by Hank Edwards
He shook his head, stroking Mr. Pickles’s soft back to soothe his own mind. “I haven’t the slightest clue. But I’m fine. I worry about Jazz, though. I’m surrounded by death every day, and he’s surrounded by happiness and light. He’s not used to such darkness.”
Tipping her head, Kitty regarded him a moment. “Well, if you need to grab a few tequila shooters at the Roost and talk, you just let me know.”
The offer startled him a little, but settled like a warm hot chocolate inside him. He smiled at her. “I will, thank you.”
“Night, then. See you in the A.M.”
“Good night, Kitty.” With that, Michael left her to her bookkeeping. He hung the cardigan on a hook near the back door and then stepped outside. Seeing Beulah parked beside the garage made him smile. Maybe he’d ask Steve to make some room in the garage so Jazz could park it out of the elements.
The sun was past its zenith, golden and beautiful as puffy white clouds drifted past. Michael stood on the grass of his backyard and watched the clouds, wishing Jazz was there beside him. But Jazz was coming over to the house when he finished. Michael didn’t know what had changed his mind, but he was happy that Jazz didn’t want to be alone after such an emotionally taxing day.
Mr. Pickles squirmed in his arms.
“All right, let’s go,” Michael whispered and kissed the top of the cat’s head. “I’m sure you’re hungry, Your Highness.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SUNDAY DAWNED hot and steamy. It would be one of the busiest days Michael and his crew had dealt with in a long time. As if the day weren’t hectic enough, a surprise call had come in from the Bluffs early that morning. Adina Rosenstadt had passed in her sleep, so it seemed, and Steve and Ezra had just returned from collecting her.
In his office, Michael was completing the last of the invoices before the two viewings began.
After Jazz had put the finishing touches on his ladies last night, he’d walked over to the house, where Michael had grilled burgers and a salad waiting for him. They chatted about nothing in particular, both too tired to brainstorm theories about the murders.
But they weren’t too tired to share a shower and swap soapy hand jobs before settling in bed to watch Jane the Virgin.
Jazz had fallen asleep in the middle of the second episode, so Michael shut off the TV and snuggled up close against him. They’d been restless, however, neither of them managing to get a good night’s sleep. Michael’s mind had been on a loopty-loop of thoughts flipping back and forth between the murders, work, and his concern for Jazz’s plans on Monday. And Jazz had most likely been thinking about Norbert in his salon chair and his impending visit to Russell.
They were up with the sunrise, Jazz giving him a chaste kiss goodbye before the coffeepot had even finished. He was headed over to Misty’s, having promised to help her do some yard work for the party, and he wanted to get it done before the heat of the day set upon them. Michael had watched him go with sweet longing, then turned away to prepare himself and Mr. Pickles something to eat. Afterward, he’d gotten dressed and headed over to the parlor before his staff arrived—Mr. Pickles in tow.
He really needed to get these invoices done for Kitty.
Even though tomorrow would be incredibly hectic as well, with two funeral services, Michael hoped Jazz would stay over tonight again. They could use as much alone time as they could get, to connect and support each other before Jazz faced Russell.
Still unsure how he felt about that, Michael tried to focus on the paperwork on the desk before him. But his mind wouldn’t settle enough to concentrate.
A knock on the door had him glancing up to find Steve standing there. “Everything all right?”
“No worries, Captain. I’m done with the setups in the Serenity and Harmony rooms for the visitations.” Steve stepped into the office. “And Mrs. Rosenstadt’s family just pulled in. Kitty’s getting them settled in the reposing room. I called the rabbi already.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right there.”
The Bluffs had a large number of Jewish residents—and quite a few Orthodox Jews—all who chose Fleishman’s for their final arrangements. Like so many of them, Mrs. Rosenstadt had a prearranged funeral, and her interment would happen first thing tomorrow morning. With the other two clients on display—also former residents of the Bluffs—many guests planned to visit both of the deceased and would probably wish to see Mrs. Rosenstadt as well.
The phrase kill two birds with one stone morbidly went through Michael’s mind, and he pushed it away.
He’d been pushing a lot of thoughts away recently—like his concerns about Jazz’s trip tomorrow to visit Russell. Although he understood the need for it, he wondered if it was wise.
“You holding up okay?” Steve asked.
Michael managed a smile. “We’ve juggled multiple funerals before.”
“I meant about the murders,” Steve said softly. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, Captain. Not that I think you can’t handle it, but thought I would check in.”
“Oh, yes. The murders are on an entirely different level from the work here.”
There was much to do the rest of this weekend, and a killer still roamed Lacetown among the crowds at the music festival. Michael hoped no one else would turn up dead. Worry that it might be someone closer to either him or Jazz had also kept him from sleeping soundly.
Or maybe the killer was after one of them.
Steve turned to leave and nearly crashed into Parker Trevino.
“Excuse you,” Trevino snapped.
“Sorry about that, Mr.…. Oh!”
Steve sounded so shocked it brought Michael out from behind his desk and to the door. When he caught sight of Trevino, he stopped and said, “Oh my.”
The hives had doubled on Trevino’s face. One had sprouted on the tip of his nose, red and shining like neon.
Santa might have lost his Rudolph right here in Lacetown.
Trevino’s scowl deepened. “Your pharmacy is shockingly lacking in basic medications,” he snarled. “As you can plainly see by my worsening condition.”
“Parker,” Michael said, “I’m so sorry. That must be very painful. You should see a doctor about this. Allergic reactions can escalate rapidly.”
Trevino sneered. “Your sympathy is overwhelming, but I didn’t come here for that. I have a few things to finish up downstairs, and I’ve misplaced my sweater.” He scratched his arms and his hand drifted toward his face before he dropped it back to his side.
“Sweater?” Michael asked.
“Yes, my cardigan. The breeze is quite temperate this close to the lake. I’ve been wearing it each morning. I couldn’t find it when I was packing, however, and figured I had left it here.”
Michael glanced over his shoulder to where Mr. Pickles lay curled up on the top level of his kitty condo. Oh. Oh dear.
Returning his attention to Trevino, Michael gestured toward the back entrance. “I did find a sweater in one of the rooms. I hung it by the back door.”
“Very good. Thank you. I’ll grab it and go downstairs to finish a few things up before I leave.”
“Certainly, just….”
Trevino turned back, his impatience clear from his expression. “Yes?”
“My cat was lying on your sweater,” Michael admitted. “Are you allergic to cats?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Trevino said, then scowled. “And that sweater is cashmere. If your feline snagged it, I’ll be sending you a bill.”
Michael watched Trevino’s back as he walked away, hives on the back of his neck like angry red eyes staring back at him.
Michael returned to his desk and stood beside the kitty condo a moment. Mr. Pickles lifted his head and regarded him with narrowed eyes.
“Did you do that on purpose?” Michael whispered with a gentle finger scratch on the cat’s head. “Did you know he was allergic and lie on his sweater?”
Mr. Pickles blinked a few times, then got up to shift position, turning h
is back on Michael.
Steve chuckled. “Oh, sweet karma.”
“Indeed.” Michael sat at his desk again, but any amusement at Trevino’s situation faded as his mind looped back to the murders and all his unanswered questions.
If only he was involved with the case.
Michael sighed. “It is frustrating to not be the coroner for these cases. Maybe it’s a bit too much of a control-freak nature coming out, but I feel very much out of the loop on this.”
“That’s the intention, though, right?”
“Yes, I understand the need for me to step aside as coroner, but I’m worried Trevino missed something important because he didn’t know to look for it. Does that make sense?”
“You mean since you’ve got a history with Norbert and the previous case you were all involved in, you think you might have been more qualified to perform the autopsies?” Steve asked.
“That’s right. He doesn’t have the history I do with all of this.”
“And that’s the point, right? You have a history with Norbert. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will find something you might overlook because you would have been focusing on looking for something you think you might see.”
“That’s very insightful.”
Steve shrugged. “A blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while, Captain. I must be having a good day, though, because it usually takes a few beers to get me there.”
“Well, I think you can pass on the beer later. You’ve already achieved enlightenment for today,” Michael said, and they both chuckled.
Michael’s phone buzzed on the desk next to him, and he touched the screen. As it did every time, a rush of warmth went through him at the sight of a text message from Jazz.
“Only one thing makes a man’s face light up that way,” Steve said. “I’m guessing that text is from Jazz.”
“You guess correctly,” Michael said as he read the text a second time.
Been daydreaming about that steamy shower last night. Can’t wait to see you later at Misty’s party. Jazz had added two eggplants, a bathtub, hearts, and two emoji men holding hands to the message.
Smiling, Michael sent back a response: I’m looking forward to it as well. Seems like forever since I’ve seen you.
“You’re going to Misty’s cookout with him,” Steve said, more statement than question.
“That was the plan.”
“Good. You need to see him today.”
“It would be nice,” Michael said with a sigh. He was questioning whether or not it was wise to leave work for fun when there was so much to be done. “Really depends on the flow of visitors, though.”
“You’ll go,” Steve said, crossing his arms and looking handsome and commanding in his gray suit.
Michael envied Steve’s laid-back masculinity and coordination. In preparation for his date with Jazz, Michael had laid out a bold-for-him silk hawaiian shirt, shorts, and a pair of sandals he hadn’t worn for a couple of summers—no one had invited him to a cookout in a long time. “It’s going to be one of our busiest days in a while,” Michael said, fingers fidgeting guiltily atop the desk. “I really feel like I should be here.”
“Kitty, Ezra, and I can handle cleaning up after the visitations and setting up for services tomorrow. We’ve all done it before.”
“I know, but these two ladies passing so close together, and now with Mrs. Rosenstadt downstairs as well, it seems like a lot to ask.”
“Nothing happens with Mrs. Rosenstadt until tomorrow. And the rabbi’s coming to sit with her today, right?”
Michael nodded, feeling better about leaving for his date. “That’s right.”
“So that leaves all three of us available for the attendees. And I’m sure your grandpa won’t miss out on a chance to scope out all the widows at the showing. So he’ll be here too.”
“Funerals as a social event.” Michael shook his head. “Will we be like that one day?”
“Most likely,” Steve said. “If anything comes up we need you for, we can call you. You won’t be far away.”
“Yes, but—” Michael began.
“You’re going,” Kitty said as she breezed past his doorway. “You deserve a life outside of this parlor.”
“Told ya, Captain,” Steve said with a grin.
Michael shook his head at his employees—his friends?
Smiling, he thought about Friday night, how everyone had come to their defense at the festival. He’d always just considered Kitty and Steve his employees. Yet each of them seemed concerned about how he was handling the murders. And they always had encouraging things to say when it came to his relationship with Jazz. They were genuinely concerned for his welfare… like true friends.
That knowledge settled like a contented warmth inside his heart.
How had he gotten so lucky?
“MIKEY!”
Michael turned as Grandpa made his way up the concrete ramp that led from the back parking lot to the side entrance of the funeral home. He wore another of his seersucker suits he was famous for, this one a peach striped number that could only be pulled off by his grandfather. Mona walked beside him, one arm linked with his, a purse the size of an airline carry-on bag hanging from the crook of the other—probably toting another bottle of manhattans.
“Hi, Grandpa,” Michael said. “Mona, you look very nice.”
Mona smiled and pushed her big sunglasses up her nose. “Why, thank you, Michael.”
“What about me?” Grandpa stopped in front of Michael and opened his arms wide. “Don’t I look very nice?”
“You’re the very definition of dapper.”
“Damn right I am,” Grandpa said, then leaned in and dropped his voice. “Did you set out the fruit punch and lemonade? And coffee and hot water for tea?”
Michael nodded patiently. “I did, as usual.”
“And the cookies from Robichaux Bakery?” Mona whispered, also leaning in.
“And the cookies,” Michael assured her, then leaned in even closer and lowered his voice. “Three different types.”
Grandpa made an impressed face as he and Mona looked at each other. “Get this guy,” he said. “Putting the ‘ancy’ in fancy.”
He and Mona laughed, and Michael wondered if it was some kind of private joke.
“Why don’t you go in and pay your respects?” Michael said, hoping to inject a bit more solemnity into each of them. It was a double visitation after all.
The two tempered their humor, and Grandpa gave a somber nod. “We’ll see you inside, Mikey.”
“Yes, I’ll see you in there.”
As they started to step into the funeral home, Michael took his grandfather by the elbow. “Please tell me Mona’s not smuggling manhattans in her oversized purse.”
Grandpa feigned surprise. “Mikey. Why, I never. This is a very serious day. We’re here to pay our respects to our friends who have passed beyond the veil.”
“Uh-huh.” Michael gave both of them long, pointed looks. “Don’t overdo it.”
Grandpa nodded and gave a wink as he touched the brim of his hat. “We’ll keep things discreet. You’ve got my word. By the way, good thinking to schedule the viewings at the same time but stagger the burials tomorrow.”
Michael watched them walk off arm in arm, and a warm glow of affection burned through any annoyance he might have felt. He loved his grandfather and was very glad he’d found a steady girlfriend to spend time with. Everyone needed someone special in their life, no matter what age, race, or orientation.
He smiled as his thoughts turned inevitably to Jazz. In just a few hours he’d get to see his sexy hairstylist again. Since they’d made the decision to not bother with condoms anymore, Michael had wanted a repeat performance. Last night they’d only had the energy for slow sensuous hand jobs in the shower. He was excited to try some other positions, to feel Jazz come inside him, to be on the receiving end of that shared intimacy. A tremble fluttered low in his belly at the prospect of being with Jazz like that.
&
nbsp; A large transport van stopped at the bottom of the access ramp, bringing Michael’s attention to the task at hand. Painted across the side was the name the Bluffs at Lake View, and Michael could see a number of elderly women sitting in the back. He descended the ramp and helped each of the women off the van, smiling pleasantly and greeting them all by name.
Only one of them refused his hand, and she glared at him as she slowly stepped out of the van.
“Don’t need any help from you, thank you very much,” she said in a snappish tone. “You’re profiting off all of us at the Bluffs. Until it’s my time to lay on your damn steel table, I don’t want you touching me.”
Michael nodded and kept his hands at his sides. “I’m glad to see you’re still so spry, Mrs. Clarence. There are refreshments waiting for you all after you pay your respects.”
The group of women smiled and nodded, some of them clasping hands and others linking arms as they made their way up the ramp to the door. Michael watched them go, Mrs. Clarence’s gripes fading as she stepped inside.
When he turned, a familiar face beamed at Michael.
“Rabbi Daniel,” he greeted the man with a handshake. “It’s unfortunate to see you under such sad circumstances.”
“Yes, I didn’t think I would get to see you again until your annual visit to temple for Yom Kippur.”
The flush of guilt was so similar to the way his mother had often manipulated him when he was a child. Granted, Mother had been quick to run away for her new exciting life in California, but she always managed to layer on that stereotypical Jewish mother guilt. Apparently the rabbi was schooled in yenta guilt as well.
Pushing it down, Michael held the door open for the rabbi. “Please, come in.”
Rabbi Daniel smiled sadly at him. “This visit isn’t as pleasant as seeing you at temple.”
“Unfortunately, death is an on-call business and I can’t plan as well as I would like to.” It was a lie with some elements of truth, and Michael felt guilty again.
He gave Michael a scrutinizing once-over. “How are you doing? Truly?”