Chapter 12 Zoey
ZOEY
“Where the hell are you?”
I wince at Victor’s words. As soon as I stepped outside the back door of Death’s Door, my cell rang, and I answered without bothering to check who it was. I should be grateful that it wasn’t my mom, but I’m not sure this is much better.
“Washington,” I reply. “Tacoma, specifically.”
“Washington,” he repeats incredulously. “Why are you in Washington?”
“Didn’t you read my email?”
On my way out of Chicago, I’d stopped by Rest in Peace Mortuary to say goodbye to him, but he hadn’t been there so I emailed him instead. Cowardly, maybe, but what other choice did I have?
You could’ve called.
I’d taken the time to call the Benz family and let them know that I was resigning. Fortunately, they’ve met my mother and understood my need to leave quickly. I could’ve—no, I should’ve—given Victor the same courtesy.
“What email?” he demands.
Sighing, I start walking toward the cabin, desperate for a shower and clean clothes. “I took a job in Tacoma. I had to, or I was going to go insane.”
Victor huffs out a breath. “Your mom was getting that bad?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Zoey. It’s just…” He chuckles humorlessly. “Who the hell am I going to report to now? I mean, we don’t have any bodies currently, but that’ll change sooner rather than later.”
“One of the Benz brothers will be reaching out to you,” I explain. “For now, I guess you’re in charge until you hear otherwise.”
“But I can’t do everything.”
“No, but you can do most of the work. As far as embalming or autopsies or any of the more clinical stuff, reach out to Dr. Reyes at Loyola University Medical Center. If you tell him you know me, he’ll help.”
I’d reached out to Dr. Reyes early on in my career when I had specific questions relating to autopsies and things progressed from there.
Career advice turned into coffee every once in a while, and that turned into colleagues with benefits on occasion.
We never had anything serious, just enough to scratch an itch.
“Fine,” Victor mutters. “But I don’t like it.”
“I know,” I say just as I reach the cabin. “Listen, I have to go, but I’ll stay in touch, okay?”
“You better.”
We end the call, and I shove my cell into my hoodie pocket. Climbing the porch steps, I take a deep breath. I have no idea what I’m walking into, and Whiz’s statement about club whores cleaning the place hasn’t left a good taste in my mouth.
Which is why, when I open the door and step inside, I’m pleasantly surprised.
Much like the funeral home, the cabin is dark and sparse but functional.
My boxes are stacked against the wall, and my bags are haphazardly thrown next to them.
I grab the bag I know my toiletries are in and another that has a clean change of clothes.
I want to take time to familiarize myself with my new home, but a shower takes precedence. It takes less than five seconds to find the bathroom as the cabin is small, and less than twenty for me to strip and step into the stall to turn on the water.
Standing under the hot spray, my mind reels with the events of the day. I knew there’d be a body for me to tend to, but I had no idea how tied to Death’s Door said body was.
Not just a body. Undertaker.
While my minimal interaction with Lyric left me wondering what I’m doing in Washington, my interactions with Whiz solidified for me exactly why I’m here.
Lyric’s pain was present, just beneath the surface of his authoritative manner, but Whiz’s pain?
It radiated from him like the fallout of a nuclear bomb.
Methodically, I wash my hair, and an image of Whiz flashes in my mind’s eye. There’s no denying that he’s good-looking. Shit, he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. And he’s also the most guarded, the most distant and shut down. Not that any of that matters because he’s practically my boss.
Right?
I still don’t know any of the specifics of my new job. Who do I answer to? Are there any other staff members? What’s the pay and are there benefits beyond housing?
I make a mental note to call Lyric and find out.
Or you could go back to the main building and talk to Whiz.
Nope. That’s not happening. If the way he turned away from me right before I left is any indication, he needs his space, and I’m happy to give it to him.
For now.