how she looked.
A muted shuffling made her scalp prickle. She enjoyed the solitude of working alone, she just wished it wasn’t in the basement of a funeral home. Her mind tended to play tricks on her. Her gaze drifted to her purse on the steel counter.
Focus on work.
Nicole grabbed her metal makeup box from the cabinet over the sink and set about getting Mrs. Fenster ready for the four o’clock viewing. She sat on the stool and lined up the makeup on a tray.
Another sound, more distinct this time, made her pause and turn toward the basement door. A thin line of light shone around the heavy basement door before it clicked solidly closed. A blanket of goose bumps covered her skin. She set a makeup brush on the tray and squinted into the shadows.
“Who’s there?”
The shadows moved and Gene Gentry stepped into the soft light surrounding her workstation. He held a white garbage bag and wore his perpetual apologetic look. Gene was thin with a stooped posture curving his six-foot-six frame. If someone was searching under funeral home embalmer from central casting, they would have found a photo of Gene. His awkward demeanor was perfect for working with the dead, not so much for those they left behind.
“Sorry, Miss Nicole, just emptying the garbage can.”
She forced a laugh that echoed in the cavernous space. “It’s okay, Gene. Sometimes I let my imagination get the best of me when I’m down here.”
Gene fingered the white plastic of the garbage bag. “After a while, you get used to creepy.” He snapped the bag to open it and lined the garbage can. He looked up. Nicole thought she detected a hopeful expression. “Do you think you’ll stick around?”
“I plan to.” Nicole dug through her makeup kit, searching for the blue eye shadow.
“Not exactly where you expected to be working when you graduated high school, huh?” He dragged his fingers over a thinning comb-over that made him appear older than he was. She vaguely remembered him graduating a year ahead of her, or maybe behind. She didn’t exactly reminisce about her high school days. And Gene wasn’t exactly the kind of person she would have hung around with.
“I’m happy to have the job.” She smiled at him, secretly ashamed she hadn’t been a model Christian as a teen. But that was a long time ago. She had long since made peace with her past and did her best moving forward. She plucked the blue eye shadow from the bottom of her makeup kit and held it up. “I better get back to work.”
“Me, too.” Gene lowered his eyes and took a step toward the door, then turned back around. “I’m real sorry about Missy.” He cleared his throat. “I sure hope they find her.”
Nicole smiled tightly at Gene, trying to hold her emotions at bay. “Pray they find her.” Her dark thoughts threatened to smother her. Keep praying.
“One time on TV, I saw a tool you should have in your car to break the window if your car goes into the water. Did you have that tool in your car?”
Nicole shook her head. “No, I didn’t. But we can’t give up hope.” Her pulse throbbed in her ears. Hot tears burned the backs of her eyes and blurred the eye shadow palette in front of her. “Well, I really have to get Mrs. Fenster’s hair and makeup done.”
Gene’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. “Okay, I’ll get going then.”
“Have a good day.” She watched him slip out of the room, his posture reminiscent of a boy who had been scolded.
* * *
Nicole slipped Mrs. Fenster’s paperwork into the folder and placed it on the steel table next to her purse. It had taken her a little longer than she had anticipated to get the woman’s hair just right.
She snapped her makeup case closed and returned it to the cabinet over the sink. While at cosmetology school, Nicole had envisioned herself working in a swanky salon in the city where she’d make big tips. When she had returned to Silver Lake to help out her grandmother, visions of a job in a salon vanished. She refused to work where she’d be the subject of gossip.
Now her clients didn’t talk or give tips, unless they were of the life-lesson variety, such as “don’t eat too much fried food” and “don’t cross against the light.”
Nicole washed her hands and dried them on a piece of paper towel. She tossed the crumpled-up towel into the wastebasket and wondered if she should do the same with the conflicting documents in her purse.
Mr. King wouldn’t forget as easily.
Nicole hiked her purse straps over her shoulder. She’d grab some lunch in the break room and then do some bookkeeping. Maybe if Derreck still wasn’t around, she’d finally talk to Mr. Peters so she could put this mess behind her.
Nicole emerged from the basement and slowed at the top of the stairs at the sound of Brett’s voice. Panic swept over her, heating every inch of her skin. Had Brett come to report news of Missy? Nicole peeked around the corner and saw Brett standing in Derreck’s office doorway. So much for talking to Mr. Peters in private. She flattened against the wall so she could listen without detection.
“Do you know much about Melissa Flowers?” Brett asked.
“Sure, Missy’s been here a long time. My uncle hired her right out of high school. She always did a good job. Maybe a little too chatty when she should have been doing her job.”
Nicole envisioned Derreck, elbows propped on his desk, tapping the pads of his fingers together in an oh-so-thoughtful gesture. “But she got the cleaning done. Missy was a good employee.”
Derreck’s choice of words pinged around her brain. Missy was...
Missy is, is, is, she wanted to scream.
“We’re terribly worried about her. We’re like family at Peters Funeral Home.” Derreck’s tone oozed just the right amount of concern. The same tone he used on the deceased’s relatives, a mix of sympathy and smooth salesmanship. He seemed to be able to turn it on and off at will. “Still no sign of our Missy?”
“I’m afraid not.” Brett’s voice grew louder, as if he had turned to check the hallway. “Did Missy have any problems? Perhaps here at work?”
Nicole’s heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears. She took another step back and bumped into the hall table. The antique vase wobbled. She grabbed the vase to steady it.
Pushing her shoulders back, she strode down the hall, acting as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping. She smiled tightly at Brett and nodded toward Derreck, seated behind his large mahogany desk, fingers steepled, matching her mental image.
“Missy seemed happy. No problems,” Derreck said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Nicole?”
Nicole slowed her pace and turned toward the office, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. No one knew about the incriminating papers she had stashed in her purse, so she didn’t need to act guilty.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat and crossed her arms, uncrossed them and crossed them again. She adjusted her stance. “Missy is a happy person. She never complains about work. She’s happy to be employed. Not
