The Dead Woman

CHAPTER TWO

The old single story building was made of dusty red bricks. The windows had a cloudy look, as though they hadn't been washed in a long time. Matt looked at the hanging sign above the peeling green door. "Abbey's Antiques" was written across it in curvy purple letters. Beneath the name of the shop was the address: 3411 Maple Street. Matt checked it against the one from the newspaper ad.

Yup, he thought. This is the right place.

A small brass bell mounted above the doorframe jingled as he stepped into the shop. The smell of dust and age waited inside like a low hanging mist, and pulled him into the store before he realized it. Behind him, the bell tinkled a second time as the door swung closed.

"I'll be right with you," a woman's voice said from the rear of the store.

"No hurry," Matt called out, as he looked around the store.

Cluttered didn't begin to describe the layout of Abbey's. Thousands of items lined the shelves, aisles, and floor. Some even hung from hooks on the ceiling. Dust-covered pots, saws, picture frames, tea sets, figurines, and a host of assorted bric-a-brac sat in every available space, leaving just enough room for him to walk through.

Light reflected off hundreds of colored-glass pitchers, glasses, and decanters. A crystal serving tray with a wolf's head etched into the surface sat on a stand on the counter, complete with a set of wolf's-head utensils. Antique signs advertising everything from Coke to Hoover vacuum cleaners covered the walls like posters of Justin Bieber in a tween girl's bedroom. And everywhere he looked, every item was covered with a layer of dust.

He looked at the ad again. Wanted: Someone to help clear out excess inventory for storage. Short term. Pay negotiable. Apply at Abbey's Antiques, 3411 Maple St. Crawford.

"Excess inventory," Matt whispered. "No shit."

A few seconds later an attractive woman rounded the corner of an aisle and stepped into view. She looked to be in her late twenties, probably five and a half feet, with a slender, athletic build. She wore her blue and pink striped blouse—lightly covered in dust—tucked into a pair of Levis so tight they looked painted on. Her strawberry blond hair was tied back with a spotted blue bandana, and a pair of dirty white New Balance tennis shoe finished off the look. Despite the dust, Matt caught the scent of rose perfume. She raised her hand to tuck a wayward lock of hair back into place and offered him a smile that was anything but dusty.

Matt's first thought was to wonder what a woman like this was doing in an antique shop. His second was to wonder how his hair looked. He made a mental note to thank Annie for pointing him towards the newspaper ad the next time he saw her.

"I'm Abbey," the woman said, extending her hand. "Can I help you?"

"Abbey?" Matt took her hand. The long, slender fingers curled softly against his skin. "From the sign?"

"That's me. I own the place." She took her hand back and shoved it in her pocket. Matt noticed she wasn't wearing a ring. "What can I get you?"

Matt held up the newspaper ad. "I'm here for the work."

Abbey smiled again, even wider, if that was possible. "Thank God," she said. "I thought I was going to have to move all this shit by myself."

"Where are you moving it to? The back room?"

"Storage."

"All of it?" Matt looked around at the various piles of trinkets from decades past.

"Yeah," she replied. "Closing up shop. This place has been sucking money out of my bank account for too damn long."

"Oh. Sorry to hear it."

"It's okay. This store was my mother's dream, not mine. She named it after me." Abbey swung her arms out in a wide arc, encompassing the entire place. "She was never very organized."

"Was?"

Abbey looked back at Matt. "Yeah. She died a little over three years ago."

"I'm so sorry," Matt replied.

For the first time since he stepped into the room, Abbey's face grew hard. "She was one of the first victims of The Blake County Killer. Bastard got her on her way home from the store in December 2008. The cops found her car with a bunch of Christmas gifts in the trunk. They didn't find the body for weeks, and when they did, they had to identify her with dental X-rays because..." Abbey stopped, then shook her head. "I'm sorry. Sometimes my mouth just goes and goes without permission. You didn't come here to hear all that."

"It's okay. I—"

"The job is to help me load all this stuff up into a box truck and haul it to storage, where we'll unload it and come back for more until the place is cleaned out. Pay is ten dollars an hour. Cash. You interested?"

"I thought the ad said the pay was negotiable."

"Well, mister...what was your name again?"

"Matt."

Abbey nodded. "Matt, then. That was just to get you in the door. It's an old trick." She winked at him. "It's ten an hour. You want it or not?"

"I'll take it, but only if you pay me daily."

"You thinking about getting drunk tonight?"

"I'm new in town. No friends or family. Just passing through, really. Gonna need a place to sleep. Even the cheap hotels won't let me pay for lodging with my good looks."

Abbey laughed. "Tell you what, Matt," she said. "There's a back office with a cot and a bathroom on the far wall. It's even got a shower. Save your motel money. You can sleep there."

"Sounds good," Matt replied.

"Great. Now, get to work."

Matt chuckled, but went to the back wall of the store. He had to turn sideways to get through the clutter, but he managed to get by. Once there he set down his duffel and took off his jacket. His gray T-shirt was thin, and would be ideal for a day of heavy lifting. When he turned around, he noticed Abbey staring at his arms.

"Looks like I made a good choice," she said. "Can you rip a phone book with those things?"

"I chopped a lot of wood back home," Matt said.

"Farm boy, eh?"

"Sawyer."

Abbey nodded. She was about to open her mouth to speak when the bell above the door jingled again. Both of them turned to see a man in a khaki-colored police uniform step through the doorway. The newcomer was tall and thick, with dark beetle eyes and brown hair. The hard creases on his shirt and pants spoke to the care he gave his appearance, at least in uniform. His expression looked like he'd just tasted something sour, and the scowl lines on his face seemed permanent. He took off his wide brimmed hat and stepped farther into the building.

"Sorry to bother you, Abbey."

Abbey sighed. "It's all right, Dale. What do you need?"

Dale looked at Matt. His eyes traveled the length of Matt's body, then settled on his face. "Who's this?" By the tone of his voice, Matt guessed the officer was not pleased by his presence.

He stuck out his hand, anyway. "Name's Matt. I'm just here to help Abbey move all this sh—stuff."

Dale didn't take Matt's hand. "Where you from, Matt?"

Matt held his hand out for another moment, then took it back and stuck it in his pocket. "North," he replied. Fuck the guy if he didn't like it.

Dale seemed about to say something else, but Abbey stepped in front of him. "Did you need something, Dale?"

Dale gave Matt one last hard look, then turned back to Abbey. "Just wanted to let you know they found another one. Over at Black Creek. Same as the others."

Abbey gasped. Apparently, she hadn't seen the police cars or heard the sirens this morning. Matt had, but then again, Matt didn't sleep much these days.

"Who?" she asked.

Dale's eyes fell to his boots, and right away Matt knew that whoever the victim was, Abbey wasn't going to like it.

"It was Eloise," Dale said finally.

"Stinnet?" Abbey asked. "Jim's wife?"

Dale nodded.

"Well, ain't that a fucking trick!" Abbey yelled. "She accuses me of sleeping with him, and then she turns up dead. Is that why you're here, Dale? To arrest me? You know I never laid a finger on either one of them. I'd rather fuck a porcupine with no lubricant."

"Damn it, Abbey. Don't you know me better than that by now?" Dale's eyes were earnest, even a bit moist, as though the big fellow might start leaking any minute.

Matt took a step back, wanting to fade into the background. He shouldn't be part of this discussion. It felt like he was intruding, somehow.

Dale noticed him and straightened his expression, clearing his throat as he did. "I just wanted to let you know, Abbey. Folks're liable to start talkin' again. I wanted you to be prepared."

Abbey took a long, deep breath, and then her lips split into a wan smile. "Of course. Thanks, Dale. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Just then, Dale's radio crackled, and a woman's voice called him back to the station. She sounded like an older lady who'd spent most of her life a smoker. Dale thumbed the volume down and gave Abbey one more look, then turned to go. He paused when his eyes settled on Matt again. "You know, Abbey, if you need to talk to someone... about anything... you can call me."

"I know," she replied. "Thanks, Dale. I've got work to do, though."

"Of course," Dale said. "Be careful." Even though he spoke to Abbey, his eyes never left Matt's face. "See you later."

With that, the tall country policeman turned his back on the two and strode out the door. The tinny ring of the bell followed him out.

"Nice guy," Matt said. "Friend of yours?" Matt couldn't help but notice the looks that Dale kept giving Abbey, but she hadn't returned them. For some reason, Matt very much wanted to know what the cop's position in her life was.

"Ex-husband," she replied.

"Sorry to hear it."

Abbey sighed. "Not as sorry as he was." She let out a deep breath and shook her head. Then she turned to face Matt. "Well Matt, you've already seen more in this town than you bargained for, I'll bet."

Matt just shrugged. How could he explain the things he'd seen? How could he tell her about his death? Or Mr. Dark? Maybe he should tell her how he'd been forced to shoot his best friend to keep him from murdering that asshole Silbert. Or about how, ever since he died, he had been able to actually see evil in people, which manifested as a rotting, festering sore that spread across the person's skin like leprosy. Ha! Fat chance! If he tried to tell her about himself, about how he was chasing across the country after a mysterious evil "man" that no one else could see, he'd lose the job and probably get locked up in a mental ward. Hell, a run-of-the-mill serial killer seemed more normal than anything in his life. At least since his wife died.

The thought struck him as a pretty sad indictment.

"So when do we start?" he asked.