There was enough room for her to lie flat on her back, and that was all. She felt the satin lining around her face, under her hands and neck. It smelled like new material. Her skin crawled at the thought of being closed inside the thing, but she was glad she had done it when she heard the voices in the room around her.
“We’ll have Mr. Austin set up for later today.” It was the voice of the young man who’d been talking to her father.
“What about that old guy wandering around out there?”
“He’s fine. Trying to pick out the right coffin. I wanted to give him a few minutes to get himself together. He was a little emotional.”
“All right. Don’t give him too long. He’ll be out the door faster than you can count sheep!”
Both men laughed. Then she heard the sound of their footsteps on the marble floor and the door closing. At least she was alone again. Peggy sighed and pushed at the coffin lid.
It wouldn’t budge. A thrill of fear trickled down her spine.
She tried again. Nothing. Some locking mechanism must have moved into place. Or maybe it wasn’t made to be opened from the inside. A panic born of unscientific imagination coursed through her. She wanted to bang her fists against the lid until someone came.
Her mind raced and her heart thumped loudly in the muffled silence. She could always scream when someone came back into the room.
Cell phone! It was in her pocket. She inched her hand down her side until her fingers touched it. Actually, the coffin was rather spacious. There was plenty of room to move her arms and legs. She could even lift her head a little.
She brought the cell phone back up to her face. That part was a little tricky, even though the sides weren’t tight against her. The whisper of her hand moving against the satin liner made her shiver. But she managed to get the phone up and flip it open. The blue light came on.
The light was haunting in the utter darkness. She had her father’s cell phone on speed dial, but when she pushed the button, there was no response. She tried again. The call went straight to voice mail. The third time, she left him a message. “Dad, I’m trapped in a coffin. Please come into the third room on the right and look for the silver coffin.” The beep sounded to end the message. Peggy finished anyway. “Please hurry.”
She closed the phone, keeping it against her heart. She felt better. If he didn’t answer, she could call 911. She could even call Mangum’s and tell them she was trapped. She could plead a lapse in brain function made her fall over into the coffin. As long as
She heard the door to the room open and close again and then there was a swish-thump noise. Forgetting she didn’t want to get caught, she kicked her feet against the coffin lid and screamed for all she was worth. When the lid finally opened, she popped up like hot toast.
“I thought you were trying to
She hugged him tightly, and he helped her climb out of the coffin. “I climbed in here to hide, and the lid stuck.”
He examined the inside of the coffin. “Not quite ready yet, huh?”
She shivered. “Not yet, Dad. Thanks.”
“So, did you find out what you came here to find out?”
“Not yet.” She didn’t realize she’d left her purse on the floor by Darmus’s coffin until she noticed the letter opener still jammed in the side of the bronze coffin. It was a miracle no one else noticed. It reminded her that people see what they expect to see. “But I’m not leaving until I do.”
With her father’s help, she continued her grisly task. The letter opener was ruined by the time it went through the silicone sealer from head to foot between the lid and the base of the coffin. She unhinged the latch when she was done and took a deep breath.
Her father put his hand on her shoulder. She smiled at him and nodded. Together, they pushed open the lid on the coffin.
The dead man inside was cleaned up, dressed in a brown suit, and positioned with his hands over his heart. His face and hands were grisly and ruined. Nothing there to use for her purpose. Fortunately, she’d known Darmus a long time. “Let’s lift his trouser leg.”
“What?”
“Darmus had a scar on his right leg. John and I were with him the day he did it. He cut it on some barbed wire climbing into a pasture to steal a horse.”
“A horse?”
“You don’t want to know.” She grimaced. “Anyway, it left a white, sickle-shaped scar on his leg. It wouldn’t have been affected by the fire, and I doubt Darmus or Luther would have thought to do anything to disguise it.”
Together, they lifted the right leg and pulled up the trouser.
“No scar. This isn’t him.” Her face was set in grim lines. “I don’t know who it is. But it’s not Darmus Appleby.”
After closing the coffin, Peggy and her father somehow managed to slip out of the mortuary unseen by the attentive staff. They sat in the truck for a few minutes, facing the stark brick building.
