Christmas Corpse Caper (2 page)

Liquid Lies

Short Stories in Anthologies

Eternal Spring

Her short story titled “Picture not Perfect”

WG2E Summer Fling

Her short story titled “Turnabout Twist”

Save Me, Santa

Her short story titled “Christmas Corpse Caper”

WG2E Spooky Shorts

Her short story titled “Treat or Trick”

This story is dedicated to an incredibly brilliant, wonderful and generous friend who keeps me laughing and is one of my favorite people in the entire world- Patricia Mason. You are my muse, my brainstorming partner and idea generator. Plus my away from home fun loving travel buddy. I am honored to have you in my life. This story is for you.

Walking into the back office at the Kincaid Funeral Home, I prepared to start my shift and found two of my co-workers, Kim and Joe, already there. Kim, the administrative assistant, sat at her desk and Joe lounged, smirking by the coffee machine on the credenza in the corner. Tonight—Christmas Eve—marked the halfway point of my apprenticeship at Kincaid’s, Round Lake Wisconsin’s oldest mortuary. Even though, technically, I got high scores as a mortician in training, I still felt like a failure. I’d definitely failed at fitting in, anyway. It didn’t help that I’d had a crush on Kim since we went to grade school together over a decade ago.

Tonight I wanted to prove that I was a valuable part of the Kincaid team.

“Hey, Mark, tonight is your six month anniversary with Kincaid, eh?” Kim said with a smile. I couldn’t help noticing how her shoulder length brown hair framed her heart-shaped face. She still had the cute, athletic build she had back in school, only now she stood five foot two inches.

“Yes.” I plunked into a chair next to the receptionist desk. “And tonight I’ll get to work all my by lonesome for a little.”

Kim opened her desk and rummaged in the contents. “Maybe you’ll need some protection. I have all sorts of self-defense stuff.” She pulled out brass knuckles and a can of Mace and then slid them across the desk to me. “One can never be too sure, you know.”

“I think I’ll be fine tonight, but thanks for the offer,” I said.

“Suit yourself.” She put her weapons back and slammed the drawer shut.

“Maybe the ghosts of Christmas past will visit you tonight.” Joe punched my arm. He possessed fists the size of most people’s heads. Joe’s thick-as-a-trunk neck bulged over the top of his buttoned-up collar and his barrel-shaped chest strained against the shirt buttons. Besides being a former high school wrestler, Joe had been a bully. Well, still a bully. Now, instead of pounding guys into the wrestling mat, he pounds beers after work. “You’re not afraid are you, Moron Mark?”

He could be such a jerk. “No. I’ll be fine.” My six-foot-tall, scrawny body hadn’t changed much since high school graduation four years ago. I looked practically the same, except with more facial hair. Red hair against my pale complexion seemed nearly transparent so it didn’t really count.

At least Joe no longer threw me up against lockers. He just threw barbs at me these days. Thankfully, he stopped calling me the high school nickname he made up for me: ‘Ginger Gay Guy’. Maybe he’s smarter now.

True, my hair was still a thick flop of bright red, thereby meriting the ‘ginger’ comments. But I didn’t deserve the gay comment, I love girls. Not many have liked me back, but I could’ve earned a varsity letter for trying.

“I’m not afraid to be here alone, Joe,” I said, only revealing half of the truth. “With all the weight lifting I’ve been doing, I could kick some serious butt now.”

Kim rolled her eyes and smiled at me. “You’re such a dork.”

“For you, I’ll be a dork or anyone you want me to be.” I leaned on her desk and batted my eyelashes.

“Enough, lover boy.” Kim shooed my elbow off her desk. She tapped her pen. “Looks like we’ve got a body coming in later tonight, so make sure you answer the back door buzzer.”

“Yeah, don’t screw up.” Joe scribbled on a form attached to the clipboard he held. “Remember our number one rule here is ‘Clients are Golden’. That applies whether they’re breathing or not. Got it Ginger Gay Guy?”

Oh maybe Joe’s not so smart, after all, I thought. “You can count on me. I’ll have everything under control.”

“You’d better.” Joe set the clipboard on Kim’s desk then stood next to me. “Let’s get a move on. I’ve got big plans for tonight, so close this place down.”

Glancing at the wall clock I saw it was five minutes past closing. “What do you have going on?” I asked, trying to make like we were friends having a normal conversation. At least I tried to be civil. He on the other hand had Neanderthal manners, which meant that he had none.

“A hot date. Not that you’d know what that’s about, huh, momma’s boy Mark?” Joe smirked.

“Hey, Joe,” Kim said, pouring a cup of coffee. “Take it easy on him. Just because you’re the owner’s nephew doesn’t give you the right to be so cruel. Plus, no matter what he says, Mark is probably nervous enough being on his own tonight.”

“Kim, thanks for the support, but Joe’s no problem for me.” I winked at Kim. She needed to know I was a strong guy even if not shown outwardly with rippling muscles. “And Joe, I admit I’m a momma’s boy. After all, she gave birth to me. Because I assume that your mother birthed you, I would say you are one too. And secondly, I can handle anything that comes my way. I’m tough.”

Joe huffed as he left the office, but stopped somewhere outside of the door to shout back to us, “Clean up and close up.”

Kim took a sip of her coffee. “Joe’s a jerk most of the time, but he can be really nice. I mean he’s been my neighbor for years. He’s even helped me out when I’ve been short on rent, and loaned me his car when my transmission went out. Just give him a chance.”

“Did you forget? I gave him four years full of chances in high school. Can’t say that he was ever remotely nice to me then. Certainly isn’t now.” Stirring two packets of sugar into my coffee, I let out a deep breath. “My problem is the fact that his uncle owns this place. I’m afraid Joe could interfere with me getting my mortician license. And this is all I ever wanted to do.”

“You worry way too much. Joe likes you or he wouldn’t… “ Kim flipped a coffee stirrer into the trashcan.

“Wouldn’t what?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Kim set her cup down on the credenza. “Nothing at all.”

“You can whisper sweet nothings to me all night if you want.” I smiled. Did she know how much I liked her? Sometimes I wondered if I came on too strong and she took me as a joke.

“Hey, live ones.” Kim pointed at the office glass door.

In the lobby, on the other side of the door, two women walked toward us. The first one stood about five foot three, with salt-and-pepper, short hair. She had a dusting of snow on the shoulders of her black, calf-length coat. A maroon scarf encircled her neck. The other woman stood a half-foot taller with bright white hair and wore a beige coat. As she got closer, I recognized her as one of our clients, Miss Susan Wallace. Her father currently occupied one of our viewing rooms in a silver and mahogany, top-of-the-line casket. I opened the office door for them.

“Good evening, I hate to disturb you so late,” the shorter lady said. Her ruby red lips formed a smile. Her face lined with wrinkles, she looked around sixty give or take a few years.

“Yes, please forgive us for coming so late,” Miss Wallace said.

“What can I do for you?” I asked them.

“We saw the sign and know that you’re closed.” The other lady took off her gloves and unwrapped her maroon scarf. “But since the door was unlocked… Anyway, we really need your help.”

“Let me see what I can do, please follow me.” I guided them into the office. I said to Kim, “I’ve got this.”

“Great, then I’ll get to cleaning.” Kim grabbed a vacuum and headed to the lobby. “Can you clean the lobby windows later?”

“Sure, and can you lock the front door as well, please?” I asked. Then I turned to shake hands, “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting Miss Wallace, but not you. I’m Mark Stevens.”

“My name is Arlene Oldenburg, her sister.” Her voice lilting and gentle, like a soft breeze.

“It’s nice seeing you again, Mark. Please call me Susan.” Her hand grasped mine in a firm, quick shake.

“Please sit down and warm up. I know there’s a blizzard out there.” I motioned at two arm chairs flanking a mahogany end table. A multicolored Tiffany style lamp glowed on the shiny surface of the table. I pulled up a desk chair for me to sit on.

“I’m not sure of your protocol, but I’d like to see my father, Herbert Wallace,” Arlene said, folding her gloves and placing them on her lap.

“Of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I took a seat then placed my elbows on my knees.

“And she couldn’t wait until tomorrow’s service,” Susan snipped, cocking her head in the direction of Arlene.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see my own father as soon as I flew into town? I haven’t seen him in a year. Even now you’ve taken care of everything without me,” Arlene said, voice rising.

“Because I live here. You don’t,” Susan huffed.

Emotions ran high when people grieved, so I sat patiently by and listened. In cases like this, you let them run out of steam, or stop when they became embarrassed to be caught arguing in front of a stranger, whichever came first.

“I didn’t choose to live five states away. You know that’s where my husband got his job,” Arlene retorted to Susan. “Plus, we have three children to take care of. I wouldn’t have had time to help even if I lived here.”

“Just because I’m single I had to do it all? When Mom died ten years ago, I’m the one who had to quit my job to be Dad’s full time caregiver,” Susan shot back at Arlene. “So whether you like it or not, that’s what I did.”

Arlene startled and glanced my way. “Look at us fighting like school girls. Really, Susan, let’s just let it lie. I came here to see Dad, not to argue with you.”

“Yes. Fine.” Susan stood, and said to me, “May we see him?”

“I’d love to help you, but, according to our policies, we aren’t supposed to let anyone view after hours.” Stupid rule, I thought, my shoulders slumping. With Joe hating me and reporting my every move to his uncle, I couldn’t chance breaking the rules.

“Of course. It’s just that, well, it’s important that I see him now.” Tears streaked down Arlene’s pale cheeks. She wrung her hands.

“I’m sorry,” I said, rising. Damned rules. She seemed so pitiful. “Really I am. If I could let you, I would.”

“Did you know that Dad was a World War II veteran?” Arlene sniffed and looked at me.

“No, I didn’t.” I handed her a box of tissues from a table. “You must be proud of him.”

“Yes,” Susan said as she adjusted the purse on her shoulder. “He was a great parent.”

“I’m sure he was,” I said in a soothing voice that came naturally to me.

“And he lived a good, long life. Ninety-seven years. Married over sixty years until our mother passed. My children and husband adored him. Everyone who met him, loved him.” Arlene dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

“To think that he told me at one point, when he was twenty-two-years old, he didn’t think that he’d make it through the war. Of course, he survived, but, no doubt, the war changed him. He said he could never trust anyone again. Not the government, banks. No one,” Susan said as she clasped her hands.

“He learned to be so frugal with his money,” Arlene added. “But I know he had lots of it. Although he never gave any to us.”

“He was only teaching us how to be safe with our finances. Not throw it away recklessly,” Susan said, sneering at Arlene. “Like some people.”

“Is that why he cut me out of the will?” Arlene jumped out of her chair, eyes watering up. She moved right next to Susan. “Another life lesson?”

“Let’s not air our family issues in public. Please, Arlene. I love you and so did Dad. Let’s move on.” Susan touched the sleeve of Arlene’s coat. Arlene twisted away from Susan’s grasp with tears in her eyes.

“Hey, Jackass Ginger—” Joe stormed into the office. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Susan and Arlene. His face turned a bright crimson and his mouth fell open mid-sentence. “Please, forgive me, ladies. I didn’t realize Mark had company.”

Susan blushed then looked down at her feet.

Arlene dabbed her moist eyes with a tissue.

I felt like I had the upper hand now that Joe had made a jerk of himself in front of clients. And, as he said himself, the client is golden, so I tried my luck. “Even though I know we’re not supposed to allow after hours viewing, they’ve requested to see their father, Mr. Wallace, in the Serenity Room. What do you think, Joe?”

“Um, well, I um.” Joe shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “The rules.”