at the Lenox Mall.”
He lifted his coffee cup. “Well, no offense, but to me that seems like an odd career choice.”
Wesley laughed, then covered his mouth. “Sorry, sis, but he’s got you there.”
She frowned at her brother and concentrated on eating and not thinking about what Cooper Craft did for a living. Under her lashes, she stared at his hands—long, shapely fingers, with immaculate nails, clean from all the chemicals he used, no doubt. She wondered if he had been a weird kid, the kind that gave little funerals for roadkill. He seemed normal—mannerly, well-spoken, educated. But what normal person was attracted to his line of work?
Then she looked at Wesley and stopped midchew. Was there something wrong with Wesley? He did seem to have a fixation on feeding live rodents to that killer snake of his. Was he attracted to this kind of job? Good God, having her for a parent had affected him more than she’d ever dreamed. Not only was he a delinquent, but he was…morbid.
Coop wiped his mouth and groaned in satisfaction. “That was great.”
“Thanks,” Wesley said, then gave Carlotta’s half-eaten breakfast a pointed look.
“Yes, it’s great,” she concurred weakly. “But I’m just not as hungry as I thought.” The world was missing out on the eat-with-a-mortician diet.
“Ready to go?” Coop asked Wesley, then glanced at his watch. “All the folks at the nursing home will be lined up, expecting us. It’s kind of a morning ritual. They have a send-off for their friends who have passed.”
Carlotta winced.
“Yeah, let me grab my backpack.”
“You got a shirt with a collar on it?” Coop asked.
Wesley frowned and looked at Carlotta, who smothered a smile behind her glass.
“Yeah,” Wesley said, his spirits considerably dampened.
“How about a jacket?”
Wesley’s face fell further. “Yeah.”
“Good. The families expect us to look decent when we arrive to load up their loved ones.”
Wesley nodded. “Give me a minute.” He headed toward his bedroom, leaving her alone with creepy Coop.
“All these years I’ve been trying to get him to dress better,” she said dryly, “and you accomplish it in five minutes.”
“Seems like a nice kid,” he said.
“He is…but he’s been in a little trouble.”
He nodded. “Wesley told me about the probation. I told him that everybody makes mistakes—it’s how a person handles their mistakes that sets them apart.”
Something in the tone of his voice made her wonder if he was talking about Wesley…or himself.
He stood and carried his empty plate to the sink.
“Leave it, I’ll get it. That’s our deal—Wesley cooks, and I clean up.”
“It’s okay,” he said, rinsing the plate, along with his coffee cup. “I live alone. I’m used to cleaning up after myself.”
Hmm—a bachelor. She wasn’t completely surprised. An undertaker wasn’t on the top of most girls’ list of desirable dates. Unbidden, she wondered if the saying about undertakers having cold hands was true.
“Thanks for the hospitality,” he said. “I hope you…feel better.”
An embarrassed flush climbed her neck. The man must think she was a simpering fool for some loser guy. Not that she cared what he thought of her—he worked with dead people, for Christ’s sake. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
“I’m ready,” Wesley said from the doorway.
Carlotta stared. “A tie, too?”
“Bye, sis. We’re going in Coop’s ride.”
She frowned. “What kind of ‘ride’ would that be?”
“A hearse,” Wesley said. “How cool is that?”
Her eyes went wide as she rushed to the window. Sure enough, a black hearse sat at the curb. “Mrs. Winningham will stroke out over this.”
“I usually drive a van,” Coop said, following her. “But the folks at the nursing home appreciate the classy extra touch.”
Carlotta pushed her tongue into her cheek. “Classy—that’s just what I was thinking.”
Wesley pushed open the front door and galloped out to the curb to check out his “ride.”
Coop laughed, then looked at her. “Nice meeting you.” He stuck out his hand.
She swallowed before taking it, expecting his fingers to be frigid. Instead, they were warm and firm and…nice, actually. “Same here,” she said, perplexed by the man’s contradictions.
He nodded toward the dilapidated silver-colored tree in the corner. “I like your tree—very retro. You must really get into Christmas.”
Carlotta gave him a flat smile. “Oh, yeah, it’s Christmas every day of the year around here.”
He grinned and walked to the door. “Guess I’ll be seeing you.”
She crossed her arms. “I have to be honest with you, Coop—I’m not sold on this idea of Wesley being a…a body mover.”
Coop gave a little laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
The door closed behind him and she frowned. Where had she heard that before?
She showered and dressed for work quickly, pushing away thoughts of Peter Ashford as soon as they entered her head. It was how she’d gotten over him before—by conditioning herself not to think about him and eventually the banished thoughts had diminished.
Although they had never quite disappeared.
When she walked out on the stoop, Mrs. Winningham was halfheartedly watering her yard, a ruse she promptly abandoned when she spotted Carlotta. “Why was there a hearse in front of your house this morning?”
Carlotta angled her head. “A hearse? I didn’t see a hearse, Mrs. Winningham. Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”
The woman scowled. “If I did, I also imagined your brother getting in it.”
Carlotta lifted her arms in a shrug. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Winningham.”
She trotted to the garage, squeezing the remote control. The opener made a horrible grinding noise as it lifted the door—a sure sign it was ready to go out. She sighed, opened the car door and tossed her purse in the passenger seat. Just before she swung inside, she noticed a tennis-ball can on a shelf with old cans of spray paint and miscellaneous
