Chapter 13 #2
Probably CrossFit, dang it.
Behind me, I see Mr. Eternal Rest peek into the room as he speaks into a walkie-talkie. I hide behind CrossFit, in the clear
for now.
As I look for an opening to squeeze past the buff broker, I hear Tond deep in conversation with somebody I can’t see.
“. . . she said Claudia’s got the cops sniffing around. You told me this was the end of it and that nobody would find out—”
My blood suddenly runs cold. The other guy says something, but I can’t hear him over the buzz of the room.
Tond interrupts. “No way, I didn’t sign up for this. I’m out.”
And that’s when Mr. Eternal Rest spots me, gestures toward a security guard, and in a first for me, I’m pretty sure I’m about to get
kicked out of a fucking funeral.
As the security guy barrels his way toward me, I finally hear the guy Tond is talking to, loud and clear this time.
“Cran was your ticket in, don’t go soft on me now. Just take care of her.”
Take care of ?
Her?
Oh my god.
Was Claudia right?
It was murder? And these are the guys who did it? His own brother?
And “her” is next?
Who is “her”?
Me?
I need a paper bag, I need a paper bag so bad.
Calm down, I tell myself, except then I think of the dogs. How Louis, who hasn’t made a single sound except to sneeze, barked when
Tond walked up. How Jean, who will eat anything, ignored a perfectly good turkey sandwich, just because it was in Tond’s hand.
Oh my god. Claudia and Benny were right.
The dogs told me who the murderer was.
And Tond freaked out the moment I brought up the police.
I’m definitely breathing too fast. And I still have not one single solitary paper bag to hyperventilate into. But I do have
the next best thing. I have Chris.
Vision’s getting sparkly. No time to think.
Get to Chris. Fast.
The security guard is trying to push past the buff broker now, but she’s still on her phone and yelling at him to get his
hands off her, so she’s inadvertently acting as my security guard.
Thank you, CrossFit, I say silently as I squeeze myself and the three dogs back the way we came. I catch a glimpse of Mr. Eternal Rest making
his way through the crowd to cut us off, and I realize even worse than getting kicked out of a funeral would be getting detained at a funeral (can they do that?) and I do not want to get detained while spying on murderers. I elbow my way harder, the
four of us just managing to spill out into the lobby before Mr. Eternal Rest can clamp a hand down on my arm.
“Hey!” he calls from his spot next to the poster of Cran’s face.
“Great funeral, thanks for hosting!” I call back to him as I run toward the exit.
I throw the door open and almost bowl over Leslie, who’s inconveniently about to make her tottering way down the front steps.
Jean, meanwhile, is thrilled to get one last shot at a second course.
“Not now, Jean,” I say, crushing his hopes again.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Leslie says as I fly past her. “I’m out of purse dogs, but I do have—”
“Can’t talk right now . . . thank you . . . have to . . .” I hot-step it sideways down the terrible steep stairs and straggle-run
across the parking lot in my heels and black dress, the dogs loving this spontaneous jog, while I wave frantically at Chris.
The windows are up and he’s drumming passionately on the steering wheel while clearly singing at the top of his lungs, which
I would find cute if we weren’t in mortal danger.
“Chris! Chris!” I yell, but he doesn’t hear me until I slam my body into the passenger door and tug at the handle. “Unlock the door! There’s
murderers!”
He jumps and blushes and turns down the volume. The doors click open, I get the dogs in the back seat, then leap into the
front.
“Go,” I yell. “Punch it!”
“What?” Chris blinks at me, distinctly not punching it.
“Murderers!” I say again, gasping for breath. “We have to get out of here, stat! Oh god, I need my inhaler. Where’s my inhaler?”
I root through my bag. “You don’t have any lunch bags in here, do you?”
Chris starts the car, but he doesn’t put it into gear. Instead he turns to me disapprovingly. “Once again, you don’t have
asthma.”
“That’s what you want to respond to?” I shriek. “Not the murder part? Seriously, you need to drive.”
He finally pulls out of the lot.
“Okay, fine,” he says calmly. “What’s the murder part?”
“Cran’s brother murdered him! And I’m next!”
“So this guy you know from work,” Chris says, “his brother murdered him? This was part of the funeral service?”
“No! I overheard him talking.”
I turn in my seat, straining to look past the dogs and through the back window. It doesn’t seem like anybody’s following us.
But good lord, in the time we’ve been sitting here, tiny old Leslie has tottered down the stairs, gotten into her massive
Escalade, and squealed out of the parking lot.
You know, like we should be doing.
“Are you sure?” Chris says gently. “Maybe you misheard.”
“No way,” I say, feeling the heat rise up in my face. “You always do this! You always second-guess me!”
“To be fair, you overreact a lot—”
“I’m not overreacting this time! They’re murderers! And you’re pissing me off!” I groan with frustration, as he reaches over
and pushes my hair back from my face. But he doesn’t stop there. He runs his fingers through my hair and back to my neck.
I look up. He’s got a smoldery look in his eyes that I haven’t seen in forever.
Wait, what? Is this happening? Did my plan actually work? And also, why’d it have to work right after I identified some murderers?
“But the . . . murderers,” I manage to whimper as Chris slowly sucks on one of my fingers.
“I know a great secluded parking lot,” he says, his gaze lingering on my cleavage. “They’ll never catch you there.”