Brant turned on the swivel chair and reached for a rag. He saw Devon and jerked nervously in his chair, accidentally striking the wax head with his elbow. As the wax head teetered, he frantically scrambled to catch it before it fell. He steadied the wax head then stood and faced Devon with a nervous smile. Brant Sheffield was a moderately handsome man in his early thirties with short, dark hair and possibly the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. He was built athletic yet not excessively tall and looked a little like a science teacher in his white lab coat speckled with paint. His reaction to her presence screamed introvert, and his inability to make eye contact revealed his lack of confidence.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Devon announced then pointed beyond the room. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
“It’s not your fault,” he announced then grinned nervously and indicated the workshop. “I’m not used to things moving down here.”
“I’m Devon Vincent,” she announced while attempting a cheerful tone. “I’m here for a job interview.”
She was about to add that she was, in fact, early, but when she glanced at her watch, she realized she was now five minutes late. Wandering through the museum displays must have taken longer than she’d thought.
Brant wiped his hands on a stained rag then approached her with some hesitation, almost as if he thought she might bite, and shook her hand.
“Brant Sheffield. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he announced then immediately fumbled over himself while finally making eye contact.
He seemed uncertain how long to hold her hand, which made her somewhat tense. He remained moderately nervous and finally released her hand as if embarrassed that he held it too long.
“Tyler was supposed to be here to interview you, but he was called away early this morning,” he explained. “You’re Ross’ friend, right?”
“Yes,” she announced then offered a devious smile, “but don’t hold that against me.”
Brant chuckled softly and seemed to relax just enough to make her less uncomfortable. He then returned to his wax head, dipped the rag in turpentine, and wiped away the excess paint.
“What do you think of the museum so far?” he asked without looking at her. “I know it’s far from finished, but the sets are nearly complete.”
“The sets are amazing,” she announced. “I thought they were very--” Devon hesitated then held her breath a moment. She exhaled and chuckled almost nervously. “Honestly, your dungeon is pretty terrifying. I nearly turned around when I reached the torture chamber.”
He cast a quick glance at her and chuckled almost evilly in his throat. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He resumed his work. “I’m terrible with interviews,” he informed her and again seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her by working on his creation. “If you’re as reliable as Ross says you are, and you don’t mind working long hours until we’re back on schedule, you can get started tonight, if you’re available.”
Devon stared at his back with noted surprise then hid her smile. “Yes, of course.”
Brant searched for his misplaced paint pen. “Fine. Uh, come back around six o’clock. I’ll get you started,” he informed her as he found his paint pen. “Ross will be in then.” He finally looked back at her, cast a glance at her attire, and appeared almost humored. “You may want to wear old clothes. Paint seems to get on everything around here.”
As she eyed his white lab coat covered in paint spatters, she realized he wasn’t kidding.
Chapter Six
Devon left the building and walked across the large porch. She had nearly an hour to wait for her brother to pick her up. She hadn’t anticipated the interview only lasting two minutes. Calling her brother on his cell phone to pick her up early wasn’t really an option since he was running errands. Also, cell phone reception was spotty in the areas outside town. She stared at the vast fields of corn surrounding the museum. It was as if there wasn’t another soul alive in the world. She could see a glimpse of the funeral home in the distance from her elevated position on the porch.
Rather than wait an hour in the museum parking lot and risk another conversation with Karl, she decided to walk to the funeral home and see what her friend, Tony O’Brien, was doing. Or in the mortician’s case, whom he was doing. Devon walked along the back road and took the leisurely walk to the funeral home nearly half a mile away. It was actually further than it looked. She reached the elegant funeral home, which was also Tony’s residence, and approached the massive building.
The funeral home was old and lavish with stained glass windows on the first and second floor. A brand new, black hearse was parked in the carport attached to the home. The funeral home consisted of three stories. The entire first floor was devoted to the funeral home business while the second and third floors were Tony’s living quarters. Tony bought the business after the old funeral director retired. Despite his young age, Tony had already been operating the funeral home for two years. She tried the front door since it was unlocked most times. Devon entered the foyer, which was filled with flowers.
The funeral home was inviting yet creepy at the same time. To either side of the foyer were sliding, wooden doors leading to a right and left front parlor. If there would be a viewing, they would happen in the two front rooms. Both doors stood open. Devon peered into each room, but neither had been set up for a viewing. She was relieved for that. She hated visiting the funeral home when Tony had company.
“Hello?” she called out in the deathly silent home.
There was no response, which immediately set her on edge. Of course, who was she expecting to respond? If Tony were in the back prepping a body, he probably wouldn’t hear her. She walked along the quiet corridor and passed several other rooms with the doors open. There was the casket display room with nearly a dozen caskets on display. Most were open, lending a creepy sort of appeal. On the other side was Tony’s neat and tidy office, where he greeted loved ones and discussed business. Devon approached the kitchen and was about to push open the door when it suddenly opened, startling her. Tony cried out when he saw her, and she jumped back and did the same.
Tony clutched his chest and stared at her while attempting to catch his breath. Tony wasn’t what most women would consider handsome, but he was possibly the sweetest man Devon had ever met. He was tall and lanky, standing well over six-foot-two with dark hair, green eyes, and straight, white teeth.
“Damn it, Devon,” he cried out. “Couldn’t you have at least announced yourself? Things aren’t supposed to move around here.”
“I did call out,” she protested, although she probably could have called a second time. “And you nearly had me for a client as well.”
“Well, now that we’ve jump started each other’s hearts,” he announced. “What brings you here? It’s not even lunchtime.”
“I had a job interview at the museum next door,” she informed him. “It took a whole two minutes. I didn’t feel like waiting for Martin there, so I thought I’d drop by and give you a fright.”
“Ross said he’d got you an interview at the museum,” Tony remarked and grinned. “I didn’t realize that was today. I was just taking a break while Mr. Malone is on the machine.”
Devon knew what that meant. It meant Tony was replacing his client’s blood with embalming fluid. She’d seen the process before out of curiosity and didn’t care to watch again.
“Did you want some tea or coffee while you wait for Martin?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she teased. “Could I use your phone to call Martin and tell him I’m here? Cell phone service sucks out here.”
“You can use the kitchen phone,” he replied. “You’re not the first person to complain about cell service. I thought when they built the resort, it would mean better service out here.”
“No, they put the towers on the other side of the resort closer to the highway,” Devon replied. “You know, along with restaurants, gas stations, and shops. They had to make sure that buildi
ng that monstrosity of a resort just ruined the view but didn’t give our town any added revenue.”
“Ironic,” Tony teased. “The old folks in town didn’t want the resort because they feared it would ruin their quiet, little town. Now they’re pissed because no one comes to their quiet, little town.”
“What’s wrong with wanting it both ways?” Devon teased then offered a playful smile.
Tony led her to the kitchen while laughing.
§
A black blazer pulled into the funeral home parking lot and approached Devon near the front door. She hurried off the patio, climbed into the passenger side, and smiled at her brother. Her brother, Martin, was a handsome man in his late twenties. He kept his dark hair neatly trimmed and his commanding blue eyes were enough to lure in the ladies. He stood over six-feet-tall and had just enough muscle mass to be very popular with women. His high paying gig at the nearby resort gave him financial freedom as well.
Where women were concerned, her brother was still testing the waters, so Devon knew it’d be a long time before he brought anyone home to meet the family. Devon admired her brother for getting out there and storming the dating scene. One of them had to be out there working on producing grandchildren for their parents. Devon wasn’t in much of a hurry.
Martin eyed her and grinned. “Judging by that smile, I’d say the interview went well.”
“I got the job,” she announced proudly.
“That’s great,” he remarked cheerfully then smiled slyly. “Dad’s going to be pissed.” He added a throaty chuckle. “What’s your boss like?”
“He’s a little strange,” she casually replied. “Nervous type.”
“The Norman Bates, psycho killer, nervous type?” Martin suddenly asked while raising demanding brows. “I hope you’re not going to be working alone with some pervert.”
“Please, Martin,” she announced with a groan. “Give the overly protective brother business a break.”
“I’m allowed to worry. Men are pigs,” he boldly informed her then hesitated and considered the comment. “I should know; I’m one of them.”
She playfully slapped his arm as he laughed. “I’m starving,” Devon announced. “I was so upset about the interview; I didn’t eat this morning. Let’s go to the diner for some breakfast.”
Martin made a face. “Why don’t we go to the resort and have breakfast at one of their restaurants?”
“That’s fifteen minutes away,” Devon protested. “The diner is right in town.”
“Yeah, I know, but Marlene is working this morning,” he remarked.
“So?” Devon squawked. “What does that matter? You like Marlene.”
“Well, I’m not sure Marlene likes me right now,” he informed her then grimaced. “We sort of went out last weekend.”
“You took Marlene out?” Devon asked with surprise then raised her brows. “Or you did Marlene?”
“Uh, possibly the second one.”
Devon rolled her eyes then glared at him. “I thought you said you wouldn’t go out with her. You know she has a temper.” She then considered the comment and cringed. “Not to mention her brother’s temper.”
“I know,” Martin groaned and allowed his head to fall back against the seat. “I was weak.” He turned his head and eyed her while cringing. “I was having a dry spell and gave in to the temptation.” He managed a tiny smile. “I’m only human, Devon.”
Devon rolled her eyes. “How many times can you use that excuse? It’s starting to wear thin,” she remarked then shook her head. “So now we can’t go to the diner whenever Marlene’s working in fear of gourmet condiments on our burgers.”
“Just until she finds a new man to piss her off,” Martin replied. “Two weeks tops.”
Devon shook her head. “Drive, lover boy,” she scoffed. “I’m starving.” She then eyed him as he put the car into gear. “Oh, and try not to sleep with our waitress at the restaurant.”
Martin grinned slyly. “I’ll try, but I won’t make any promises.”
Chapter Seven
Devon’s family owned a cattle ranch that had been in her family for generations. The old, large plantation style farmhouse had been restored to its original grandeur, which contained two floors, many windows, and multiple balconies. The ranch had several large barns nestled on more than two hundred acres of land. In addition to several other outer buildings, there was a long cabin of sorts, which was the bunkhouse for the ranch hands. A dozen horses and a few head of cattle grazed within a paddock near the barn. The larger herd was still out in the lush pasture further from the house.
Devon, now changed into jeans and an old shirt, left the house and headed for the paddock. She approached the tall, wooden fence and was immediately greeted by an excited black and white pinto gelding. Devon climbed onto the fence and affectionately patted the horse.
“Hey, boy,” she announced cheerfully. “Did you miss me?”
The horse snickered lowly as if answering her. An older cowboy rode up to the fence and stopped his horse near her. Devon’s father, Jack, was tall and built solid like her brother. Years of working the ranch had made him strong with an impressive build. There was no doubt that Martin got his good looks from their father. Although his dark hair was grey on the sides and starting to thin, he was still a handsome man. Her father leaned forward in the saddle and grinned at her while tilting the brim of his cowboy hat.
“I’ve missed you too,” she informed the horse while playing with its nose. “No ride tonight though. I have a new job, and I can’t be late.”
“Do you honestly think he understands what you’re saying?” her father teased.
“Every word,” she announced in a moderately cold tone without looking at him.
“Martin said you got the job at the museum,” he announced and put on a false smile. “I’m glad you found something to keep you busy.”
Devon frowned and barely glanced at her father. “Yes, it should keep me far away from the wranglers,” she scoffed and climbed off the fence.
Her father immediately frowned at the subject. “We discussed why you can’t work the cattle,” her father announced firmly.
“Yes, I know,” she remarked in a snarky tone. “They’re men, and I’m just a girl. I belong barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen like a good, little housewife.”
Devon turned and headed back toward the house without giving him a second glance.
“Devon,” he called after her. “That’s not fair.”
She ignored him and continued toward the porch. Martin approached from the house wearing dress pants, a neatly ironed shirt, and a jacket. He looked like the handsome devil he was. Devon looked him over and smiled her approval.
“Hmm. Dressed to kill,” she announced cheerfully. “Someone’s anticipating a good evening.”
“If I’m lucky--right through to a good morning,” Martin teased.
“You’re such a dog.”
Martin nodded to their father who dismounted his horse and headed into the barn. “Piss off the old man again?” he asked.
“As usual.”
“So now probably isn’t a good time to tell him I won’t be helping out this weekend, huh? Good to know.” He cast a look at her. “Ivy’s on the phone,” Martin informed her. “She says it’s important. Sounded upset.”
“Oh, no,” Devon moaned as her expression dropped. “The audition.”
“If you need a ride to Ivy’s house, the bus leaves in fifteen minutes,” Martin informed her.
§
Devon sat on the porch railing and watched Ivy where she sat slumped on the wooden swing looking sedate. Ivy’s house was close to town, although still surrounded by cornfields. It was possibly the same cornfield that surrounded the museum and funeral home. Devon had never explored the farmland surrounding her friend’s home, so she wasn’t sure what property it touched.
“I know Jamie got the job,” Ivy moaned. “She was so giggly and flirtatious coming out of the conference room a
t the hotel.” She frowned and gently rocked the swing with her foot. “Do you have any idea what that job would mean?”
“Long hours surrounded by exceptionally large egos?” Devon teased.
“You’re funny,” Ivy snarled.
“I’ll be honest, Ivy,” she remarked. “I don’t know much about this acting job or why every woman in town is fawning over it.”
“Burt Danson, an actual producer from Hollywood, is holding auditions for a long-term role in a soap opera,” Ivy informed her. “They’re going to be filming a few episodes at the resorts, and they want some local talent to play the part.”
“Again,” Devon announced. “I don’t understand the attraction. It’s a part-time gig. A few weeks and it’s back to Ivy, bank teller.”
“You understand nothing about the industry,” Ivy announced with a groan.
Devon raised a skeptical brow. “And you do?”
Ivy rolled her eyes and shook her head at her friend’s lack of interest. “If it goes well, the part could turn into a permanent role. It’s a way into the industry.” She leaned back on the porch swing and groaned. “My first real chance to be someone and that bitch Jamie is going to snatch that job out from under me.”
“You don’t know she got the job,” Devon reminded her. “I mean, she’s not exactly talented. You can act circles around her. You were always the lead in the school plays.”
“Not always,” Ivy scoffed. “Jamie had her share.” She groaned with irritation. “I wish she’d fall off the face of the earth.”
“No, we’re not going back into that dark hole,” Devon announced. “I can’t go through that voodoo curse book again.”
“I’ll behave,” Ivy muttered.
“Speaking of Jamie--”
Ivy groaned.
“I ran into Karl at the museum today,” she announced boldly. “He said he broke it off with her.”
Ivy snorted a laugh. “I overheard Jamie telling Paula she’d dumped him.”
Murder in Wax Page 3