Drop Dead Sexy(4)

Catcher f*cking Mains—the man with ocean-blue, bedroom eyes, a body to die for, and a drop-dead sexy smile.

Craning my neck, I glared at him over my shoulder. If I managed to get out of this situation alive, I wasn’t sure if I was going to kill him or screw him. It was a toss-up.





After the minister spoke the final words of Mr. Garett Brown’s eulogy, I made my way down the carpeted aisle. As the soft organ music piped in via the overhead speakers reached an emotional crescendo, I turned to face the mourners packed into the padded chapel pews. Appearing like a cross between a Miss America and an air traffic controller, I slowly lifted my arms to guide the crowd to rise from their seats. Once everyone was on their feet, I motioned for the family to begin exiting their pew.

As crazy as it might sound, there was a true art to presiding over a funeral. It was just one of the many things I had learned over the years from observing my late father and grandfather. As my grandfather had once said, “Run a funeral like a side show, and you’ll be out of business.” People were inevitably drawn to pomp and pageantry. Even though their loved one might have been a pauper, they wanted the same gallantry afforded to the funeral as a king or president’s.

My grandfather had opened Sullivan’s Funeral Home in 1955, and it had been a family operation ever since. Since I came from a large, extended family, everyone from aunts, uncles, and cousins pitched in from time to time. Growing up in a funeral home wasn’t all death and sadness. I had a lot of happy, lively memories under this roof. I used to play hide and seek with my younger brother, Allen, where one of us would always end up wedged behind a casket to hide out. I’d spent hours laid out on the chapel’s padded benches reading the newest Babysitters Club or Sweet Valley High books. My house had always been filled with people. I had learned at an early age to work a crowd, and my father had me helping out with viewings and services by the time I turned thirteen. “Livvie has the gift,” he would say with pride sparkling in his brown eyes.

The memory of my father sent an ache through my chest. He had died five years ago after a very short battle with pancreatic cancer. Although I had experienced personal loss with grandparents and other family members, it was my father’s death that had brought true understanding and empathy for what other families were experiencing. It wasn’t often that you got to meet your real life hero, but I had been blessed to have him for a father.

When the last of the “reserved” benches had emptied, I followed the crowd out the chapel door into the sunshine. After supervising the loading of the casket into the hearse, I turned to the deceased’s wife. I forced a sympathetic smile to my face. While friends and family had wept unabashedly, Felicia Brown had remained an ice queen. Moreover, her grief had been pretty much extinct over the last few days, and in its place, she’d been one of the most demanding bitches I’d had to deal with in a long time. She wanted the VIP treatment despite having pulled all the cheapskate punches like wanting a low-end casket while she stood draped in diamonds.

“It’s time for you to get into the car.” I motioned to the black Lincoln sedan that we provided to escort the next of kin. Regardless of what had happened over the last few days, I afforded her the same warmth and kindness as I would to an actually bereaved family member. After all, in times like these a kind word was worth a million, even to an *. Of course, silently I was saying, “Bye, Felicia.” in my head.

Felicia nodded in agreement and turned to the crowd behind her. “Jerry, why don’t you ride with me?” she asked the tall, Silver Fox of a man who was standing next to her.

I motioned for Todd, one of our attendants, to open the back door of the car. The sound of a growl behind me caused me to jump out of my skin. Since I knew Motown, the neighborhood stray Pit Bull I’d adopted and often brought to work with me, was upstairs in the family quarters, I had to wonder what wild animal had come out of the woods. When I whirled around, I saw Felicia’s oldest son, Gregg, wearing a venomous look. “Oh, that’s just rich. It isn’t enough you were f*cking Jerry while my father was on life support, but now you want him to ride in the car with you on the way to bury him!”

As an incredulous hush fell over the mourners, I drew my shoulders back preparing myself for the potential verbal assault to come. After all, this wasn’t my first time at the rodeo, so to speak. I was pretty much a pro at handling scenes like this. There were many times I’d witnessed the old adage that death brings out the worst in people. It brings out the claws that’s for sure.

After she cast a glance over the crowd, Felicia fidgeted nervously with the collar of her designer suit. “Why, Gregg, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gregg rolled his eyes. “Like hell you don’t. I don’t guess you remember the other times either,” he spat.

The impeccable reserve slowly slid from Felicia’s face and was replaced by thinly veiled anger. “Don’t you dare make a scene at your father’s funeral!” she hissed back at Gregg. When she realized what she had done, she quickly recovered to give a weak smile to the other mourners.

“Me make a scene? You’re the one acting like the grief-stricken wife when all you’ve ever done is be unfaithful,” Gregg countered.

Sensing this was about to get even uglier, I tried stepping between them to diffuse the situation. “Why don’t we proceed on to the cemetery?” I suggested. My gaze landed on the face of Felicia’s younger son standing begrudgingly beside his brother. “Mark, why don’t you ride with your mother?”