Not Another One Hit Wonder

Chapter 3-2

Once I drop Riley off at Molly’s, I turn the car around and head back for Lakeside Avenue. In addition to the ambulance, there’s a police car on the scene that I either didn’t notice before or it just arrived.

And there’s Taylor, leaning against the side of the hearse with his shirt untucked and his tie loosened, as if he just got off a long night of work. Since my phone doesn’t buzz, I know he isn’t texting me to see where I’m at. Which means he’s goofing off.

I park across the street, and even from here, I can see the wrinkles creasing his pants. He may think he looks cool, with his head full of wavy blond hair he keeps swinging out of his puppy brown eyes, but he’s going to have to shape up if he wants to make it in this business. I don’t care if Eckert’s is the only funeral home in Ashbury and he can’t intern anywhere else for his last year of community college. I’m close to firing him for showing up at a removal so damn disheveled.

He’s playing with his iPhone when I get out of the car, and it holds his attention until I’m practically standing right in front of him. Then he gives me that smarmy grin of his I’m sure the girls all swoon over as he pockets the phone. “Mr. Eckert, hey.”

“Pull yourself together,” I snap. Hurriedly he complies as I rattle off a list of things he’s old enough to know how to do without being told. “Tuck in your shirt, straighten your hair, tighten your tie, smooth out your pants—God, what’d you do, sleep in them? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“I kind of did,” he mumbles, in a low voice I know he hopes I don’t hear.

“Don’t think we won’t deal with this later,” I warn.

Patting at the wrinkles in his pants, Taylor asks, “Deal with what?”

“Your attitude. The way you’re dressed. We’ve talked about this before.” I’m still unnerved about how quickly my morning plans went south and don’t have the energy to waste on him at the moment. When he’s more or less presentable, I tell him, “Come on, we have a removal to do. How long have you been out there, anyway?”

“Just a few—” He catches himself before admitting he arrived right before I did. “I…I mean, I got here when you said.”

I narrow my eyes, suspicious. “Uh-huh. And you’ve been standing out here ever since?”

“Waiting for you,” Taylor replies.

I’m not buying it.

I don’t say anything else, just turn on my heel and head up the walk. The ambulance’s lights are still flashing, and from the corner of my eye, I see the front curtains flutter over at the neighbor’s. Down the street, a man stands on his front porch, dressed in a bathrobe and PJ bottoms, the morning paper in one hand as he stares my way. Before long, everyone will be out here, gathering about, and I don’t want to fight through a crowd to get Mrs. Duran out of the house. I want this over and done with, as quickly as possible. She deserves that, at least.

When I’m almost at the house, I turn to find Taylor still by the side of the hearse. His iPhone is back in his hands, and from here it looks like he’s texting someone. Jesus God, I’m going to kill this kid. Trying to keep the anger out of my voice, I call out, “Are you coming?”

He runs up to me. “Sorry! Sorry. I thought—”

“No, you weren’t thinking. That’s the problem.” I stomp up the steps to the front door. “You’re too busy playing with that damn phone of yours. I’ve told you I don’t want to see it when you’re at work.”

Petulant, he mutters, “Technically I’m not at work yet—”

I square my shoulders and grit my teeth as I face the front door. “Taylor, you don’t even want to start with me this morning, I promise.”

That earns me another half-hearted, “Sorry.”

Still not buying it.