Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

I thought back over the last hour’s happenings. I hadn’t seen Quatie in nearly a year—my own fault—but despite my neglect, she’d stepped right into my great-grandmother’s role. That she had made me a little choked up.

Though I didn’t need anyone to protect me, it was nice when someone tried.

Chapter 14

I went to work, meaning to check in, then head to the funeral home as planned, except the day got away from me—extensive cleanup after the storm, electricity still out in several places, dogs gone missing. We’d had a bit of looting, too.

And the Chuck Norris bandit was back.

Today’s chuckle went like this: MacGyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.

“I never liked MacGyver,” Cal said. “That wasn’t realistic.”

“And Walker, Texas Ranger is?” Jordan asked.

Cal scowled at her as if she were nuts. “Of course!”

There was really no talking to him.

I handed the joke to Jordan. She was keeping a file, not so much for investigative purposes as for the employees. Whenever anyone needed a laugh, they pulled out the Chuck Norris file. Cal didn’t know. He’d have a cow.

Jordan went back to the switchboard. A tiny thing, despite her father’s bulk, Jordan reminded me of a pixie with attitude. Maybe it was the way she kept her dark hair cropped close to her head. Could be the sharp edge to her chin or the spark in her blue eyes. Maybe it was just the collection of killer spike heels. But I liked her, and while she was the best dispatcher I’d ever had, I still hoped she earned her college money soon so she could live out her dream.

I glanced at my watch. Only an hour until change of shift. I needed to walk across the parking lot to the funeral home.

“Can you take over here?”

Cal nodded, staring morosely at his desk. Were the jokes making him sad or was his inability to nab the culprit making him crazy? Perhaps a little of both.

Five minutes later I let myself into Farrel and Sons Funeral Home. Strangely, none of the viewing rooms were open for business. With the number of deaths, you’d think they’d be stacked like cordwood.

A shuffle of a shoe against carpet announced Grant Farrel even before his Lurch-like bass murmured, “May I help you, Sheriff?”

Grant might have sounded like the butler of Addams Family fame, but he didn’t look like him, being short, round, and sweet in both face and nature. I’d never understood how anyone could be a mortician, but I guess someone had to. I’d heard many people say that Grant’s gentle and discreet manner had eased their grief. The man had a gift.

I gestured at the empty rooms. “What gives?”

His nearly invisible white eyebrows lifted toward his receding baby-fine silver hair. “Excuse me?”

“I saw in the paper that we’d had a rash of visits from the Grim Reaper. So where are the bodies?”

Grant’s round gray eyes widened. Why I felt the need to be flippant whenever I entered this place I had no idea. Must be my way of coping with the uncopeable.

I cleared my throat and tried to be a good girl. “Mr. Farrel, considering the number of obituaries published in the Gazette today, and taking into account you’re the only game in town—” He frowned and I rephrased. “You’re the only funeral establishment in Lake Bluff, I’d think you’d have several services tonight.”

“Oh no, Sheriff, not a one, considering. Was there someone in particular you were interested in? I could arrange for a private visit.”

It took me a minute to realize he was offering to show me a corpse. “Uh, thanks. Maybe some other time. Let’s get back to the lack of funerals. Why isn’t there even one?” I lifted my hands and made quotation marks in the air. “Considering.”

“Ah, I see what you mean. A layperson such as yourself wouldn’t know.”

“Know what?” Grant’s discreet nature was starting to get on my nerves.

“In many of these cases the deceased was quite elderly. Most of their friends have already passed and some of their family members as well.”

“Cut to the part where there’s no funeral.”

Grant’s well-manicured hand fluttered up to his chest, and he cleared his throat. “The families, or sometimes the deceased, will make arrangements for a graveside service only.”