Kill me now. “What about Tony? Have you told him?”
“Tony’s going to be fine.” He screwed up his face, pretending to have a mouth full of cotton, and said, “EMS made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“Oh, come on, smile. I thought that was a great Godfather imitation.”
I couldn’t smile, not when I was trying so hard not to scream or, worse yet, cry.
“The point is we all know I can’t afford to pay Tony what they can or to match the benefits. Of course he said he’d rather stay with us, but he has a family of his own now. He gave us a month’s notice. By then I should be back on my feet or, better yet, we’ll have our buyer.”
I said nothing. After all, I was the one who screwed up the crematorium deal. If I’d followed my own rules and kept my mouth shut, none of this would have happened. Even if I agreed to take over for Dad and Rachel, running a funeral home was a team effort, and I had no team.
Rachel poked her head through the doorway. “How we doing in here? Can I get you anything, Cam?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Yeah, I told her.”
What am I? Invisible?
Neither one noticed me shuffle back to my room. They had every right to pursue other ambitions, and I supposed that if I told them I made a huge mistake, changed my mind, and now wanted to earn my mortician certification, they’d support that, too. But if the sale went through, it would mean working elsewhere. I didn’t know if I could do that. Here had history—our history. It was where my ancestors carved out a living shortly after coming to this country. Grandpa Ted proposed to Nana Jo on the front porch. There was still a crack in the ceiling from the 1906 earthquake and a cradle stashed in the attic that had rocked four generations of McCraes. It deserved a fifth. To abandon this house, this business, would be to throw that all away.
If we’d bought the crematorium, gotten out of debt, and paid off our bills, then maybe Dad wouldn’t be considering selling and I could have a do-over. I’d learn how to better deal with people without taking it all so personally. I could study mortuary science and business at the local college and talk Tony into staying on. I’d do whatever it took to make us the best funeral home in town—the way it used to be.
But the opportunity for the crematorium was gone. There was only one thing left to try.
I removed the scrunched and soggy napkin from the trash, did my best to decipher the blurred number, and dialed, hoping I got it right. Maybe I was that desperate.
“Hello, Lily.” There was no hint of surprise in the raspy voice on the other end. “I knew you’d call.”
RULE #25
A BIT OF BLING IS THE PERFECT DISTRACTION FROM AN IMPERFECTION.
I made a final check to make sure I hadn’t been followed. With a book tucked under my arm, I entered Hole-in-the-Wall Bagels, where the mystery caller and I had agreed to meet. After the incident in Oakland with the two ex-feds, I couldn’t be too careful.
Inside the shop bustled with people seeking a carb-and-caffeine fix to start their day. No one hailed me, so I grabbed a seat in the corner and pretended to read DOWN UNDER: Diary of an Aussie Mortician.
This was absurd. I wasn’t even sure what the guy looked like. He claimed he knew me by my reputation, but if he was a previous client, why not say so? Or maybe this was all part of some screwy sales tactic. He probably wanted to talk me into a new line of caskets or brand of cosmetics. That was a pitch for Rachel or Dad—not me. There was still a possibility that he worked for Sturbridge. But if there was even the slightest chance he had a way for me to save the business, I was all ears.
I should have been home packing. The annual beach party marking the end of summer was tomorrow. The only reason I’d agreed to go was because it would be Adam’s first trip to the shore . . . and, okay, because I had visions of us strolling through the sand, scouting tide pools, and wading in the surf. Maybe there would even be a moment of hand-holding. A kiss.
Whoa, girl! Take it easy. I shook myself back to reality. What had gotten into me? I took a deep gulp of ice water, then gave each of my burning cheeks a brisk pat.
“Hot Mayan cocoa with an everything bagel, walnut-and-honey cream cheese,” called the girl behind the counter. I liked the sound of an everything bagel. I was up to here with “not enough.” Not enough business, not enough money, not enough courage to order what I wanted—a chance to be more than a makeup artist to the dead.
A cyclist coasted up to the shop and dragged his foot, bringing his bike to a stop. It was the same man I spotted outside our house fixing his bike, the one who asked if I’d found the boy at the Lassiter place, the guy possibly connected to Adam’s assault. I untangled my legs beneath the table, ready to make a run for it.
He chained his bike to a scraggly gingko at the curb, came inside, and scouted the shop. His glasses were the sort that darkened in the sun, but the film had worn off around the edges, giving the lenses a halo effect. He was a scarecrow of a man, with sallow skin that nearly hung off his bones. Thin wisps of gray hair were plastered across his sweaty forehead. There were bruises on his arms.
I’d seen these same traits too many times not to recognize the signs. Chemo.
He spotted me staring and sidled up to the table. “We’ve met before,” I said. “You’re not one of those stalker types, are you?” That was a stupid question. What was he going to say?
“No. It’s nothing like that, I assure you.” He indicated the seat opposite mine—“May I?”—and took it without waiting for an answer. He had to be the man I’d called.
“Sorry,” I said, “but who are you?”
“Where are my manners? Miles Devlin.” He extended his hand.
“M-Miles Devlin?” I said, nearly choking on my own tongue. The man Veronica suggested was responsible for Neil Lassiter’s death? I rose from the edge of my seat. “I’m sorry. I think—”
He gently placed his gnarled hand on mine. “Please. Sit. Hear me out.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m here to help. And because”—he waved a hand at the crowded restaurant—“it’s not as if we’re meeting in a back alley somewhere, now is it?”
It did seem safe here, or safe enough for me to at least listen to what he had to say. (Yes, I was that desperate.) “Okay, but I can’t stay long. I’m meeting a friend.”
From the way he twitched one brow, I could tell he wasn’t even close to believing me. “No worries. I plan to keep this short for both our sakes. If at any time you’re uncomfortable, all you have to do is ask me to leave. Fair enough?”
By now the server was giving us the stink eye, so we each ordered a bagel, mine everything, his plain. He waited for the server to leave before continuing. “As I believe I mentioned over the phone, I need your assistance with a small matter. I used to work with Neil Lassiter. I believe you know who he is?”
I made a sound like something was caught in my throat. “No, I—”
His rubber band lips stretched tight across his gaunt face, stopping me in the midst of yet another lie. “Please.” He leaned in. “I happen to know that you and two others were nosing around the Lassiter property a couple weeks after that tragic explosion.”
There was a hint of sarcasm in the way he said “tragic” that raised goose bumps along my arms. “How do you know that?”
“It was all over the news. You and your friends are quite the heroes,” he said, but his tone suggested he suspected otherwise. “What I’m wondering is why you were there in the first place.”
I shrank back into the vinyl upholstery. “We didn’t mean any harm. We were exploring, you know—looking for things. We would’ve turned anything valuable over to the police.”
“Naturally. But you didn’t, did you? Turn over anything, that is?”
I shook my head.
“If this is going to work, we’ll need to trust each other.” He waited as the server delive
red our order, then took a bite and, with a full mouth, said, “Let me tell you a story, Lily.” He swallowed. “You like a good story? Silly question. Of course you do. Who doesn’t? The thing is you can give this one a good ending. You see, years ago Neil Lassiter stole some valuable research from the government. Research he and I developed together.”
So you say.
“He framed me for the theft and sent me to prison.”
So far everything he was saying jived with Veronica’s story, but I still didn’t see what this had to do with me. And if this was Miles Devlin, the man Veronica referred to in her letter to Neil, then I was sitting with a possible murderer. At the very least I was talking to someone who knew much more about me than I did about him, placing me at a frightening disadvantage.
I got right to the point. “Did you have anything to do with the explosion that killed Neil Lassiter?”
He considered me carefully. “Would you believe me if I told you no?”
“Probably not.”
“Honest answer. I like that.”
He wasn’t exactly denying responsibility. “My friend will be here any minute,” I reminded him.
“Yes, you mentioned that before. You’re referring to the Lassiter boy, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” I squirmed in my seat.
“Yes. You saved his life. And so now you’re friends. Good friends?”
“I guess. Yeah.”
“Well, friends are good, but they aren’t always who they appear to be. There was a time when I considered Neil Lassiter a friend. That assumption cost me eight years of my life.”
“Adam is nothing like Neil Lassiter,” I said.
“And how do you know that? He tell you about his . . . upbringing?”
“Enough. He doesn’t remember much.”
“You don’t say.” Devlin grinned in a way that made me uncomfortable.
“You talk like you know something more about Adam.”
“How could I know more? Adam and I have never met.”
“I see.” But not really. I was flying in the dark here, everyone with their secrets—Veronica, Devlin, Adam, and now me. “What do you want from me exactly?”
“Ah. Right. What I want from you is a small thing. Should you know or learn from a certain someone—a certain friend, perhaps—as to where I might find those research documents, I would be most grateful. I know better than some that gratitude won’t put food on the table or save a failing business, so I’m prepared to reward you substantially for your assistance.”
If those research documents existed at all, they could be stashed anywhere—a storage locker, or an abandoned building maybe. My money was on the fallout shelter, although I saw no sign of them on the day we explored it. Besides, I’d have to be insane to go back into that death trap. Who’s to say they didn’t burn in the fire?
“Why don’t you ask this certain someone yourself?”
He gazed out the window toward a dilapidated warehouse across the street. “I think you and I both know why.”
If he’s afraid of Adam, he has a right to be. I’ve seen what Adam’s capable of. “And how is it that you know so much about me and my family’s business?”
“I told you: I’m a researcher by trade.”
“Then why can’t you find the documents yourself?”
“My probation officer might not approve, so, you see, the less I nose around the neighborhood, the better. As it is, I took a big risk meeting you here, but I have reason to believe you’re the sort to help an old man in need of a second chance to make things right. All I’m asking is for you to call me if you know where I can find the documents.”
“Not that I’m agreeing . . . but if I were to agree to this, how will I recognize the documents?”
“That’s a good question, and it makes me think I’m right about you. You’re a bright girl. You remind me of myself when I was your age—a loner, a bit ill at ease in the world, but smart.”
No one had ever called me smart before, but I knew enough not to trust his flattery.
“You’ll know the documents by this symbol.” He made a small sketch of interlocking rings on the corner of a takeout menu. “I see from your expression that it’s not completely unfamiliar.”
“I think I saw it once, in one of my biology books,” I said, trying to sound convincing.
“Then you know it represents the Seed of Life?”
“Sure. But why don’t you tell me what you know about it.”
“Okay.” He smiled at the game we were both playing. “As you know, it’s a universal symbol for creation.”
“Creation? Adam said his father was working with soils, like for gardening.”
“Hmm. Yes, well, gardening is a form of creation, isn’t it?”
“So these documents you’re looking for, they have to do with the Seed of Life Project?”
“Precisely.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
There had to be more to it than he was letting on. “I don’t know. Say I do find these papers. What do you plan to do with them?”
“Ensure that they never fall into the wrong hands.” He pulled a billfold from his back pocket and laid a hundred-dollar bill in front of me. “Take it.”
“I can’t.” I pushed it back toward him, but he folded the bill in half lengthwise and slipped it between the pages of my book. “This”—he patted the book jacket—“is a token of my faith in you to do the right thing.”
“I don’t want your money,” I said, looking once more out the window. “I haven’t done anything to earn it.”
“You came here, didn’t you? Your time is worth something. Besides, you need it more than me. I have no family and, according to the doctors, not much time, either. Liver cancer. I don’t mind telling you, it’s a shitty way to die.”
I recalled Anna Pendlebury and George Davies. “One of the shittiest.”
“All I’m asking is for you to help me locate some papers. If you do that for me, I promise the last thing I do in this life will be to make sure your family’s financial problems go away for good.”
This man knew way too much about me, and yet the obvious signs of his illness made me want to believe him. One thing still nagged at me. “How can you afford to pay me if you can’t afford a decent bike or a car?”
“Call me sentimental. The bike was a gift from a dear, sweet lady; I haven’t been able to part with it. But your question is a reasonable one. Some years ago I bought stock in a little upstart dot-com enterprise, and, as you know, I can’t take it with me, now can I?”
I leaned back in my seat. “No, but you’d be surprised how many try. There’s a fortune buried in the ground: wedding rings, priceless heirlooms, cash. I think some people are under the impression they can buy their way into heaven.”
He laughed hoarsely. “No, I’m afraid bribery only works when we’re alive, and even then, it’s a risky proposition.”
“Honestly, though, I have no idea where the research notes might be.”
“Maybe not, but with a little resourcefulness and the right incentive, I think you have a far better shot at finding them without drawing unnecessary attention than I do. I’m gambling on you. I don’t have a choice; they’re watching me.”
“Who’s watching you? Your probation officer?”
He inhaled deep and let out a long, drawn-out breath. “Look. I’m doing my best here, to protect you. Like I said, the less you know, the better. Even so, be careful.”
“I gotta go.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” he said, “but remember, it’s crucial that we keep this strictly between us. No one—and I mean no one—can know about our little arrangement, including your young . . . friend. It might get back to the wrong people—people who aren’t afraid to kill for what they want. Understand? Bad for me, bad for you.”
I nodded, blinking a little too rapidly, and slid from my seat. “I’ll think about it, Mr. Devlin.”
“Please do. And watch your back.”
I rushed out the door, my book clutched tight to my chest, the hundred-dollar bill still tucked inside.
I’d either made a pact with the devil or found a way to save the mortuary.
RULE #26
EVEN ENDINGS HAVE ENDS.
LEARN TO SAY GOODBYE WITH GRACE.
On the way home, I resolved not to tell Adam about my meeting with Miles Devlin. I was afraid to, since all he’d talked about after our trip to Oakland was what he would do to Devlin when he found him. I felt like a traitor.
I put off packing for the beach trip again and dug into my list of chores. I was the only person my age that I knew of whose family responsibilities included folding body bags and polishing caskets.
My duffel was still sitting empty on my bedroom floor when Mallory arrived in the late afternoon. “Tell me you’re not backing out on me.”
A loud slap on my door saved me from answering. “Hey, you two,” crowed Evan. He was in a pair of running shorts with a towel draped around his neck.
“Evan, you’re still going tomorrow, aren’t you?” asked Mal.
“Yup, all ready.” He flexed what he referred to as his “guns” as in “loaded and ready for action.” Mallory beamed at him, and I swore he puffed out his chest a little more. The rooster. “I’m gonna jump in the shower and then make a run to the store to pick up some drinks for tomorrow. You two wanna come?”
“I’ll go!” Mal cheered like she was one number from winning the lottery. “You don’t mind, do you, Lils? It’ll give you more time to pack.”
“No, course not. Go without me.”
“If you’re sure.” Mallory tugged the hem of her shirt down to reveal more bronzer-enhanced cleavage and did a hair-flip thing. “I’m going to get a bottle of water. You want any, Evan?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said.
I noticed she didn’t ask me. Once she was out of hearing range, I laid it all out for my brother. “You know she’s totally crushin’ on you, right?”
Mortal Remains Page 18