Working Stiff (11 page)

“He wanted me to make it on my own. Without any special treatment. You know.”

“Well, that’s just like him, fair as always,” Lucy said. “What a good man. But still …” She let it go. “I guess you’ll be inheriting the place? I know he didn’t have a wife or any children.”

“Yes,” Bryn said. “I’m going to get it up and running as fast as possible. You still have a job, Lucy—if you’re willing to work for me, I mean. I really need your help. You know so much, and I have so much to learn.”

“You
must
be related to Mr. Fairview. You flatter just like him.” Lucy tilted her head slightly, her expression gone calculating. “So you want me to be more of an administrator, then.”

“Of course, there’s a raise,” Bryn said.

“How much?”

“How much do you want?”

Lucy seemed startled by that, but she didn’t let it throw her too far off. “Thirty percent,” she said. “That’s only fair. There’s a lot more to really running this place than just answering the phone and handing out tissues to the bereaved.”

“I’m starting to realize that. Yes, that sounds fair. Shake on it?” She held out her hand, and Lucy took it for a brief squeeze. “I don’t think we’ll get much done today. Maybe we should make lists of what we need to find first.”

“First thing, you’d better start looking for a good downstairs man; they don’t come cheap. I do wish we’d never let Vikesh go. And we’ll have to make sure these construction crews know which permits they’re supposed to get.”

“Do you think you can handle that last part?”

Lucy smiled. “That’s what you’re going to be paying me for, Ms. Bryn.”

“Did we have anything scheduled for this week?”

“We had Mr. Granberry down there in the freezer—good Lord, we’re going to get our asses sued off for that, I’ll bet. I’ll be in touch with our lawyer to see if he can get ahead of that and offer some kind of settlement. It’d just be the meetings you had yesterday we have to worry about, and I’ll take care of that.” Lucy thought for a second. “Hmm I think Mr. Fairview had some private meetings booked. I only know that because I worked late a couple of times and people came in looking for him.”

“Do you remember any names? Maybe I can contact them.”

Lucy leaned against her car and patted her carefully lacquered hair as wind skirled through the parking lot, picking up ashes and random trash and stirring them ankle-high. “You think he was doing something illegal?”

“Do you?”

Lucy was quiet a moment; then she crossed her arms and stared off at the wrecked building with a distant expression. “I don’t know. He was a good man, but he had his darkness, Mr. Fairview. I know that. Those folks that came in at night—they seemed scared. And desperate. But he seemed to be helping them.”

“Lucy, do you remember the names? It may be important.”

She shook her head. “He was right there, soon as they came in. I didn’t even have a chance to ask. There was a man and a woman; she looked familiar but I couldn’t place her. I saw them twice. She didn’t look so good the second time. You think he was selling drugs?”

“Maybe,” Bryn said. “We need to find out what was going on. Is there
anything
you can tell me that would help?”

Lucy hesitated this time for so long Bryn thought that she wouldn’t bite, but finally she said, “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“No, I promise I won’t.”

“I think …” She took a deep breath. “I said the woman looked familiar. She did. She looked like one of the clients we had. And the man—I
know
he was a paying customer. The bereaved husband.”

“By client you mean …”

“Corpse,” Lucy said. “Deceased. Gone on to glory. Must have been the dead woman’s sister, I guess.”

“Probably.” Bryn wondered how much Lucy really knew, or guessed, or didn’t
want
to guess. “What about the other person you saw? Could it have been … a paying customer? Or a client?”

“Clients don’t go walking around.”

“Lucy.”

She didn’t look happy about it, but she finally said, reluctantly, “Maybe one of them looked familiar, too. Bryn, what the hell was going on?”

“Is,” Bryn said softly. “
Is
going on. I don’t know, but we have to find out. Is the phone still working?”

“I tried the number this morning, and it rang through to voice mail. I changed the message to say that we were closed for repairs.”

“Good thinking. Were there any messages?”

“I’m not supposed to check the messages. Mr. Fairview always liked to do that himself.”

“Lucy,” Bryn said, and smiled. “Come on. You checked them, didn’t you?”

“Well … only because of the accident. There were a couple from hospitals about pickups, but I took care of those.”

“Anything else?”

“Two that were strange,” Lucy said, “but strange calls to a funeral home aren’t exactly breaking news. Half the ones we get are pranks during the day. Can’t imagine how many end up on the voice mail during drinking hours.”

“Can I hear them?”

Lucy pulled out her cell phone and dialed, then handed it over. Bryn listened as the recordings played. The first one was definitely a prank, complete with giggling and drunken college come-ons. She deleted that one. The second, though, was interesting. It came with a long leader of silence, followed by a shaky voice saying, “This call is for Mr. Fairview. I-I need to meet tonight; it’s important. I have the money.” A phone number followed, and Bryn quickly rooted in her purse for paper and pen to write it down.

“What are you going to do?” Lucy asked.

“Find out what he wanted,” Bryn said. “Wait. There’s another one.”

This voice didn’t sound at
all
shaky. It was a man’s voice, and it sounded hurried and sharp. “You were supposed to meet me,” it said. “Don’t stand me up again. You know where. Tonight, nine.” Nothing else. Bryn would have assumed it was a wrong number normally, but not this time.
That’s him
, she thought.
The supplier. The Pharmadene leak
. He hadn’t said his name, or left a number, or even specified a location. Fairview would have known.

But Fairview had taken it to his grave. Still, it was a lead. And if the number could be traced, maybe they’d have a name.

That fast?
Bryn felt a surge of unease. If it had been that easy, McCallister wouldn’t have bothered to bring her back at all … and if she presented him with the solution on day two, what was there to keep her alive?

“Anything else?” Lucy asked, clearly interested now. “That one must have just come in. I only heard the prank calls, and that weird one to Mr. Fairview about having the money.”

“Just a wrong number,” Bryn said. She erased the message and handed Lucy’s cell phone back. “Thanks. Listen, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Nothing we can really do here. Tomorrow, we’ll go in and see what we can salvage. Wear something you can get dirty; I don’t know how much smoke damage there is in there.”

“All right. See you tomorrow, Bryn.”

“Bye.”

Lucy got back in her Cadillac and drove off; Bryn watched her go, then looked around the lot.

Mr. Fairview’s car was still there. He, of all people, would be most likely to have GPS installed in his private vehicle, and GPS kept a record of destinations.

The car was locked, of course. Bryn tried the keys Fideli had given her, but they didn’t work. She peered in through the heavy tinting and saw that sure enough, there was built-in navigation. Perfect. The only problem was getting in. An alarm light was flashing on the dash, and she didn’t want to attract the attention of the construction crew.

If Joe Fideli had been here, he’d probably pop the lock in two seconds, using a harsh look and a bobby pin. She was not the car-theft expert.

But she knew enough to come back later, when nobody was around.

Nothing left to do here, then. She examined the car keys Fideli had given her, then looked at the choices. The lot was mostly empty, except for Fairview’s other parked vans, hearses, and limousines, but tucked over in the far corner, next to Fast Freddy’s sports model, sat a long, sleek Town Car. Bryn unlocked it with the remote and slipped inside. Warm, buttery leather interior. It was an automatic transmission, which was a relief, and when she poked around in the pockets she found that the car was registered to Fairview Mortuary, and she was listed as the principal driver. It was brand-new, apparently.

It started up with a purr that was hardly audible at all, but it grew to a low growl as she pulled out of the parking space. The acceleration on it was alarming, and she had to hit the brakes, fast, to avoid overshooting the stop sign at the top of the rise that led to the road. Pulling out into traffic wasn’t just easy; it was
scary
easy. She’d expected it to be less … powerful.

Somewhere, a phone rang. A cell phone on the seat of the car. She tried to fumble for it, but she didn’t need to; a speaker inside picked up the call and magnified it for her. “Ah … hello?”

“Bryn, it’s McCallister. How are you doing?”

“Doing?”

“Feeling.”

“Fine, I guess.” She looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Uh, I guess I need to come in for a shot?”

“Yes. No later than three p.m. We’ve programmed in Pharmadene as a destination for you on the navigation system. Head this way. I have some things to show you, and something you have to sign for.”

“What?”

“Your gun,” he said. “You did ask for one, didn’t you?”

He didn’t say good-bye, just hung up on her. She glared at the console, then pulled over to the side of the road and punched commands into the nav. Pharmadene was codenamed DOCTOR, she guessed; it was the only destination programmed. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that far away, and even if it had been, the Town Car was a pleasure to drive. There was something amazingly simple and Zen about letting everything fall away and concentrating on the road, the view, the ride.

At least until her phone rang again, and she heard her sister Annalie’s voice say, “Bryn? Bryn, I’m in trouble. Bryn?”

You could live, you could die smothered with a plastic bag, you could get brought back by some sci-fi nightmare robots in your blood, but some things just never, ever changed. “What is it this time, Annie?” Though Bryn could have made book on what the problem was, actually. Annalie’s emergencies were always one of three things: men, money, or a combination of the two. The only good thing was that Annie didn’t drink and didn’t do drugs; that would have made things so much worse.

From the tone of Annie’s frantic voice, Bryn guessed money, and she was right. “I don’t know what happened; I was so careful, but I’m short. I think maybe somebody stole money from my account….”

“How much are you short?”

“Only about a hundred bucks.”

Of course, Annie rarely had more than two hundred in her checking account, ever. Bryn shook her head and said, as she always did, “I’ll send you the money.”

“Uh, today? Because, you know, rent and stuff.”

“Can’t you get Walter to give you an advance?” Walter being her boss, and an old friend.

“He already did,” Annie said. “Uh, last week. I swear, I don’t know how I got so screwed up this time.”

Annalie never did. She was hopeless with money in general, and she skated by on check floats and loans—always had. If she weren’t her sister, and honestly so good at heart, Bryn would have cut her off, but Annie didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She had a job, a steady one, working the bar at Hooligan’s Tavern, and Walter was pretty tolerant of her money problems so long as the till didn’t come up short. Which, curiously, it never did. Annie could add like a fiend when she was on the clock.

“I’ll send it to you today,” Bryn promised. “Overnight mail. Okay?”

“Okay You’re a doll, Brynnie. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Hey, did you hear from Tate?”

“Nothing since the last cryptic e-mail. Guess he’s still in country.” Their brother Tate, only a year older than Annalie, was in Afghanistan now, halfway through his rotation. They all tried to keep track of the casualty lists, just in case, but so far Tate had demonstrated the same trademark luck he’d always had. Drop that boy in the thick of the battle and he’d emerge unscratched.

Nothing like Bryn. She’d managed to get herself killed in a
morgue
.

“Okay, give Mom and Dad my love, okay?”

“’Kay.”

Short and sweet, that was Annie. She never chatted when she asked for money; Bryn guessed it made her uncomfortable. The next call would be about her latest boyfriend, and what she’d bought with Bryn’s loan, and the latest frantic night at the bar … normal life.

Bryn wondered what the hell she was going to have to say during that conversation. Because her life right now wasn’t exactly … something she could chat about. Family get-togethers were going to be odd and awkward from now on. Mom would be asking about when Bryn was going to give her a grandchild, which had always been a little bit weird, but was now going to hurt, a lot, for reasons Bryn couldn’t possibly explain. Her oldest sister would be full of advice about that, most likely; she was the fertile one. Bryn never saw George or Kyle, which was a relief; Kyle was a criminal, and George was an asshole, despite being her brother. Bryn felt closest to Annalie, for all her screwups, and Tate, for all his absences.

That would be one to drop into conversation over the barbecue grill and beer.

Oddly, hearing Annalie’s utterly normal crisis had made her feel better, steadier, more herself.
Life goes on. Bryn’s undead, but Annalie’s still overdrawn
.

She found herself smiling as she pulled into the drive leading to Pharmadene, following the green line on her nav system. She hadn’t noticed, leaving in the dark the night before, but this place was
huge
. The driveway was probably a half a mile, with two guard posts, both of which she had to pass with video conversations between the armed security presence and McCallister before being allowed to proceed. Her car was searched.
She
was searched, in a pat-down worthy of airport security. And finally she was allowed into a parking garage, which was the size of an office building on its own.