Page 38 of Mourner for Hire
TWELVE
VADA
Dominic tearsout of the parking lot like a bat out of hell—going at least ten over on Main Street until he disappears from view.
“What a douchebag,” I mutter before slinging open the door to Sullivan Law Offices.
The door chimes like church bells on Sunday morning, and I’m greeted by a receptionist who hasn’t changed her style and makeup in so long that it came back in style.
“Hi, I’m Vada Daughtry, here to see Mr. Sullivan,” I say, doing my best to seem professional. I’m sure Dominic just wrecked my entire reputation based on how he ran out of the parking lot like a tortured man-child.
“Oh, yes. Mr. Sullivan has been expecting you. He’ll be right out.” She purses her mauve-colored lips, and I stay standing, glancing around the room, noting the evergreen wallpaper and dark wood paneling. “You can sit, if you want.”
“Oh, sure.”
As soon as I crouch to sit in a waiting room chair, Mr. Sullivan appears in the doorway.
“If it’s nottheVada Daughtry!” He splays out his hands and grins through his rosy cheeks while eyeing me in a way that tellsme I have, in fact, been a major topic of conversation in the last several minutes… months… years, maybe.
Jesus.
There’s nothing like knowing a person knows my name, my profession, what the deceased promised me in her will, and what her surviving child thinks of me before ever seeing my face. It is a grotesque feeling. The kind that sits in my gut like wet cement and leaves a dry, bitter taste on my tongue.
“You sound like a country singer!” he comments then turns to Lynnette. “Doesn’t her name sound like a country singer, Lynnette?”
She nods curtly yet politely, and I’m fairly certain the wet cement in my gut just hardened into a humiliating brick.
“Thanks,” I say with a breath.
“Well, come on back now.”
For being a small town in Oregon just two hours outside of Portland, this moment is feeling surprisingly Bible Belt, and I’m worried they burn the witches in this town.
“Relax,you’ll be fine,” Annabelle whispers in my ear as I enter the office.
I shiver and shoot her a glare. She promised she wouldn’t do this.
“Are you cold?” Sully asks, noticing the shake of my spine.
“No, sorry. Just got a chill.” I take a seat and avoid eye contact with Annabelle even as she slips into the chair next to me.
“Well, first order of business…” He slips a sheet of paper with Courier writing on it. “Your duties. Though Annabelle said she already sent you a copy.”
I take the paper from him with timid hands. “Yes, she did. She was very?—”
“Thorough? You’re telling me, kid.” He leans over the desk and weaves his fingers together one by one. “She was a feisty minx of a woman, but we sure loved her.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. This whole town must have really loved her,” I remark.
“Best baker in town… Don’t tell Marylou,” he comments with a thoughtful smile while Annabelle lets out a whoop! Then he adds with a low voice, “And the biggest pot stirrer.”
“I was not!” she yells and crosses her arms, completely aghast.
“I can tell,” I respond. Her antics don’t faze me this time… as much. “So her son?—”
Sully waves a hand. “Don’t you worry about Dominic. I’ve got him handled.”
“Handled?” I clarify hesitantly.
