“No.” Gerald growled, ripping the phone out of Earl’s hand and slamming it down. “This man is here about the burglaries.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?” Earl pouted.
“Divert the phones to the answering service. I want us all to be available for Agent Sanderson’s questions.” Gerald snapped his fingers at Tom. “You. Tom. We don’t have any preps today. Go on.”
Tom bolted out of his chair, almost tripping over his own feet. “Uh, yeah. Yes, sir. No problem.”
Gerald offered the agent a strained smile. “You may use the arrangement room up front.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ayers,” Fox said. “I appreciate your cooperation.”
Tom’s legs were jelly as he showed Fox into the arrangement room, his thoughts running away into sheer panic. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but his anxiety heavily disagreed. He couldn’t stop tapping his foot as he sat down at the long table, positioning himself opposite Fox.
“Name?” Fox asked politely.
“Thomas Hill, sir.”
“What do you do here at the funeral home?”
“I’m the embalmer.”
“How long have you been working here, Mr. Hill?”
“Ten years, sir.” Tom really wanted to ask about a lawyer, but he was worried it might make him seem guilty. He decided against it.
“Where were you last night between six o’clock and midnight?”
“Uh, I was here working late for part of it, and then I went home.”
“Anyone who can corroborate that?”
“My boyfriend,” Tom said, unable to resist a smile despite his nerves. “We had dinner here, and then we went to my place. He, uh…” Oh, why couldn’t he stop smiling. He must have looked like an idiot. “He spent the night.”
“Do you mind if I ask you his name?”
“Cypress Holmes, sir.”
“Cypress? Runs Doyle’s Flowers?” Fox looked surprised, and his stern demeanor dropped. He laughed, asking, “You’re dating Shirley?”
“Shirley?” Tom blinked.
“You haven’t met the old man yet,” Fox mused, a twinkle in his eye. “Ask Cypress about it when you see him again.”
“I will do that.” Tom could feel his face getting hot as he realized he still had a lot to learn about his new beau.
“Now, I’m going to be straight with you, Mr. Hill.” Fox leaned across the table as his professional posture returned. “Some of these burglaries did happen when the families were out for their services. Anybody could look up the obituaries in the paper and figure out when a funeral is happening.” He held up a finger. “But two of them happened when the families were here for viewings.”
“But those aren’t published, not even on our website,” Tom said, his brow furrowing up. He made a face as realization kicked in. “You think it’s someone here at the funeral home.”
“Access to the family’s home address, including next of kin, and intimate knowledge of their schedule.” Fox folded his hands on the table. “If it’s not an employee, it could be someone else who’s being given this information.”
Tom couldn’t think of anyone who would do such a thing. To target a family that was already grieving seemed excessively cruel. He didn’t even think Junior would do that.
Then again…
“All I’m looking for right now is a lead,” Fox went on. “Do you know of anyone here who would have any sort of motive for robbing these homes?”
A funeral director with a horrible drug problem whose cash flow I just interrupted.
