Page 42 of The Dearly Departed

That was a shock. Ike normally didn't handle anything without being told, especially after a night of partying. Leonard must've woken him up.

I relaxed with a deep exhale, my shoulders slumping a bit as I nodded. "All right, good. Where's Leonard—"

"He's not here."

My eyes slowly lifted to meet Shawn's, and it was then I noticed the stormy concern brewing inside the blue depths of his irises.

"He's not here," I repeated, enunciating every word beneath my breath. "What time is it?"

"Seven," he replied. "He wasn't here when I got in at around two. We slept for a few hours, woke up at six, and his car was still missing. Ike went to the basement to get Robert ready to go, and I tried calling Leonard's phone."

"And?"

The muscles in his throat shifted with a hard, concentrated swallow before he shook his head. "Nothing."

Every instinct in my body told me this wasn’t good. Something must’ve been very wrong for Leonard to not come home at a reasonable time without at least leaving a message with one of us. But before I could throw myself into panic mode, I exhaled and tried to talk myself off a proverbial cliff.

There was an explanation for this. There had to be.

I sprang to my feet, smoothing my shirt and vest against my chest as I glanced toward the doorway to find Shelby was no longer there.

I grabbed my jacket from the arm of the couch and pulled it on as I said, "Leonard's a responsible guy, right? He went out with his friend last night, probably had a few drinks, and decided to crash on the couch."

"Right. Cool. Makes sense," Shawn replied, nodding, though his face said he was less than convinced. "Except when has Leonard consumed alcohol? Like, ever?"

I shrugged, forcing nonchalance when I felt anything but. "I don't fucking know. Maybe last night was a special occasion we don’t know about. Maybe his friend was celebrating the birth of his new grandkid. Maybe this friend is a hot little thing, and he went back to her place to get his rocks off."

Shawn rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his bare chest, shaking his head as he looked off toward the doorway. He knew the idea was ridiculous, and I did too. But I couldn’t have him losing his cool right now.

"Not every little thing is a reason to panic," I concluded, buttoning my jacket to complete the ensemble.

"I'm not panicking," Shawn muttered, bringing his glare back to mine.

I grabbed my cell phone from the couch cushion and glanced at the screen, hoping I'd have a missed call, a message, or something from Leonard to prove he was all right. But there was nothing waiting for me, and that growing, gnawing sense of unease spread throughout my gut and up into my chest and throat.

"He's fine," I assured Shawn as well as myself, tucking the phone into my breast pocket. "Probably just had a really good night and lost track of time. Now, go get dressed. It's time to get to work."

***

After Robert Martin’s burial, Ike went to pick up another body for my table while I hung around the funeral home, doing the cleaning. The carpets were vacuumed. The floors were mopped. The windows were scrubbed. Every toilet in the place glistened like Mr. Clean’s bald head.

Shawn spent the time in the office, answering the phone and handling the paperwork, while Ike brought our next client down to the embalming room.

We kept ourselves busy during the hours that went by, and still, there was no sign of Leonard. And the more time that went by, the harder it became to not fixate on that distressing fact.

It was close to three in the afternoon when I headed out onto the porch, where I grabbed the push broom. I used it to sweep the dried-up leaves and windswept cigarette butts into a neat pile to be cleaned up later with the dustpan. And it was during that moment when I heard the telltale sound of footsteps approaching.

Relief was swift to wash over me, and I felt like a little kid who’d been waiting all day for his father to come home from work. I looked up from my sweeping, ready to batter Leonard with a thousand questions about where he’d been and what he’d been doing while my soul settled in the comfort of knowing he was home … only to be crushed again by the sight of an uncharacteristically well-kempt Gerald Crowley strolling up the porch steps, wearing a suit far nicer than mine.

“Leave,” I ordered, looking away immediately, while the internal panic began again with a harsh vengeance.

He’s here, but not Leonard.

That can’t be a coincidence.

“Hey now. Is that any way to greet your old man?”

My trusty knife sat comfortably in my back pocket. I could easily whip it out and slice the smirk right off his smug face before he knew what hit him. But I chose the path of silence and continued to brush the leaves away, not bothering to give him the pleasure of my attention, all while wondering when I’d last seen his ugly mug around this place.