by Ivy Thorne
“You could at least pretend to be happy to see me,” Speckleman said to Marla after noticing her grimace.
As much as Marla wanted to clap back at Speckleman and tell him how she’d rather lick a toilet seat than pretend to be happy to see him, she knew she’d only be giving him a reason to report her to Mr. Oswald.
“I wasn’t groaning because of you,” Marla lied, “I’m just annoyed because I have to eat leftovers for lunch.”
“Ugh!” Speckleman wrinkled his nose. “Shirley packed me leftovers from last week for dinner. That meal wasn’t even good when it was fresh! Honestly, sometimes I wonder what the point of that woman is.”
Sometimes I wonder what the point of you is, Marla thought.
“I think the woman is trying to give me food poisoning,” Speckleman continued. “That way she can drain my bank account and ditch me while I’m receiving an IV of Dramamine.”
Jackie chortled. “Please! I bet the meal Shirley packed for you is just fine. What, does it contain a few vegetables? You’re just making up this crap so people won’t question you when you show up with a bag full of chilly cheese fries from Fast Freddy’s.”
Normally, Marla enjoyed listening to Jackie banter with Speckleman. No matter what the topic of discussion was, Jackie always would manage to come out on top. Not even Speckleman could deny he was a disgusting pig. This afternoon, however, Marla’s mind was stuck on Dane.
As she picked away at her lunch, which was leftover potato salad, she wondered if Dane had given her his business number in hopes that she’d call him. Sure, professionals gave out their cards to people all the time. Detectives relied on whatever clues they could extract from people. It made sense for him to give her his card. Still, Marla hoped he’d given it to her in part because he was as attracted to her as she was to him.
“What kind of vegetable nonsense are you eating today?” Speckleman teasingly asked Marla.
“Potato salad,” she answered simply.
Speckleman bullied Marla over the same things, day in and day out. One of his favorite things to pick on her for was her vegetarianism. He also didn’t seem to believe women deserved equal treatment as men.He frequently made misogynistic remarks such as, ‘I bet you’d look good in an apron, Marla.’ The topic of feminism was an easy one for Marla to dispute, as Speckleman often was outnumbered by strong-willed women at the funeral home. Jackie was no mouse, and Charlotte was by far the most tenacious of them all.
Most upsetting was his frequent comments related to Marla’s lack of experience in the arranging department. Because Marla had shown such an aptitude for embalming, she’d mostly been made to deal exclusively with that side of the funeral home. The business side, which involved paperwork and delicate conversations with grieving families, was something she hadn’t been much involved in. This was because Marla was a tad socially awkward. The failed joke she’d told Dane was a prime example.
Speckleman always liked bringing up a phone conversation Marla had once with a client who’d been wondering why he had to bring in pants for his deceased brother to wear if the leg portion of the casket was going to be closed. The notion of burying the man’s brother in his underwear seemed disrespectful in Marla’s mind. Of course, this man hadn’t thought this, and Marla hadn’t known how to tell him pants were necessary without hurting his feelings. So, when asked the question, ‘Why are pants necessary?,’ Marla had responded, ‘That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.’
“What have you both been up to this morning?” Speckleman asked. “I noticed the van was gone when I arrived. Did we get a new call?”
Jackie saved Marla the pain of having to explain Reggie’s murder again. Though she could have done without Jackie mentioning the part about meeting Dane.
“There’s this new detective named Dane Read who has the hots for Marla,” Jackie remarked. She punched Marla playfully on the shoulder. “He gave her his number. The two of them are going to make adorable crime-solving babies.”
“Oh, please!” Marla blurted out, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ll be lucky if I tell you anything now, Jackie!”
Speckleman snickered. “He probably gave you his number because he thinks you’re the one who murdered that poor man. He gave it to you in the hopes you’ll confess.”
Marla glared at Speckleman from across the table. She was sick of his snide remarks about her cold and calloused demeanor. Unlike Jackie, the man didn’t understand that Marla just needed practice with her social skills. She never was trying to come across to people as cold and calloused.
Speckleman saw her giving him the evil eye and began chuckling. “I guess I had better watch out. If you’re a psychopathic killer, I could be next on your list!”
Now Marla was angry. She stood abruptly from her place at the table, her container of half-eaten potato salad in her hand. She wanted nothing more than to dump the remnants of her lunch all over Speckleman’s balding head. Instead, she took a deep breath to compose herself and wandered into the kitchen to put her lunch back in the refrigerator and pour herself another coffee. The pot was brimming with fresh coffee, no doubt put on by Charlotte. If there was one thing Charlotte was good at, it was keeping the coffee fresh.
As she refilled her mug, she heard Speckleman imitating a police officer.
“Ms. James, could you explain why you decided to murder an innocent man?” he said, lowering his voice to match the authoritative cadence of a policeman. He then raised his voice to an obnoxious high-pitched squawk in an attempt to mock Marla’s voice, which didn’t at all sound like that. “Well, officer, that’s just the way the cookie crumbles!”
Marla scoffed and rolled her eyes. It frustrated her that Speckleman was relentless with his teasing. It was clear he targeted her above everyone else. Was it because she was the newest addition to the staff at the funeral home?
When Marla returned to the table, Speckleman was whistling to himself and fishing out a crumpled carton of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. It was then that Marla thought of a clever comeback to his psychopath comment.
“The only person who’s going to be killing you is yourself,” she said, smoothly. “So long as you keep sucking on the ends of those cancer sticks you’ll be a dead tumor-ridden husk before your wife has a chance to divorce you.”
Marla made her remark without taking her eyes off of Speckleman. To make her words even more poignant, she took a dramatic sip from her coffee mug.
“Wow!” Jackie exclaimed. “If I were you, Speckleman, I’d avoid messing with Marla. She’s no killer, but she certainly knows how to cut deep with her words.”
Speckleman haughtily took his cigarettes and exited the lounge. Marla could see she’d upset him. A sadistic side of her felt triumph for wounding his ego. But, for the most part, seeing him slink away with his tail between his legs only made her feel like the villain he made her out to be.
It was then that Mr. Oswald waltzed into the lounge. “Good afternoon everyone,” he said.
People loved Mr. Oswald. He was like everyone’s favorite grandpa. He always had a jolly demeanor and responded with patience in the face of adversity. Marla hoped one day she’d be able to adopt his gentle and composed attitude.
“You just missed Marla’s crazy comeback!” Jackie told him.
Mr. Oswald chuckled. “I thought Speckleman looked like he was brooding outside. I passed him slinking out the door on my way in. We had a brief exchange. I wish he’d give up smoking. I remember when I used to smoke regularly. Giving it up was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.” He took a deep breath in and out to prove his point. “You see? No wheezing. My lungs are happy as can be.”
“Did Speckleman tell you about the man Marla removed last night?” Jackie asked.
“Yes. How tragic. I imagine the police have notified the poor man’s family. That would be such a hard job to do. Being the bearer of such bad news is no fun. I’m sure the family will be reaching out to us when they’re ready,” Mr. Oswald responded.
“He was Marla’s landlord once,” Jackie announced.
As much as Marla adored her friend, she wasn’t thrilled with Jackie’s inability to keep her mouth shut.
Mr. Oswald gave Marla a sympathetic glance. “Aw, that’s terrible, Marla.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and came up behind her, patting her warmly on the shoulder. “It’s not easy seeing someone you once knew dead like that.”
Marla nodded. “I was never close to him. I just used to rent out the basement of his house is all.”
Mr. Oswald padded slowly away, shaking his head and muttering, “such a shame,” over and over. His lumbering footsteps squeaked down the stairs. Marla couldn’t help but smile when she heard the old man complimenting Charlotte, whose desk was stationed at the bottom of the stairs, for keeping the coffee pot full.
The best part about working at the funeral home in Wallsberg was Mr. Oswald’s constant approval and positive attitude. He was the best employer Marla ever had worked for. Whenever she’d done well on a task, he’d be quick to tell her. Even when she hadn’t done well, he could tell her without being rude.
“What a sweet old guy,” Jackie remarked. She too had heard him complimenting Charlotte. “I think he makes up for everyone else’s bitterness.”
Marla agreed. Never had she met anyone who was able to be so consistently kind.
“I don’t know how he does it,” she said. “I don’t think I have the energy to be that nice all the time, especially not to Speckleman!”
Jackie barked with laughter. “Mr. Oswald is a gem of a human being, that’s for sure. He’s so sweet I feel guilty for taking any longer than thirty minutes for my lunch.”
That being said, Marla and Jackie promptly finished with their break and began preparations for a visitation scheduled at two. All that was left to be done was filling the coffee urn and putting out a jug of ice water.
“Thank God we’re leaving at four,” Jackie said. She poured the remainder of the coffee into a coffee urn and immediately re-loaded the machine. “Standing around down there for two hours, let alone four, makes me want to stick pins in my eyes.”
The typical hours clients chose for visitations were divided into two segments: The first between two p.m. and four p.m., and the second from seven p.m. until nine p.m.
“Tell me about it!” Marla agreed. “Sometimes I get so bored I look forward to needing to use the bathroom just for something to do.”
Visitations were by far one of the most tiresome aspects of funeral services, that and the paperwork. Marla always marveled over how everyone did the same thing. For example, the people who came in through the double door main entrance always would choose the wrong door. The left door was locked shut, while the right was not. This was done to stop the wind from blowing open the left side, as it liked to do. Time and time again, Marla would have to let people in before they walked off, assuming the place was closed.
The other thing the visitation attendees liked to do was make the same wry comments. Some of the most common included: ‘I bet they’re just dying to get in here!’ and ‘Do they pay you to just stand around?’ Every time someone said one of these lines Marla would have to pretend it was so clever, even though she’d heard it an excruciating number of times before.
Marla filled a jug with ice water and ventured downstairs into the visiting room where the so-called guest of honor was resting. It was there that she found Speckleman speaking with the family. She discreetly placed the jug of water on a table set to the side of the room.
While she was leaving, she heard Speckleman’s voice travel down the hallway.
“Be sure to let me know which flower arrangements you’d like taken to the graveside for the service tomorrow. I’ll make sure they get packed away safely for the trip. Mr. Oswald and I will be taking care of you tonight, so be sure to let us know if there is anything you need.”
The way Speckleman talked to families was contrary to the way he spoke to Marla. How could he put on a reassuring, empathetic demeanor for clients, but be a complete douchebag behind the scenes?
It often peeved Marla when she heard people talk about how lovely Speckleman was. He wasn’t actually lovely, he only pretended to be.
The ability to act one way in front of some, and another in front of others, was an ability Marla didn’t have. She only was capable of being herself, and that was all.
Chapter 4
The following morning, when Marla saw Jackie walk into the lounge fifteen minutes late, with prominent circles under her eyes, she knew there’d been another death. The staff took turns going on call. Last night had been Jackie’s turn.
“I’ve got one for you to embalm, Marla,” she stated, groggily. “Her name is Krystal Dennings. She died around midnight. I was called to the scene at half-past one.”
“What sort of condition is her body in?” Marla inquired.
Jackie shrugged. Marla could hear the sound of coffee sloshing into Jackie’s oversized mug, which she never let anyone else use.
The staff members of Oswald’s were oddly particular when it came to their mug selection. Marla always chose the smaller-sized mug with a crematorium’s branding on the front. Jackie had her mammoth-sized mug and Speckleman flip-flopped between a mug that read ‘World’s Greatest Embalmer’ (an incredibly false statement) and a mug containing a famous sexualized female celebrity. Charlotte refused to drink out of anything other than a thermos she’d owned since the 1960s and Mr. Oswald seemed partial to reusing disposable cups.
“She’ll be an easy case for you,” Jackie stated.“Ms. Dennings was receiving home care. I got permission to embalm from her son. The paperwork is there with her. Go have a look if you want.” She groaned loudly. “Now, I have to do this funeral.”
“If you want my help with the service, I could come along to the graveside with you,” Marla offered.
Jackie shook her head. “No. Frank is coming in to help me. It’s nothing complicated. We’re just meeting the family there at the cemetery at half-past ten. If everyone gets there before eleven, the pastor will start early. Hopefully, it ends early. Frank will help me load the casket and flowers into the hearse, and we’ll be off. Speckleman left me a note on my monitor telling me which flowers to bring. He has abhorrent handwriting.” She peered out the window. “I think I see Frank’s car pulling in now.”
Frank was one of the funeral home’s assistants. Like most of the assistants, he was a retired man just looking for a job to help people and keep himself occupied.
Coffee in hand, Marla headed up to embalm Ms. Dennings. Many funeral homes had embalming centers in the basements. Oswald’s embalming room, oddly enough, was located on the third floor of the building. Even so, it was still a perfectly safe functional site to prepare bodies for services. Health inspectors routinely checked funeral homes’ facilities to ensure they were up to regulation.
In total, the funeral home had five floors, counting the attic. At one point during the turn of the twentieth century, the building had been a mansion. It was, therefore, considered a historical site in Wallsberg. An industrial-sized elevator allowed bodies to be moved from floor to floor.
Marla entered the embalming room − otherwise known as the preparation room or ‘prep’ room − where Ms. Dennings’ emaciated frame rested, wrapped snug in a clean sheet, atop a table.
Jackie had been right when she’d said the embalming would be easy. According to Ms. Dennings’ medical certificate of death, she was seventy-one and had died of liver cancer. People of a slighter build tended to embalm faster compared to those who were heavy. Their blood vessels were easier to locate, with less fat obstructing the view.
Marla suited up in a face shield, gloves, and a smock to protect herself from whatever diseases Ms. Dennings’ body could be harboring. Just because a person was dead didn’t necessarily mean the germs inside them were. For this reason, personal protection equipment was required to be available in an embalming room. Oddly enough, however, it wasn’t manda
tory to wear it. Marla always chose to be fully protected. In contrast, Speckleman normally chose to tuck his tie inside his shirt and just wear gloves.