10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
L una
The dream faded, and Thanksgiving came. I didn’t ask Roman about his plans because I was afraid he’d demand I go into the office. After spending my entire October fall break with him, I thought it was a reasonable fear.
Sylvie needed assistance embalming a large corpse that had come in a few days ago, so we planned to do it on Thanksgiving morning. Before heading to the embalming room, I ate a fast breakfast and changed into leggings and a long-sleeve t-shirt so I’d be comfortable under the protective equipment.
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.
When I walked in, Roman sat in one of the client chairs in casual clothing. I paused and stared–I’d never seen him in anything but a suit.
He looked up when we walked in. “I couldn’t get you on the phone this morning, so I stopped by.”
“Look, it’s Thanksgiving–”
“I’m calling on a client and thought you might like to come along.”
Temptation and curiosity got the better of me. “Which client? And why do they want to meet on Thanksgiving morning?”
Ezra chuckled, but Sylvie shook her head and pointed to me. “One question at a time, then you wait for an answer. We’ve discussed this. I’m going to grab a shower and start on the brownies.”
Ezra studied Roman, then sighed. “We’re eating at one this afternoon at my house. You’re welcome to join us.”
Sylvie cut in before I could protest. “You have to refrain from being your usual asshole self, and fair warning, the cousins are going to be there.”
My lips tightened, and I glared at Ezra and Sylvie. “What are you doing?” I whisper-hissed out of the corner of my mouth.
Sylvie quirked an eyebrow. “What? It’s just a meal.”
Roman smirked, then stood and inclined his head to Ezra. “I’d love to join you, mainly because Luna is so keen on the idea.” He turned to me. “I’m meeting the owner of the Wild West Wedding Chapel.”
My eyes went wide and I clapped my hands together, Thanksgiving dinner forgotten. The famous barn wedding chapel was one of those few remaining iconic places in Las Vegas that never seemed to change, and I’d always wanted to go inside.
“Yes. I want to go,” I answered quickly before he could change his mind. “Let me take a shower, and I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”
He leaned forward and sniffed me. “That might be a good idea. You smell like formaldehyde.”
I shrugged. “It’s embalming fluid.”
His nose wrinkled. “It reminds me of my college biology class. And my great aunt’s house.”
I patted his arms a few times, purposefully rubbing my hands on his nice shirt, even though I’d just thoroughly washed them.
He grabbed my forearms and stepped away. “Enough. Go shower.”
I grinned and quit teasing him. “You can wait in the apartment.”
Ezra stood. “I just invited him to the break room for coffee. He’ll be here in the office when you’re ready.” I got the impression Ezra didn’t like Roman in our apartment. At first, I didn’t like it either, but I’d gotten used to him coming inside when he picked me up and dropped me off. He hadn’t given me a choice.
A half-hour later, we were headed to the Wild West Wedding Chapel. My hair was still damp, but I’d gotten ready in record time. Roman turned to me and raised his eyebrow. “Did you just help Sylvie embalm a body?”
“Yes. I told you I’m a registered apprentice embalmer. I got my license a few years ago.”
He studied me. “Why?”
“They needed reliable help, and I was curious about what went on in the embalming room, but you have to be properly licensed. I’m happy to assist, but I don’t have Sylvie’s skill or finesse.”
“What’s your relationship with them?”
I shifted in my seat. “I already told you this too. Ezra was my guardian, Sylvie is my foster sister, and they’re my family now.”
He glanced at me. “What about Ezra’s nephews?”
By the tone of his voice, I thought I knew what he was asking. “The cousins? They’re family too. It’s like having four annoying, overbearing, obnoxious brothers.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, both of us lost in our thoughts. “You’re not what I expected,” he murmured, almost to himself.
“Thank you? You’re worse than I expected, but you’re growing on me–like foot fungus.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re the most mouthy, disrespectful intern I’ve ever met.”
“When you wouldn’t release me from this internship, I tried to warn you.”
We reached the chapel just off Las Vegas Boulevard and Clark Avenue. Its rustic wood barn exterior, with the old wagon and ancient hitching post out front, clashed spectacularly with the sleek commercial buildings around it.
I turned to Roman. “How do you know the owner?”
“Heath Cassidy is a friend of Gideon’s. Heath worked with him at the FBI for a few years before Gideon quit.”
“Gideon worked for the FBI? That explains a lot about him. Do you want me to sit in on the meeting or make myself scarce?” I really just wanted to walk around and find an employee to chat up.
“It’s likely you can sit in. But if you do wander around, don’t let me find you with your skirt hiked around your waist this time.”
I shook my head. “That’s not going to happen, I’m wearing pants today.”
He grunted skeptically. The building was just as rustic and western on the inside, with scarred wood floors and wooden beams. Western memorabilia hung along the walls, and I noticed an extensive collection of antiques from various saloons and brothel houses. I stood entranced as I took in the exhibit.
It was like a miniature Old West museum crossed with a Las Vegas wedding chapel. The back half of the building had been split into two chapel halls, but the walls looked retractable, probably to accommodate larger events. I could hear muffled voices and wedding music coming from one of the chapels.
A broad-shouldered man with an impressive dark blond handlebar mustache came out of the front office to greet us. He wore a black cowboy hat, jeans, and a gray tweed vest. He even smelled like leather and cigar smoke.
“Roman,” he grunted. “You sumbitch. Thanks for coming out this morning. Who’s this with you?”
Sumbitch? I mouthed to Roman.
Roman’s lip quirked and he introduced us. “She’s my law student intern. Luna, this is Heath Cassidy.”
Heath turned to get another look at me. “Aw, honey. Why do you want to be a lawyer?”
“So I can protect myself.” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but Heath just nodded sagely and patted my shoulder with his big, scarred hand. Roman tilted his head as if my answer had surprised him. It had surprised me too.
He turned to Roman. “I have a wedding to officiate soon, so let’s talk. Luna, come with us.” I looked back longingly at the brothel antiques along the back wall, but walked into his office behind Roman.
“What can I help you with that couldn’t wait until Monday?” Roman asked.
Heath smirked. “You’re a damn workaholic, Fowler. I knew you’d be working today, so don’t give me your shit. I’ve got two issues. I need your investigation team to do a background check on my accountant. I think he’s embezzling, but I’d like to know for certain. The other is a nuisance lawsuit a man filed who got married at my chapel a few months ago.”
“What’s the lawsuit about?” Roman asked.
Heath rolled his eyes. “He’s sayin’ he didn’t know the marriage would be legally binding.”
Roman scoffed. “That’s definitely a nuisance lawsuit, and the man is an idiot. No judge in Clark County will rule in favor of a case like that. Las Vegas makes too much money on those quick, ‘drive-thru’ weddings to jeopardize that cash cow. We’ll counter-sue and request attorney fees. Email Gideon the Petition, and I’ll get someone on it next week. I’ll also have Ivan look into your accountant.”
Heath grimaced. “That saying ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ is complete horseshit, pardon my French. Marriages, gambling debts, sexually transmitted diseases, and a bucket load of bad decisions follow people home. I love Sin City, but you can’t leave your common sense at the State line when you come here and expect not to have a few rattlesnake bites when you get home.”
Roman nodded. “Half the attorneys in town make a living off those bad decisions. Anything else?”
When Heath shook his head, I leaned forward. “If you’re done discussing legal issues, can I ask you a few questions?”
“Sure thing. Shoot.” Heath smiled, and I realized how handsome he was. The man even had dimples.
Roman bumped my leg, and I shook myself. “Where did you get your amazing brothel house memorabilia, and has anyone cataloged it? Who are the most interesting people that have been married here? You have more of a southwestern accent.”
Heath leaned forward, grinned, and fired answers back at me. “The collection is mostly from my great-great-grandmammy. She was a working girl and then a madam in a brothel in Virginia City. I’ve added to it over the years, and it’s only been partially cataloged.”
“Wow. That’s fascinating family history.”
He absently twirled his handlebar mustache between his thumb and forefinger. “Yep, it is. The most interesting person who’s been married here was one of the Rat Pack in the 1970s. The marriage lasted three months, it was before my time, and my uncle performed the ceremony. I grew up in Whetstone, Arizona, just outside of Tombstone.”
The man had a quick mind, and I enjoyed talking with him. When we wound down, he leaned back and sighed. “I feel like I need a cigarette, darlin’.”
I blushed and Roman growled beside me, but Heath just grinned. Before he took off to officiate the wedding, he offered to teach me how to shoot.
“You said you want to become an attorney to protect yourself. If you ever want to learn to shoot or handle a gun, I also own a shooting range off Decatur Boulevard in south Las Vegas, and I’d be happy to teach you. Give me a call and we can set it up.”
I smiled as I shook his big, callused hand. “I already know how to shoot, but thank you for the kind offer, and the tour.” I sighed and looked around. “I love this place.”
When we left the chapel, I turned to Roman as we walked to his car. “That was amazing! Okay, I won’t complain anymore about you crashing my Thanksgiving.”
Roman didn’t talk during the car ride to Ezra’s house, but I shrugged it off as him being his usual rude self. I texted Sylvie to see if she needed help with the food, but she told me she was fine and she’d meet us there.
When we walked into Ezra’s house, Kilian and Sylvie were opening champagne and setting out appetizers. He looked up and stared at Roman. “What’re you doing here?”
Kilian looked a lot like Fenn, only he didn’t have that crazy gleam in his eyes. Kilian was very literal, extremely blunt, and had no filter. If you gained weight, had an ugly shirt on, or he was about to shoot you in the head, he’d calmly inform you.
Fenn walked into the dining room with plates, silverware, and napkins. “Hey, Lulu.” He stopped when he spotted Roman. “Why the fuck would you bring Roman Fowler to Thanksgiving dinner? You’re not that hard-up, are you?”
He looked like Charlie Hunnam from Breaking Bad . There were a few scars on his cheek, and his thick blond hair usually needed a trim. He also wore a perpetual grin, like he was either laughing at something or looking for trouble.
Roman raised his eyebrow. “Hello Fennick. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Fenn set the plates down and handed me the silverware. “It was until about ten seconds ago.”
Sylvie popped a cork and poured champagne into flutes. “Ezra invited him, and we’re all going to get along.” She stared us down.
Fenn smirked as he set the table. “Syl, that’s funny coming from you, since you’re the one who usually starts the arguments.”
I looked around. “Where’s Declan and Callum?”
She handed us each a champagne flute and nodded behind me. I turned to see the twins walk in. They were fraternal, but they both looked vaguely like the late actor Paul Walker from Fast and Furious. Declan held a twelve-pack of beer and Callum carried a bottle of whiskey. Declan spotted Roman, turned to Ezra who was walking in behind him, and held up the beer. “We’re gonna need a lot more of this if you invited the partners to Thanksgiving.”
Ezra smiled. “It’s just Roman, we’ll be fine.”
Sylvie turned to me. “What’d you think of the Wild West Wedding Chapel?”
“It’s freaking amazing. The inside is just as over-the-top as the outside, and the proprietor looks like a younger Rooster Cogburn from True Grit .” I told them about Heath and the brothel collection.
Ezra set cranberry sauce and a green bean casserole on the table. “I’m sure we have a few women of ill repute in our family line somewhere too.”
Callum nodded and set the whiskey down. “Probably, and that’s an accurate description of Heath.” He turned to me and grinned. “Did Heath flash his dimples at you, and offer to teach you how to shoot?”
I stared at him in surprise. “Yes. How’d you know?”
Callum glanced at Roman and smirked. “Because he only does that if he really likes someone.”
Roman turned and glared at me.