Tom greeted him with a kiss, biting back the urge to moan as Cypress squeezed his hips. “No embalmings today. Mm. What are you doing here? Don’t you have flowers to deliver?”
“I do, but I saw your text,” Cypress replied. “Had a casket spray to drop off for that Poole lady, and well, yeah, I gotta know who the hell told you—”
“That your name is Shirley?” Tom teased.
“Okay, first of all, it’s not my name, but a terrible nickname,” Cypress said firmly, trying to hide a smile. “Now spill. Who told you?”
“Agent Fox Sanderson.”
Cypress, expression instantly hardening, asked very carefully, “Tom, are you in trouble? Is this about the formaldehyde?”
“What? No.” Tom shook his head quickly. “God, no. There’s been some break-ins, and they’re all families we served here at the funeral home. He was questioning all of us.”
“Jesus,” Cypress breathed, relieved. “They think it was someone who works here?”
“All the burglaries happened when the families were at funerals or here for viewings, and we don’t post viewings publicly.”
“So, an inside job?”
“I guess that’s what he’s thinking,” Tom replied glumly. “I can’t imagine anybody here doing that. I mean, Gerald is a bastard, but he’s not a thief. Miss Wheel is a gossip, but she’s harmless. Okay, maybe Junior, though.”
“Well, keep your head down,” Cypress cautioned. “If Fox is here, it’s pretty serious.”
“So, how do you know him?”
“Mutual friends,” Cypress replied mysteriously.
“Oh, that is so not an answer,Shirley.”
“Come over to my place tonight, and I’ll tell you all about it,” Cypress promised.
“Tonight?” Tom smiled eagerly.
“If you’re free.”
“I would love that.” Tom rolled his eyes, adding, “Unless I have to work late again.” He cringed. “Shit, what about Mister Doodles?”
“Bring the little man-eater over. She’ll have a blast.”
“Where do you live?”
“Above the flower shop.”
“And what am I supposed to do with Mister Doodles the next morning? Or is it too presumptuous to assume I’m spending the night?”
“Oh, you’re definitely spending the night.” Cypress chuckled. “You’ll just have to get up extra early to take her home before you go to work.”
“Eh, I dunno.” Tom tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “That sounds like an awful lot of trouble.”
“I’ll cook for you.”
“Cook?” Tom laughed. “You can cook?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Cypress said with a wink.
“Guess so, Shirley.”
“Stop,” Cypress groaned. “I hate that nickname.”
