her jacket here yesterday and had asked to borrow Nicole’s along with her car last night.
How Missy had left her winter jacket at work on a freezing afternoon was beyond Nicole. Missy often claimed she’d get hot and sweaty doing her job and walk out without it. Happy, carefree and a tad forgetful. That was Missy.
Nicole drew in a deep breath trying to settle her prickly nerves. The walk here had done nothing to expend her nervous energy. The sweet smell of flowers and a faint whiff of lemon dusting spray always struck her when she entered through the front door. But the funky smell was a small price to pay for working primarily in solitude. She thrived on peace and quiet.
Except today. Today Nicole wished Missy would appear with her headphones and vacuum, cracking her pink bubblegum. Her friend was an otherwise bright spot in a gloomy business.
Nicole shoved her pink mittens deep into her coat pockets. She’d be heartbroken if she lost the only material thing connecting her to her mother. Not quite ready to face the day, she slowly walked toward Missy’s jacket and tenderly ran her fingers down its fuzzy sleeves, releasing the scent of laundry detergent. Nicole closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Today was going to be so much harder than she ever imagined.
Mr. Peters called to her from his office, snapping her out of her maudlin thoughts. She pushed back her shoulders and strode to the doorway so he wouldn’t have to get up. He seemed to be moving a lot slower these days. He smiled at her when she entered his office, but his normally bright blue eyes seemed dull. Mr. Peters had been drained from caring for his ailing wife. Today, he appeared even more exhausted, probably after learning about Missy’s accident from Brett. Nicole let out a long sigh. She was grateful to Brett for making that difficult call.
Across her boss’s messy desk, he handed her a manila file folder. “Here’s Mrs. Fenster’s folder.” The newly deceased. “She needs to be ready for a four o’clock wake.”
“Okay.” Nicole took the folder and hugged it to her chest. “You okay, Mr. Peters? You look tired.”
He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “My wife had a rough night last night. The nurse only comes during the day. I’ll have to hire a night nurse, too.” A deep line marred his forehead. “If I plan to sleep, that is.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “And then I get a call this morning that Missy has gone missing.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what her family is going through right now.”
Nicole bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to imagine Mrs. Flowers’s grief.
Mr. Peters lifted his gaze and studied Nicole. “You and Missy were close, weren’t you?”
Something about the way he said were made her bristle. “Yes, we are. We became fast friends these past few months. I pray she’ll be found safe.”
Mr. Peters folded his hands in a solemn gesture. “Yes, it’s best to pray at times like these.”
Nicole traced the edge of the manila folder with her index finger. “Guess I better tend to—” she read the name on the folder’s tab written in Mr. Peters’s neat penmanship “—Mrs. Fenster.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Peters let out a heavy sigh and settled back into his leather chair. A faraway look glossed his eyes. “I hope they find Missy.”
“Me, too,” Nicole muttered on her way out of the office. She figured the sooner she got lost in her work, the sooner she could have some peace of mind. At least temporarily.
The fax machine in the small office near the top of the basement stairs hummed to life. Curious, Nicole ducked into the room where she normally did some light paperwork. Standing over the machine, she read the paper inching out of the machine. Her throat grew dry. The document was from Isaac King, the son of Abe King. Nicole held her breath while the document finished printing. She folded it and stuffed it into her purse, eager to compare Isaac’s copy of the contract with the one she had pulled from the files yesterday afternoon. She hoped she could straighten out this misunderstanding without bothering the already stressed Mr. Peters. In the meantime, she couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Peters would do if he found both the documents wadded up in her designer knock-off purse.
She hustled down a flight of stairs leading to the basement and paused at the landing. Someone had propped open the side door, probably while carrying in a floral arrangement. Rubbing one arm briskly, she groaned and pulled the door closed. The basement was cold enough without letting in an arctic blast.
Nicole descended the rest of the stairs and pushed open the solid basement door, letting the cool air swirl around her ankles. The door slammed behind her. She shuddered. She loved helping the deceased look their best, but she never quite got used to working in the basement.
Heart pounding in her ears, she hurried to the empty steel table in the corner, spread the fax out and compared it to the original document. According to the undated document from Isaac King, his father had made prearrangements and paid for a top-of-the-line casket. The contract from the file specified a less expensive casket. Less expensive by several thousand dollars.
Her stomach sank.
Both documents had Derreck Denner’s flashy signature. Derreck was Mr. Peters’s nephew and had come on board about a year ago. Did Derreck change the document of his own accord or had Mr. King made the changes and forgotten to give the new contract to his family before he passed away? She lifted the original document to her face and studied Derreck’s signature. She was no expert, but both signatures seemed the same. She held the paper to the light. It was thin. Thin enough for someone to trace a signature.
Nicole tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and racked her brain. Did she think she was a detective now? She shook her head. Maybe it was just a matter of showing Mr. King the document on file, the document that listed a less expensive casket. She threaded her fingers through her hair. Which document was more current? She pounded down the corner of the crumpled documents.
“I should have told Mr. Peters the minute the phone call came in,” she muttered to herself.
You were trying to save him the hassle.
Now she had one royal mess on her hands. How could she bring this up to Mr. Peters without seeming as though she was interfering?
Nicole bit her bottom lip. She closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders. It’s Derreck’s signature on both contracts. She couldn’t exactly accuse Derreck of mishandling a client’s money. She had no proof. Her stomach flip-flopped. But why did she have this uneasy feeling? Was it because she had overheard Derreck trying to smooth things over with another disgruntled client a few weeks ago? Or because she had totally bungled her dealings with the King family?
Either way, she’d have to tell Mr. Peters...once she got up the nerve. Then she’d explain how she was trying to help and how she’d never overreach her job description again. There. She had a plan. She folded up the two documents and stuffed them into her purse.
Nicole pulled up a stool to her workstation and opened the deceased’s file. “Okay, Mrs. Fenster,” she spoke aloud to the empty room, a habit she had gotten into when she first started this job six months ago. “You’re going to look beautiful, just like you did in—” she picked up the photo of the woman from the file in front of her and studied the black-and-white photo of a woman in a bouffant hairstyle and pillbox hat “—1962.”
It amazed Nicole how many family members provided dated photos of the deceased, no doubt at the request of their dearly departed.
