Murder Most Deserving

by Hank Edwards

  Everyone kept asking him that. Did he look that bad?

  For a flash, Michael thought about sharing what was going on in his life with the rabbi, but the urge quickly passed. There was no way in all that was hot and holy he’d tell a rabbi that he was excited about the new stage of his relationship with Jazz—aka sex without condoms. Or that he couldn’t sleep because he was scared and nervous about Jazz visiting his murderous husband in prison without Michael. He had no information about the murders or why it seemed he and Jazz were being targeted either. So what else was he supposed to tell the man? That he really got off on spanking his boyfriend hard, and he couldn’t wait to do it again?

  Might as well confess about his sex toy collection!

  “I’m doing well, rabbi,” Michael answered with a smile. “Thank you for asking. Ezra brought Mrs. Rosenstadt to the reposing room for you to sit with her as the shomer.”

  From the moment of death until burial, the body of an Orthodox Jew should not be unattended. If a rabbi or family member wasn’t available, someone from the staff—including, Michael himself sometimes—would act as the deceased’s shomer, or guardian.

  “Very good. I know the way.” He paused and tipped his head at Michael. “I’m glad to know you’re observing the customs here, even if you aren’t making it to temple as often as you should.”

  Ah, the guilt!

  “Yes, of course.” There were a lot of strict Jews at the Bluffs, and Michael always made sure he observed all the customs for them.

  After the rabbi left, Michael greeted a number of other arrivals before the heat forced him to follow a trio of senior men inside. And Trevino thinks it’s cold by the lake? Idiot.

  “Think Joel is here?” one of the senior men asked.

  “He’d better be,” another said. “I’ve got a date later.”

  “I’m hoping to score a date with one of the fillies here today,” a third man said. “Think he can help me out?”

  Michael wondered briefly why the men were talking about his grandfather as if he were some kind of dating guru, then recalled how many widows Grandpa had dated before meeting Mona. Michael moved around the men and checked on things in both display rooms, making sure tissue boxes were full, visitors comfortable, and that the video Kitty had put together for one of the families was still playing. The cloying scent of roses, carnations, and lilies filled the air from the extensive floral arrangements sent for both the deceased. Michael tried not to frown when he heard the soft ping-ping of an electronic game a small child played on one of the couches. It wasn’t terribly intrusive over everyone’s chatter and at least it kept the boy from getting underfoot.

  Eventually he found himself in the kitchen, where he noted the cookies had been heavily picked over by the socializing seniors. He moved all the cookies to one tray, then took the empty platter to the employee break room to refill it.

  He found Ezra stretching to reach the high shelf where the cookie boxes were—obviously having the same thought as Michael.

  Pleased with the thoroughness of his staff, Michael stepped into the room. “Here, let me get that, Ezra.” He reached over the shorter man and brought down two boxes.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I trust the rabbi is settled?” Michael opened the box, the attractive and delicious baked goods colorful and appealing. Robichaux’s really made the best cookies.

  “Yes, and Mrs. Feldstein is actually speaking with him.” Ezra gave Michael an impish look. “I hope she isn’t telling the rabbi what she was complaining to me about.”

  Michael frowned. Tova Feldstein often performed the rituals of rechitzah and taharah for his Orthodox women clients—the processes of washing and purifying the body prior to internment. “What was she complaining about?”

  Ezra leaned in, barely able to contain a giggle. “She said that the Bluffs is full of nafkas and shiskas.”

  Michael sniffed with amusement, because Grandpa had said the same once but with decidedly different meaning. “Why would she say that?” He arranged the iced gingerbread cookies on the platter.

  Ezra looked at the doorway, then whispered hurriedly, “Apparently Mrs. Goldfarb and Mrs. Rosenstadt both had… um? You know? Semen on their stomachs.”

  Ezra spoke the word so quietly, Michael wasn’t sure he heard correctly. Then he froze, transfixed by the globs of white icing on the cookie in his hand. How unfortunate.

  While his first instinct was to make a funny comment, this wasn’t Jazz he was talking to, rather, an employee. “Oy vey,” he muttered, setting the cookie down. “Well, old people do have sex. Even if we don’t want to picture it.”

  “Of course.” Ezra schooled his features.

  Michael thought back to his ice cream date with Jazz. It had been their third try at a complete date, having been interrupted by the break-in at the funeral home first and Dylan’s finger landing in their guac during the second—to this day Michael had lost all appetite for anything avocado related. At the Dairy Clipper, they’d joked about Cialis pudding. Michael could hear Jazz’s laughter as warm as a caress.

  But that easygoing laughter he’d grown to love had become in short supply recently, this weekend making it more scarce. Michael truly hoped the visit with Russell had the desired effect Jazz sought and didn’t backfire, causing Jazz to slip deeper into the darkness threatening his spirit.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” Ezra asked softly.

  Am I that obvious? Maybe I’m not handling all this stress as well as I imagined. He forced a smile. “I think I’m okay.”

  “Are you? When Jazz came by yesterday to style our clients, he seemed very distant as well. And I didn’t see his scooter this morning.”

  “He left early. It’s a busy weekend.”

  “Indeed,” Ezra said with a somber nod. “Was he very close with the man found at the salon? Did they have… a past?”

  “Not in the way you might be thinking. Norbert was the PR representative for Jazz’s ex-husband.” Soon to be ex, anyway.

  Michael sighed. He wished the whole thing with Russell was over!

  “Oh.” Ezra went back to straightening the cookies. “I was hoping things were all right between the two of you. I’m glad it’s nothing of an intimate problem.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Michael blustered. “He’s….” Stressed? “We’re both just very busy and working through things.”

  “I’m sure it’s difficult, for the both of you.”

  “Yes. Well, things will get better.”

  They’re going to, I’m sure of it.

  “Michael.” Kitty popped her head in the door. “There you are.”

  Grateful to have an out, though curious about what Ezra had been implying, Michael excused himself.

  “How are things?” Michael asked her as he took the tray back.

  “Pretty standard,” Kitty said, and smiled and nodded at a few people entering the room. “There has been some discussion about the sizes of the rooms.”

  Michael had been afraid of that. “The display rooms are nearly identical in size,” he whispered.

  “Yes, nearly being the key word. Some of the women were whispering that Mrs. Blankenship should’ve been in this room and Mrs. Murray in the Serenity Room.”

  Michael really had to fight back an eye roll. “No one can tell the difference of dimensions by the naked eye.”

  “You and I know that, but I wanted to make you aware of what people were saying.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  The volume of conversation was louder than most showings, mostly because of the hearing loss suffered by the majority of the attendees. Michael caught snippets about recipes favored by the deceased, specific pieces of jewelry worn by the two women, and the fate of other residents at the Bluffs.

  “Lots of Joel’s ex lady friends are popping up dead,” the cantankerous Mrs. Clarence was saying.

  “You’re just jealous he hasn’t asked you to dinner,” another said as she sipped punch.

  �
�Says you,” the old woman snapped back.

  Michael arched his brows at Kitty, but a sudden tension quieted the conversations around them. They turned to see Kevin Raines standing in the hallway between display rooms. He wore a brown sport coat over a white shirt with blue checks and a solid blue tie. His thinning hair was long, now that Michael noticed, but it didn’t make him look bad. Kevin was handsome, but the aura of exasperation coming off him seemed to quell all other energy in a room. A woman stood beside Kevin, dark hair in a neat bun at the back of her neck. Michael thought she looked familiar, but couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.

  He decided to take the first step and approached, reaching out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Raines. It’s good of you to come.”

  “Why wouldn’t I have come? I work with these people. Of course I’m going to come and pay my respects.”

  “I meant nothing by it,” Michael said. “Simply a statement.”

  Kevin grunted as he shook hands with Michael. His palm felt wet, almost greasy, and Michael had to resist the urge to wipe his hand on his pant leg afterward.

  “This is Susan Gunderson,” Kevin said, tipping his head toward the woman. “She’s one of the admins at the Bluffs.”

  “Ah yes, I thought I recognized you.” Michael smiled and shook with her. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve seen you at the front desk when I’ve visited my grandfather.”

  “Nice to meet you too,” Susan said. “Your grandpa is quite the character.” She turned to Kevin. “I’m going to pay my respects.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Kevin said.

  Susan walked off, turning her head this way and that as if she were searching for someone.

  “You’ve got a booming business going, thanks to me,” Kevin said, drawing Michael’s attention again. He must have heard how his statement sounded, because he paled and looked at Michael with wide eyes. “I meant… I didn’t mean….”

  Michael waved a hand in dismissal. “No need to explain. I am proud and honored to be able to host the final farewell for so many of your residents. I only hope all of them trust that those of us at Fleishman Funeral Parlor will honor their final wishes with dignity and respect, no matter their spiritual beliefs.”

  At that moment, a trio of elderly ladies walked by, moving from the Harmony Room to the Serenity Room. As they passed, one of the women whispered, “Ruth looks better now than she has in the last five years.”

  “It’s that new beautician they got at Misty’s Makeover Palace,” another replied. “He’s a magician with hair and makeup.”

  Michael’s heart swelled with pride, and he couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “I gotta call over there and get on his schedule,” the third woman said as she ran skinny and wrinkled fingers through her white hair. “I’d like to look good while I’ve still got some time left.”

  “You said it,” one of the others replied. “That Martin Firestone has been eyeing me during pinochle. Rumor has it he’s got a bit of coal in his engine still. And he’s been talking up Joel Fleishman, so you know he’s good to go.”

  The three tittered like schoolgirls and continued into the Serenity Room.

  “Jazz has really got a following at the Bluffs,” Michael said, then regretted it when he remembered who he was talking to.

  Kevin’s eyes narrowed, and his face grew red. “This keeps up and I’ll never manage to get an appointment with him.”

  “You know Misty has several qualified stylists working for her,” Michael said.

  Kevin gave him a smile that looked more like a sneer. “That’s funny. Next thing you’re going to do is suggest I go to Elmer’s Barbershop in Bridlestop.”

  Michael bristled a bit but decided not to rise to the bait. Kevin probably knew Michael went to Elmer to get his own hair cut. The man wasn’t worth the reaction, and Michael definitely didn’t want to make a scene here in the hall outside two viewings.

  He gave Kevin a thin-lipped smile. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you want to pay your respects.”

  Before Kevin could respond, Michael turned and walked down the hall to his office. He opened the door and flinched. Grandpa and five men stood around Michael’s desk. They all looked up in surprise.

  Grandpa grinned wide. “Mikey!”

  “What are you all doing in here?” Michael asked, stepping into the office and surveying his space. Everything seemed to be in its proper place. He hated feeling suspicious about his own grandfather, but something about this gathering seemed very clandestine.

  “Oh, I was giving the boys here some dating tips,” Grandpa said. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

  Agreements were made all around before the men hurried past Michael and out of the office, leaving him alone with Grandpa.

  “Seems a little secretive, you using my office for that kind of pep talk,” Michael said.

  “Have you seen how many lovely widows are out there?” Grandpa waved toward the door. “You can’t swing your cane without knocking one of ’em down. Trouble is they’re never on their own, you know? They travel in groups, just like back in school, and it can be real intimidating to try and approach one of ’em. You remember how it was before you met Jazz, right?”

  Michael felt a bit flustered as he recalled his disastrous attempts over the years at asking men out. His flub-ups and tangled words had garnered him more laughs and eye rolls than actual dates.

  “Yes, all right. I just wish you would have asked first before herding them all in here.”

  Grandpa scoffed. “Yeah, right. You expect me to sidle up all casual and ask if I can use my old office to give my friends some dating advice?”

  “Fine.” Michael took Grandpa’s elbow and gently led him toward the door. “Let’s rejoin the others.”

  “Yeah, I’m going. I need to track down Mona anyway and make sure Sy isn’t making a play for her.”

  Michael stood at his office door and watched his grandfather make his way down the hall toward the display rooms. He sent a quick thank-you to whatever energy or entity that ran the universe that Grandpa was still able to get around so well at his age. And then followed that up with a wish that he and Jazz would be that spry when they reached that age.

  That wish brought up those feelings of anticipatory domesticity again. What he felt for Jazz had to be love, because he could easily imagine the two of them as senior citizens, talking about old times and gently teasing each other about all the little habits and quirks they’d come to love about each other over the years.

  The whispers of a conversation caught his attention, and he approached the kitchen, surprised to discover Trevino talking with Susan, the woman who worked with Kevin at the Bluffs.

  “Oh,” Michael said. “I thought you had left town, Parker.”

  “I was headed out of town but then realized I had forgotten my phone charger and came in to see if I’d left it downstairs,” Trevino said, a blush burning beneath his rash of hives. “I, um, was spotted by this kind woman who, um… took pity on me because of my condition and has been telling me about home remedies to help ease the itch.”

  Susan smiled and nodded. “That’s right. Home remedies.”

  “Very good,” Michael said, returning her smile before asking Trevino. “Did you find it?”

  Trevino frowned. “Find what?”

  “Your phone charger,” Michael said, feeling a bit frustrated.

  “Oh, that!” Trevino laughed and Susan joined him, but Michael just stared at them with his brow furrowed. After a moment, Trevino cleared his throat and said, “Yes. I did find it. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad.” Michael gave them a nod. “Good day.”

  As he returned to the visitations, Michael wondered how on earth Trevino got anything done in his own funeral home if he couldn’t keep track of his sweater and phone charger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  IT WAS early evening when Jazz arrived at Michael’s house. He’d received a text from Michael asking him to park in the alley behind his h
ouse, no doubt to avoid all the guests still packing the funeral home lot. Jazz had already paid his respects to his ladies last night while he styled them, and wasn’t dressed for a funeral, wearing cargo shorts and a pink-striped button-down shirt over a black tank-top.

  Michael must’ve liked Jazz’s outfit because he gave him an approving head-to-toe gaze, pausing on his feet.

  “Toe rings?” Michael observed at the flash of silver on his two longest toes. “That’s new.”

  Jazz beamed under Michael’s obvious approval. “You don’t miss a detail, do you, sweetie?”

  “Not when it comes to you.” Climbing on the back of Beulah, Michael looked like a summer dream in his cream-colored hawaiian shirt with red hibiscus and matching red shorts. He had a small cooler bag draped over one shoulder.

  “What’s in there?” Jazz asked.

  “A few bottles of white for our hostess,” Michael explained as he adjusted the cooler and scooted closer.

  “Such a gentleman,” Jazz said. “Hold on!” Then he took off down the alley, Michael wrapping his arms around Jazz’s waist tightly—just like he’d planned.

  A breeze off Lake Michigan had chased a bit of the heat from the day, and everything seemed perfect as the wind blew his hair back. The scooter was probably only going twenty-five miles an hour, but Michael held on tight.

  “I’ve already been back over to Misty’s twice after I cut her grass,” Jazz said over his shoulder. “Taking bags of ice and margarita stuff, and then the potato chips she forgot.”

  “You’ve been busy today too,” Michael said.

  “It was good to keep my mind off things.”

  Michael gave him a gentle squeeze in reply and rested the side of his head against Jazz’s back. This was perfect. He didn’t want thoughts of murder or Russell or funerals to break the spell.

  Eventually, Jazz slowed his scooter and maneuvered around a pair of sawhorses set up to block off Misty’s cul-de-sac. Tables covered in star-spangled tablecloths dotted the street in the shade of tall trees, and children played games of corn hole, ring toss, and water balloon toss on lawns. Someone had set out a lawn sprinkler at one house and several children ran screaming back and forth through the spray.