Chapter 9
Inever sit up in the front—that’s Sarah’s job, and the receptionist of Kindred Pines takes her position very seriously.
But given that she’s out with the flu, or a mysterious case of going to the lake for one last boating afternoon, I doubt she’ll care very much.
Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover how I feel. Having not slept more than a couple of hours in the last twenty-four, all I can do is stare down at Sarah’s notepad. I pick up a pen to scratch at the top piece, though I don’t take off the cap as I make my small, invisible designs.
The fact Cecil is thirty minutes later than he told me he would be doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t even really surprise me, since he told me on the phone that he planned on stopping at the police station to ‘check up on things.’
Or, as I’ve learned over the past few months, to swoon over Adele. Normally I’d be restlessly waiting for him to arrive so I can finish up and go home. But today, I’m glad he’s late. I don’t know what to say to him—if anything—and while he’s not here, I can still exist in my bubble.
Little mortician.
The way Amir purred the pet name had been intimate. Since it was only my job title, there’s no reason for the words to make my stomach coil up in knots, or for the now-familiar shudder to trail down my spine like long, cool fingers.
Why kill Andrew? I want to ask now that everything is over and the sun is shining. Rationally, I know daylight won’t protect me from getting murdered, but this is one thing I plan on clinging to. At least for now.
Monsters don’t exist until the sun goes down, right?
Outside, I hear a car pull behind the building, and I instantly recognize the sound as Cecil’s.
My stomach sinks, though simultaneously I can’t help the bit of relief I feel.
At least now I’m no longer alone here, even though a week ago I thought it was the best possible thing to happen to me this year.
To my surprise, the front doors open instead of the loading bay door, and Cecil strides in with a bright grin and a tan that definitely wasn’t there two weeks ago.
He looks more like a family man than I’ve ever seen him with the blotchy tan across his face and his pink polo shirt tucked into khakis. Plus the way his hair is somehow still windswept even though he must have left Virginia last night.
If anyone deserves an award for looking least like a mortuary owner, it’s Cecil Summerford of Kindred Pines.
“Hello, Nell,” he greets happily as I straighten in Sarah’s chair.
“Sorry I’m late. I, uh…” He glances up at the clock on the wall, suddenly looking sheepish.
“I got a little tied up with Adele. We were catching up. She wanted to know about the boys, the wedding. You know.” Even now he’s rambling, like he wants so badly to spill it all to me as well.
Not that I’d mind. Cecil is the closest thing to an uncle I’ve ever had, and I feel my lips curling up in a smile at the clear happiness that hasn’t worn off from seeing his nephew. It cuts through my concern and my worry, squashing any rogue thoughts about cluing him into what happened with Amir.
I won’t get him killed, and I can’t rain on his parade.
“Did you have a good time, Cecil?” I ask amicably, rising from the desk to follow him back to his office.
It’s just as well appointed as the lobby, thanks to Sarah, though Cecil barely uses it as more than mail storage and to meet with clients of the funeral home side of the business.
Most of the time, he’s back in the embalming room, using the desk there as his workspace instead of this warm, comfortable place that’s more for the public than for him.
But seeing as this is where Sarah has been putting his mail, it makes sense for it to be his first stop.
And in fact, he thumbs through the envelopes, squinting at them while patting his back pocket for the glasses he somehow never remembers to bring.
Today is no different. He grumbles and stops looking, before peering at me over the letters with a grin.
“I had a great time,” my boss assures me. “Have you ever been to Myrtle Beach? Or just down in that area?”
“No. I don’t get much of a chance to travel.”
“Well, you’ll have to change that while you’re young,” Cecil insists. “But I won’t go into the details. They’ll bore you.”
“They won’t,” I disagree as I see spare glasses—one of many pairs—peeking out from under a pile of papers on his desk. I step forward and pluck them from under the pile, brandishing them out for Cecil to take. “Tell me all about it. Has to be more interesting than the week I had here, mostly.”
He needs no more persuasion or encouragement, but I expected that.
Cecil launches into stories about the wedding, the dress rehearsal, the drama, and meeting up with cousins and other family whom he hasn’t seen in years.
He tells me all about the food they had, the hotel desk worker who apparently was about to have a new grandbaby of her own, and eventually I’m pretty sure he’s just rambling about a gas station visited on the way back.
“And she told me—Oh, what am I doing?” Cecil turns to look at me as he hands me a new box of eye caps to put away in the cabinet.
Somehow, the last part of my rare day shift turns into organizing the storage cabinets with him instead of anything else.
Though there’s not much else to do when we won’t be back in ‘circulation’ until tonight.
Finally, I can’t help telling myself in relief. Having only one body to work on for the last ten days had been excruciatingly boring. All I want is something to do to get my mind off of—
“I can’t believe someone killed Andrew Elliot.” Cecil just comes right out and says it without a hint of tact or subtlety in his words. “I heard from Adele what happened. She said you had a great catch there. Also told me to remind you not to go talking about it to your friends.”
We look at each other, with my boss staying silent for a moment before glancing away.
We both know I don’t really have any friends in Still Pines.
It’s too small a town for anyone to have any life changes that go unknown for long.
Apart from Hestia, I barely spend time in anyone’s company other than my own.
Well, mine and my ghosts’, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count.
“I don’t intend to tell anyone. That feels like, I don’t know, illegal?
” I joke awkwardly. I don’t want to talk about this.
Not after the other night, and Amir, and— “So was he not very well liked?” I ask without thinking.
“Just…based on what Adele and Jenkins said that night, I can’t help but wonder. ”
Cecil doesn’t answer at first. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” he says finally, setting down his empty box. “You know I think it’s rude.”
He thinks just about everything invented in the last two centuries is rude or over the top, but I only nod my head in understanding.
“However…” He looks away from me and picks up another box to cut it open before handing it over.
I pull out boxes of sewing needles and thread, being careful to separate them accordingly before tossing the empty box toward the loading bay door.
“He was a difficult kid. Lots of kids around here grow up a little difficult, I’ll be honest. I think it’s the boredom that gets to them.
But Andrew was different. I doubt you could find one person other than his mother who wouldn’t tell you the same. ”
“She didn’t care?” I’m way too invested in whatever Andrew had going on, especially since I’ll never see his body again unless they hold the funeral here. But now, with Amir prowling and the threats he made, I feel like I have to be curious.
“She didn’t notice. Thought he was her perfect boy.
” Another box is ripped open, emptied, and tossed toward the door.
Afterwards, I scoop up my armful of supplies and head for the glass-front cabinet to put everything away.
I have to yank on the drawer where the trocars and small scissors live, but I dump a few new pairs in before shoving it closed with my knee in a way that rattles the whole cabinet.
A few months ago, I would’ve been horrified at making that kind of noise and sending things shaking on their glass shelves.
But now I’ve seen Cecil do it, and done it myself, so many times that I know it’s just how things work around here.
Half-broken antique cabinet or not, things have to get put away.
“Do you think someone from town killed him?” The words feel like stones leaving my mouth, and dread curls in my stomach.
I almost look around the room like I’ll see Amir standing at the window, or find some secret electronic bug picking up our conversation.
But as far as I can tell, it’s just me and Cecil and the embalming supplies.
“I have no idea. I didn’t think anyone in town would be capable of murder,” he pauses, thinking about his words.
“No, I stand by that. I would have expected it to have happened in Philly, if it was going to happen anywhere.” Like so many adults of the older generation raised in small towns, Cecil is biased against bigger cities.
His suspicions always go there first, no matter what the problem is.
“But it happened at his house,” I point out slowly. “Not in the city.”
“Unless he brought someone back. I’ve heard from his mother that he can be, uh, a bit eclectic with his taste. Especially when he was drinking.”
“And his mom didn’t think that was an issue?”
Cecil just shakes his head. “She’s always been the ‘fun’ parent.
Always wanted Andrew to think of her as a peer so he’d tell her everything and left the real parenting to her husband.
Only problem is, she didn’t change mindsets when he died.
I can’t help but think…” he trails off suddenly and shakes his head.
“That’s rude of me. I don’t want to speculate. What about you, Nell?”