“I don’t know what to do,” Tom said miserably.
“You talk to me,” Cypress replied. “Don’t hold it all in. We can work out some shit in scenes, but you have to tell me what’s going on. If I’d known you were having this issue with that woman up in your head, I wouldn’t have ever taken you to the party.”
Tom grimaced. “It’s not easy for me to talk about this stuff. I literally broke down in the middle of sewing up the head of this guy who killed himself with a shotgun. Normal people don’t wanna hear this shit.”
“Newsflash,” Cypress said, smiling warmly. “I am far from normal, and I have an iron stomach. You can tell me anything.”
“We’ll see about that iron stomach the next time I have to prep a decomp.” Tom managed a little smile in return.
“Challenge accepted,” Cypress declared. “You were really working on another shotgun case? I swear you just had one. How often does that shit happen?”
“More than you think,” Tom replied sadly. “And right before that, I had this guy who was stabbed to death.” His eyes widened. “Fuck. The guy. The fuckin’ guy. I need to tell you about the guy.”
“Hey, hey, what guy?”
Tom took a deep breath. “I need to tell you the truth. About everything. All the cards, right?”
“If you’re ready to talk, I am ready to listen,” Cypress said, squeezing Tom’s hip reassuringly.
“The person here at work making me sell all the embalming fluid?” Tom cringed. “It was Junior.”
“I thought so.”
Tom stared.
“Come on.” Cypress snorted. “Who else would it be? Mr. Crosby? Little tiny Aaron?”
“Okay, fine.” Tom wrinkled his nose. “Well, things have gotten a bit more complicated. The old man that I used to sell it to?”
“Yeah?”
“I just got done embalming him earlier. He was the stabbing victim.”
“Wait, wait.” Cypress almost looked like he wanted to laugh, scoffing incredulously. “What?”
“He was murdered.” Tom fidgeted. “His name was Mr. Seymour Ross, and, uh, yeah, he’s pretty dead right now.”
“Well,fuck. Do they know who did it?”
“No idea,” Tom replied. “I haven’t heard anything, but I’ve also been stuck in here all day. I haven’t seen Junior since this morning, but…”
“You think he had something to do with it?”
“He was making me sell formaldehyde to that guy, and, uh, there’s a watch with Mr. Ross that has ‘Junior’ engraved on it.”
“Let me guess. He’s not a junior?”
“No, he’s not.” Tom swallowed back a mouthful of bile. “I know it all sounds crazy, but it’s possible, right?”
“Shit.” Cypress stepped away for a moment to scrub his hands over his face. “You know you guys are already all over the news.”
“I know. The burglaries.”
“What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?” Cypress sighed, pulling Tom back into his arms and kissing his hair.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Tom groaned as he smothered his face into Cypress’s chest. “Am I nuts for thinking Junior could be a murderer? I was already pegging him for the burglaries but killing someone?”
“He’s not exactly out there petting ponies and helping old ladies cross the street.”
