She sniffled. “That will take so long. I’m terrible at math.”
“Doesn’t matter. In the meantime, Jack and I are going to keep sleuthing. We’re going to Gene’s funeral together tomorrow. Come with us.”
“I refuse to go.”
“Vera,” I cried. “Come on.”
She shook her head. “Everyone knows I hated him. I’d be a hypocrite if I went. Trust me, it will be strange if I show up to his funeral. I’ll look guiltier if I’m there.”
Maybe she had a point. “OK. Then I want you to try to get information from Tyler.”
“He mentioned wanting to go to the funeral. I don’t know if he’ll be able to now, since he still hasn’t recovered. He has these blisters on his face. What kind of information? I told him I’d visit him at his mom’s today. I could casually ask some questions then.”
I rubbed my lips together, wondering if this was safe. If Tyler did kill Gene for some reason, what would he do to my sister if she started poking around?
“Ask him if he knows a man named Bruce Doyle. He’s a developer, but you can use the excuse that he was the man who called me about the baby gator. I’ll text you a photo, and you can bring it up under the pretense of it being a funny story. See what he says, how he reacts. Can you do that?”
She shuddered in a deep breath and nodded, but I wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Seventeen
Gator Gene had taken “rest in peace” to a whole new level, one that shocked even me, a native Floridian. Jack grabbed my hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm.
“Please tell me that’s not a Pabst Blue Ribbon coffin,” Jack whispered in my ear.
I blinked several times, not wanting to take off my sunglasses because I’d show my astonishment. I stared at the silver, white, red, and blue casket. Yes, indeedy. Gene was being buried in a beer can casket.
“I guess he’s headed for that eternal happy hour in the sky.” I took this opportunity to clutch Jack’s bicep with my free hand, so I could feel his bulging muscle. I gave it a squeeze.
It was bigger than I thought.Nice.
“Are you copping a feel of my arm?” Jack murmured, without taking his mouth away from my ear or his eyes off the casket.
I fought back a grin. “Maybe.”
Perhaps feeling up Jack’s muscle was inappropriate in this venue, but I didn’t think the deceased, or really anyone here, would give a crap.
Hell, they’d probably encourage this sort of thing.
The past day and a half—since my heart-to-heart conversation with Vera—had been a whirlwind. We’d wrangled the bookstore into decent shape, acquired one occupancy permit from City Hall, and Vera had walked me through the bookstore’s ordering schedule from distributors.
Not counting that loan from Tyler and the unsolved murder, we were in pretty good shape.
I had to think of a plan to pay Tyler back quickly, but right now my attention was on Gene, and whatever clues I could glean from his funeral. This task wasn’t easy because of the shockingly ridiculous casket that had turned everything into a farce.
Jack and I were rooted to the red-carpeted floor of the funeral home as we stared, open-mouthed. After I wiped the incredulous look off my face, I slid my sunglasses off and stuffed them in my bag.
The hundred or so other people in the room chatted amiably, as if the deceased wasn’t lying feet away in a blue and white coffin crafted to look disturbingly like a giant tallboy of cheap beer.
Jack leaned into my ear. “Maggie, this is a really weird place.”
“The funeral home?” I looked around and shook my head. “Nah. This looks like lots of other funeral homes I’ve been to over the years.”
“No, I’m talking about Wahoo. It’s a weird town.”
He was just figuring this out now? I let out a small snort. “Look who’s talking. You’re the one who comes from Miami, is writing a book on serial killers, and doesn’t wear shirts. Not to mention the lightning and shark attack.”
He pressed his lips together, obviously trying not to laugh. He ran a hand over the buttons of his white business shirt. “It feels kind of funny to wear a suit. I’m not used to all these clothes.”
