Chapter Twenty
My Tuesday is filled with solo morgue pickups, which is pretty much perfect, since I’m too exhausted to socialize with anyone.
I ended up pulling an all-nighter. As the sun came up in the sky, I finished off my wild business-planning night by requesting an appointment on Friday with a banker to formally apply for a loan.
That gives me a few more days to refine the plan and pull together all my financial records.
What a whirlwind. Going from telling Liam last night that I was a failure to sitting down and grinding out a coherent plan outlining how I can make my dream a reality is a huge leap. I’m a bit stunned I had it in me.
Though maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising. Maybe admitting my failure out loud was what I needed in order to realize that failure doesn’t have to be a permanent state, if I can summon up my courage and take a risk. Maybe being around Liam has made me more comfortable with risk-taking …
As I check into the first morgue, sign for the body of one Sally E. Brenner and collect her, I let my mind center on Liam, the catalyst for last night’s breakthrough.
I can feel the scales in my brain wobbling, rebalancing.
At the end of our first date, I was so convinced Liam was Zoe’s killer that I bolted.
Second date, I learned he’s definitely a serial dater, and I was thinking I was on to his methods.
Our dates on Navy Pier and kayaking had me confused.
Then, fast forward to finding the painting in his closet, and I thought I had him.
But yesterday has thrown everything into confusion.
The surprise he showed when he heard Zoe was missing. His suggestion that we check security footage, when, if he was the killer, looking into anything Zoe-related should feel threatening to him.
Not to mention, he promised he never met her. For better or for worse, I believe him.
If I had to place my bet on one side or the other, right now, I do not think Liam Porter is a serial killer.
Of course, the meat testing is still pending. I’m not going to place my chips until those results are back, I promise myself – and I should have answers soon.
On the way back to the funeral home with Sally in tow, I hit a traffic snarl on Milwaukee Avenue.
Traffic doesn’t ease up at all, and when I finally creep the van into the funeral home parking lot, I feel like I just returned from an epic sea voyage, battled some pirates then completed a triathlon.
Thanks, Chicago traffic. After I take the lift down and deliver the body to the refrigerator, I head up to Bill’s office to turn in the paperwork.
His door is cracked – and he’s talking to someone. I pause outside his door.
‘What? Expedited testing for—’
Oh, shit. There’s a long pause.
‘Well I certainly don’t know anything about a – a – meat wad,’ he continues.
‘Yes. Certainly. Thank you for calling. And please do send over a scan of the form you received. Definitely need to check into that … Oh, yes, the kids are fine. Phil is headed to law school, and … well, Laura is still finding her way, but you know how it is when you’re twenty …
all right! Good talk! I’ll look for your email. ’
There’s an audible clank as he hangs up the phone.
Well now what am I going to do? If the coroner’s office sends over a scan of the form I filled out, Bill is going to see my handwritten personal email on it, and I’ll be out of a job before I can say ‘let me explain.’
I stand there, thinking. I could tell Bill the truth? Too risky. Or call the coroner back and impersonate Bill? God I wish I was an alto instead of a soprano. I hum low in my throat, just as a quick experiment. Ugh. No way my voice will pass for a man’s …
‘Oh – hi Margot,’ says Bill, emerging so suddenly from his office that I startle back.
‘Oh! Hey!’ I fling the paperwork up, as if I need to prove my innocence. ‘I was just delivering some paperwork from the morgue pickup I just did!’
‘Oh – leave it on my desk, will you?’ He hurries down the hall. I watch the bathroom door swing behind him.
Quick. In his office, I pull the door almost closed, then rush to his desk. His email is open on his computer – and bingo, there’s the email from the Coroner’s Office – someone named Amy – right on top.
Hey Bill, good to catch up! Here’s the scan of the request. Let me know how to proceed!
I hit reply and type with trembling fingers.
Hello Amy! Always good to connect with you too. I checked out the scan and I remembered – yes, we did submit this yesterday.
I hesitate. What quick story can I create to explain the meat wad?
Could it be a mysterious substance found in the pocket of a corpse?
Or stuffed into an urn that was delivered to the funeral home by an anonymous party?
Or I could work Fluffers into this – What am I saying?
? None of this makes any sense! I keep typing.
Can’t believe I forgot, but the memory isn’t what it used to be! Please proceed! Email the results per the instructions on the sheet.
Thanks!
Does that sound like Bill? Ack – too many exclamations!
I’ve heard men don’t do that. I delete them all and replace them with periods.
Then backspace the Thanks and replace it with Cheers.
Good enough. I hit send. Then, I delete Amy’s email, and delete my response from the sent folder, and delete both from the trash.
In a moment of perfect timing, Amy’s ‘Got it!’ response pops through. Into the bin with that as well.
‘Margot?’ says Bill, coming back into the office.
I drop the mouse like it’s a hot coal and grab the papers. My hands are literally shaking, so I aggressively wave the papers to disguise it. ‘Just dropping these off, like I said before! Thanks, boss! Off to the next pickup!’
I scurry out before Bill can ask any more questions.
Situation saved – I hope.
And even though at this very moment I’m really hoping Liam is innocent, if it does come back as human, we can pretty much call a wrap on this entire investigation.
Liam has proved himself to be very good with words – he knows how to coax, evade and sweet talk the hell out of me.
It worked. I have a crush on him. But however silver-tongued he may be, there’s no talking your way out of human remains in your freezer.