Page 34 of Barristers & Bones

As I walked through the funeral parlor, I veered to Ezra’s office when I saw his light on.

“Hey. What are you doing here on Thanksgiving morning?” I asked.

He looked up at me from his desk and smiled. “Good morning. I wanted to catch up on a few things, and I already have the turkey in the oven. How’s your internship going?”

I shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “It’s frustrating and strange. But I like the field trips.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Fenn wonders why you’re interning there, especially since you already set things up with Artie. Kilian seems to think the partners are alright.”

Fennick and Kilian Spade were Sylvie’s cousins, along with the twins Callum and Declan. They oversaw the House of Spades’ other holdings, and I loved them all like brothers, but I had no illusions.

“The partners have a successful law firm, but they have a lot of other business interests. It reminds me of the House of Spades.” I knew not all the Spade businesses were entirely legal, but I didn’t care. These people had become my family when my own threw me away like garbage.

Ezra studied me. “Most people seem to grudgingly respect them, but be careful, Luna. Roman is ruthless.”

My lips turned down. Cameron Wilder had voiced the same concerns. “I will. When should we come over today?”

“At noon, and we’ll eat around one, or when the turkey gets done.”

“Sounds good. We’re bringing three pies, brownies, and ice cream.” I smiled as I left his office. Thanksgiving always got a little rowdy at Ezra’s house, but I soaked up the craziness like a sponge.

It was quiet today in the mortuary's work area. I donned a plastic apron, face visor, and the rest of my protection equipment, and found Sylvie in the embalming room. The concrete floor had a drain in the center, and a steel sink and countertop sat on the opposite wall. It reminded me vaguely of a school cafeteria.

Sylvie had already wheeled the body in and was in the process of washing and disinfecting him. “Hey. Good timing. Get your rubber boots on and come help me spread his thighs.”

She used to wear runners with shoe covers until she’d splashed bodily fluid from a particularly ripe corpse onto her leg one day, and the viscous liquid had seeped down into her shoe.

We’d both promptly switched to rubber boots. Mine were a bright sunshine yellow with white polka dots, and hers were a shimmery, sparkly pink.

After we finished cleaning him, she cut the carotid artery so she could drain the body. I looked down at the massive man on the table while she made the cut and hooked him up to the drain tube.

I glanced over at Sylvie. “He’s a big one. I’ll get the spreader so we can reach his femoral artery.”

“Thanks. I’ll man the trocar, and we’ll get him drained first.”

Sylvie usually injected the embalming fluid through an artery at the thigh, but the tissue spreader sometimes had to be used if the body was too thick. I’d never “manned the trocar,” which was a long, sharp hollow instrument used to suction fluids and gases out of the body. Sylvie also used an arterial tube to inject the embalming fluid after draining the corpse.

That’s why she got paid the big bucks. Getting the fluid pressure just right was important so the face and body didn’t appear too emaciated or bloated. I sometimes got a little squeamish when she made those cuts or used the machine, and the occasional hissing or slurping sounds didn’t help.

She set the body into position beforehand since it was difficult to re-set after embalming. It took some time to replace the natural fluids with the embalming solution. Sylvie had chosen a color with a nice, rosy tint. After she finished, we thoroughly washed and sponged the body down, massaging and disseminating the new fluid throughout the limbs.

When we were done, we both stepped back and inspected our work. The corpse had smelled faintly of human waste and sweet rotten flesh before it went bad. Now it just smelled faintly of chemicals, and he was ready for his burial clothes, eye caps, a little makeup, and then the casket.

“Promise me you won’t try to casket him yourself,” I grunted as we wheeled him back into the refrigerator.

She shut the door and turned to me. “Don’t worry, I’ll use the lift and get one of the cousins to assist me. Happy Thanksgiving. I hope this won’t put you off your turkey.”

“Maybe just the cranberry sauce,” I teased.

When I first moved in with Sylvie and her mother, I was a silent, broken shell, and that first holiday season had been dark and bleak. But Sylvie’s mother took her own life a few months later, and it was my turn to be the strong one for her.

Then Ezra and the rest of the Las Vegas Spade family took us both in and showed us nothing but unconditional love and patience. And now, I looked forward to the holidays.

My life had gone in a direction I’d never imagined, but with time and perspective, I realized that I’d been lucky to get out from under my parents’ sphere and influence. They were incapable of healthy, parental nurturing or love, but Ezra and the cousins had given us that in spades.

I remembered the day we toured his sprawling mortuary and its adjoining cemetery. He’d told us the local stories about haunted graves and ghost sightings, and showed us all the strange nooks and crannies in the sprawling estate. It was like finding the secret garden, only this one was filled with a mortuary, a graveyard, and dead bodies that came and went.

We peeled off our protective gear, washed up, and headed back through the funeral home. I heard Ezra talking to someone in his office, and I recognized Roman’s voice. What in the world was he doing here? My jaw clenched and adrenaline hit my system. He was in for an earful if he thought he could drag me into work with him today.

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