by Ivy Thorne
“You bet I did,” Marla said. “Wait until I tell you about it.”
Jackie took a key out from the pocket in her suit jacket and unlocked the side entrance of the funeral home.
“Looks like we’re the first ones here,” she stated.
The first order of business when coming into work at Oswald Funeral Home was to make coffee. Without a fresh pot ready for the staff to consume, there would be little productivity. Next in the morning routine was turning the phones over to the funeral home, as opposed to Marla’s cell.
Marla always liked to do this to the sound of coffee pattering out from the filter into the coffee pot.
In densely populated areas, such as cities, funeral homes used removal services to do all the night transfers. But, in small towns like Wallsberg, there was no point for a funeral home to pay a transfer service, as night removals didn’t tend to happen quite so regularly. Instead, the staff rotated being on call for the week.
Jackie tied up her frizzy blonde hair and tossed her jacket onto her office chair outside the lounge. Although she was much older than Marla, the two of them got along splendidly.
“Is it just me, or am I having a hot flash?” Jackie said. She grabbed a brochure from a cabinet containing all the spares and began to fan herself with it. “I don’t know how you can wear a pantsuit in this heat,” she said to Marla. “As annoying as it is to wear a skirt, it’s much cooler.”
“You’re forgetting I cut the sleeves off of my dress shirts,” Marla said. She was busy loading the coffee machine with coffee grounds.
“Oh, that’s right,” Jackie said. “I suppose I ought to do that to some of mine. Wearing long sleeves underneath a suit jacket is brutal in the summer. Besides, it’s not like we have to pay for the shirts. Mr. Oswald takes care of that.”
“At least we’re not forced to wear heels,” Marla said. “Loafers and flats are far more practical for everyday wear.”
“Not to mention comfortable,” Jackie added. “I remember when every female funeral director needed to wear skirts and heels every day. It was awful! I rolled my heel all the time. I was also a podiatrist’s worst nightmare. Thanks to those sexist days, I now have to wear orthopedic inserts in all my shoes.”
Marla watched as the steam rose from the coffee machine. After a brief moment of humming, the coffee began to trickle into the pot. Jackie chuckled when she saw Marla staring mesmerized into the depths of the coffee pot.
“I take it last night was a late one?” she said.
“Yes, it was,” Marla replied. “Not only that, but it was also a coroner’s case.”
“While you’re filling your mug, do me a favor and pour me some. Then you can join me at the table and tell me all about it. I take it we’ll be going on a trip to the forensic lab?”
Marla nodded. She presented Jackie with the coffee and took a seat next to her at the table. She then relayed the events of the previous night to her friend. Marla mentioned the time she’d spent as Reggie’s tenant as well.
“I can’t believe what an insane coincidence the whole thing was,” Marla said. “Not only was this man killed in the same way as Jared Hopkins, but it’s also Reggie, my previous landlord!”
“Jesus, Marla!” Jackie exclaimed. “Are you cursed or what?!”
She’d almost choked on her coffee when Marla had told her the man had been murdered with a slash to the neck.
“He was murdered, eh?” Jackie shook her head in disbelief before taking a swig of her coffee. “There’s only ever been one other murder in the history of Wallsberg, and you’ve also been around for that one.”
She wiped the back of her hand across her glistening forehead and huffed. “As much as I love this drink, it sure does make me sweat!” she declared.
“At least it doesn’t make you have to violently release your bowels like Speckleman,” Marla said.
Jackie rolled her eyes. “Oh, God! He won’t be in until the afternoon today. He’s on the late shift with Mr. Oswald.”
“Good!” Marla blurted out.
Her comment made Jackie smile. She was glad to have changed the topic of conversation to something less upsetting than murder. Neither of them particularly appreciated Speckleman. Not only was he lazy and obnoxious, but he also was devoid of manners. Neither of them understood why he was the manager of the personal care center, otherwise known as the embalming room.
“Remember that time Charlotte yelled at him for trimming his nails at his desk?” Jackie said, giggling.
Charlotte was the funeral home’s receptionist. She was an elderly lady who, although retired, had decided to be a receptionist to keep herself from getting bored. As sweet as she was over the phone, in person, she could be crotchety. She also wore far too much foundation on her face. Up close, one could see it caked in all the lines and crevices of her face. Eyeliner and mascara also seemed to be favorites of hers.
Not a day had gone by where Marla hadn’t seen Charlotte’s eyelashes looking like the legs of dead spiders. The heavy black lines around her eyes made her appear like a retired member of a goth band. Marla and Jackie speculated that Mr. Oswald let her get away with her appearance because he figured she probably couldn’t see well enough to understand just how poorly she was doing her makeup.
“Where is Charlotte anyway?” Marla asked.
“Late, as usual, I would imagine,” Jackie said.
“Do you think she’s late because of how long it takes her to load on her makeup?” Marla joked.
As if on cue, the two of them heard the opening and closing of the side door downstairs.
“Hello?” Charlotte hollered up the stairs. “Is the coffee on?”
Jackie and Marla shouted ‘Yes!’ simultaneously.
“Finally, someone other than me managed to lift a damn finger around here,” Charlotte grumbled as she climbed up the stairs. She always was mumbling and swearing about something under her breath.
The moment Charlotte entered the lounge, Jackie and Marla took their coffees to go. Neither of them was interested in listening to the old woman drone on about some spot in the funeral home that had hadn’t been cleaned properly.
“Marla and I are off to the forensic lab, Charlotte,” Jackie announced as the two of them passed her. “If we’re not back by the time Mr. Oswald or Speckleman gets here, be sure to let them know where we are.”
Charlotte grunted in understanding.
Chapter 3
The town of Wallsberg was about a one-hour drive from the city, where the forensic lab was located. One of the reasons Mr. Oswald had hired Marla was because of her familiarity with the city. There were times when the staff had to drive there. Whether it be to deliver bodies to the forensic lab or to conduct a graveside service for someone whose loved one had a plot in a city cemetery, it was important for his staff to be able to navigate the traffic.
The reason Marla was able to travel throughout the multiple-lane nightmares that were urban streets was because she’d grown up there. She’d also worked in several city funeral homes during her internship. It was a stressful environment, and Marla was glad to be living away from it.
“Crank the air, Marla,” Jackie said, fanning herself with her hand. “I’m about to melt like a popsicle in here!”
“You got it!” Marla said.
Jackie let out a sigh of relief as the blast of air displaced the bits of hair sticking to her face. The current that flowed from the AC vents always took a moment to turn cold. After loading Reggie back into the van, Marla volunteered to drive. Jackie didn’t seem to mind. She’d made it clear in the past that she wasn’t fond of city driving.
The drive into the city was fairly dull. For the longest stretch, there were farmers’ fields and flat country roads. There wasn’t much to look at. As Marla drove, she told Jackie about her experience with Dane.
“I met a cute guy at the house when I was doing the removal,” she said. “He’s a new detective who just moved here. His name is Dane Read.”
Ja
ckie wolf-whistled. “You don’t say? Tell me more.”
Marla threw back her head and sighed. “He’s so hot!” she proclaimed. “He’s tall and fit, and he has amazing green eyes. I think I may have messed up my chances with him, though.”
Jackie took a sip out of her thermos. Since she was a divorced woman living on her own, Jackie was more than willing to talk about boys with Marla.
“Tell me what happened,” she said, readying herself to give advice. Currently, she was seeing a man named Shawn who was ruggedly handsome and, from what Marla had heard, seemed like a keeper. If a middle-aged woman could score a silver fox like Shawn, surely Marla could win over Dane’s affection.
“I made a dark joke,” Marla said.
“Oh, geez! What did I tell you about making funeral director jokes in front of normal people?”
“Nine times out of ten normal people don’t get it,” Marla answered. She felt like a moron. “For some reason, I got the impression he’d find it funny.”
“The only people who find dark jokes funny are funeral directors and psychopaths like my ex-husband,” Jackie stated, matter-of-factly.
Marla sniggered. Jackie often made dry passes at her ex-husband. From what Marla had been told, Richard had been a cheating son of a bitch. The two only had been married for two years before Jackie had discovered he’d frequently been hooking up with other women. Jackie always said, ”His nickname was Dick, and it wasn’t because his full name was Richard.”
“Even if he does have a macabre sense of humor, you have to ease your way into telling those kinds of jokes,” Jackie went on to say. “Maybe find out his favorite food before attempting to make him laugh, you know? You also got the timing all wrong. A man just had been murdered.”
Marla cursed loudly. She’d always found herself making foolish mistakes such as this. It was frustrating.
“I don’t understand why I can’t figure this out!” she exclaimed. “I should know better by now.”
Jackie maintained a nonchalant demeanor. “Don’t worry about it. All you’ve done as a funeral director is embalm. You’ve always hung around people who make disturbing jokes. It’s understandable that you might accidentally let one slip. The next time you’re wondering whether to make a joke, just don’t. Save yourself the embarrassment.”
Jackie made a good point. If Marla was uncertain as to how a person would respond to a comment, it was best to keep that comment to herself.
“Well, I still managed to get his number,” Marla said.
“No, way?! You got his number at a crime scene?”
“Not exactly,” Marla admitted. “It’s the number for the police station. But it contains his specific extension.”
“Hey, that’s better than nothing,” Jackie said. She placed a pair of sunglasses over her eyes as the sun blazed out from a cloud. “What’s his name again?”
“Dane Read.”
“Ooh-la-la!”
For the remainder of their journey, Jackie and Marla discussed their unpleasant experiences with public restrooms.
“You know that new burrito place we sometimes go to?” Jackie said.
“The Burrito Bar? Yeah, that place has the best sweet potato burritos. What about it?”
“One time I went to use their bathroom and the stall I went into was repulsive,” Jackie continued. “It looked like someone had blown up a burrito. Thankfully, I had a sinus infection at the time and couldn’t smell it. I still don’t know if the nasty mess spattered on the walls and around the toilet was the contents of a burrito, or if it was something else. If you know what I mean.”
“Ugh! That reminds me of when I worked for Sipping Saucers. You know, the location near The Burrito Bar?”
“Yep. It’s kind of sketchy. It looks like the kind of place that would have needle disposal boxes installed in the bathroom,” Jackie responded.
“Oh, they do. The staff knew I’d spent time working in funeral homes and figured I had a strong stomach and wouldn’t mind cleaning up after the gross people who defecated next to the toilet. I did mind!”
Jackie laughed in response. Marla loved it when she laughed. Her laugh was an explosive sound that tickled her ears most remarkably.
“Thank God Mr. Oswald eventually had an opening for you,” Jackie said.
It was then that the forensic lab came into view. The place reminded Marla of one of those top secret spy agencies she’d seen on television. The building itself was nothing special. It was a basic, flat-topped, brown-bricked structure. One never would know human corpses were dissected within the confines of its lackluster walls. The many levels of security clearance Marla had to go through was what reminded her of a classified spy headquarters.
“You called them, right?” Jackie said.
“I did.”
First Marla drove up to a gate where she and Jackie were asked to display their driver’s license as well as their funeral director’s license. They were then allowed entry through to the back of the lab, where the garage was located.
Marla backed the van up so the rear was inches away from the garage door. The two of them then got out of the vehicle. A button was located on the wall that signaled someone from inside the building to open the door and help them in.
“God, I hope they don’t take too long getting someone from security over here to open the door. My makeup is going to start running down my face if I have to wait too long out here in the sun!” Jackie remarked.
“I know what you mean,” Marla said. “I’m always having to bleach my blouses because of the brown foundation that ends up transferring on to my collars.”
“We should invest in that foundation that has sunscreen mixed into its formula,” Jackie remarked.
Thankfully, someone came within minutes of Marla pressing the button. They followed the security guard until they were in a room that looked like a massive morgue. It was then that they placed Reggie’s body onto a table, signed some paperwork, and went on their way.
“It seems pretty clear how this guy died if you ask me,” Jackie said, as she returned to the passenger’s side of the van. “He has a gaping hole in his throat. The man’s throat was slit like a Christmas turkey’s!”
“It’s just protocol,” Marla said. “They have to check for toxins in his body as well. Who knows? Maybe he was poisoned and then cut.”
“That seems a bit excessive, but I guess you never can be sure,” Jackie replied. “There sure are some messed up people in this world. I hope the pathologist performing the autopsy doesn’t choose to incise up and down the limbs. That’s such a pain to suture.”
Marla agreed. “Oh, God, I know.”
The traffic on the way back added an extra half hour onto the trip. By the time the two of them returned to the funeral home, they were ready for lunch.
“Funny how just sitting in a vehicle stuck between cars can make you feel tired,” Jackie said. “I feel as though I’ve just done back-to-back embalmings, and I wasn’t even driving.”
Marla groaned when she saw who was sitting at the table in the lounge. Speckleman had arrived early for his shift, no doubt to get away from his wife. There was no mistaking his weasel face and bad tan. If the man wasn’t smoking, he was either spouting offensive nonsense to Marla and Jackie or complaining about his wife, Shirley. Speckleman whined more about her than Jackie ever had complained about Richard, and Richard had betrayed her trust over and over again. Whereas all Shirley seemed to be guilty of was doing her best as a human being.