the knowledge that her credit card company had already hit her account with a twenty-two percent finance charge for the cash advance she’d gotten to pay off that odious Tick fellow.
She popped off the lid, peered inside and frowned. Empty. Then she squinted…no, there was something rolled up and nearly hidden because it was pressed against the lining of the canister. She wiggled her hand down inside, grabbed an edge with her fingernails and pulled it out slowly. Immediately, her stomach began to churn.
It was a postcard from her parents dated six weeks ago. The photo was an Ansel Adams landscape, a nondescript mountain scene mirrored by a lake. The note on the back was short and cryptic, as always. “Thinking of you both.” It was her mother’s handwriting. The postmark was Miami, Florida. She inhaled sharply. They had been only one state away when they’d mailed it?
She shook her head, wondering why Wesley would have kept the postcard from her and felt the need to hide it. Then she smirked. Hadn’t she said the last time they’d gotten one—two years ago—that she hoped they didn’t receive any more postcards, and that if they did, she would turn them over to the police? Wesley must have taken her at her word.
Detective Terry’s question as to her parents’ whereabouts echoed in her head. Should she call him now while the lead might still be warm? Or would that result in unnecessary surveillance of their home, their mail, their phones? She worked her mouth back and forth, debating. One thing was certain—she couldn’t leave the postcard in case Wesley decided to hide it somewhere else. If he missed it and confronted her, she’d tell him the truth, which was more than she’d gotten from him. She returned the canister to the shelf, climbed inside her car, and, after studying the postcard again, stuck it inside her purse.
She’d hang on to the “evidence” until she decided what to do.
11
“This is too cool,” Wesley said, nodding his head as he surveyed the inside of the moving hearse.
Coop looked amused. “Buckle up. It’d be embarrassing to die in a hearse.”
Wesley clicked the seat belt home. “Where do you buy a hearse?”
“At a dealership, same as a regular car, or used from other funeral home operators. I only use it for funerals and pickups at the nursing home. Otherwise, I use the van.”
Wesley studied the serious profile of the man next to him and had a feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. “How did you get into the business?”
Coop’s mouth tightened and he looked away briefly. “The funeral home belongs to my uncle. I didn’t grow up dreaming of working there, if that’s what you’re asking. It just worked out that way.”
“And you like it?”
The man shrugged. “It’s okay.” He looked at Wesley. “It’s better than jail.” Coop’s cell phone rang and he clicked on the hands-free button. “Coop here.”
Wesley listened while the man talked to someone named Jim and arranged to pick up a body at the hospital, pondering Coop’s comment about jail. He’d been referring to Wesley’s predicament…hadn’t he?
“I’ve got a trainee on board,” Coop said into the mike and shot Wesley a smile. “This is his first call.”
“Does he have a strong stomach?” asked the man on the phone.
Coop laughed. “Cut it out, man, you’ll make him nervous, and you know how hard it is to find good help these days.”
Wesley smiled, but his insides were churning—maybe eggs Benedict wasn’t a good idea before his first-ever body run. He’d assumed the nursing-home call would be picking up some old geezer who’d died in his sleep with a smile on his face, but what if it were some kind of freak accident? Or what if they had died of some kind of flesh-eating disease? He wrinkled his nose. Or what if it were some old lady—naked? He wasn’t sure if he was ready to see that.
Coop disconnected the call, and Wesley shifted in his seat, suddenly not feeling so well. “Is this going to be gross?”
“You ever seen a dead body before?”
“No.”
“Lucky you.” Coop made a rueful noise. “Death is never pretty, but some retrievals are more messy than others. Our job is to be calm and professional, no matter what. The relatives might be close by and it’s not good if they see us react badly, no matter what the situation is.”
Wesley swallowed hard. “What’s the grossest case you ever had?”
“Garbage-truck compacter,” Coop said without hesitation. Then he looked over. “That, my friend, is a bad way to go.”
Wesley winced. “What happened to the guy who used to help you?”
“Couldn’t hack it. I told you when you answered the ad, Wesley, this job isn’t for everyone, but it’s necessary and honorable work.”
Wesley nodded solemnly, hoping he didn’t let the man down.
“So,” Coop said, turning the radio knobs, “your sister.”
Wesley looked at him suspiciously. “Yeah, what about her?”
“She’s cute.”
“You like her or something?”
Coop shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“You should ask her out.”
Coop was quiet for so long Wesley thought he might have misread him. “Think she’d go?” he finally asked.
Wesley laughed. “No. She doesn’t date much and I don’t think you’re her type.”
“Let me guess—she’s into guys who wear moisturizer.”
Wesley thought a minute. “I guess so. The guy she was crying over all night is some preppie dude she dated, like, ten years ago. He dumped her.”
Coop frowned. “And she’s still crying over him?”
“No—I mean, she hasn’t seen him in years, but she ran into him last night and I guess it upset her.” He chewed on his lip, trying to decide how much of his life to divulge to his new boss. He didn’t want to come across as some kind of drama case. “My sister’s life hasn’t been easy.”
“How so?”
“She raised me since I was nine, and I’ve been kind of a shithead.”
Coop smiled. “What happened to your parents?”
Wesley looked out the window. “Long story, man.”
“Some other time then,” Coop said easily. “We’re here.”
Wesley’s pulse kicked up as the nursing home came into view. It looked more like a shabby brick apartment building than a medical facility. Coop backed the hearse into a parking place near the door reserved for ambulances, climbed out and straightened his jacket as
