Mourning Routine (The Funeral Fakers Book 1) Page 3

  Guilt made the potatoes sit like a lump in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. “Thanks. But I’m 28. It’s time I’m on my own.” I gave them a watery smile. “And I know you want to do things, too. I saw those brochures for Ireland sitting on the table a few days ago.”

  My mom and dad blushed. “Busted,” Dad murmured.

  “We’ve been wanting to go for ages,” Mom said. “We were going to ask you to house-sit anyway, so please don’t think you’re holding us back.”

  Dad raised his glass. “Besides, you’re 28 and you’re living at home. You could stand to do us a few favors.”

  I snorted in amusement. He was right.

  “Mom told me you got a mysterious envelope this morning. Tell me all about it, you little funeral crasher.”

  I rolled my eyes, but as we ate, I told my parents about my first assignment. Mom looked slightly green around the gills about it, but my father seemed to take the entire thing in stride. “A girlfriend, you say? Too bad the chap isn’t still alive. You could get some free dinners that way.”

  “Dad,” I said with a groan. “That’s a terrible joke.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t imagine you’ll go too long in a business like you’re about to step into without coming up with some really good death jokes.”

  I grimaced. He was probably right. “I’m going to do my best to avoid that.”

  He held up his glass and gestured for me to do the same. We clinked them together.

  “Good luck, darling Kitty. Even though your new job is weird and slightly creepy, I’m sure you’ll do a bang-up job at it.”

  A bark of helpless laughter escaped me. He wasn’t wrong. It was weird. How in the world was I going to explain what I did to the people who asked me?

  I shook my head as I finished up the last of my meal. It was something to think about later. Tonight, I had to study the info I’d received on the McCormick family, especially when it came to Candy. I also had to go shopping and watch at least the first season of Alaskan Ice Truckers before I met the family.

  I wiped my mouth and stood up from the table. I gathered my dishes and some of my parents’ and took them into the kitchen before I went back and got the rest. Just as I was starting to load the dishwasher, I heard my parents get up from the table. I watched as they went to the living room, cuddled up, and turned on a cooking show.

  Smiling to myself, I hummed happily, even as I scraped roasted asparagus off a metal pan. One day I would have what those two had. Even if I had to take weird jobs to get it.

  I didn’t understand reality television. Especially when it revolved around hairy truckers making insane choices during the middle of a blizzard. It was two a.m. My hair was wild but my eyes were wilder as the most recent trucker, a cute guy with a terrible accent, almost skidded off the road with an eighteen wheeler loaded full of trees. I held up the spoon I’d been using to shovel copious amounts of ice cream into my mouth and waved it at the television.

  “Allen. No. Allen! Stop. Don’t slam on your brakes!” I moaned at the idiocy of it all and once again tried to fathom how they convinced these people to do this show. I’d never been involved in anything dangerous when I’d been in LA, other than getting caught right in the middle of a catfight between warring, aging soap-opera actresses. But these guys did have something going for them. Their bearded mugs were plastered across the front of my screen as they made hair-raising choices, whereas nine times out of ten, I was Girl at Bar in the movie credits. A flash of dark hair or a sweep of tanned leg and boom, I thought I could call myself an actress.

  My one true break had finally come when…

  I stopped myself. Seth Morrow was voodoo on the brain and I was not into voodoo. I turned my thoughts back to grizzly trucker Allen, firmly tamping down on thoughts of my meteoric fall into E-list actress territory. And no. There was no such thing as the E-list. I was just an unknown now.

  I finished the rest of my rocky road ice cream and flipped the television off. Thanks to the dossier I’d received on the McCormick family, I was going to be busy preparing. Tomorrow I’d have to run out and get some Candy Harper approved clothing, but I wasn’t scheduled to be in the office at all. Ruthie had given me extra time to do my own research. The day after tomorrow, though, I had to be at their property by 11:30 for a luncheon in his honor. Candy was conveniently overseas.

  I had 36 hours to transform from Kitty Crawford, unemployed and living with her parents, to Candy Harper, a world traveler with a mysterious job and dubious taste in clothing. As my eyes drifted shut, all I could think of was how fun it was to get paid for doing something you loved to do. While this wasn’t the way I’d go about it if I had the chance, it wasn’t the end. For now, that was good enough for me.

  4

  I tugged down the hem of my too-short shirt for what felt like the hundredth time only to remember Candy liked cropped shirts. I liked shirts that came a respectable distance down and covered my abs. Though I had to admit the word “abs” was a little bit ambitious when it came to talking about my torso area. It was more like skinny fat. I was slim, but I could certainly use some more sit-ups and cardio fitness in my life. Watching Alaskan Ice Truckers last night certainly didn’t help my sloth problem. But, as I glanced at myself through the reflective surface of the screen door, the effect wasn’t too bad, though I did think I looked like a hillbilly call girl, minus the bad teeth and jug of moonshine.

  The info didn’t say whether Candy possessed all of her teeth and the picture provided was a side shot where she wasn’t smiling. Crud. Now I was nervous. Let’s hope she had all of them.

  I took a deep breath and raised my hand to knock on the old door. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I’d driven over there this morning, but this wasn’t it. The McCormick’s property was located about half an hour outside of Asheville in a small town called Marshall. I’d never been here before, but as I drove in I was pleasantly surprised by the vibe. The population was under a thousand, but the town itself was full of cute architecture and history. However, when I’d pulled into the long driveway onto the property where I’d be staying for the Candy Harper crash course, I was a little more concerned. The first thing to greet me was a stove plunked unceremoniously on the side of the road. It’s sister, a rusted refrigerator, was on the other side giving the property a slightly more sinister air. I slowly drove past those two ominous appliances and continued up the drive until a ramshackle two-story log cabin greeted me. I could tell the foundation was probably screwed up by the way the house listed slightly to the left. Missing shingles on the roof and several window screens lying haphazardly on the ground told a tale of either a harrowing robbery gone terribly wrong or general and intentional neglect. Considering the appliances left to die on the side of the road on the way in, my vote was on neglect.

  I rapped twice on the door and was startled as it was flung open by a rather harried woman with beautiful silver hair.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” she breathed as she grabbed me by the arm and hauled me through the door.

  All I could do was squeak in surprise at her strength and try to keep my feet from tangling up as she pulled me in. The woman, who was most likely Chase’s mother, shut the door behind us and shooed me the rest of the way in. I was pleased to note that while the outside of the house looked like somewhere a serial killer might live, the inside smelled of lemon and lavender and was both homey and sparkling clean.

  I gathered my hands together to keep them from shaking with nerves. “Mrs. McCormick,” I greeted, but she shushed me and pushed me in the direction of the kitchen.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” she said as she bustled around pulling two mugs from her cabinets and putting a pot of water on. “My nosy sister insisted on coming in tonight and once she has her mind on something, there is no dissuading her.” The tick, tick, tick of the gas stove lighting made her pause her breathless diatribe. “Great,” she muttered as the stove refused to light. She rummaged through a drawer next to the stove
and pulled out a long lighter. “I keep telling Gary to get me a new stove, but he’s so cheap he wouldn’t give a dime to see an elephant sing opera.”

  I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.

  The stove finally lit and Mrs. McCormick placed the kettle of water on to heat. “I hope you like tea, my dear.”

  I didn’t, but I nodded anyway because she seemed to need to hear something positive.

  “Wonderful.” She grabbed a dish towel and started wringing it in her hands. I took a moment to study her. She looked a lot like her picture, though her eyes were even more tired today and grief pulled the edges of her mouth down.

  “Mrs. McCormick, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded once, and her lips trembled, but she stood a little straighter as if she’d just remembered who I was and what role I was to play. “Now. None of that. Candy Harper was a real mean snake in the grass. She said thank you for nothing, spent too much money, and for the life of me I could not figure out why she was dating my son.”

  At my surprised look, she snorted. “Don’t get me wrong. Chase was a good person, but he was like a windmill: lazy and had only one purpose. Now, he worked and worked hard, but as soon as it came to be six o’clock, if he wasn’t getting paid, his tail was parked right in that chair watching some of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen in my life.” She pointed over to an old, threadbare red recliner.

  I assumed she was speaking about the Alaskan truckers show, but considering two days ago I’d barely gotten four hours of sleep after ruthlessly binge-watching it, I couldn’t agree with her. There was something pivotally satisfying about watching hairy men with big biceps risk their lives to deliver wood. What Chase McCormick got out of it, I couldn’t speculate. What I got out of it was better kept in the dark and hidden recesses of my mind.

  Perhaps I needed to start dating again.

  The kettle chose that moment to whistle its outrage. Mrs. McCormick reached into a cabinet above the stove for a pack of Earl Grey, my least favorite kind of tea, and put one in each mug. After pouring boiling water over the top, she set one in front of me and took the other for herself.

  “So,” she began with a bright smile. “Let me tell you about Candy.”

  Two hours later I still hadn’t quite wrapped my mind around the woman I was supposed to be imitating for the funeral. Mind you, I was far from perfect, but Candy sounded like she’d be the kind of woman who’d happily participate in a cage match then turn around and burglarize a home. Part of me couldn’t help but think Mrs. McCormick’s perception of her was warped by her dislike. Surely one person couldn’t be quite that terrible.

  If so, this would be the most challenging role I’d ever undertaken.

  First, I was told that I would need to change into something “more suitable to Candy’s lifestyle”. From her tone, I suspected that meant I should be wearing daisy dukes and a deep red lipstick. Add a scarlet A to that and we would be good.

  I sighed and reached a hand out to the woman. “Are you sure this is really Candy? It seems like maybe there wasn’t a good relationship there and I…”

  The cold glare Mrs. McCormick gave me made my next words freeze up and die in my throat.

  I nodded. “I’m sure I have something more suitable in my luggage.”

  With a stiff tilt of her head, she took my half-empty tea mug and began to clean up the dishes.

  I was dismissed. At least for long enough to change.

  I went back out to my car, popped the trunk open and retrieved my suitcase. This whole thing felt really weird to me. But from what I understood, this particular kind of assignment was rare. For most mourners, the clients only requested a presence at events. Unusual requests like these didn’t happen too often and, according to Ruthie, usually came in waves. I snickered to myself as I wondered if anyone else was going through anything similar right now.

  Considering I was about to be wearing shorts short enough to earn a smack from my mama, I sincerely hoped not. I lugged the suitcase up the old and decrepit steps and pushed my way back through the front door. Mrs. McCormick was standing there and bade me follow her to the guest room she’d prepared for me.

  “I’d have you stay in Chase’s room but -” Her voice broke off.

  I touched her shoulder. “I’m fine wherever you put me,” I assured her.

  The door opened with a loud groan of protest from both the rusty hinges and Mrs. McCormick as she put most of her body weight behind it. I blinked in surprise as I took in where I would be staying for the next few days. The room was surprisingly cute. Natural light filled the room from a large window tucked into a comfortable seating area. A large bed, possibly queen-sized, was placed in the middle of the room with two antique white nightstands next to it. There was an old bureau with a large mirror atop it and an empty walk-in closet. I stepped in to examine everything closer. To my delight, I noticed a connected bathroom with no access other than through my room.

  “Wow. This is wonderful. Thank you so much!”

  I turned back to look at the woman only to see tears shimmering in her eyes. I had no idea what I said. I started to apologize, but she waved a hand at me. “No. It isn’t you, Kitty. It’s this house. Losing a child is...well, I can’t expect anyone else could understand. You’re young enough to be one of my children, that’s all.”

  My throat tightened in sympathy. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.” I paused. “Unless it’s Candy time. Then I’ll be loud, ungrateful, and belligerent.”

  A broken laugh came from the woman. “Sounds wonderful.” She checked a delicate silver watch on her wrist. “Natalie will be here by six. Take some time to rest and clean up. Come out about half an hour early and we can finish chatting.” Mrs. McCormick sighed loudly. “My sister talks a lot. The odds are you might not have to do anything other than nod and smile. Natalie never had a problem filling the silence with her own observations and judgment.” With a final shake of her head as if to say Natalie was a handful, she shut the door behind her and left me inside of this wonderful room.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed, noting with delight that the quilt on top smelled freshly laundered, and thought about the weird turn my life had just taken. In less than a few hours, I was going to be acting again. There were no lights, no cameras, no director yelling action. None of the exciting stuff I’d come to know in my old life. But...there were people counting on me to play a convincing role, to make their son seem like he really had his life together. Sort of, I guessed. Candy certainly didn’t sound like a charmer, but I couldn’t judge anyone based upon whom they decided to love.

  Mrs. McCormick seemed to want her sister to truly believe her son had a woman in his life who cared about him deeply. Although he had his flaws, as everyone did, she appeared genuinely devastated. I hated that she felt she had to go this far to make Chase appear better than he was, but the people most affected by a loved one’s death were the living. They were the ones left behind to deal with everything and if they needed this charade, this was what I was being paid to do. I would do it as well I could.

  I bent down to open my suitcase and flipped through until I found something that would make me super uncomfortable but should suit Candy’s personality pretty well. It was supposed to be a dinner but, while I would normally dress nicer, this was a small, country town and Candy was not a lady. According to Mrs. McCormick anyway. It felt odd to me that she wanted me to play the role as Candy would have instead of like a more caring individual. But that was the thing about my new job. To be as real as possible, you had to step into someone else’s shoes. My opinion didn’t matter. All I had to do was pretend for just a few days and I would be well into getting my own place and starting my life over.

  I grabbed the new clothing and headed into the bathroom to change.

  It was almost go time.

  A half hour before the dinner was scheduled, I teetered out on white wedge heels. I wore a pair of patterned orange and white shorts and a white sleeveless
blouse. The outfit was risqué in the way eating oysters before a big event was. You knew you could possibly be in danger, but part of you didn’t care. This was an outfit that spoke of confidence and knowing you were attractive. I hated it from the tip of my toes to the top of my shoulders. I was no stranger to wearing revealing clothing, especially on set. But this felt...dishonest somehow. This channeling of a woman who wasn’t here after someone she supposedly had loved died was odd and I didn’t like the feeling of it.

  I squared my shoulders, cleared my thoughts, sent a prayer up to the heavens for good balance and walked into the kitchen to see if Mrs. McCormick needed any assistance. As I rounded the corner, her eyes widened slightly.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “I almost thought you were really her.”

  “I guess this is where I’m supposed to say something sarcastic?”

  Mrs. McCormick chuckled. “You have half an hour to be normal. The passive aggressive comments start at six.” She motioned over to the kitchen island. “I wouldn’t mind some help chopping, if you’re up for it.”

  I picked up the heavy knife and one of the onions she’d set on the cutting board. “Did Candy ever help in the kitchen?”

  She snorted in amusement. “If help meant eat a second or third helping, burp, and retire back to Chase’s room then yes, she helped out all the time.”

  I cringed and cut a small mark into the onion to help me peel it better. “Sorry I asked.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. The more you ask, the better you get a feel for the woman.”

  I paused. “Mrs. McCormick. Did you ever think about just saying they’d broken up instead of going to all this trouble?”

  She paused in her stirring of whatever smelled so delicious on the stove. “Yes,” she said and sighed. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but Chase was a sensitive guy. He had trouble fitting into the world. He rarely dated.” She cast a glance at me. “The entire family thought he was gay.” At that, she shrugged. “Not that I would ever have a problem with it, but the rest of the family can be a bunch of hypocritical jerks. Especially his father.”