Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
The walls are covered in faded gold wallpaper. Under our feet, the well-worn carpet does little to mask our heavy footsteps.
“Dude really digs yellow,” Jiggy whispers to me.
“Someone probably told him it was soothing or uplifting or some shit back in the seventies.”
He snickers and keeps walking.
Cedarwood stops in the doorway of what looks like a cross between a morgue and a therapeutic massage room.
A plump, curvy young woman in glasses and protective gear barely turns away from the casket in front of her. From the doorway, we can’t see past all the white satin lining, but I’m pretty sure a body rests inside.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Jiggy mutters.
“Dad, I’m almost finished with Mrs. O’Leary. I went with a slightly peachier blush. I think she’d like it if—” She glances up, and her voice halts. She pulls down her mask, snaps her gloves off, and steps away from the casket.
“Oh hell,” Jiggy whispers.
With her blond hair pulled into a severe knot, thick, black-rimmed glasses, and a lab coat, she looks like she’s ready to attend a Halloween party as a “sexy scientist”—you know, if you overlook the playing-with-corpses thing.
“Don’t,” I warn Jigsaw.
Cedarwood nods at the woman. “This is my daughter, Margot. She’s our mortuary cosmetologist.” He doesn’t bother introducing us one by one.
Jigsaw solves that problem by stepping right up to her and introducing himself. While I share an eye roll with Murphy, I note Jiggy’s deliberately positioned himself away from the casket.
“Follow me, gentlemen,” Cedarwood says. “Get back to work, Margot.”
She scurries away, stopping at a cabinet to grab a fresh pair of gloves.
“Damn,” Jiggy whispers, shooting a murderous glare at Cedarwood.
“Easy, killer,” I warn.
The five of us file into Cedarwood’s office. More worn carpet. Chipped furniture. Wallpaper peeling in spots. But it’s large enough to accommodate an entire grieving family. Still, I wonder how much business he loses due to the shabby appearance of the place.
“So,” Mr. Cedarwood says, turning his attention to Rock. “Your son says your motorcycle club is interested in investing in my family’s legacy.”
“We’re interested in an arrangement with a business that has roots in the community,” Rock says, ignoring the whole legacy thing.
“What kind of arrangement are we talking about? Anything that will get me or my family in trouble?”
Smart question.
“Nothing like that,” I say smoothly. “You’re the only funeral home in the area. Guaranteed business, right?”
Cedarwood sits straighter, beaming with pride. “We have a good relationship with the local hospitals. Or we used to.”
I nod to the shred of wallpaper hanging on by a thread above his desk. “A renovation might inspire more confidence.”
He stares at the wallpaper as if he’s just noticed its shoddy condition. His gaze pops around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time in a long while. “You’re probably right,” he mumbles.
“Hey, I get it. If you look at the same thing day after day, the flaws disappear.” I gesture to Rock, Murphy, Jigsaw, and myself. “We can be your fresh eyes.”
“That would be nice. My sons didn’t have any interest in helping out.”
“What about Margot?” Jigsaw asks.
“Margot’s our cosmetologist.” Cedarwood flips his hand toward the door in a dismissive gesture. “She can’t run the place.”
You favor sons over daughters. Got it.
The casual sexism isn’t my problem yet. So I continue making my sales pitch.
“What’s the catch?” he asks when I’m finished.
“I’ll handle the books.”
“Our bank has a lot of protocols in place to spot any—”
“I’ll handle the banking too.” This is non-negotiable. “And occasionally, we might ask to borrow the facilities after hours.”
That part he doesn’t even question. Just how many off-the-books bodies has Cedarwood burned in his lifetime?
“What did your sons end up doing, if they didn’t join the family business?” Murphy asks.
Not a question I’d planned to ask, but I’m actually glad he brought it up. I want to see if Cedarwood’s answer matches the information I uncovered.
“One owns A-1 Wine and Spirits in Slater.”
“I love that place,” Jigsaw says. “They carry all the good stuff.”
Cedarwood answers with a pinched face. “Yes, James works very hard to stand out from the rest. Aaron is a dentist.”
“He thought fixing teeth was better than playing with dead people?” Jiggy asks.
“We don’t play with our clients,” Cedarwood huffs.
Rock shoots a shut-the-fuck-up face at Jiggy who thankfully sits back and zips his lips for the rest of the meeting.
After our sit-down, Cedarwood finishes our tour of the entire facility, including the family’s living quarters on the third floor and the cremation chambers.
Rock works out the details for our lawyers to get together and draw up paperwork. I’ll have to sit down with someone at Glassman’s firm this week, which will be annoying as fuck, but necessary.
When we’re finished, the four of us stand next to our bikes at the back of the parking lot. Every few minutes, a car drives by, but otherwise, the neighborhood is serene.