“I’ll notice,” she said, heading for the bathroom.
“But—”
“No cowboy boots either!” she shouted before disappearing behind the door.
Fully thwarted, I sulked the whole way to my room to get ready. With my red hair tied up beneath a chin-length black wig, and wearing a black blouse, long blackskirt, black veiled hat, black sunglasses, and black gloves, my pale skin hit translucent-level pasty—a color too light to register on film. I didn’t have to worry about being recognized. If anyone tried to photograph me, they’d think I was a vampire.
Working my fingers into my gloves I emerged from my room saying, “I look like the product of Casper the Ghost’s one-night stand with some gothicchick.”
Addison laughed from her room. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“Oh, it’s worse. And I don’t think the gloves are necessary.” I tugged and pulled, trying to get my fingers into their individual holes.
“Yes they are. We can’t leave fingerprints.”
Well that was frightening. “Are we planning on committing a crime? Because you do know it’s not illegal to go to a funeral, right?”
Addisonhuffed and puffed and came storming out of her room looking like Jackie-O, circa 1965, only a little more on the slutty side. She had on one of her tamer little black dresses, but it stopped about four inches above her knees, and if there was a swift gust of wind, everyone would get a good look at her panties. Hopefully she bothered to wear them, but at least she paired black nylons with what shereferred to as her sensible black pumps, since they were only two-and-a-half inches high. Her wig was brunette and curly, her sunglasses were large and round, and her pillbox hat also came with a dark veil. Black gloves and clutch finished her disguise, and she pulled the whole look off like a mourning actress, hiding from the paparazzi.
“You suck,” I said, scowling.
She took one look at meand broke into a fit of giggles. Once she finally composed herself, she announced, “We need a picture!”
“No! There can be no evidence of this whatso—”
She sidled up to me and snapped a selfie before I even finished. “Let’s go.”
Since my car could be recognized by coworkers who’d seen the hunk of junk in the parking garage, we took Addison’s ride. Kirk’s service was being held at a small funeralhome out in the boondocks past Beaverton. Since neither Addison nor I were familiar with the area, we managed to get good and lost—even with the help of Lynda, the bossy navigation system. Luckily we made it despite three wrong turns, arriving only about ten minutes late. After parking, we kept our heads down, dark glasses on, and scurried in, grabbing programs before following signs to the correctroom.
The priest was already speaking, so we stood in the doorway trying not to disrupt. A few heads turned—a couple of people who worked in a different department than me—but nobody seemed to recognize me. At least if they did, they didn’t call the cops and tell them the suspected murderer had shown up to upset the family.
The priest droned on for a while about what a great guy Kirk was (yeahright), before gesturing for a woman in the front row to stand.
“Kirk’s lovely wife, Bonnie, would like to say a few things now.”
My jaw dropped. I turned to Addison and she looked as shocked as I was. “Kirk-the-Jerk was married?” we said together, a little louder than intended.
A few people in the back row turned to glare at us, so we zipped our lips and looked around, trying to play innocent.
Even with mascara tracks running down her cheeks, Bonnie was beautiful. She wore a tasteful black dress and had styled her blonde hair down. She thanked everyone for coming before breaking into a story about the first time she met Kirk... at a job interview, of course. Turns out Kirk had been mingling with the help for a long time.
She looked at the open casket and said, “He was a good man.”Her voice hitched, ever so slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was about to cry, or because she was trying to force truth into the words. I elbowed Addison and she nodded, telling me she’d noticed it too.
As Bonnie broke into another story, I scanned the room. Kirk’s assistant, Michelle, was there. She was fresh out of college and pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. I wonderedif any of Kirk’s lines and lingering touches had worked on her.
A few of my other coworkers were there. One woman fanned herself with the program. A man in the fifth row played on his phone. Even the family members in the front rows looked bored.
When Bonnie finished, the priest opened the microphone, welcoming people to come and say a few words. A couple went up and called Kirk generous, talkingabout how he’d given them a loan when they were trying to buy their first home. Another guy shared a funny golf story. Kirk’s aunt talked about the time he broke his arm falling out of her tree.
It was weird, because even though I had nothing to do with Kirk’s murder, I felt guilty about intruding on his funeral. I’d only known him as Kirk-the-Jerk, my lecherous boss, but clearly there was moreto him than that. For the first time since I’d seen the knife sticking out of his chest, I was sad he was dead. Maybe not for Kirk, but for all these people who would miss him.
Once the speeches were done, we were dismissed with an invitation to partake of the refreshments being served in the anteroom before family accompanied the casket to the gravesite. We slipped away from the crowd anddrifted down the hallway until we found a quiet and private area to discuss the fact Kirk was married.
“Can you believe it?” Addison asked. “What a dog! What a total scumbag! And all those times he hit on you. I should march right up to his wife and tell her what a fine, upstanding man-whore her husband was.”
Cheaters were among Addison’s least favorite people on the planet, right up there withchild and animal abusers.
Addison ranted on. Before I could talk her down, I realized we weren’t alone in the hallway. My eyes widened as I looked over her head, surprised to see the person approaching. Addison kept talking but I was too busy making slashing gestures across my throat to hear her. She didn’t get the hint though, until the newcomer leaned in and whispered in her ear.
Addison’smouth snapped shut.
