open. I’ve got a feeling a lot is about to happen on your end.”
Midnight nodded and reached for the front-door handle.
“You’re going to have to get out,” Brian said to her.
She stepped to the ground.
The trunk popped open and Brian retrieved her bag, tossing it to the roadbed. Midnight climbed into the car and left, taking all illumination with him. She and Brian stood in the chilly dark. Not a sound could be heard from the woods around them.
“Time for us to go,” he said.
And he walked toward his car, pointedly ignoring her bag.
She lifted it and followed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TOM AWOKE AROUND 7:00 A.M., AFTER HAVING SLEPT FOR NEARLY six hours. A record for him of late. Usually he was lucky if he grabbed three hours’ rest, anxiety a powerful stimulant, enough to have deprived him of a good night’s sleep for the past eight years. He once thought the malady might fade, or at least diminish, but it had seemed to grow only worse. His last thoughts before dozing off had been of that day in the bookstore when he’d found out who and why.
Which had only worsened his dilemma.
The messenger had been right. There was nothing he could do. Nobody would believe him without proof. And finding that would be next to impossible. If he did manage to talk someone into hiring him, there was nothing to stop his enemies from doing it to him again.
And he would never see it coming.
He possessed no options.
None at all.
He was through.
But maybe not entirely.
He showered and dressed in jeans, a crewneck T-shirt, and tennis shoes, then ate a couple of pieces of dry white toast. Food was another pleasure he’d long ago lost interest in. The drive east to Mount Dora, then to the cemetery, took less time than he’d envisioned. Traffic was a nightmare in Orlando, but he was headed out of town, not in, against the Wednesday-morning flow, which made the trip its usual thirty minutes.
He arrived just before ten and spotted a work crew inside the low brick wall, among the
No coffin.
Apparently, Zachariah Simon had obtained his order and was in a hurry.
He walked toward the ceremonial hall. It was single-storied, wood-sided, and steeply roofed. Black shutters framed its many windows. He could recall as a kid being inside during several funerals—his mother’s and uncles’ most notably. Abiram had been laid out inside, too. Now he was making a return engagement.
A woman stepped from its half-open doorway into the sunshine. She was short, stout, and dressed like a lawyer, which he assumed she was. Simon’s lawyer. Smart of him not to be around. Less witnesses to see his face and to overhear their conversations.
He approached and she introduced herself. She offered a hand to shake, which he accepted, forcing a grin and saying, “Let’s get this over with.”
“The law requires an heir be present. You can, of course, satisfy that by simply waiting outside, so long as the medical examiner knows you’re here. He’s inside waiting on your arrival.”
“I can handle it.”
He wasn’t exactly sure that was the case, but he knew he wasn’t going to wait out here. He’d been thinking on the drive over. Simon had gone to a lot of trouble to obtain whatever was in that coffin. Once he had it, there was no guarantee he would release Alle. In fact, why would he? She could just go straight to the police and be a witness against him. Of course, the same could be said about himself. But he assumed Simon wasn’t concerned with that threat. The last person on earth the police would believe was a disgraced reporter.
Besides, he may kill himself before the day was out anyway.
Or maybe not.
Still debating that point.
He entered the building and stepped down a short hall that led to an open door. The decor inside the room had not changed much. Same drab carpet, bland walls, and musty smell.
An unplaned pine coffin lay on a stout oak table, the same table that had been there for decades. The box’s exterior was reasonably intact, considering it had rested in moist Florida earth for three years. A man in a blue jumpsuit that identified him as MEDICAL EXAMINER introduced himself and asked for identification that confirmed he was Tom Sagan. He produced his driver’s license, even as his eyes stayed on the coffin. Did he want to see the decomposing corpse? Not really. But he had to know what Zachariah Simon wanted. Alle was depending on him. So he steeled himself and gave the okay to open the lid.
It took a few minutes to pry off. Long nails had been used, which was appropriate. Abiram would have kept things traditional. Tom listened as each one squeaked its way free. The lawyer stood beside him, unemotional, as if she opened coffins every day.
