Death's Sidekick

When a body flies through the air and lands on the sidewalk at Celebrant Sadie Toilette's feet, she considers it a happy accident. She can finally make a few bucks as the eulogist at the woman's funeral, being in the right place at the right time. However, the man funding the funeral has other plans, making sure Sadie toes the line...or else.

Excerpt

It always cracked me up when funeral directors tried to remove jewelry from the deceased, and today was no exception. The mortician, who was older than dirt itself and nothing but skin and bones, braced his foot against the casket. His long gangly fingers wrapped around the four-carat diamond on the dead lady's finger as the deceased's family looked on in horror. Call me insane, but it was hilarious. I wanted to make fun of him, but kept it in check for the deceased woman's husband and daughter, who were standing right in front of me.

"This is easy," Mr. Coffin said, yanking on the stuck ring. Yep, that was his real name. Mortimer Coffin. Nothing like fate determining someone's job. Lucky stiff…uh…guy.

Mr. Coffin groaned as he pulled and tugged. "Trust me. I'm a professional and I've done this before."

I held my hand over my mouth so I wouldn't laugh out loud. I wasn't about to tell him to try a lubricant.

I was the celebrant for this funeral, which meant I conducted the eulogy and directed the service, much like a wedding director did for a wedding. I thought of myself as Death's Sidekick, but in a fun sort of way. I was the comic relief.

"Celebrant Sadie, would you help me?" Mr. Coffin asked me. And yes, my first name was Sadie, which sounded so sad. It was very fitting for the funeral industry. But my last name was really creative, thanks to my husband. It was Toilette. Sadie Toilette. It kind of flowed off my tongue, or so I thought when we were first married. I had chosen to become a sad toilet. Pathetic.

I pointed toward my chest in horror. "Me? I don't do jewelry removal. I'm really not strong enough." Granted, I worked out, but I certainly didn't want to touch a dead lady's hand. Speaking of cold and yucky. No, not for me. It might mess up my required new pink manicure. "I don't think that's in my contract. Why not call your Bruno-guy."

"Brutus? He doesn't like dead bodies." Mr. Coffin yanked again, but the ring was stuck. He blew out a breath of what smelled like a cross between a dead body and a cigarette. "He only works here because he likes the worms when he digs the graves. What a weirdo."

And look who was talking. The thought made me hold my breath so I wouldn't chuckle aloud or double over in hysterics. Yeah, I loved my job sometimes. Dead people and the living ones who went with them were hilarious.

The family members stared at Mr. Coffin, each of their faces registering their surprise. The older man turned toward the daughter, speaking in some language I'd never understand if I tried. I was pretty sure it was Japanese, Chinese, or some other 'ese' language.

The twenty-something daughter nodded, furrowing her recently plucked and shaped eyebrows. She looked like a top model—the airbrushed version; she was that pretty. I was so jealous.

"Dad wants to know if you've ever cut off someone's finger to get their ring," she said.

Mr. Coffin kept yanking. "Not in front of the family." He looked up at the woman. "Oh. I meant to say, never."

I bit my lips, forcing myself not to laugh. Of course he'd done it, and if he didn't get this ring, he'd tell the family to bury her with it, then before the casket closed, he'd cut off the finger to get the ring for himself.

Welcome to the funeral industry.

Mr. Coffin yanked one last time. The ring flew off the woman's finger, sailed through the air, and landed squarely on the vent on the floor—one with giant slats so mice could come and go as they pleased. He was such an animal lover.

"No!" Mr. Coffin yelled, diving for the ring. But it was too late. The four-carat diamond slid a quarter inch when Mr. Coffin landed. It fell through the slats and down into the furnace, where they cremated the bodies. Mr. Coffin told me he was being energy efficient, using the heat from the ashes to heat the building. Granted, from the incense he burned and the smell of embalming fluid, the place smelled almost sweet, but there was that underlying odor of burning flesh that seemed to invade my nostrils. Since I'd seen him pay the inspectors more than once while shifting his eyes from side-to-side, I was sure it was 'legal,' like he said it was. Right…

"We want that ring," the woman said. "Or we'll sue."

Coffin nodded, but wiped his brow. "Yes. I'll make sure you get it."

I just hoped he did get it, because cubic zirconium 'diamond' replacements didn't quite look the same. He'd learned that lesson the previous year after trying to replace a huge diamond with a knock-off. It all worked out okay, sort of, but the lawsuit was still pending. I hoped that lawsuit went in the client's favor and Coffin would lose the business. But then again, I seemed to have a problem with revenge. Even so, if he did lose, it would make a serious dent in my income if the business folded. So, it probably wasn't a good idea.