“I love you, too, baby. And don’t you worry about that. This mold is done set.”
Despite the extreme awkwardness, Tom did feel a bit better. He felt his pocket for his phone, and he debated sending Cypress a text. They needed to talk, and this time he was going to tell him the truth.
About everything—Junior, Mrs. Dresser, cake flavors, and all. Life was too short, just like Edie had said, and there wasn’t anybody else Tom wanted to munch on except Cypress.
Okay, but when they did finally talk, he was going to leave out all the funny food analogies.
Before he could even open a new text window, Gerald came flying into the prep with two pieces of paper. “Bosco is on his way back from the medical examiner’s office with two embalmings. One is Mr. Ross that we’ve been waiting on all fuckin’ week, and the other is a Mr. Lundy.”
“Do we know how they died?” Tom asked, glancing over the paperwork.
Bodies at the medical examiner’s office were usually there because they had died an unnatural death, whether it was from suicide, homicide, or an accident. Sometimes, it would be something as simple as an elderly person who had died after having a fall that needed to be investigated.
Other times, not so simple.
If the medical examiner decided to perform an autopsy, the time for embalming automatically doubled. The brain and all the organs would have been removed, so each leg, arm, and both sides of the head would have to be individually injected. The inside of the skull and the empty body cavity would also have to be treated, as would the organs if they were returned with the deceased.
Suturing up the autopsy incisions was at least a thirty-minute task all on its own, making the embalming of a full autopsy a three- or four-hour job.
And now, Tom was potentially looking at two of them.
“Neither one of them is posted,” Gerald grunted. “I called. Mr. Ross is a homicide, no autopsy. It’s why it took them so long to release his body. They were holding him for the investigation.”
“Oh, that’s terrible, baby!” Edie exclaimed. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know. Next of kin is a nephew, and he didn’t know shit. Oh, and the other one is a suicide.” Gerald made a face. “Shotgun. Let me know what you can do.”
“Got it.”
Gerald left, slamming the door behind him.
“I know you’ll be able to fix them both right up,” Edie said proudly. “I’ve seen what you can do. My baby can fix anything.”
“Thanks, Edie.” Tom was relieved neither case would be an autopsy, but severe traumas were their own special headache. He was already preparing himself for more poop on the floor at home because there was no way he would be leaving on time today.
He hugged Edie farewell when she was done with Mrs. Mendez and thanked her again for her help. He was definitely going to text Cypress later, and he started going over what he wanted to say in his head as he prepared for the embalmings.
Bosco showed up as Tom had finished getting his instruments together, propping open the door so he could roll in both stretchers. He nodded at one of them, saying gravely, “Be very careful. Mr. Lundy is double-bagged.”
Tom wrinkled his nose. “And Mr. Ross? Gerald said it was a homicide.”
“Stabbed. Chest and stomach.” Bosco shrugged as he stepped out. “Face is a little fucked up but not bad.”
“Thanks.” Tom decided to start with Mr. Ross, wheeling him over to the stainless-steel table and pulling him over. He wasn’t fully gowned up yet, but he wanted to take a quick peek to see what he would be dealing with.
He dragged the zipper down and immediately froze. This was normally the part where he would start talking to the deceased and introduce himself, but he already knew this man.
Though he’d never known his name, he would have known his face anywhere. It was the old man he used to sell the embalming fluid to for Junior.
And he was right here on Tom’s table.
Murdered.
“Shit.”
Reading the man’s ankle band revealed his name to be Louis S. Ross. When they found out what the middle initial stood for, the band would have to be changed to reflect his full legal name. Tom thought he looked a little odd without the thick glasses he’d always seen him wear.
It could also be because he was dead.
