Page 95 of Mourner for Hire
She pauses, contemplating her words. “That is so not your type.”
I roll my eyes.
“That’smytype.”
A snort escapes me. “Whatever. It passes the time.”
“What’s happening with Dominic?”
I move past the question as we pull into the parking lot. “Anyway, thanks for coming to this one with me.”
If it bothers Morgan that I ignored her question, she doesn’t let on.
“Ah, yes, tell me again what I’m supposed to do.”
“Long-lost sisters,” I answer plainly.
“No way!” She bares her teeth, grins, and drums her fingers together. She’s an evil villain at heart—the blondest black cat I’ve ever known.
“Apparently, Mrs. Harmon’s two sons are entitled little dicks after years of being fed Goldschläger with a silver spoon, and she is ready to rip them a new one.”
“This is horrible. I love it.”
“Me, too,” I answer, sliding my hatchback into a parking space in the back nearest the exit of the cemetery parking lot—just in case we need a quick escape.
“But…” She’s clearly thinking out loud. “We look nothing alike.”
I’ve already considered my green eyes and brown hair to her blue eyes and golden locks.
“Not to worry.” I pull out a tube of ruby lipstick and black liquid eyeliner. “We’ll draw the cat eyes, put on the lipstick, and Barron and Timothy won’t be able to tell us apart. Most men are gullible, but Mrs. Harmon told me enough to guarantee that these pretentious fellas’ heads are filled with hot air.”
“Nice.” She puckers her lips. “Make me pretty, sis.”
We paint our lips red and perfect our eyeliner in time to arrive hand in hand with somber faces and a broken backstory.
Knowing the exact kind of crowd that will be in attendance for Marilee Harmon’s funeral, I know we stick out like sore thumbs as soon as our black heels touch the dewy grass.
“Chin up, Morgan. Don’t smile?—”
“That’s never a problem.”
I restrain my own smile. “I’ll do the majority of the talking, but if anyone asks how you know Mrs. Harmon before I get up to say anything, just tell them, ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’”
“Oh, cryptic. Nice.”
“Then, after I say something, if anyone asks you to repeat how we know Mrs. Harmon is our mother, say we were notified by Henry Spencer in regards to the execution of the will upon hearing of Mrs. Harmon’s death. We never knew she was our mother. She birthed us out of wedlock before meeting Mr. Harmon and was forced to put us up for adoption because of high society and all that. It’s actually widely known that in real life, she went away for a couple of years. Worst years of her life, according to her. But three years later, she met Mr. Harmon, and she birthed a couple of brats, forgetting about us. We’re broken up about it, wishing we’d had a life with our biological mother, but are so grateful she is leaving her legacy with us.”
Morgan’s eyes go wide. The juiciness of this story is clearly exciting her.
“Is she really leaving the legacy with us?” She emphasizes the word legacy, and I know she means money and how much.
“No, she’s leaving his fortune to the Two Sisters Foundation, which is a nonprofit that helps bring awareness to sexual abuse of women and children, provides resources to the victims, and funds court cases to bring perpetrators to justice.”
“That’s… amazing… and specific,” she says slowly, nodding at a couple eyeing us as we walk toward the gathering at the top of the hill. A white tent is perched at the top to protect the casket from the drizzle in the air. “Why did she pick that foundation?”
“Her sons assaulted some girls in high school, and Mr.Harmon is big money—high on power and aI-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-right-and-wrong, family-over-justiceattitude—her words, not mine—and he hired a powerful defense attorney. They got a year of probation. Mrs. Harmon was angry, and instead of getting a divorce, she came up with a plan. This plan. I guess the greedy little shits celebrated after their father’s funeral five years ago, saying one left to go. This made Marilee solidify her delivery of the news. Taking the money from them wasn’t enough. She wanted to make it hurt even more. She wanted to make sure they are humiliated. It ended up being ten years in the making, but this is going to cut deeper than any slap on the wrist they ever got did.”
“And you?”
