The Murder Next Door

by Ivy Thorne

  “The person I’m referring to is called Speckleman,” Marla said. “Not only is he lazy, but he’s also undignified, sloppy, and completely self-absorbed. I reported him for doing a poor job on preserving a deceased person who’d started to decompose while in the casket. In turn, he was given a warning by my boss. My guess is, he made the call as a revenge tactic.”

  Dane fell silent. Marla hoped she hadn’t annoyed him with her complaints.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What’s it like working with Detective Wiggins? He seems harsh.”

  Dane shrugged. “He can be, but I don’t hold it against him. From what I’ve observed of detectives, they often can come across as rigid but that’s usually just a façade. Detective Wiggins is a no-nonsense guy, but I have seen him joke around. I like to think he’s empathetic. If anything, he’s only human.”

  The description of Detective Wiggins sounded similar to that of multiple funeral directors Marla had known. Being surrounded by death affected a person’s mental health more than they would care to admit, especially when that person was a man. Society deemed men as tough. To shed tears or show vulnerability was a sign of weakness and not often well-received amongst peers. It was a gender stereotype, and it needed to stop.

  “He sounds jealous, if you ask me,” Dane remarked after a bought of silence. “Speckleman, that is. He’s threatened by you because he knows you’re superior to him at what you do.”

  Dane’s words served as a revelation to Marla. “I never thought of that!” she exclaimed. She felt like the cartoon character who’d just had a lightbulb illuminate above its head. Sighing, she sat back in the barstool, her drink teetering in her hand. “That explains so much.”

  Mr. Oswald must have warned Speckleman that if he were to continue carelessly embalming, he’d make Marla the new manager of the personal care center. Speckleman was trying to derail Marla through dirty means. If he could discredit her by making her look like a criminal, he’d get to keep his position at the funeral home.

  “I can’t believe you figured that out just from the meager description I gave you,” Marla said to Dane in awe. “No wonder you work as a detective.”

  Dane’s ears blazed red. He was red all over. Marla hoped it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making him blush.

  “I spent a lot of time in school learning how to profile people based on their behaviors, words, even just by the clothes on their back,” Dane explained. “It’s nothing special.”

  Marla stared into his green-brown eyes. She eyed his lips. “I think it’s special,” she said, softly. Her heart hammered in her chest as she leaned closer to him.

  “Let’s, erm, go outside,” Dane suggested. He placed some bills down for the drinks and glanced around them nervously.

  “Sure thing.”

  Marla took Dane’s hand. She gave him a flirty smile and guided him outside the restaurant to the back, where there was no one to see them, save for the raccoons.

  It had been a long time since Marla had been with a man. She was hot all over and wanted desperately to be with Dane. The beer had made her head pleasantly fuzzy. She was buzzed and knew she could be even more buzzed if she could have Dane.

  Bathed in the wash of light coming from a bulb attached to the restaurant’s exterior, Marla swooned over Dane’s handsome features. His hands fell to her waist. He pulled her closer to him until their noses were inches apart.

  Fireworks exploded within Marla’s mind the moment his lips contacted hers. The smell of his aftershave combined with the warmth of his body had Marla’s head spinning.

  As much as Dane seemed to be enjoying their kiss, he pulled away suddenly. “I should, uh, probably go,” he said. He stumbled away from her, clearly light-headed.

  “Are you going to be okay to drive?” Marla asked.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” he insisted. He ran a hand through his thick curly hair before awkwardly leaving Marla standing next to the restaurant’s dumpster.

  Marla swore as she watched him walk off. The kiss had been a step too far. She turned to see a pair of raccoons fighting over an abandoned take-out meal.

  “Dammit, I’m horny!” she declared to the raccoons.

  ***

  The next day at work, Marla found herself pouring her coffee next to Mr. Oswald, who wore a concerned expression on his face. She’d only just arrived and was about to check on how Reggie was looking in his casket. She hadn’t yet applied any color to his cheeks as his viewing was still some time away. It was best to leave a moisturizing agent on the face to keep the skin hydrated until the day of the visitation.

  “Did we run out of cream for the coffee again?” Marla asked. It wasn’t often Mr. Oswald looked upset. She hoped the reason for his distress was something minor, such as the consideration of his disposable coffee cup looking like it needed to be replaced.

  Mr. Oswald chuckled. “No. We haven’t run out of cream.”

  “Is everything okay?” Marla questioned. “There’s not fungus growing in your coffee cup again is there? You know you can use any of the mugs in the cupboard, right? You own the majority of them anyway.”

  The man rumbled with laughter in response to Marla’s remark.

  “You’re right!” he proclaimed. “I guess I just have a funny habit of using these blasted paper cups. To tell you the truth, long before you were employed here the disposable cups were all I had. I’d once accidentally ordered far more of them than I’d wanted to. That’s the real reason I continue to use them. I’m not sure why I insist on reusing them, though. I suspect that’s a behavior that was conditioned into me during my youth. My father never liked to waste things, you see.”

  Mr. Oswald stared into his coffee for a moment before continuing, “That’s not what’s got me blue in the face, though,” he said, sighing. “I’d like to speak with you in private. Come with me. We’ll go to my office.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Now Marla was nervous. Her mind raced to come up with a reason for why Mr. Oswald was leading her to his office. Was she being reprimanded for something?

  “I’ll never understand why it seems to get chillier as you go up in this place,” Mr. Oswald remarked. “Hot air is supposed to rise, isn’t it?” He looked back at Marla for confirmation. She nodded. “Maybe it’s the ghosts,” he said. “Ghosts are supposed to make places cold. I can’t say I’ve ever seen any here, though.”

  Marla remained quiet. Mr. Oswald was great at speaking casually as though everything was normal and under control, even in the midst of chaos.

  The stairs creaked under the weight of their footsteps. His office was on the third floor of the funeral home, the same floor as the embalming room.

  “After you.” Mr. Oswald opened the door of his office for Marla, inviting her in with a swoop of his hand.

  It wasn’t often that Marla entered this room. It reminded her of the rooms that housed libraries of Victorian mansions, the likes of which she’d seen on TV. The moment she walked in she was faced with the lofty rectangular windows that provided a view of the neighborhood. With every step she took, the dark wooden floorboards creaked.

  “I really should get some sort of a throw mat for this room,” Mr. Oswald said. “Perhaps it would help to silence the squeaky floor. You certainly can hear the age of this building when you walk around up here. It’s a bit disconcerting, but I’ve grown used to it.”

  He groaned as he bent to take a seat in the chair behind his desk, which looked to be composed of the same wood as the floors. It almost appeared as though the floorboards had merged with the structure.

  “Pull up a seat, Marla,” Mr. Oswald said.

  The chair Marla chose was one that seemed as though it was more of a decoration than a practical place to sit. The cushion was far too low to the ground. When she lowered herself into it, a cloud of dust emerged. Marla choked on the debris.

  “I don’t think anyone’s ever sat in that chair before,” Mr. Oswald said. “I would imagine it’s an antique. I could
probably get a pretty penny for it if I auctioned it off.”

  As charming as Mr. Oswald was with his loquacious tendencies, Marla was beginning to feel impatient.

  “What is it that you need to speak to me about?” she asked, steering Mr. Oswald away from his tangent.

  Mr. Oswald sighed. He almost seemed to be delaying whatever it was he wanted to say to Marla.

  “It has recently come to my attention that you’ve been deemed a suspect in the ongoing investigation regarding Reggie’s murder,” he said.

  A sense of dread settled inside Marla’s stomach. She folded her hands tightly in her lap.

  “Yes, I was,” she responded. “You have to know they’ve made a mistake. I would never do something − ”

  Mr. Oswald put a hand up to silence her.

  “I know,” he stated gently. “I’m sorry you’ve been wrongly accused.”

  Marla wanted badly to blurt out Speckleman’s involvement, but she knew pointing the finger at him wouldn’t help her situation. Besides, she had no proof that he’d bad-mouthed her to the police.

  “It’s unfortunate how the police, a group of people who are supposed to seek justice for lost lives and protect others, so often get things wrong and wind up hurting more people,” Mr. Oswald said. “This can’t be easy for you.”

  Something about the man’s soft voice and empathetic glance pulled at Marla’s heartstrings. She wanted to cry, but the tears didn’t seem to come.

  “I read the article that was written in the Wallsberg Post,” he continued. “You’re listed as a suspect. Whoever wrote that bunch of crap owes you an apology. I’m on your side, Marla, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through this. But at the same time, I have to think about Reggie’s family and all the people who were left broken by his death. Those people want justice for that man. Anyone who’s read that article and shows up here for Reggie’s service only to see you − a person who was named a suspect in his murder − will not be put at ease.”

  Marla wanted to scream and beat her fists against the old dusty walls of Mr. Oswald’s office. She knew what was coming next: job termination.

  Chapter 12

  Unable to contain herself, Marla stood from the uncomfortable chair and proclaimed, “With all due respect, Mr. Oswald, you can’t fire me on account of some shoddy detective work and a crummy news article. I can understand the consideration of letting me go on account of my lack of social skills. I just need to practice doing some mock arrangements with Jackie. I know if I keep practicing and get assigned to assist on more funeral services, I’ll be able to master every aspect of funeral services.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  “I’m the best embalmer you’ve got and… sorry, what?” Marla hadn’t anticipated not needing to defend herself.

  “You’re right, Marla. I would be a fool to let you go. I consider you a valuable asset to my staff,” Mr. Oswald said. “Not only are you hard-working, eager to learn, and respectful, you have that incredibly handy memory. With you around, I never have to look up a single phone number!”

  Embarrassed and flattered, Marla slowly lowered herself back into the chair.

  “For now, I’d like you to take a leave from here,” Mr. Oswald said. “It won’t be for long. I’m sure once Reggie’s service comes to pass, and the police manage to find themselves some real suspects, your name will be cleared, and you’ll be back to work.”

  He stood, prompting Marla to stand. She felt awkward doing so, as she’d just sat down.

  “I know this isn’t ideal for you, but I can’t have you around when Reggie’s family and friends are going to be coming in and out of the funeral home. If someone were to see you and recognize your name from the article, it would spell bad news for me and you both.”

  Mr. Oswald placed a hand on Marla’s shoulder. He smiled at her reassuringly.

  “Consider this a vacation of sorts,” he said. “Go home, relax, and keep your nose clean. This will pass. But, for now, hang in there. When you come back I’ll ensure to focus on training you in the other aspects of funeral work. You’re right, handling arrangements and services takes time and practice.”

  Marla left the funeral home uncertain of how to feel. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling nothing or everything. As she made her way across the parking lot, she was unfortunate enough to bump into the one person she didn’t want to see: Speckleman.

  “You’re going home so soon?” he said, snidely. A cigarette dangled from between his fingers. “I take it you had a little chat with Mr. Oswald about your moment of fame in the news?”

  “Yup,” Marla answered. She wasn’t about to give Speckleman the satisfaction of an argument.

  Desperate to gloat, he followed her until she was halfway into her car.

  “I guess this is goodbye forever,” he said. “I wish I could say it was a pleasure working with you but −- ”

  “I’m coming back, Speckleman,” Marla informed him. “Mr. Oswald gave me a few days off. I’m going on vacation. It looks like being a murder suspect ain’t so bad. When I return, Mr. Oswald is going to start assigning me more responsibilities with meeting families.”

  There was no greater gratification for Marla than to see the gobsmacked look on Speckleman’s ugly face. She closed the door of her car and swept on a pair of sunglasses like the badass protagonist of an action film. The engine of her car revved; she lowered the window pane on the driver’s door.

  “While I’m gone, you’ll have to do all the embalming,” she said to Speckleman. “I’m pretty sure we just got a new call for a four-hundred-pound person who was found dead next to the furnace in their basement. Have fun with that one.”

  Marla was lying. The funeral home hadn’t received an oversized case. Given the amount of lying Speckleman had done in an attempt to destroy her, one little lie on her side wouldn’t hurt.

  She then drove off. She smiled as she looked into her rearview mirror to see Speckleman gaping in confusion. Thanks to him, she was going to lose several days of work. On the plus side, at least Mr. Oswald hadn’t fired her. Not only that, but he’d also mentioned valuing her. She was lucky to have him for a boss. Had it been someone else, they might have believed her to be a possible murder suspect, thus putting an end to her career.

  At least now I have time to clean my condo, Marla thought.

  She didn’t think she’d be glad to have a giant mess to deal with, but oddly enough, Marla found the task of reorganizing her scattered belongings soothing. For the next couple of hours, she played her favorite music playlists and chipped away at getting her condo back to normal. It was when the job was finished that she began to feel uncomfortable.

  Now what? she thought as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The longer she remained atop the soft sheets, the sleepier she became.

  It felt as though she’d only been asleep for a moment when she came to. The dark sky proved this to be untrue. She moaned and stretched her arms above her head. The cleaning had exhausted her more than she’d realized. A glance at her watch told her that she’d napped well into the evening.

  Recalling the kiss she’d shared with Dane, Marla fetched her phone. She chose not to hesitate in contacting him. The man had kissed her and then fled the scene like Cinderella. It was doubtful he’d done so to avoid driving home in a pumpkin. She wanted answers. That, and she needed to tell him about her forced vacation.

  Does he know details of the case were leaked? Marla wondered.

  “Hello?” Dane’s voice sounded groggy, as though he’d just been about to fall asleep. The image of a sleeping Dane was too cute for Marla to handle.