Page 3 of Leo
Telling Ms.Dennis that not everyone in Gaynor Beach was blazingly wealthy or acted like she claimed would have been a lost cause and possibly a lost client, and to be absolutely crass about it we desperately needed the money.Funeral services were, thankfully, not typically a booming business.So I bit my tongue and nodded.“Ah.”
“And,” she’d added with an extra dash of relish, “I know that I won’t know a damn thing about it after I pop my clogs, but the idea of everyone in town assuming I was going to have some last minute redemption arc tickles me no end and I’m going to go to my grave imagining the looks on their faces when they realize there’s no warm fuzzy story to make them feel better.”
Okay, maybe somebodywouldwant to celebrate her death with baked goods, but they wouldn’t send them to the funeral home.
The delivery guy just shrugged.“Look, I have more deliveries waiting and another four boxes of cupcakes in the van for this funeral.You’ll need to talk to Ambrose to fix this.”
I closed my eyes and counted to ten.
Then twenty.
“Sir?Mr.Morris?”
I opened my eyes and fixed mymeeting the bereavedsmile on my face and rose from behind my desk, moving to usher him from my office with the good ol’ fashioned funeral director hand-on-the-back, the other hand gesturing toward the exit maneuver.“I’ll be givingAmbrosea call immediately.”Holding the door open for him, I asked, “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
“Er, Ira?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Uh, yes?”
Sigh.“Thank you, Ira.Have a good day now.”
The door to the parking lot didn’t clang shut with a satisfying clatter but just sort of hiss-wheezed closed.
Everything in the home was like that—thick carpet to muffle the sound of shoes, soundproofed rooms to give the bereaved their privacy, heavy duty doors between the public facing parts of the home and the business end…
It was kind of annoying sometimes, really.Days when I wanted an epic door slam or to stomp satisfyingly across the foyer to my office, I had to settle for the polite asthmatic wheeze of the door and barely audible thumps of my steps on the plush green carpeting.
On the plus side, Edward loved it.Too much noise, too many sounds all at once, were a problem for him.Auditory processing disorder, the doctor had told me at his third year checkup.That had led to other diagnoses including Autism and mild cerebral palsy.
Which, in turn, meant I spent more time educating his teachers and childcare providers than they spent educating him.At least it felt like that.And that was also a problem to handleafterI got hold of Ambrose Jennings ofNice Buns.
Edward had managed to snag a cupcake by the time I returned to the office and I just… let him.
Some battles are lost before you even get to the field, really.
Smeared in pink frosting—I didn’t want to ask which design he’d chosen from the at least five different types I’d noticed in the delivery (please, god, don’t let it be one of the asses)—Edward was happily watching a cartoon about talking sea creatures having some sort of educational adventure, murmuring his corrections to the screen as I bent to kiss the top of his head.“Wash your hands when you’re done, okay?”
He glanced up guiltily.“Oh.It… fell off the table.”
“And into your mouth?”
He started to nod, then shook his head.“I was hungry.”
“Well, that’s your treat for the day, kiddo.No ice cream after dinner.”
His mouth dropped open in shocked offense, partially chewed cupcake still in evidence.
“Dude.Swallow first.And wash up.I don’t want frosting fingerprints all over the Perpetual Peace room.Or the Chapel of Eternal Rest.”
He grinned.“But the Memorial Garden is okay?”
I narrowed my eyes.“Sassy, much?”
He giggled, sliding from his chair and racing for the small bathroom just off my office.I seized the moment to grab my desk phone and pull upNice Buns’number online.
Edward was splashing in the sink—I knew he’d be soaking wet when he came out and probably still somehow covered in frosting—so I had a few minutes to get this done.It only took a few rings before someone answered.
