by K. L. Hiers
“Thank you, baby. Got any more business for me?”
“Not yet,” Tom replied. “No other dead friends right now except Mr. Dresser over there.”
“I peeked at him, so sad.” Edie began to gather up her combs and hairspray, tucking them back into a big purse. “What happened to him, baby?”
“Cancer, I think. Family’s pretty torn up.” Tom heard Mrs. Dresser again and shuddered, trying to find comfort in the faint sting he could still feel on his backside.
“You okay, baby?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“God don’t like a liar,” Edie warned. “You look like somethin’s on your mind, baby.”
“Well…” Tom hesitated. He was never very good at opening up, and the very nature of his job made it even more difficult to express himself without it feeling like a betrayal.
It was the funeral business. They were all supposed to be stoic professionals in perfect suits who could be a pillar of strength and knowledge to help guide grieving families. They could be sympathetic, but it would be unseemly if the director was crying as hard as the family.
Even though that’s exactly what Tom wanted to do sometimes.
Veterans like Mr. Crosby or Gerald, who had been doing this for decades, always appeared totally unbothered by the things they saw. Junior was a monster who didn’t care about anything, and though Earl would show some emotion, he was quick to deflect it with humor. Aaron was still new to the business, and whatever he felt, he followed Gerald’s example and said nothing.
Complaining about being sad while working at a funeral home was like being upset about getting wet in the shower. It was part of the job and expected to only be acknowledged as a minor inconvenience, like an accountant who gets a paper cut.
But the pain of seeing so much death and tragedy wasn’t just a little cut to Tom. It was a thousand cuts, over and over. He could feel it building, and he had to say something before it tore him apart. The sadness made it hard to breathe, and sometimes all he wanted to do was lay down and cry or scream or—
“Hey, Edie,” Aaron said as he came over to give her a big hug. “How’s my favorite hairdresser in the whole world?”
Tom jerked, startled by Aaron’s presence. He hadn’t even heard the damn door open.
Edie gave Tom a look of concern, but she lit right back up as she hugged Aaron. “Aw, hey, baby boy! I’m good, I’m good! Need some business!”
“I may have some more for you soon.” Aaron turned to Tom. “The Hun family is supposed to give me an answer by tomorrow morning about embalming.”
“Tomorrow?” Tom made a face.
A whole night in the cooler was not going to help the embalming process.
“Sorry,” Aaron said. “They’re still thinking about it. Oh! And I got the clothes for Mr. Dresser.” He pointed to a garment bag hanging by the door. “Finally picked a casket, too. Woodbridge Oak.”
“Okay. I’ll get him ready as soon as we get Mrs. Winslow set up.”
“Ready to move her?” Aaron asked. “I’ve got her very cerulean casket spray up at the front.”
“Let’s go.” Tom gave Edie another big hug. “Mm, good to see you, Miss Edie.”
“Good to see you, too, baby.” She smiled warmly. “You take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be praying for you. You need me, you call me.”
“I will.”
“Bye, Miss Edie.” Aaron waved before propping open the prep room door.
“Bye, babies!” Edie slung her giant purse over her shoulder and blew them kisses as she left out the back door.
“Is it true she used to be a big criminal or something?” Aaron whispered loudly.
“What? Miss Edie? Edith Scooch?” Tom scoffed. “Who told you that?”
“Scott,” Aaron said, continuing to whisper as they rolled Mrs. Winslow up into the front. “When I came out to help them get Mr. Powell out of the bathroom? He told me she was a bank robber.”
“Oh, that cannot be true,” Tom scolded, guiding them into the viewing room and positioning the casket under the lights.
Viewing rooms and chapels in funeral homes typically had an array of special colored lights in the ceiling which could all be adjusted to help enhance the appearance of the deceased. Once the casket was in position, Tom opened the lid on the head end and looked over Mrs. Winslow.
She was perfect.
Aaron was excited to share his gossip and continued to chat while Tom put the overlay on and moved the casket spray over onto the foot end of the casket.
“He told me that she used to be the getaway driver for the Pocketwatch Gang, these robbers that hit more than a hundred banks back in the seventies. When they got arrested, she claimed the other guys made her do it, batted her eyes, and never served a day of time.”
“Miss Edie is the sweetest old lady to ever old lady. That’s insane.”
“Oh, yeah?” Aaron challenged. “Well, Scott also told me she used to run moonshine. Moonshine, by the way, that they used to cook up right here in the funeral home.”
That gave Tom pause.
“Okay, that part might be true,” he said carefully. “Fab Crosby? Mr. Crosby’s father? He might have maybe gotten into some trouble for making moonshine.”
“Ha! So it is true!” Aaron declared.
“Hang on a sec. I didn’t say Miss Edie was in on it, I’m just saying that yes, I did hear the funeral home used to make moonshine.” Tom adjusted the cuff of Mrs. Winslow’s sleeve that was microscopically askew.
Okay, now she was perfect.
“Did they smuggle it out in hearses like old timey gangsters?” Aaron asked excitedly.
“Not that I know of,” Tom said with a chuckle. “They did try to convince the alcohol board that the still was a fancy new type of embalming machine, though. Didn’t work out so great.”
“I’m going to ask her,” Aaron said, rubbing his hands together. “You just wait until she comes in again.”
“Don’t you dare.” Tom laughed, walking out of the viewing room. He waited for Aaron to leave before closing the doors. “She would probably have a heart attack.”
“Who are you giving a heart attack?” Miss Wheel called up from the front desk.
“Miss Edie!” Tom called back.
“For what?” she gasped.
“Because Scott told me she used to be a bank robber and moonshiner,” Aaron explained matter-of-factly.
Miss Wheel leaned over the side of her desk, her eyes sparkling. “I heard she used to fancy Mr. Crosby, and she tried to kill his wife when he wouldn’t leave her.”
Stunned, Tom hissed, “Oh, come on! Miss Edie is the sweetest woman ever. She is pure sunshine.”
“I’m only telling you what I heard,” Miss Wheel said innocently.
“Dude, our hairdresser is a freakin’ gangster.” Aaron cackled.
“You’re both crazy,” Tom groaned, heading into the back and shaking his head.
“Hey, where are you going?” Aaron protested.
“I’m going to the break room.” Tom decided it was time for that light snack he had promised himself. He chuckled softly, amused that his co-workers thought Miss Edie used to be some sort of hardened criminal.
As he picked out a pack of crackers from the employee pantry, he decided the idea wasn’t completely impossible. Miss Edie being a kind-hearted old hairdresser didn’t mean she wasn’t a bank robber or moonshine runner at some point in her life.
People were more than their appearances.
After all, Tom looked like a shy, awkward undertaker. No one would ever suspect how much he liked to be spanked.
The mere thought gave him a private thrill, and he didn’t realize he was smiling until he heard Junior’s voice.
“Awww, somebody is having a really good morning,” Junior teased, leaning in the open doorway and grinning. He was wearing a pale gray suit and had another flashy watch on.
Tom’s smile vanished, the very sight of Junior making his skin crawl.
“You must have kno
wn I was coming to see you,” Junior went on, charming as ever. “Miss me?”
“Here.” Tom reached into his pocket, shoving the wad of cash in Junior’s hand. His heart was starting to pound and adrenaline was making his ears ring.
This was it.
“Thanks, Tommy,” Junior said, tucking the cash into his inside jacket pocket. “Always a pleasure doing business with you. Maybe next time I’ll even give you—”
“No.”
“What?”
“No next time.” Tom took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the pack of crackers. “I’m done.”
Junior’s sweet smile morphed into a nasty leer, growling, “Yeah, I don’t fuckin’ think so. I warned you—”
“That you’ll what?” Tom suddenly barked, an unexpected surge of anger fueling his voice as he lunged forward. “Rat me out to Gerald and Mr. Crosby? Go ahead. The first thing they’ll do is call the cops, and the cops are gonna ask where all the money is.”
Junior backed away, his mouth gaping.
“And do you know what I’ll tell them?” Tom snapped. “I’ll tell them to go ahead and talk to Gerald Benjamin Ayers Junior because he’s the one who took all the cash. You wanna take me down? Fine. Maybe you will. But you’re coming with me.
“And we both know what you’re using the money for. It’s been going straight up your fuckin’ nose. Gerald’s been covering for you when you’re too messed up to come in for work, but we all know why you’re not there. Maybe I should talk to Mr. Crosby about drug testing all of us. I know I’ll pass. Will you?”
Junior couldn’t speak for a few moments, and Tom had never seen him look so shocked.
Tom refused to back down from his threat, glaring furiously at Junior even as his guts began to spin wildly. He’d been letting this man torment him for months, and it was going to end.
It had to end.
He had to be a good boy.
Hearing Cypress’s voice in his thoughts fueled his newfound defiance. He carefully picked a cracker out of the pack and bit down forcefully. He chewed, swallowed, and said, “Did you catch that? Or do I need to repeat it?”
“You’ll regret this,” Junior spat, still angry despite being clearly shaken. His voice got louder and louder, shouting now as he snarled, “I swear to fucking God, Tommy, I’m going to make you fucking—”
“Hey, hey. What’s going on in here?” Aaron snapped, forcing Junior to back into the break room as he came charging in.
“Nothing,” Junior said quickly. “We were just talking.”
“Tom?” Aaron demanded, ignoring Junior. “Is there a problem?”
“Not anymore.” Tom took another meaningful bite of his cracker. “Right, Junior?”
“Whatever,” Junior muttered.
“Well, the Winslow family is here early,” Aaron said sternly. “Chill the hell out and go see them. They’re waiting for you up front.”
“Fine.” Junior looked at his watch and gave Tom a hateful look that made his stomach churn, pushing by Aaron on his way out.
“The fuck was that about?” Aaron scoffed, dusting himself off.
“His usual shit,” Tom mumbled through a cracker. He felt a little shaken, still riled from standing up to Junior. He couldn’t believe he’d really done it. He’d told Junior off, even threatened him.
To see Junior’s usual confidence so thoroughly shattered was an amazing mental picture that Tom was going to treasure. He’d beat Junior at his own game, and he was so proud of himself.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.
“Are you sure everything is okay?” Aaron pressed.
“It’s going to be,” Tom insisted. “I finally told him to leave me alone. That’s why he was pissed.”
Not exactly a lie, though Tom still felt guilty for being dishonest.
“This is why you never date anyone at work,” Aaron said with a long sigh.
“Thanks,” Tom griped. “Lesson learned, trust me.”
“Well, if he starts up again, let me know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“On a completely random note, do you want a dog?”
“Huh?” Tom laughed, popping the last cracker into his mouth and throwing away the wrapper. “What kinda dog?”
“A Pomeranian,” Aaron replied innocently. “House trained, has all of its shots, very friendly. About ten years old, I think.”
“Is this…” Tom narrowed his eyes. “Are you talking about Mister Doodles?”
“Maybe.”
“He ate that woman’s face.”
“Only a little.” Aaron pouted. “Poor doggy was hungry, come on. I was talking to the Winslow family, and nobody wants to take the dog. Animal Control took her to the shelter—”
“Wait, her?”
“Apparently Mister Doodles is technically a Mrs. Doodles. Anyway. Nobody will take her because of her new snacking habits, and this is a kill shelter.”
Tom could feel his heartstrings being played like a fiddle. He’d always had a love for animals, and everyone knew it. He had a cup on his desk for the sole purpose of catching spiders and taking them outside before they got squished.
He didn’t own any pets because of the crazy hours he worked, but all he could think about now was the poor little dog being put down, and it made his insides clench. No one would give a dog with that sort of history a good home.
Shit.
“Why don’t you take the dog if it’s so great?”
“I’m allergic to pet dander. Plus, I think I’m going to ask Shelby to move in with me, and she hates dogs.”
Shelby was Aaron’s girlfriend, and from what Tom understood about her, she hated everything.
“I’ll think about it.” Tom wagged his finger. “This does not mean I’m getting the dog.”
“Well, if you do, you can totally change her name to something cool. Like Skeletor.”
“I’m not naming the dog ‘Skeletor.’ I’m not naming it anything because I’m not getting the dog.”
It meant nothing that Tom looked up the number for the shelter and called to see if the dog was available.
Nothing at all.
The rest of the day passed without incident. The Winslow family was very pleased with how she looked and opted to keep the casket open for the services later that weekend. It was Gerald who told him because Junior left immediately after the viewing, complaining of stomach problems.
At some point, Cypress had come by and delivered the casket spray for Mr. Hewitt. Tom was sorry he had missed seeing him, but he swore he could smell a hint of Cypress’s cologne as he carried the arrangement to the chapel to place on Mr. Hewitt’s casket.
When the Powell family was done, Tom rolled Mr. Powell back into the cooler and placed him in a cardboard box up on the rack to wait until he was scheduled for cremation. It was getting close to five o’clock, and he got Mr. Delaney, the Jewish man, out of the cooler.
He placed him on the stainless-steel embalming table but left him wrapped up in the sheet. The Chevra Kaddish would want to remove it and undress him themselves. He found the pine casket out in the hallway and rolled it into the prep room. The members of the Chevra Kaddish would bathe Mr. Delaney, shroud him, and place him in the casket when they were finished so he would be ready for the burial in the morning.
Tom then moved Mr. Dresser to the front in the small viewing room. The family would have their first viewing there, but the visitation and services would take place in the larger viewing room and the chapel. At the moment, both of those rooms were occupied by other dead friends, and Mr. Dresser would have to wait his turn.
Five o’clock came, and Tom was happy to leave on time. He felt accomplished having checked off everything on the list he’d made for himself that morning. Telling off Junior and earning high praise from Mr. Crosby about how pleased the Winslow family was with his work were definitely highlights. Although, if he was being honest, the unexpected tryst at the flower shop was absolutely the bes
t part. He bid farewell to his co-workers and hopped in his car, finding he had a text message from Cypress.
Good day?
Tom smiled, texting back:
Very good. Sorry I missed you earlier.
He didn’t get a text back right away, so he started to drive home. He tried not to think about the fate of poor Mister Doodles, Mrs. Dresser’s screams, or what possible revenge Junior could be cooking up.
Failing on all three accounts, he made a left instead of a right, heading to the animal shelter.
No, wait, pet store first. Then the animal shelter.
Though he couldn’t do anything about the screams haunting the inside of his head or possibly predict what Junior would or would not do next, he could save Mister Doodles.
When he drove back home with a very fluffy Pomeranian happily nestled in his lap, he decided he’d made the right decision.
He let Mister Doodles off her leash to explore the house while he brought in the dog food and other pet supplies he’d bought at the store. He could hear the dog scampering around and sniffing everything, and he liked that the house didn’t feel so empty now.
As he was pouring food in the new doggy bowl, he heard his phone ding, alerting him to a text message from Cypress.
There’s always tomorrow. Sorry, was finishing up deliveries. Just got home.
Lured by the sound of food hitting the bowl, Mister Doodles came into the kitchen to eat, her puffy tail wagging away.
It’s okay. I just got home, too. Busy day? Tom texted back, watching Mister Doodles turn her nose up at the food and stare up at him expectantly.
“Sorry it’s not people,” he grumbled. “You’ll find no fresh meat here, little lady.”
Mister Doodles huffed and nosed around the bowl. She finally began to eat her kibble, but she didn’t seem happy about it.
Yeah. Glad it’s over. You do what I told you yet?
Tom shivered, and he could feel Cypress’s hands on his skin all over again. He bit his lip, thinking over how to reply before he typed out:
I was a very good boy. It’s done.
Good. That’s what I like to hear.
Does this mean I’ll get a reward?
Maybe you’ll find out on Saturday
Maybe sooner?
If you’re lucky ;)