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Finally, we arrive and park at the curb in front of the big yellow house.
“God damn, feels like I’ve been riding all day,” Jiggy says.
“You have. Better get used to it or that trip to Tennessee’s gonna be rough.”
“Please,” he says, ambling around our bikes and jumping onto the sidewalk next to me. “I was made for the road.”
We walk around to the back of the house. Jiggy’s heavy frame pounds up the wooden steps, shaking the entire porch.
“Thought Teller wanted to fix this place up?” I say as I follow him up.
“Bro’s got nothin’ but babies on the brain.” He taps the side of his skull.
Before either of us has a chance to knock, the interior door swings open. Margot greets us at with a sunny smile and opens the screen door.
“Afternoon, gentlemen. Thank you so much for coming over.”
Margot’s cute. Short, curvy, and dresses like someone who checks books out of the library, not handles dead bodies. Her pink and black button-up sweater looks innocent until I zero in on the tiny black and gold pin tacked onto her collar.
All men are cremated equal.
I snort. She catches my eye and winks.
Someone’s got jokes.
“Come in.” She waves at us to follow her down the long hallway. Nothing much has changed since my last visit here.
At the doorway leading to the basement, she stops and turns toward us. “Thank you so much for coming all the way out here. I know it’s a long ride for you both.”
“Not a problem, darlin’.” Jigsaw slaps my shoulder hard enough to send a smaller man crashing into the wall. I shoot a sideways glare at him. “Margot, you remember my brother, Dex, right?”
“Oh yes. Dex,” Margot says in a tone that somehow seems both too proper and too chipper inside a funeral home. “Of course. I’d never forget such a handsome face with such excellent bone structure.” Considering she spends her days putting makeup on dead people, I’m not sure if I should be complimented or creeped the fuck out.
She reaches up and cups my chin like she’s about to do God knows what. Her hands are surprisingly warm and her scrutiny more unnerving than it should be given her tiny size. “Just excellent,” she murmurs again.
“Yeah.” Jiggy elbows me aside. “My brother’s very vain. He’s had a lot of plastic surgery and Botox.”
Margot’s pink lips curve up and she tilts her head to the side, staring up at him. “I can tell that’s not true. Don’t be jealous.” She reaches up and pats his cheek like it’s a dog’s hind end. “Your bone structure is lovely too.”
“Lovely.” I snort. “Clearly you haven’t spent a lot of time with him.”
“I was talking about aesthetics. He’s a very handsome man.” She slides another sly look at Jigsaw. “But his personality is lovely too.”
Jiggy grins at me.
I choke on a laugh. “You definitely haven’t spent enough time with him yet.”
Margot trills with laughter and turns, flinging the basement door open and hurrying down the steps.
Jigsaw hesitates.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Did one of those pins on her collar say fuckboy repellent?” he whispers.
“Yeah, she must’ve worn it just for you,” I answer.
He frowns at me. “I’m not a fuckboy.”
“You’re the literal definition of a fuckboy.” I push him through the doorway to get him moving.
“Nooo, a fuckboy is self-absorbed and even though he has lots of sex, he’s bad at it. And, this part’s important, he also fucks with a woman’s emotions.” He starts down the stairs but glances over his shoulder to finish his lecture. “I’m sensitive to a woman’s needs, stellar in bed, and always honest about my intentions...to never see them again.”
“With the amount of brainpower you’ve spent on this, you could’ve ended world hunger, Father Fuckboy.”
He hits the last step, then hops onto the gray concrete floor like a kid jumping over a puddle.
Margot’s waiting for us around the corner with an amused smile.
“Your dissertation on fuckboys was enlightening.” She taps the pin on her collar. “I’m pleased one of my pins sparked such a fascinating discussion.”
On the surface it might sound like she’s making fun of us, but her lips don’t so much as even twitch. She might actually be serious.
“Come on,” she says quickly before Jigsaw has time to formulate a retort.
Lights wink on as Margot passes through different sections of the basement. Lots of shiny, medical-looking equipment. Envisioning what it’s used for, I try not to look at any of it too hard.
“Back here,” she says over her shoulder.
We stop at what appears to be a storage area. Margot’s standing next to a shiny black casket with thick silver hardware.
“Now, that’s a biker’s casket,” Jigsaw says. “If I didn’t want to be cremated and tossed in the ocean, I’d want my carcass to spend eternity in something like this.”
“Lovely,” I mutter, throwing Margot a raised eyebrow look but her attention’s focused on Jigsaw.
