by K. L. Hiers
He could keep this.
“Mm, better stop,” Cypress purred, “or you’re never gonna go.”
“Sorry,” Tom chuckled. “Just… mmm. Happy.”
“Text me when you’re done,” Cypress said, smooching his cheek. “After I drop off the flowers, I’ll park around back.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
Tom practically floated into the funeral home, and he could not stop smiling. He knew he should probably try looking like a very sick man because he’d called in so late, but there was no way he could shake this joy.
Despite everything going on, he was happy. He had Cypress, really and truly, and no matter what happened, he didn’t have to do this alone.
Any of it—not the murder, not the burglaries, nor the headache over the formaldehyde that had started it all.
He did his best to wipe the dopey smile off his face when he walked into the office, finding Earl on the phone as usual and Mr. Crosby hovering over him.
“Seventy-five dollars?” Earl was shouting angrily. “For seventy-five dollars it had better trip me and suck me before I hit the damn floor.” He stewed silently for a few moments, grumbling in reply, “Yes, I understand that kind of language is not appropriate, but this is ridiculous. Look, sir, you wanna fuck me like this, the least you could do is buy me dinner. I’d even take a pack of nabs with the way you’re going.”
Mr. Crosby noticed Tom entering, and he smiled brightly. “Ah! Tom!” He walked over to shake his hand. “I trust you’re feeling better? Earl said you’d be late today.”
“I’m okay,” Tom replied, hoping he looked pitiful enough to pass Mr. Crosby’s scrutiny. “Uh, is everything okay?”
“Oh, fine. Bubba and Scott are out on a call. Mr. Wayne is trying to renegotiate his cellular phone contract, I believe.” Mr. Crosby seemed pretty calm for a man whose funeral home was all over the news. “We don’t have any preps that I’m aware of.”
“Good. Where’s everybody else at?”
“Mr. Frakes is late again. I’m really gonna have to do something about him. Gerald went out, some errand for little Junior.” Mr. Crosby’s forehead wrinkled. “Not sure what’s going on with that boy. He has such a weak constitution, bless his heart. Always getting sick.”
From snorting crap up his nose.
“Okay, cool. So, uh, Mr. Crosby…”
Tom didn’t want to take advantage of Mr. Crosby’s questionable mental state, but he was still technically his boss, and he had a much higher chance for success talking to him instead of Gerald.
“What is it, Tom?” Mr. Crosby asked, smiling brightly.
“Well, sir…”
“Back in my day?” Earl raged. “Oh, yeah, sure. It was so much easier because we just had cans with string, right? But now you wanna charge me for overages because your little bleep-bloop computer told you to.”
“I need to take some time off,” Tom said quickly, having to speak up so Mr. Crosby could hear him over Earl’s shouting. “Like, maybe a few days? I’m still, eh, not feeling so great.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” Mr. Crosby looked concerned. “Why don’t you finish up your lunch and go on home?”
Tom was not going to correct him about what time it was, saying instead, “Thank you so much, sir. I’m gonna finish Mr. Lundy, and then I’ll go.”
“Go on and take the rest of the week,” Mr. Crosby said with a somber nod. “I need you to come back in tip-top shape.”
“Wow! Okay!” Tom grinned. “Thank you.”
“Go easy on that leg. You’re not as young as you used to be.” Mr. Crosby chuckled, patting Tom’s shoulder.
Tom had no idea what he was talking about but decided to run with it. He excused himself from the office, leaving Mr. Crosby to bask in Earl’s rage against the phone company. He knew he had plenty of time to get Mr. Lundy ready but being in the funeral home was making him anxious.
He didn’t feel safe here.
With gloves and tools and a tub of wax in hand, he scooted his stool over to the table where Mr. Lundy was so he could get to work. He applied the wax over the little sutures on Mr. Lundy’s forehead, using his finger to smooth it out. He then used a small spatula to smooth it even more, removing any excess wax.
He used the heel of his gloved hand to lightly press into the wax to give it a faint texture. If it was too smooth, it wouldn’t look like skin, and the damage beneath would be more obvious. Luckily, most of what Tom had to repair was already hidden in Mr. Lundy’s hair, and he was done with the wax in only half an hour.
Now it was time for makeup.
There were special mortuary cosmetics made for deceased cases, but they were very thick and best suited for severe discolorations. Tom had known other embalmers and directors who could use them well and achieve a very natural look, but he preferred liquid tints and over-the-counter makeup from the drugstore.
He started sponging a light foundation over Mr. Lundy’s face, following it with a darker brown to contour around his hairline and down his nose. He used a third shade to blend it all together, trying to create a natural-looking color without it turning into a mask.
One solid color over a person’s face could look cartoonish, especially on a man, so he made sure to use several different shades. He ended up with six in all, not including the tint for Mr. Lundy’s lips.
He heard the beeping of the prep room door, and he smiled when he saw it was Aaron. “Hey! How’s your day going?”
“Not too bad,” Aaron replied, scratching his head. “You wanna explain why Mr. Crosby thinks you’re gonna be out recovering from a knee replacement?”
Blushing, Tom replied, “Right. Uh, I told him I needed some time off.”
“Everything okay?”
“Uh, um, yeah. I just need to take care of some, well, some personal things.” Tom hated how bad he was at this. He trusted Aaron, but he didn’t want to get him involved in this.
“Does this have something to do with Junior?” Aaron accused.
Shit.
“No,” Tom weakly lied. “Why?”
“He dipped out yesterday in the middle of a service that I had to go cover, and no one’s seen him since.” Aaron crossed his arms. “Gerald’s out today, no doubt trying to find whatever gutter he’s crawled into, and now you’re taking off?”
“It’s personal, okay?” Tom said firmly, more confident now that he wasn’t technically lying. “I don’t know what’s going on with Junior. That’s none of my business, and it has nothing to do with me.”
“Shit, sorry.” Aaron cringed. “I know he’s been bugging you and wanted to make sure he hadn’t done something else.”
“I’m fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but I’m going to be.”
“Fair enough.” Aaron grinned. “Hey, I’m gonna miss you around here. For real. Enjoy your time off, dude.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, uh, real quick.” Aaron took a few steps closer. “I’m having to cover for Gerald on the Ross family. Bosco’s personal effects said there was a watch?”
Tom’s heart stopped.
“I couldn’t find it in lockup, and Gerald said he didn’t know anything about it. Any idea where it is?”
“Uh.” Tom nearly dropped his brush. “Right, you see, it was dirty. Very dirty. And just, uh, I was washing it, and it… it fell. And then I put it in my pocket.”
“It fell? Like on the floor? Is it broken?” Aaron demanded, his eyes widening.
“No, no, no!” Tom said quickly. “It’s fine. I just, uh, I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Ha! Like an idiot!” He tried to laugh it off like it was all a silly mistake. “It must still be in my pocket. At home.”
“Uh huh.” Aaron looked confused and more than a bit concerned.
“I promise I’ll bring it back,” Tom swore. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no big deal,” Aaron soothed. “His only family is an estranged nephew or something who lives out of town. He’s not coming in until Wednesday. No
t even viewing him.”
“Shit. Then why did we embalm?”
“Mausoleum.”
“Ah.”
“Nephew was really chill. He only got uppity about the embalming. Had to explain to him the whole ‘embalming is not required by law but the mausoleum can require it’ bit. Think he was just trying to get money back from the preneed or something.”
“Right.” Tom cleared his throat. “Look, I swear I’ll bring the watch back as soon as I’m done. I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not a thief or something—”
“Dude, relax!” Aaron chuckled. “All this burglary stuff is making you paranoid.”
Tom was starting to sweat. He tried to smile, but it felt like a grimace. “Eh, yeah. Sorry.”
“Well, if I don’t see you before you go, have a good week off.” Aaron waved as he headed back to the door. “I’ll let Gerald know what’s up so he’s not freaking out where it is.”
Tom cringed. “Ugh, do you have to?” He couldn’t imagine Gerald’s rage when he found out Tom had taken a deceased’s personal effects home, no matter what the reason was.
“Look, if he gets pissed, you have all week to wait for him to cool off. Later, dude.”
“Bye.”
Tom flinched when the door shut, cursing under his breath to himself.
He should have never taken that dumb watch.
After taking a deep breath, he got back to work on Mr. Lundy, mumbling, “It didn’t even do any good. They already had all their dumb prints or whatever. That’s what I get for trying to help, Mr. Lundy.”
Mr. Lundy didn’t reply, as usual, but Tom liked to think he would have been sympathetic.
He easily lost track of time while he was working, getting up often to walk around Mr. Lundy and view him from different angles. He would always see one small blotch or a bit of pigment out of place and sit back down to fix it. He could easily do this for hours, trying to make it perfect and ensure not a single trace of trauma was visible.
Hours indeed had passed when he heard his phone beep, signaling a text message. He stood up to stretch and look over Mr. Lundy one last time.
Perfect.
After putting away his tools and makeup, he disposed of his gloves to check his phone. He smiled when he saw it was Cypress.
Everything okay?
Yeah, just finished. Be right there, Tom texted back. He washed his hands and wiggled through the crowded hallway, navigating through stretchers and linen bags on his way to the garage. He grinned when he saw Cypress, setting up a tall flower spray. “Hey! I thought you were done?”
“Hey.” Cypress smiled. “Mr. Crosby called and asked me to switch out this white stand for a green one. Had an extra one in the van. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry I didn’t text it all out. I just wanna get outta here.”
“Wasn’t sure if I was gonna have to wait for you or not,” Cypress said, taking Tom’s hand and pulling him close for a kiss. “We don’t have to leave if you’re not ready.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” Tom shook his head. “Trust me, I could go on for hours.”
“Oh, I know,” Cypress confirmed with a little wink.
“I meant about the makeup. The makeup.” Tom laughed as his ears burned. “God, let’s go.”
Cypress’s van was parked in the back, and they drove over to Tom’s house, chatting along the way. Being with Cypress again had put Tom in such a good mood, and he loved the simple pleasure of holding his hand.
He didn’t even care about Junior being out there somewhere possibly plotting to kill him.
As long as Tom was with Cypress, he was safe.
Tom updated him on what Mr. Crosby and Aaron had told him about Junior still being missing and his possible future ass-chewing for the watch, but he was able to wrap it all up on a positive note as they pulled into his driveway.
“And since Mr. Crosby thinks I’m recovering from a recent knee replacement, I get a whole week off,” he declared, unbuckling his seatbelt with a snort.
“How does that man get to work every day?” Cypress wondered, hopping out of the car. “I mean, he notices the color of a flower stand, but he…” He had started walking up to Tom’s front door and stopped short, staring.
“Right?” Tom grinned as he started to walk by him to open the door. “Poor guy. He’s always getting so confused, but I really do think the world of him. He’s just so—”
“Tom,” Cypress snapped, grabbing his arm to stop him. “Look.”
“What?” Tom frowned, glancing up at his front door.
It was then he realized he didn’t need his keys because it was already open. There were shards of wood from the frame where the lock had been busted, and the door had been left ajar.
Well, fuck.
So much for his good mood.
The police arrived to clear the house, and Tom was finally able to step inside, with Cypress holding his trembling hand. The entire home had been completely torn apart, and nothing was spared. Even the drawers in the fridge had been pulled out, their contents strewn across the floor.
Tom felt sick, angry, and he didn’t want to touch anything. He didn’t know who had been inside his house, and it all felt dirty now.
Fox was on the way, and Tom had no idea what to tell him.
“Do you think it was Junior?” Cypress asked quietly, hovering next to Tom in the kitchen.
“Who else?” Tom said, fumbling through the cabinets to find some form of alcohol. His desire for a drink outweighed his discomfort about touching things some stranger might have. He could feel the whispers of Mrs. Dresser creeping into his ears, and the ache in his chest was back, and it was hard to breathe.
“Hey, come here,” Cypress urged, taking Tom’s fumbling hands in his.
“I’m trying to—”
“Stop,” Cypress said firmly, waiting until Tom met his eye to speak again. “Listen to me. Everything is going to be all right. Breathe for me.”
“I am breathing,” Tom argued.
“No, come on. Take a big breath for me.” Cypress pulled him close, gently pushing Tom’s head against his shoulder. “Come here.”
Tom had been so focused on finding a drink that redirecting his attention on his breathing made him gasp. He didn’t realize how worked up he was, and he had to fight to draw a long and shaking breath.
He took another, dangerously close to a sob when he exhaled again.
Someone was in here. Someone was going through all my stuff, and fuck, I feel so violated. I want to throw everything away. This is bullshit. Oh, shit. What if I’d actually been here, what if I hadn’t been at work…
“Breathe,” Cypress said firmly.
Tom took a deep breath, listening to the stern tone of Cypress’s voice. It washed over him like a soothing wave, and he was able to calm down. He felt himself relax, sagging against Cypress’s chest.
“There.” Cypress rubbed his back. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Cypress kissed the top of his head. “Now, what do you need? What can I get you?”
“Liquor?” Tom asked hopefully.
“You are in luck,” Cypress replied. “I stopped by the store on my way back to the funeral home. It was going to be for dinner… well, it still can be. Wait here.”
“Okay.” Tom hugged his arms around himself.
“You’re going to be fine.” Cypress smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”
Tom watched Cypress leave and sighed, glancing around at the floor. He didn’t know what else to do with himself, and he kneeled to start picking up the spilled food.
He’d about gotten it all into the trash when he heard footsteps. He looked up to see Cypress, with Fox right behind him, and his stomach lurched.
At least there was a bottle of wine in Cypress’s hand.
“Hey, Tom,” Fox said, glancing briefly around to all the mess. “You okay?”
“Yes. No? I don’t know.” Tom smiled miserably. “Little freaked out.”
“We thinking this is Junior?” Cypress asked, picking up a corkscrew from the clutter on the floor where one of the kitchen drawers had been tipped.
“I don’t understand why he’d trash everything,” Tom complained. “I don’t have anything worth a crap.”
“Have you noticed anything missing?”
“I haven’t really had a chance to look around.”
“Nothing that Junior would come looking for?” Fox pressed.
“Oh, shit.” Tom’s eyes widened. The answer was right in front of him, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized it sooner. “The watch.”
“The one you borrowed?” Cypress asked, easing a coffee mug full of wine into Tom’s hand.
“Yes.” Tom slurped the wine so fast that some spilled down his chin.
Fox frowned. “How would he know you took it?”
“Aaron from work was looking for it today,” Tom replied earnestly. “Look, I had to tell him I accidentally brought it home with me.” He cringed. “The Ross family is Gerald’s. He must have told Junior, or maybe Junior was around when he was talking to Aaron?”
“Aaron Stutz, right?” Fox asked. “The funeral director?”
“Yes.” Tom frowned, wiping off his mouth. “He’s the only one I told.” He didn’t like Fox’s expression. “Hey, he must have said something to Gerald or somebody else at the office. There’s no way he had anything to do with this.”
“I’m gonna have to talk to him,” Fox said. “Now, where the hell is this watch? Was it taken?”
“No,” Tom said quickly. “It’s still at Cypress’s.”
“Good. Get what you need and go there.” Fox nodded to the officers outside. “They’ll lock up once forensics is done. Gonna dust for some prints, see if anything turns up.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“What about the watch?” Cypress asked warily.
“I’ll come by later tonight and pick it up. I’ll let the family know that it’s going back into evidence until we figure out what’s up.” Fox scowled and scratched his mustache. “No idea what could be so damn important about it. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe Junior was afraid you were gonna squeal, and this is a warning.”