“Oh, by the way, Trish,” he imagined saying, “I’ve got a few things to stuff into our fridge.” Not like he had room there, either. He wasn’t like his father-in-law with two extra refrigerators in the garage.
His father-in-law also had more than one generator. He was sure of it. He put the phone down. In fact, during the last hurricane threat Walter had bragged about having two or three generators. Why hadn’t Scott thought about it sooner? He could just borrow one. No, Walter would never lend him something that substantial. Would he? No. He was fussy about his possessions. That included his daughter.
The only other alternative was to move everything from the walk-in cooler to the stand-alone freezers.
The buzzer for the back door startled him. This time it was FedEx.
The guy had already unloaded two boxes and dropped a third on top as he handed Scott the electronic signature pad.
“The tag doesn’t say anything about liquids,” the guy told Scott. “Whatever that is”—he pointed at the last box and the pink fluid oozing through the seam and running down the side—“it’s probably against regulations.”
“I’m not the one who sent it.” Scott put up his hands in defense.
The guy didn’t say anything, just gave him an accusing look and headed back to his truck. Scott scooped up the boxes and moved them inside the door, out of sight and out of the heat. These had to be the deliveries Joe had mentioned. But he had gotten sloppy and not wrapped them properly. What was Joe thinking?
Scott picked up the leaking package, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around the busted seam. He hauled the box to the walk-in cooler and decided to leave the packages for Joe to deal with. Once inside the cooler Scott stopped, almost dropping the box. On a gurney in the middle of the floor was the naked corpse of a boy. On closer inspection he realized it was a small young man.
Joe hadn’t mentioned a body, only parts. Did he intend to disarticulate this one, too, before the storm hit? And exactly how and from where had he transported a corpse in the middle of a Sunday night?
Scott guessed it was possible that Joe simply picked it up from another one of his networks. He had told Scott when they first met that he obtained corpses from university donor programs, county morgues, and crematories. That’s probably what happened. Some other place was unloading inventory before the storm.
Oh that was just—
This time Scott did drop the box. Either he was going nuts or that corpse just moved.
CHAPTER 35
Scott worked his way through the Yellow Pages. How could there not be a single generator left in this city? He’d even called Mobile and Tallahassee. The last Home Depot manager he talked to had just laughed at him. Couldn’t stop laughing. Scott finally hung up on the asshole.
He didn’t have any employees coming in until after lunch today. He hadn’t even started preparing for the memorial service. He’d make his people earn their keep today. Thank God he didn’t have to embalm the body. The family had opted for a closed casket. They’d never know that dear Uncle Mel wasn’t even inside. It was the storm’s fault, not his. If the electricity went out and he didn’t have a generator for the walk-in refrigerator, he couldn’t just take all those body parts home with him.
“Oh, by the way, Trish,” he imagined saying, “I’ve got a few things to stuff into our fridge.” Not like he had room there, either. He wasn’t like his father-in-law with two extra refrigerators in the garage.
His father-in-law also had more than one generator. He was sure of it. He put the phone down. In fact, during the last hurricane threat Walter had bragged about having two or three generators. Why hadn’t Scott thought about it sooner? He could just borrow one. No, Walter would never lend him something that substantial. Would he? No. He was fussy about his possessions. That included his daughter.
The only other alternative was to move everything from the walk-in cooler to the stand-alone freezers.
The buzzer for the back door startled him. This time it was FedEx.
The guy had already unloaded two boxes and dropped a third on top as he handed Scott the electronic signature pad.
“The tag doesn’t say anything about liquids,” the guy told Scott. “Whatever that is”—he pointed at the last box and the pink fluid oozing through the seam and running down the side—“it’s probably against regulations.”
“I’m not the one who sent it.” Scott put up his hands in defense.
The guy didn’t say anything, just gave him an accusing look and headed back to his truck. Scott scooped up the boxes and moved them inside the door, out of sight and out of the heat. These had to be the deliveries Joe had mentioned. But he had gotten sloppy and not wrapped them properly. What was Joe thinking?