Bell clapped his hands together. “That’s exactly right. Death is always tragic and sad, but if we can help make others better, the loss is not in vain.”
Eddie nodded.
“So can I be assured you two are okay with this?”
Floyd shrugged. “Ain’t no skin off my nose.”
“Mine neither,” Eddie added.
“Good.” Bell held their gaze for a moment. “The one you brought us tonight is exactly what I need. Young, muscular, and fairly fresh.”
“What about his face being all stove in?” Eddie asked.
“No concern. You see, I dry them out. Sort of like making jerky. Then grind them up. The bones, too. Only need a tiny amount to make each bottle of tonic.” He smiled. “So the only question I have is, how many can you supply?”
Eddie looked at him. “I guess that depends on how many folks pass. And how soon we can get to them.”
Bell nodded. “Maybe expand your horizons to other counties.”
“We’re already thinking on that. It’d be a might trickier since we don’t know those areas as well.”
“And that’s why I’m offering you a raise. Double. How does that sound?”
“Good.” Eddie nodded. “Sounds real good.”
“You see,” Bell said, “I sell in four states right now but I see an opportunity to move into half a dozen others. Which requires growing the operation. And, in turn, more raw materials.”
“Bodies?” Floyd asked.
“As many more as you can locate.”
It was Sunday morning. Sheriff Amos Dugan sat in his front porch rocker, reading the newspaper, and finishing off a cup of coffee. He had another hour to kill before getting dressed for church. That’s when a car pulled into his drive.
“Amos,” Bill Grace said as he climbed out and walked toward the porch. “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning.”
Dugan knew Grace, the funeral director over in Pine Valley. Fact was, they went way back. To grammar school.
“No problem, Bill.” He folded the paper. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Millie just made it fresh.”
“Another time.” Grace lowered himself into the adjacent rocker.
“What can I do for you?” Dugan asked.
“Got me a situation.” Grace shook his head. “One hell of a situation.”
“Sounds like I ain’t gonna like it.”
“Jerry Crabtree’s body’s gone missing.”
Dugan rocked forward and stared at his friend. “Want to explain that?”
“His momma stopped by this morning. Early. Brought Jerry’s Bible for me to slip in the casket.” He stared off toward the peach tree in the yard, took a breath, and went on. “She’d of put it in herself, at the visitation yesterday, but it’s a closed casket deal. The funeral’s today. She wanted her boy buried with it.”
“And he’s gone?”
Grace nodded. “Someone replaced the body with chunks of tree trunk.”
“Good lord.” Dugan let out a sigh. “Sometime during the night?”
“Looks that way. I saw some scratching on the back door lock so I suspect that’s the way they got in.”
“What would someone want with Jerry’s body?”
“Ain’t got no idea.”
“I’m here to tell you,” Dugan said, “the world don’t make no sense sometimes.” He rubbed his chin. “You tell his momma yet?”
“Nope. Wanted to talk with you first. But she’s my next stop.”
Dugan stood, his knees protesting with a few creaks and pops. “I’ll get dressed and tell Martha I ain’t going to make church today. Then I’ll meet you over at your funeral home. Say about an hour?”
“Sounds good.”
Dugan watched his friend drive away, letting the news settle. This changed everything. The disturbed dirt over at Wilbert Fleming’s grave took on a whole new meaning. Opening it up could no longer be avoided. If someone stole one body, why not two? He suddenly felt all of his sixty-two years.
Tuesday night around midnight found Eddie and Floyd at McGill’s. Sitting on barstools, knocking back a few beers. They’d heard a few folks talking about the theft of Jerry Crabtree’s body and someone digging up Wilbert Fleming, God rest their souls, but those conversations were short lived and quickly moved on to the weather, hunting, fishing, football. The usual topics.
Eddie was feeling good about things. Sure Jerry and Wilbert going missing was creating a bit of a stir, but now three days later, he felt Floyd and him were in the clear.
That’s when Antoine walked in. He didn’t say a word, merely nodded toward the back as he walked by. Eddie and Floyd slid off their stools and followed him down the hall that led to the restrooms, past them, and out the rear door to the gravel parking lot over near the trash cans. Antoine turned, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at them.
“So much for your brilliant idea,” Antoine said.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked. “It worked.”
“Did it?”
“Well now, we weren’t thinking they’d ever know, but even if they do there’s no way it comes back to us.” He tapped his cousin’s shoulder. “Or to you and Dr. Bell.”
“Not yet.”
“If they was going to, they already would of. Don’t you think?”
“I think Dr. Bell ain’t happy. I think I ain’t happy. I think you two shouldn’t think so much. You’re not very good at it.”
“It was a good plan,” Eddie said. “How’d we know they was going to look inside? I mean, it being closed and all.”
“But they did.”
“It still ain’t gonna cause us no grief.”
“You better hope not.” Antoine’s eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles gave a couple of pumps. “No more stealing from funeral homes. Dig them up like you’re supposed to. No one will look after they’re buried.”
Eddie nodded.
“And no more big ideas lest you run them by me first.”
Thursday evening, Eddie and Floyd were again at McGill’s. It was nearing two a.m., closing time, and only half a dozen people remained. A few stools down sat a visitor. Skinny guy from Maryland, on his way to New Orleans, stopping for the night. At least, that’s what he jawed to Wayne the bartender about. He’d had more than a few beers and wobbled, even when planted firmly on a barstool.
“You sure about this?” Floyd asked, speaking just loud enough for Eddie to hear.
“Seems easy enough,” Eddie said.
“Should we talk to Antoine first?”
“Screw him. He don’t own us.”
“But he’s the guy who pays,” Floyd said.
“Bell does that.”
“Not directly.”
“Maybe it’s time to cut out the middleman.”
“Bell won’t like that,” Floyd said.
Eddie cut his eyes toward his cousin. “He just might. One less mouth to feed. And we’ll get more money.” He nodded toward the visitor, leaned near Floyd. “Especially if we can bring him a real fresh one.”
“I don’t know. I ain’t sure I like this.”
Eddie smiled. “You never like what I think up. Until you dwell on it a spell. Then you see the wisdom. Way it always is.” Another smile. “Besides, ain’t nobody going to miss him.”
“Someone will.”
Eddie shrugged. “Not no one around here.”
The guy dug in his pocket and pulled out a few wadded bills. “How much I owe you?” he asked.
“Make it seven even,” Wayne said.
The man laid a five and three ones on the bar. “There’s a dollar for you.” He slid off the stool and shuffled toward the door.
Eddie paid their tab. Once on the street, they saw the guy. Half a block away, weaving his way down the sidewalk. The street was otherwise deserted. They caught up to him as he reached his car and struggled to unlock the door.