She picked up on the fourth ring and slipped her Minnie Mouse mask to the top of her head.

“Hello?”

“What took you so long?” She knew that voice: Mac.

“I was taking the’package‘”—Jesus, she hated that word—“to the bathroom.”

“Put him on,” Mac said.

Him. That meant Paulie. Poppy knew how paranoid Mac was about mentioning names or being specific about anything on the phone. Talking to him was all about not saying things. Maybe she could see his point, but how about a Hello or How’s it going? Jesus, she hated this guy. The sooner they were rid of him, the better. She couldn’t wait.

“He’s not here.”

“Where the hell is he?”

“Out.” He wants info, she thought, let him scratch for it.

“Don’t give me this shit, girl. Where is he?”

“Shopping. Getting some tools.”

“Tools? What are you giving me? Did he get the persuader? Is it packed up and ready to go?”

“Not yet.” Silence on the other end, then a tone so totally low and cold she almost dropped the phone. “You’d better explain.” She was ready for that. She’d been rehearsing.

“It’s gonna get done. It’s just that this one’s a lot trickier than the last. We got a smaller area to work with, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Then go back to the original—like last time.”

Right, Mac, she thought. Her finger. Sure. On a cold day in hell.

She said, “Either way, it’s a different situation. We can’t exactly get this package liquored up like the last one.” What an absolute total nightmare that had been.

“So use something else. Or maybe I ought to come over and supervise.”

Oh, Jesus, no. No-no-no-no!

“That’s okay, Mac. We’re handling it. It’ll get done as soon as he gets back.”

“Yeah? What tool’s he out buying?”

“A meat cleaver.”

Another silence on Mac’s end, shorter this time. His voice was lighter when he spoke again. “Yeah. That oughta do it.”

“Quick and neat,” she said, forcing the words. She couldn’t resist adding, “But no matter how you look at it, it’s like pretty goddamn ugly. I mean, she’s only—”

“Watch it! Watch what you say.”

“All right, but—”

“No buts. And don’t get all soft and fuzzy on me. A little persuader will make things run much smoother, and get this over quicker. And besides, she’ll never miss it.” And she’ll never forget what two strangers did to her in a back room when she was six years old. Poppy thought. But I’ll see to it she doesn’t have to forget.

Poppy sighed with all the regret she could muster. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Suppose? You’d better know I’m right. Have him call my voice mail if there’s a problem; otherwise he knows where to deliver it.” Mac hung up right in the middle of her “Yeah.” Jesus, she hated him.

She got her Minnie Mouse mask back on and went to retrieve Katie from the bathroom. She needed a dose of that little girl to clear away the bad aftertaste of Mac.

12

Paulie stood in a clump of trees across from the Lynch-MacDougal Funeral Home and watched all the mourners trail away. He waited while all windows went dark one by one, then groaned as he saw Michael and Lydia appear at the back door.

“The parking lot lights, schmuck! Don’t leave’em on. It’s a waste of energy.”

The pair didn’t seem to care. They locked up and headed for separate cars; MacDougal to a Buick Riviera and Lynch to a little Beamer then drove off in the same direction. He still hadn’t figured out how those two were related, and didn’t really care. He had a problem: the sodium lamps didn’t leave a single goddamn shadow near the building. This was going to be like breaking in at noon.

But it had to be done. At least the bathroom window was around back. That gave him some cover.

He checked his pockets: penlight, pruning shears, the leather driving gloves from his chauffeur stint the other day all present and accounted for. He checked the street. When no cars were in sight, he dashed across and pelted straight through the parking lot to the back of the funeral home. He stood there panting, looking innocent, while he waited to see if he’d attracted any attention.

Nothing stirred. He crouched, spotted the white of the toilet tissue he’d left to mark the right window, and gave it a shove. The window swung in easily.

Paulie rolled onto his belly, pushed his legs into the opening, and slid through the window. A tight squeeze for his shoulders, but he managed to wriggle through and wound up standing on the toilet. He pushed the window closed and turned on the penlight.

Moving out to the dark smoking lounge, he looked around for the private door. He’d been thinking about what might be on the other side and had an idea. He stepped inside and flashed the light around. Just what he’d suspected: polished wooden boxes in tight neat rows. This was where they stored the coffins.

Holding the penlight in his mouth, he moved along the rows, going from coffin to coffin, finding the latches on each, unhooking them, and lifting the lids. Nothing to it.

They were all pretty much the same. Good. He’d been worried that he’d have trouble with the Eddie Hadley coffin upstairs. He always made a point of keeping flashlight use to an absolute minimum if windows were involved. None down here, but he’d seen plenty of glass upstairs.

As he turned to leave, the light caught a silvery reflection in a rear corner of the room. Looked like stainless steel sinks and counters. Must be where Lynch and MacDougal did their embalming. He spotted a white sheeted figure on a table. The next customer?

Paulie knew he should be heading upstairs for his date with Eddie Hadley’s toe, but he found himself irresistibly drawn to that table. Just for a look. Only take a second…

As he neared, he figured which end was the head. He lifted the sheet and flashed the beam on the face of a young girl with long brown hair. Pale as the sheet, but with her eyes closed she looked like she was sleeping, like one shake of her shoulder and she’d open up and look at him. This must have been the young “beloved” MacDougal had mentioned.

Paulie lifted the sheet farther—nude as a lap dancer underneath and very nicely built. He stared at her, wondering what she’d died of. Too bad. She was a looker.

He dropped the sheet and headed upstairs. He found the Hadley room and stepped inside. A quick flash of the light showed him the path through the chairs. He reached the coffin and found someone had closed it.

Fine with me, he thought. He didn’t feature having the kid watching while he crunched on his toe.

He felt along under the cover lip until he found the latch for the lower half, unhooked it, and lifted. Another quick flash to orient himself and— “I’ll be damned!” The kid wasn’t wearing pants or shoes or socks.

This made it easier for Paulie, sure, but it was something of a shock. You figure if they dress the top half, they dress the rest of you too.

“All right, Eddie boy,” he said, “time for your contribution to the cause.” No way around using his light now, but at least he’d have the coffin cover between him and the window. He pulled the pruning shears from his pocket, stuck the light in his mouth and bent over the kid’s feet. He found the little toe on the right foot, fitted the shears around it, and squeezed. Nowhere near the resistance he’d expected. A little pressure, a soft crunch, and there it was: one persuader, made to order.

He pocketed the shears and picked up the toe. Tiny little thing—half the size of a cigarette filter, and about as white but heavier. As he took a closer look he saw that the cut end was wet and reddish, but it wasn’t bloody. That might be a problem, but he’d worry about it later. Now that he had what he’d come for, he wanted out of here.

He glanced at his watch. Not bad: door to door—make that window to window—in ten minutes.