caused my brain to melt into a pile of goo. Keeping up the lie was a bad idea, but that didn’t stop me.
He held my hand, pulling me inside the reception hall that had been tastefully decorated in the seventies. “This way to the good stuff.”
I blushed, hoping my hands wouldn’t turn into a sloppy mess of nerves. “Been here before?”
“Yeah, I’m here at least twice a month. The owner refuses to update the decor, so this place is only popular for funerals and wakes nowadays.” He pointed at the orange chair backs.
“True. No one in their right mind—” I jumped as I nearly ran into a stuffed bear. “What the hell is that?”
Derek chuckled against his fist. “That’s Blue. I should have probably warned you, the owner is a trained taxidermist. He uses this place as a museum for his art.”
I shuddered. “Do I have anymore of his creations to look forward to?”
“A few deer heads, and I think he still has a squirrel on display.”
I stuck out my lip. “He killed a poor little squirrel.”
We stopped in front of the crowded buffet and Derek handed me a plate. He picked food off the table, alternating between putting the food in his mouth and on his plate. I watched some of the guests crying into napkins as they picked at their food.
I held the plate against my stomach and leaned towards Derek. “Are you sure it’s okay we’re doing this? I’m feeling a little uneasy. It feels like stealing.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s fine. Better we eat it, or they’ll just throw it all away. Here, try this.” He picked up a sausage roll and held it to my mouth. “I thought you’d done this before anyway?”
I chewed slowly, realizing he’d caught me in a lie. “I guess I’m just prone to guilt. I feel bad every time I come to one of these.”
“Understandable.” He fingered greedily through the pile of food on his plate as he looked for a secluded corner to relax in. We stopped next to a wall and he leaned against it. “So your boss that hired Cindy, what happened to her? How did she die?”
“Freak accident, she froze to death in a walk-in freezer.” I examined a piece of shrimp.
He paused for a second like he had heard me wrong before laughing out loud. “Wow, that’s one hell of a way to go.”
“She was apparently the first person ever to die that way. Linda always worried she' d die of lung cancer. She tried to stop smoking at least once a month.”
He rubbed his chin. “It least it’s unique. The people we usually work for die of heart attacks, car accidents or of old age.”
I looked down at the floor.
“I know it’s weird but sometimes I think about how I want to die,” he said.
I turned away, hoping he’d take the hint and change the conversion.
“I want a hero death, one where I save puppies from a fire, bring a drowning kid to safety or take a bullet for someone.”
“Okay, Superman, I think you’re in the wrong profession or have been watching too many action movies. The real world isn’t like that.”
“I’m serious. I want my death to mean something. To go out in a blaze of glory.” He waved an hors-d’oeuvre at me.
“Well if you keep eating that much junk food, you won’t even make it to your next birthday.”
“I can’t help it, it’s an excellent spread. Someone is trying to make up for a guilty conscience,” he said with a full mouth.
I wrinkled my nose at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“The better the food, the worse whoever is paying for it feels about the person dying. Great food means they must really feel bad about something they did or said just before the client kicked the bucket. Believe me, happens all the time.” He picked at a chicken wing.
I glanced over at Sheryl. “Yeah, that does make perfect sense.”
Chapter 12
I opened the door to my apartment and pumped my fist in the air in celebration. “I did it, I finally got a new job,” I said, dancing through the living room.
Aaron bolted from the sofa
He held my hand, pulling me inside the reception hall that had been tastefully decorated in the seventies. “This way to the good stuff.”
I blushed, hoping my hands wouldn’t turn into a sloppy mess of nerves. “Been here before?”
“Yeah, I’m here at least twice a month. The owner refuses to update the decor, so this place is only popular for funerals and wakes nowadays.” He pointed at the orange chair backs.
“True. No one in their right mind—” I jumped as I nearly ran into a stuffed bear. “What the hell is that?”
Derek chuckled against his fist. “That’s Blue. I should have probably warned you, the owner is a trained taxidermist. He uses this place as a museum for his art.”
I shuddered. “Do I have anymore of his creations to look forward to?”
“A few deer heads, and I think he still has a squirrel on display.”
I stuck out my lip. “He killed a poor little squirrel.”
We stopped in front of the crowded buffet and Derek handed me a plate. He picked food off the table, alternating between putting the food in his mouth and on his plate. I watched some of the guests crying into napkins as they picked at their food.
I held the plate against my stomach and leaned towards Derek. “Are you sure it’s okay we’re doing this? I’m feeling a little uneasy. It feels like stealing.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s fine. Better we eat it, or they’ll just throw it all away. Here, try this.” He picked up a sausage roll and held it to my mouth. “I thought you’d done this before anyway?”
I chewed slowly, realizing he’d caught me in a lie. “I guess I’m just prone to guilt. I feel bad every time I come to one of these.”
“Understandable.” He fingered greedily through the pile of food on his plate as he looked for a secluded corner to relax in. We stopped next to a wall and he leaned against it. “So your boss that hired Cindy, what happened to her? How did she die?”
“Freak accident, she froze to death in a walk-in freezer.” I examined a piece of shrimp.
He paused for a second like he had heard me wrong before laughing out loud. “Wow, that’s one hell of a way to go.”
“She was apparently the first person ever to die that way. Linda always worried she' d die of lung cancer. She tried to stop smoking at least once a month.”
He rubbed his chin. “It least it’s unique. The people we usually work for die of heart attacks, car accidents or of old age.”
I looked down at the floor.
“I know it’s weird but sometimes I think about how I want to die,” he said.
I turned away, hoping he’d take the hint and change the conversion.
“I want a hero death, one where I save puppies from a fire, bring a drowning kid to safety or take a bullet for someone.”
“Okay, Superman, I think you’re in the wrong profession or have been watching too many action movies. The real world isn’t like that.”
“I’m serious. I want my death to mean something. To go out in a blaze of glory.” He waved an hors-d’oeuvre at me.
“Well if you keep eating that much junk food, you won’t even make it to your next birthday.”
“I can’t help it, it’s an excellent spread. Someone is trying to make up for a guilty conscience,” he said with a full mouth.
I wrinkled my nose at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“The better the food, the worse whoever is paying for it feels about the person dying. Great food means they must really feel bad about something they did or said just before the client kicked the bucket. Believe me, happens all the time.” He picked at a chicken wing.
I glanced over at Sheryl. “Yeah, that does make perfect sense.”
Chapter 12
I opened the door to my apartment and pumped my fist in the air in celebration. “I did it, I finally got a new job,” I said, dancing through the living room.
Aaron bolted from the sofa
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