always looked better on those days, too, even though she hadn’t changed the cut in ten years.

For some reason this made her think about Logan Ferris. What did he see when he looked at her? And why did he persist in showing up at the end of her shift when even an okay hair day had lost the battle with heat and humidity?

Today did not seem to be a “less fat” day or a decent hair day. At least her scrubs’ elastic waist accommodated all her days. Having eliminated all other possible variables, she was forced to conclude that her current level of self-consciousness was inextricably related to the parade which may not—but probably was—waiting for her outside her front door. It was positively IQ lowering to contemplate. When one came from a large family, the center of attention position was because something had been traced back to you, resulting in getting grounded or, worse, a Zach lecture.

A girl could acquire a severe case of agoraphobia—if she didn’t have a pile of suspicious, overprotective siblings who would notice and start asking questions. So those were her choices. Center stage with the siblings and Zach or center stage with the possibly creepy parade.

The parade seemed the better option. At least they weren’t likely to comment. And she needed to go work. And eat. Ferris had advised her not to change her routine now. Besides, they didn’t know how long she’d been under surveillance.

Ferris. When would she be able to call him Logan?

And yes, she was stalling.

She took a breath and gripped the door knob. It was a bad time to remember she’d never been picked for any part in any play. Ever. Not that she’d tried out, but still. Not an actress, though she’d seen some—

Still stalling.

She should think about something work related. Or some science. Surely now, when it really mattered, she could lose the plot? It was a pity she didn’t have a really puzzling autopsy to mull—would she have picked Happy Endings if Charlie hadn’t come clean on his own? She’d like to think she would have. Was it ironic? Or honest? Maybe Ellie picked it? If she had, did that mean Charlie had sucked it up? She sure couldn’t see Zach choosing to live in a place called Happy Endings.

Maybe Hannah was the only one who thought it was the ironic choice. Did that mean she wasn’t romantic enough? Was it weird to feel like she knew Charlie, even though they’d never met? She was kind of excited to meet him. And Ellie—had they contacted Nell? What if they hadn’t? Man, what if they had some weird excuse for not seeing her and then Nell found out Hannah knew and didn’t tell her? That would kill whatever sister-in-law thing they might have had if she did marry Alex—

“Can I take your order?”

Hannah returned to the present with a jerk. Saw her usual server giving her a patient look. Science had come through for her again. Though she had to resist the urge to look around. Still, if she was going to get a handle on being followed, and figure out how to lose them, she probably needed to, you know, look around. Without looking like she was looking around. Couldn’t lose a tail if she didn’t know who was tailing her.

And she would. After breakfast.

She gave her order, which she noticed the server had already written down. Probably not a good idea to be that predictable. Guys watching her could phone it in without having to actually follow her. Maybe she could be so boring she put them to sleep at the wheel. And maybe they wouldn’t notice when she went unpredictable.

She sipped some juice. Almost spit it out when someone spoke behind her.

“Don’t turn around, Doctor, or may I call you Hannah?”

She didn’t have to look and wasn’t sure she could turn around. She would have liked to forget that voice, with its faint, sinister infections. Took her a minute and some deep breathing to get her voice calm enough. “Mr. Afoniki.” Hannah gripped her glass with one hand, the edge of her bench with the other. It was probably a good thing she’d never aspired to be a spy.

“Do I dare hope you remembered my voice?”

For some reason that cleared her brain. “What do you want?”

“It’s a very long list.” He sounded amused.

“I’ll bet world peace isn’t on it,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “You wound me. Though peace isn’t always good for business. It depends on what kind of peace.”

She was so not up for a philosophical discussion with a wise guy before breakfast. And possibly not after. Really tried to avoid philosophy until after lunch when she could nap through it.

“That attitude wouldn’t win you a Mr. America contest.” Hannah was a little surprised at herself, but it was easier to spar when she didn’t have to look at him.

“I wish I could sit with you, see you,” he murmured, “but you are attracting so much attention. It seemed wiser this way.”

“To do what?”

“Why, just to offer you my help. If you should need it. I will admit I’m a bit surprised at Guido—but Claude.” He sighed. “Claude has so much to prove, doesn’t he? No, I’m never truly surprised by what Claude does.”

Her food appeared in front of her. It took all her resolution to pick up her fork. With some deliberation, she cut off a bite and propelled it to her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and prayed it stayed down. She didn’t have to be a child of Zach’s to know that this much attention was not a good thing.

“If I needed help, I’m sure one—or all—of my brothers would line up.” She wouldn’t even have to ask. Or need help.

He chuckled. “But do they know? Other than a brief glimpse of Alex, they seem to be amazingly absent.”

“I’m quite capable of eating my breakfast without assistance.” To prove it, she took another bite.

“I have a feeling they are out of the, um, loop.”

“If I had a loop for them to be out of, it would only take a text to bring them in. If I had a loop, which I don’t. I’m loop-less.” And need to quit talking. She clamped her lips tight.

“But you won’t.” He sounded quite certain.

And he was right, but not for the reason he thought. Unless he did know and thought it hilarious she was seeing her brother’s younger partner.
I’m not a cougar.
For one horrible moment, she thought she’d said it out loud.

Something buzzed from his direction. He stirred, said reluctantly, “I must go.”

She’d have been flattered by the reluctance, except for who he was. So she wasn’t.

“If you need my help…”

There was the soft sound of someone sliding off a bench. A soft, nice smelling puff of air as he walked past. She didn’t realize he’d left something on her table until he’d gone outside. A business card. She sighed.

“Lovely.”

“Ma’am?”

Hannah looked at her server and managed a smile. At least she thought she did. “Could I get my check? I’m running late…” Which was also predictable.

“I’ll wrap that up for you, ma’am.”

Hannah sighed again. She definitely needed to switch things up, do the unexpected. In unpredictable ways. And no, she did not know why that made her rub her lower lip with her pinky. She could text Ferris, but he was probably picking up Alex right now. How had her life gotten so complicated? Oh right. An exhumation of a couple of coffins. She should get herself a tee shirt inscribed with “be careful what you dig for” on it. And on the back, “don’t do favors for your brother.”

A
bullet was
Dunstead’s preferred way to kill. It was quick, clean. The cops knew that, though. If he did the hit like he usually did, he’d be back in before he got used to being out. No, he needed to be creative. And he didn’t have to think that hard. He’d do it the way the old lady had planned, but with a twist. Idea had been simmering in the back of his brain all while he was in. What he’d do if he got the chance.

There was a bit of…balancing to be done, accounts to be settled. Both now and for his pa.

Target was not his first choice, but there was a certain finesse to the idea, something the cops also wouldn’t expect from him. Probably thought he didn’t know what that word meant. Well, let them think it. Didn’t want the credit for this one.

All it took was a few minutes on a computer at a local library—it was ridiculously easy to learn how to blow up a car—and a chat with the right gal to get the stuff he needed, and he was halfway to a hit with finesse.

He had a guy watching the doc. According to him, he wasn’t only one following the doc around. Bit of a surprise, but not a deal breaker. They would widen the suspect pool for him, though they also upped the difficulty level in planting the bomb on her car.

He tossed the cigarette butt away and straightened. Looked both ways down the dispirited back alley and then headed back to his wheels.

Maybe he’d learned a little something from his time with old lady St. Cyr, so it wasn’t all bad. And the best part? If the cops didn’t blame one of the guys following her, they might pin it old lady St. Cyr. Everyone knew Dunstead preferred a bullet.

B
y the time
the server had returned with her change and her wrapped-up food, Hannah had found her backbone right where she’d left it. Afoniki wasn’t her big brother. He didn’t get to yank her chain. The parade, too. She was over it. So over it. Wasn’t it hard enough to be a gal working in the city without a bunch of idiots deciding to examine her lame life? Really? And for what?

Bet money not a one of them knew why they were doing it—not the guys doing the following or the guys doing the hiring. Bet it was like Ferris figured, that one of them started it and the others just followed along because. Jerks. She could almost hear them all
not
thinking. She halted in the doorway and did a sweep of the parking lot. Identified three possibles. They were all driving cars that were variation on a cliché theme. A bit old, a bit inconspicuous, with a dude in the front seat of each.
Smoking.
Cliché guys in their cliché cars. And that one had been on her street. She remembered the plate number.

She went for him.

When he tried to pretend he was invisible, Hannah rapped sharply on the window. He rolled it down. Tried to look stupid. Managed it, but she wasn’t gonna be deterred by what she already knew to be true. She had some steam up and needed a direction to blow it.

“Get out. Now.” She’d practiced this tone on her sisters, so she wasn’t surprised when he complied. Or that he stood there looking sheepish and trapped, with a bit of wild-eyed.

“Who?”

“Ma’am?”

“You know what I’m asking. Who?”

He swallowed, looked around for help. Didn’t get any. “Mr.,” he swallowed and lowered his voice, “Mr. St. Cyr, but please…”

“You tell him from me that I’ll be sending my brothers around to ask why he feels the need to monitor my movements unless he wants to reconsider his decision-making process.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Get out of here.”

He complied so fast, he tripped over his feet and the edge of the car. Managed to leave without hitting anyone or anything, though it was touch and go. She looked at number two. He tried to leave, taking it casual, but she wasn’t fooled. Number three must have left when she was chewing on number one. Probably not the way Ferris would have recommended to lose a tail, but it appeared to have worked.

She studied the various cars in the lot. No obvious signs of anyone else interested in her. Couldn’t think of a fourth person who would put a tail on her, but she didn’t assume things inside the NOCC. Maybe she should take that policy into the outside, too. Charlie had called it a parade, not the three dudes following you.

There were people around, but none of them looked particularly shady, clichéd or interested in her. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t.

She bit her lip. If she were clear of tails, how long would that last? She didn’t know why they’d been put on her in the first place. Could be about the coffins, but she’d just vowed not to assume, unless she should assume. And then she would. But no assuming right now.

Okay, that thought train had been painfully complicated. Maybe she should just move on—she saw the street car approaching. She might not be a detective, but she didn’t need to be one to
carpe diem.

D
unstead’s drop phone shrilled
. “Yeah?”

He listened, was a bit impressed. Doc had managed to shed herself of all three tails. Good for him, not so good for her. The jump onto the streetcar gave him pause.

Did he want him to follow her? She’d be on the alert for a while. Might spot his guy. And he didn’t care where she went, now that he considered it. Soon enough, she’d have to come back and pick up her car. And then it wouldn’t matter. She’d leave the world in a blaze of glory.

“Stay with the car. I’ll be there in ten.”

It would be tricky in daylight, but it felt kinda like a sign. Public place, very different from official parking behind the morgue.

“Check around for cameras,” he ordered, before ending the call. Almost he smiled. How appropriate they called it “baking” a scene.

H
annah had brought
with her the wrapping from the package and Charlie’s ring. She smoothed the paper now and studied the return address. She held it closer, turning it so the light could find it. Was that a number lightly penciled in after the street address? She tucked it back in her purse and studied Happy Endings.