The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (4 page)

Maybe Missy was bluffing. The girl was twenty and emotional. She needed time.

I felt my phone vibrate. Digging into my pocket, I pulled it out and stared at the text message.
We’re not done. TTY soon.

Real panic set in. I looked up and slammed on my brakes at a red light where tourists were crossing. What if she planned to confront Holly? I knew my wife, and if she ever found out, she’d leave me cold. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I didn’t deserve this. I made a mistake and I fixed it. Everything was supposed to be normal. I was supposed to be happy—supposed to make Holly happy.

Something would have to be done.

The afternoon dragged on, and I spent the remaining hours organizing the basement, all the time worrying that Missy would show up. When I came into the kitchen after five, Holly was chopping onions for dinner, still wearing her work clothes. The TV was on. I did my best to hide my uneasiness.

“How was work?”

“They still haven’t found that missing woman.” She nodded towards the TV.

We watched footage of police and community volunteers combing the forest with dogs.

“You must be tired,” I said.

“Just my feet. What have you been up to?”

“Fixing stuff. The toilet upstairs doesn’t leak anymore.”

“Wait a sec, I need to call my mother and gloat.”

I kissed Holly’s neck and turned her around. Her eyes were red-rimmed from the onions. “Let me buy you dinner,” I said.

“Did something happen?” I felt her body tensing up.

“Why would you ask that?”

“You didn’t wreck the new truck already?”

“No. Can’t a guy want to take his wife out to dinner?”

“Okay, sorry. Clam down.”

Holly had a charming habit of inverting the letters in certain words at inappropriate times. She was my own Mrs. Malaprop. She’d gotten it from her father, who was a career salesman and used the technique to break the ice with new clients.

She scooped the onions into a plastic container and took off her apron. As she did this, an overwhelming feeling came over me. I reached around and touched her breasts.

“I thought we were going to dinner,” she said, slapping my hands away.

“We will, I promise.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” She was laughing.

“No, really. Let me take care of something real quick and …” I turned her around and pulled her towards me, guessing she was enjoying the attention.

“Dave, why is there a road flare in your pants?”

I was so hot I picked her up and carried her upstairs. I was a caveman, and all I wanted was to have my way with her. I almost didn’t recognize myself. She was the same woman, but she wasn’t. I can’t explain, but it was like I was seeing her for the first time. And I adored everything I saw.

“I thought we agreed no animals in the house,” she said.

I let out a growl. As we reached the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang.

“Aw, man.”

“Let’s pretend we’re not home,” I said.

“Both cars are in the driveway.”

I set her down, sighed theatrically and limped downstairs to open the front door. It was Detective Van Gundy.

“Oh, hi,” I said. I’d forgotten how huge he was. He was easily six feet eight, with dark brown wavy hair and a worried brow, smelling of cigarettes.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Pulaski. Can I come in for a minute?”

“Sure.” I stepped back and let him into the foyer.

This guy was a humorless bag of nothing but. His being here made me nervous as I led him into the living room.

“What can I do for you?” I said. “Any leads on Jim?”

He sat on the floral sofa, pushing his tree-trunk legs out in front of him. His shoes must’ve been size sixteen. This guy was frickin’ Herman Munster.

“Play any basketball?” I said.

“No. Heart condition.” He turned as Holly walked in wearing a loose-fitting summer dress. She was gorgeous. The detective got to his feet.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Detective Van Gundy wanted to give us an update on Jim.”

“Oh?”

I sat opposite the policeman, and she leaned against the arm of the leather chair. I could smell her perfume. We reached for each other’s hands.

“I can see you’re going out,” the detective said. “I’ll make it quick. We haven’t located your friend, but we are investigating a number of animal mutilations in the area near where he lives.”

“I read something about that in the paper,” Holly said. “You don’t think Jim had anything to do with it?”

“We’re still looking into it. Would you describe Jim Stanley as a violent person?”

“No,” I said. “He drinks, though. But I’ve never known him to harm anyone, even when he was hammered.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since high school.”

“And you, Mrs. Pulaski?”

“Three years,” she said. “Detective, you’re not asking these questions because of some missing pets.”

Detective Van Gundy looked down at his enormous Frankenstein shoes. “No. This morning a jogger found a body in the woods.”

“Oh no,” Holly said and squeezed my hand.

“It was pretty messed up.”

“Was it the missing woman?” I said. “We saw a news report that said they’re still looking for her.”

“We’re not allowed to say until the family is notified.” He went to the front door. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

“It’s okay,” Holly said. “I’m so sorry. I agree with Dave, though. I don’t think Jim could’ve done that.”

“Please let me know if you hear from him,” the detective said.

“We will,” I said and took his card.

“Listen, I have to ask. Are you sure he hasn’t tried to contact you?”

“No. Why?”

“Sometimes well-meaning people think they’re protecting their friend by … holding back.”

“Honestly, we haven’t seen him.”

“Okay, but you let me know if he shows.”

“We will.”

When the detective was gone, I put my arms around Holly and kissed her nose. I could always tell when she was upset—and this news had gotten to her.

“It’s that woman—I know it is,” she said. “Whoever did that is still wandering around Tres Marias.”

“Let’s forget about it for now. I want us to have a good time, okay?”

“I’m not sure I feel like it.”

“Please, honey. It’s got nothing to do with us. Let’s just be together, okay?”

“Dave.”

“Please?”

“Fine. Let me get my purse.”

I took Holly to one of our favorite Mexican restaurants, a place called La Adelita. They had the best
carne asada
in the area.

“That detective thought we were lying about Jim,” she said.

We were both drinking iced tea, but I craved a beer. It didn’t help that people all around us were celebrating with oversize margaritas and beer by the pitcher.

“Don’t you think?” she said.

“What?”

“Dave, are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, I got distracted. Look, he’s a cop. He’s asking routine questions.”

“Would you tell me the truth if you’d seen Jim?”

“What? Of course. Why lie about something like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess things have gotten strange the last few weeks.”

There must’ve been a power outage, because many of the streetlights were out as we made our way home. Holly decided it was a good idea to massage my thigh while I drove.

“I hope this is going somewhere.”

“Could be. We’ll see when we get home.”

Up ahead, I spotted a dark figure on the side of the road, tottering towards us, his head down. I slowed and went around. As my headlight beams shone on him, he looked up at us. His eyes were vacant. The way he moved, I could see he had the jimmies.

“See, this is why I don’t drink anymore,” I said.

My joke fell flat. The sight of this guy chilled us both, and we rode the rest of the way in silence. I kept thinking about how this thing was spreading. Could Holly or I come down with the sickness?

At home in familiar surroundings we couldn’t wait to get into bed. It felt like when we were first dating. All my senses were aroused. I smelled her hair and got lost in it.

“We’re good together, aren’t we?” I said.

“Like fleas and parrots.”

I kissed her perfect fingers, then her wedding ring. She was everything I wanted. And I would do anything to protect her. Anything.

I pulled her close and kissed her. “I love you so much, Holly.”

“You butter,” she said and pushed me onto my back.

We read the disturbing
headline in the paper—
MAN SEES BODY OF MISSING WOMAN.
A local hunter told reporters he found the body of the missing woman, a local named Sarah Champion, in the woods. She’d been eviscerated. He went to get help, but when he returned with the police, the body was gone. The only things left were blood, hair, bits of clothing and a finger.

Sarah was a writer in her forties who loved to run. Holly and I had seen her many times in the early morning on our way to work. She left behind a husband and two young sons. The hapless hunter was not considered a suspect.

Holly and I carpooled whenever we had the same work schedule. With the news of Sarah’s slaying, fear had taken over our lives. Fear of the forest, fear of the night and fear of other people. I thought about buying a gun.

Everyone at work talked about the killing. Some believed the hunter had murdered Sarah himself, hidden the body and gone to the police to taunt them. Those people watched too much cable television.

“It had to be a drifter,” Fred said. He was incapable of believing anyone in Tres Marias would commit such an atrocity. “A psycho from across the border.”

“And by ‘border’ you mean Oregon?” I said.

“Exactly. Or farther north even. Remember the Green River Killer?”

“How do you explain the animal mutilations?” someone else said. It was Zach, the wiseass kid who spent all his time in the alley smoking dope when he wasn’t stocking inventory.

Fred regarded him like a patient teacher. “I told you, Zach. There’s a rabid bear or something out there.”

“Or maybe one of those freaks with the jimmies did it.”

“Why don’t you unpack those fax machines.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, man …”

Zach was the one person Fred ordered around. The rest of us knew our jobs and did them without being asked. I often wondered why Fred didn’t fire him. I suppose it had something to do with the fact that Fred was the one who had hired him. He saw himself as a good judge of character.

“Zach’s just rough around the edges,” he said one time.