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Bryn cleared her suddenly tight throat. “Uh, none taken, I guess. So what do we do now?”
“Same thing you were doing before, while we wait for our mysterious friend to get over his stage fright. ”
“I need another trained mortician before I can open for business. ”
“Luckily, I already got that covered. You’ve got an appointment in”—he checked his watch—“half an hour. Applicant’s name is Riley Block. ”
“But I didn’t even put out an ad yet!”
“Actually, you did. You’re paying pretty well, too. Oh, and you offer medical and dental. Lucy’s already prepared all the paperwork for you. ” He stood up and smoothed the creases out of his pants as the front bell sounded. “That’d be your applicant, I guess. ”
It was. Lucy bustled in, marched up to Bryn, and gave her a sassy grin and a thick sheaf of paperwork. Bryn took it and tried to smile brightly in return, but she must not have fooled anyone. Lucy gave her a concerned look. “Boss, you look pale. You need to stop working all day and night. You spend too much time inside this place. ”
The more she came in contact with real human sympathy, the more isolated Bryn felt. “I’m okay, Lucy. Thank you. I have to say, between you and Joe, you’ve done an amazing job pulling this place together. I really don’t feel like I’ve done anything. ”
Lucy smiled. “Well, that’s just nonsense. You pay me to know what I’m doing, and I know more about the death business than anybody you’ll ever meet. I’ve been through all the wars. ”
“I’d love to hear some of those war stories,” Joe said.
“Why, let me tell you …” And she was off, chattering with Joe about her favorite mortician story, which was not just shocking but downright perverted, and hilarious. Bryn got herself a cup of coffee and left them to it as they walked from her office. She’d decided not to take Mr. Fairview’s palace of a workspace, but had kept her own; she felt more comfortable there. Less haunted by what had happened. Now she sipped her coffee, then got up and put on her white lab coat and modeled it for the mirror. How did I get here? She could still remember the echoes of how proud this coat had made her, how excited she’d been to dive into the new job on that first day.
It seemed like a million miles away now.
Bryn started a little as a brisk knock sounded on her door; she couldn’t help but flash back to Mr. Fairview, and her first morning with him. She took off the lab coat and hung it up, straightened the line of her jacket over the holstered gun, and went to greet her prospective new employee.
Riley Block was not what she’d expected—mostly because she’d expected, well, a man. Riley was a woman, older than Bryn by about ten years; she was taller, blonder, and had a square face with a prominent jaw that seemed all business, all the time. Even the smile she gave Bryn seemed artificial and businesslike as she held out her hand. “Miss Davis,” she said. “Nice to meet you. ”
“Nice to meet you. Please come in. ”
They settled in the same comfortable area where Bryn would have placed a prospective customer, and Bryn tried to gather her wits. She’d never interviewed anybody else for a job; she’d expected Joe Fideli to be here and guide her through it. How do you tell if someone’s a lunatic, anyway? There had to be some kind of clue, but as she studied Riley Block, she didn’t catch one. She finally, somewhat desperately, said, “So, tell me about yourself. ”
Luckily, that seemed to be the right thing to say. Riley whipped out an impressive résumé, which Bryn studied as Riley described her training (excellent), academic record (also excellent), references (ditto), and goals.
One thing was certain: she was no Fast Freddy, and Bryn loved her on the spot just for that.
Fideli finally showed up during the tour of the premises, but he let Bryn take the lead—just what she didn’t want, but she toughed it out. Riley seemed to have a good grasp of the prep room; she did a fast and thorough inventory of the restocked supplies and suggested a couple of additions, which Bryn added to her notes. All in all, it wasn’t a warm experience, but then, morticians weren’t generally known for their social skills.
Riley seemed perfectly competent, and after a quick consultation with Fideli, Bryn hired her.
Fairview Mortuary was back in business.
If Bryn didn’t feel especially great about that … well, she hoped it didn’t show.
They booked their first client the next morning: mercifully, it was a natural death, a ninety-year-old grandmother of four kids, twelve grandchildren, and twentysomething great-grandchildren. It was a sad experience for the family, naturally, but nothing traumatic. Bryn didn’t think she could deal with trauma anyway, not yet.
Fideli carried the bulk of the work, and was surprisingly good at it; for someone who’d initially seemed so alpha-male-soldier and intimidating, he could really empathize when it counted, or at least give a damn good imitation of it. Riley received the body later that afternoon and started her work, and Bryn was surprised to find that she, too, was efficient and capable.
I’m the only one with a learning curve, Bryn thought. It didn’t make her feel any better. Neither did her daily shot, administered by Fideli in the privacy of her office; it still stung, every time, and she was starting to really hate the sight of a needle.
What alarmed her, though, was that after his usual ritual of bagging up the syringe, he reached in his pocket and took out his little black pyramid device, switched it on, and checked its effectiveness against his phone app, which led her to wonder, again, whether there was a countersurveillance app store somewhere.
Probably.
“Okay, two minutes,” Fideli said, and leaned forward, looking at her with unexpected directness. “Need to give you a heads-up. You’re going to get a visit today from Irene Harte. ”
“I don’t know the name. ”
“No reason you should. Ms. Harte is a vice president at Pharmadene, in charge of the division that makes our little wonder drug. ”
