The Dead Woman

CHAPTER THREE

Matt loaded the last box into the storage shed, setting it on top of another box with an audible grunt. The fucking thing was heavy! He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a damp towel, then stuck the tip of the towel into his back pocket.

"That's the last one," he said. "Should we do another load?" They'd been at it for seven hours, stopping only for a quick lunch at McDonald's, which seemed to be the only fast food restaurant in town, but so far they had managed to move about two thirds of the inventory from the store to the storage unit.

"No," Abbey replied. "It's almost six o'clock. We'll pick up again tomorrow. Right now I just want to eat something, then go to bed." She groaned as she bent sideways, stretching her abdominal muscles. Matt had been expecting to shoulder most of the work himself, but she surprised him. Abbey stayed with him the entire day, lifting, moving, and hauling just as much as Matt. If the soreness in his back— and Matt had spent a lifetime chopping wood— was any indication, she must be beat, too.

"Dinner sounds great," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Any good places to eat around here?"

"A few," she replied, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"What? What are you smiling about?"

"You're about to ask me out, aren't you?"

Matt stared, his mouth slightly open. "I...uh..."

"Don't worry, Matt. I don't bite." She stepped down from a box of antique clocks and winked. "But if you're going to buy me dinner, you might want to ask me for a raise. I know how much you make, remember?"

"Oh?"

"At ten dollars an hour, I doubt you can afford me."

Abbey turned and walked out of the storage room, jingling the keys to the box truck in her hands. "And wash up first. Use the shower at the back of the store. I hope you have your own shampoo in that duffel, or else you're going to spend the evening smelling like Cucumber-Melon Suave."

Matt smiled. "I do. I even have some deodorant."

"Great," Abbey said through the window of the truck. "I'll pick you up at eight."

"It's a date," Matt replied.

It wasn't until she started the engine that he remembered she was his ride back to the store.

The truck started to pull out of the parking lot. "Oh, shit," he said, and took off at a run, trying to reach the door before she drove away. "Abbey, wait!"

# # #

At a tiny restaurant called Malloy's in downtown Crawford, Matt and Abbey sat outside in patio-style plastic chairs, enjoying the cool evening air after a sweaty day. She had picked him up at eight, as promised, in a white Ford van with the "Abbey's Antiques" logo painted on the sides. Matt had asked if she was going to repaint the van now that she was closing the store, and she'd laughed and asked if he did auto-body work as well as moving and sawing. Her laughter reminded him again of Janey, and he'd had to force her out of his mind for the rest of the drive.

The waitress brought over a fresh pitcher of Miller Draft and a pair of frosty mugs, just the thing to wash down a very dry burger and some greasy fries. He poured a mug for Abbey, then one for himself, and set the pitcher in the middle of the table.

"Thanks," Abbey said, smiling. She must have take a moment to freshen up before she left her house, because she once again smelled of her rosy perfume. She wore a thin white blouse and tight jeans again, much the same look as she had all day long. The only difference was this time, her hair wasn't shoved under a bandana and she'd gone to the trouble of putting on her makeup. The sandals on her feet bore three-inch heels that emphasized the shapely curve of her calves, which Matt couldn't help but notice. Abbey certainly had all the right curves in all the right places. He could see why Dale didn't want to let her go.

"You're welcome." He took a swig of his beer. The cold liquid flowed into his throat, but didn't do much to cool him off. "So you were married, huh? To a cop, no less."

"Do you always bring up failed relationships on a first date?" Abbey asked.

He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm a bit out of practice," he conceded.

"Oh? Are you divorced, too?"

A mental snapshot popped into Matt's mind. A resort in Cozumel, not long after his wedding. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze as Janey lay on a towel at the pool. The only thing separating her skin from the air was a thin red bikini she'd picked up the week before, and even then her nipples poked through the fabric, drawing his eyes right to them. She held a frozen drink in her hand. On the side of the glass that touched her lips, the salt had worn away, but he could still taste it if he licked his lips. Her kiss had tasted like margaritas that day.

Divorced? Never. Not in a million years.

"My wife died," he replied. "About a year and a half ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I was," he said, echoing her comment from earlier that day.

"If you don't want to talk about it..."

"No," he said. "No, it's okay. I've gotten past it. It's just... I never know what to say to that." Matt realized he was wringing his hands and grabbed the mug to stop himself. "You know what I mean?"

Abbey nodded, then took a sip from her own mug. Her eyes never left Matt's.

"So what have you been doing since then?" she asked.

Nothing much. Just dying and living again, Matt thought. And killing my best friend. Oh, and I've been chasing the Devil. Have you seen him?

"Not much, really," he replied. "Just kinda wandering around. Seeing as much of the country as I can."

"That sounds great."

"Well, I'm not exactly building up my 401(k)."

"At least you're living," she said. "I've been stuck in that damn store for years."

"Not anymore," he said.

"True enough. I just wish I knew what to do next."

"I feel that way every day." Matt smiled.

"I bet you do." Abbey laughed. The sound was throaty but soft, almost sensual. Like silk against bare skin. She raised her glass. "To the great unknown," she said.

Matt clinked his mug against hers and took a long, hard drink. For a moment, all he could see was the bottom of his mug. The night was looking up. He finished his beer and set the mug down on the table.

And that's when he saw him.

The man on the sidewalk wore a wrinkled blue suit and scuffed loafers. The tail of a white shirt hung below the back of his sport coat, and his hands were shoved into his pockets. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his face showed a bad case of five o'clock shadow. He looked like a perfectly ordinary businessman on his way home from work.

Except for the moldy green blotch covering half his cheek.

Matt watched him walk by. The man had an angry look on his face, and muttered to himself as he passed. The decay on his cheek grew larger right in front of Matt's eyes, and when Blue Suit got to within a few feet, the smell of decay came with him. Matt had a hard time not gagging on the stench, but managed to keep the reflex in check.

Blue Suit walked right by his table and kept going. Matt tried to keep his eyes on him without being too obvious, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"What is it, Matt?" Abbey asked.

"Who is that guy? The one in the suit?"

Abbey looked over Matt's shoulder. "That's Brad Linderholm. He's a local stockbroker. Why?"

Matt turned back to look at her, and almost choked.

There, about twenty feet behind Abbey and looking far too happy for Matt's liking, was Mr. Dark.