Waking The Dead

Waking the Dead

By

GiAnna Moratelli

COPYRIGHT 2014 GiAnna Moratelli

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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Chapter One

Windshield wipers swiped the steadily falling rain from the windshield of a red sedan as it slowly rolled along the black top road; falling in the water filled pot-holes of the old manufacturing road of a glove factory; the plant having been closed for three decades. Approaching a parking area, a chain link gate was wide open, the chain having been cut. A white, mostly rusted, metal sign identified it as once being employee parking only.

At the far end of the lot sat a dark blue Lexus. The driver of the sedan pulled up beside it.

The driver of the Lexus, a short, slender man with thin grey hair, a deeply wrinkled face, and his front lower teeth missing, got out and opened the door of the sedan. Really raining out there, he stated as he got in the car.

I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about the weather, Maloney.

I know you didn’t. Kenneth Maloney looked around nervously as if someone were watching them.

You have the money?

Yeah, I have it. Kenneth reached inside his coat pocket and took out an envelope. I just want that fuckin’ bitch gone, he said as he handed it to the man. You’re sure there’s no way anyone’s going to connect me to this, right?

You did it the way I told ya, didn’t ya?

Yeah.

Then don’t worry about it. I’ll get the job done. After I call you, you have five hours to put the remaining balance in the account number I gave you. If you don’t, I’ll take you out, you got that?

Kenneth nodded. I have the money ready to deposit now. So how soon do you think it’s going to happen?

When the opportunity arises.

I just want it done.

The driver frowned. Get out.

Getting out of the car, Kenneth got in the Lexus. Wiping water from inside the door, he watched as the man in the red car drove around him and went back up the manufacture road. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his cell phone and pushed a button. It’s me. I paid him. It’s gonna happen.

* * * *

Abigail threw some laundry into the washing machine. She brushed her long, light brown hair back from her face as she reached down and picked up her husband’s slacks. Searching through the pockets, she found a small folded paper in one of the front pockets and tossed it on the dryer. Having checked the rest of the pockets, she put the pants in the washing machine.

Picking up the folded paper, Abigail unfolded it. She frowned as she looked at it, trying to make out what it said. It appeared to be a withdrawal for $40,000 dollars of cash. She could barely make out her husband’s scribbled hand writing. Then she gasped as she read, ‘to get rid of Ab’, which was a shortened version of her name, that Kenneth used.

Their marriage hadn’t been good for years, but she never contemplated that he would do something like this. But then why wouldn’t he? Kenneth was always talking about doing something illegal to make a fast buck. She had overheard talk at the parties they went to about some of the shady deals he’d instigated and actually got away with. Abigail decided early in their marriage to stay out of his business, not even asking him in the evenings how his day had gone.

Refolding the paper, Abigail slid it into the pocket of her house dress. She walked through the large dining room and sitting room to the living room. Picking up the phone, she pushed in a number.

Hello, a woman’s voice answered.

Pat, I think I’m in trouble.

What do you mean you think you’re in trouble? You’re on the pill aren’t you?

Abigail shook her head. I don’t mean like that. I think Kenneth has hired someone to kill me.

What? Are you crazy?

I’m not kidding. I found a piece of paper in his pants when I was doing laundry. He’s paid someone forty-thousand dollars in cash, and he’s written on it, ‘to get rid of Ab.’

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Pat, you’re there aren’t you?

"Yeah, I’m thinking. Why don’t I come over?’

No! You can’t come here. He’ll be home before too long.

All right. I’ll meet you someplace. Pat hesitated. I’ll meet you at the bookstore. We can get a cup of coffee and talk.

Okay. Abigail looked out the picture window at the driveway. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hanging up the receiver, she grabbed her purse from beside the closet door and hurried out to the garage.

* * * *

Pat York, a petite woman with short reddish-brown hair, sat at a table near the front window of the bookstore sipping coffee, looking at a travel book about the islands. She looked up as an older, white, Buick Park Avenue pulled up in front of the store. Smiling, she waved at Abigail.

Abigail hurried inside and sat across the table from Pat. I don’t have much time.

God you must have been in a hurry! You didn’t even change into something good, Pat joked. So what’s all this about Kenneth going to get rid of you?

I’m not kidding, Pat. Abigail took the paper from her pocket and showed it to Pat. Don’t you think that’s what it is? That’s what it says, isn’t it?

Pat looked at the paper and shrugged. I don’t know, Abbey. I think maybe you’re jumping conclusions.

What else can it mean? It says, ‘to get rid of Ab’.

I know you and Kenneth don’t get along that well, but to hire someone to get rid of you? For Christ sake, you haven’t got along since you’ve been married. If Kenneth was going to get rid of you he’d done it a long time ago, and forty-thousand dollars is a lot of money, Abigail.

Abigail frowned. He has me insured for over a two-hundred and fifty-thousand. It wouldn’t be like he’s losing money. And we both know that’s what Kenneth’s all about, money.

Yeah, well. Maybe he’s planning on offering it to you to leave. You know, get a divorce.

It would take more than forty-thousand dollars for that. No. Abigail shook her head. He won’t divorce me, we have a prenuptial agreement. He doesn’t want to take that kind of loss, it wouldn’t look good on the financial statement, you know.

I don’t know, Abbey. Pat looked at the paper, shaking her head. I’ve never understood your marriage, but this. Why can’t the two of you get along?

We haven’t got along for the last eleven years.

That’s most of your marriage.

That’s all of our marriage.

So why’d you get married?

Abigail shrugged. Good question isn’t it. But at least it was bearable, this past year, it’s been almost unbearable. Every since he retired he doesn’t want to be around me, and he blames it on me, but I don’t think I’m doing anything different than I’ve been doing.

Pat smiled. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he wants you to do something different.

Well not sexually if that’s what you’re talking about? He told me he can’t do it anymore.

Pat raised her eyebrows. Really! When did he tell you that?

A few years ago. I never pressed the issue. Abigail folded up the paper and put it in her pocket."

Why not?

Abigail looked at the house dress she was wearing. Normally, she wouldn’t be caught getting in the mail in something like this.

You two don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore so -.

Not even in the same room, Abigail said. Pat, he’s a toothless, wrinkled up old man. He wants me to look like a million bucks every time we go out, but he can’t even put his teeth in his mouth.

Pat laughed. So what are you going to do with that? She motioned toward Abigail’s pocket.

I’m not sure.

Well, I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions if I were you. I’m sure it’s something else. Pat sipped her coffee.

I don’t know what it could be.

Pat shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe he’s getting new teeth. She laughed.

It’s not funny.

I’m sorry, Abbey but -.

Abigail looked at her watch. I have to go. She stood. I have laundry in the machine and I have to fix dinner. I’ll talk to you later.

Abbey.

Abigail looked at her.

If it’s about giving Kenneth a divorce, think it through before you say no or give him some humongous number to come up with.

Abigail nodded. I gotta go!

Driving down the street Abigail she saw a sign for the police station and turned. Maybe she was jumping conclusions, but she wanted a professional opinion. Walking into the station, she looked around. She had no idea who handled the ‘husbands out to kill their wives’ department.

Detective Mike Perillo spotted Abigail from across the room. The dark blue, white poke-a-dot dress and flat blue canvas shoes she wore reminded him of an actress he use to watch on some family show back in the seventies. She might be dressed like a plain Jane, but she was a tall, slender, good-looking even with that home-girl appearance.

Mike strolled across the room, fastening the black sports jacket he wore to give a more professional appearance. Can I help you, miss? You look a little lost.

Abigail looked at him. She felt like his six foot was looming over her five-foot -seven. Her hazel eyes flashed nervously. A little. I think my husband’s paid someone to kill me. And I don’t know what to do about it.

Mike’s dark brown eyes looked at her curiously. How often did he get some chick come in here saying that?

I’m Detective Mike Perillo. And you are?

Abigail. Abigail Maloney.

You sound pretty sure about this, Abigail.

Abigail nodded. I am. I’m sure of it. I’m positive.

What’s your husband’s name?

Kenneth.

Why don’t we come in here and talk? Mike suggested. He motioned her into an office and pulled a chair out from the front of the desk for her to sit. What makes you think you’re husband’s paid someone to kill you? he asked as he sat on a chair in front of her, almost rubbing knees with her.

Abigail took the paper from her pocket. I found this in his pocket when I was doing laundry. She handed it to him. My friend Pat, she thinks I’m crazy, but I don’t think so.

Mike unfolded the paper and carefully read it. He read it a second time. You’re Ab, I take it?

Abigail nodded. That’s what Kenneth calls me. He calls me Ab.

Forty-thousand. This is quite a bit of money.

I know. Kenneth he’s, he was CEO of the Financial Investment Company. He still owns the majority of the stock in it, Abigail blurted out. It’s not. She took a deep breath, trying to slow down to get her breathing under control. I don’t think it’s a lot of money to him.

You know his finances?

Abigail shook her head. Not everything.

Mike looked at her and smiled. He put his hand on hers, where it rested on her leg. Calm down, Abigail. You’re really nervous, I understand that. It’s not every day you think someone’s planning on killing you.

Abigail looked at his hand on hers, than she looked up at him. No, it isn’t.

Let me get you a soda. You drink soda don’t you?

Abigail nodded. Diet.

Mike looked out into the main room seeing one of his colleagues. Danny, can we get a diet soda?

Yeah, sure, the man said as he glanced into the office at Abigail sitting in the chair.

Mike turned to Abigail. Do you know how much life insurance your husband has on you?

Two hundred-fifty-thousand.

What do you do? Mike asked as Danny handed him a can of diet Coke. He opened the can and handed it to Abigail. If it was caffeine free it would be better, but maybe this will help calm you down.

Thank you, she said as she took the can. What do I do? You mean, where do I work?

Mike nodded.

I don’t. Abigail took a sip the soda. I use to work at a bank years ago. But after we got married, Kenneth didn’t want me working. He said it didn’t look good for a man of his stature to have a wife working.

How many children do you have?

We don’t have any.

He has a lot of life insurance on you for a home-maker with no children. I need to ask you some personal questions.

Abigail nodded. Her hands shook and she tried to hide them.

Mike ran his fingers down along his mustache to his beard. He leaned toward Abigail. Taking the can, he sat it on the desk then held her hands in his, feeling the sweat of her palms. I need you to calm down, okay.

I’m trying.

I know you are. Mike felt her hands tremble