Drop Dead Sexy(5)

Gregg snorted contemptuously. “Sure, pick Mark. He was always Dad’s favorite. Hell, he’s everyone’s favorite.” A hateful gleam burned in his green eyes. “Well, I’m setting the record straight now. Mark’s not even my father’s son!”

Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd while Felicia’s face turned pasty white. Raising her eyes to the shocked faces around her, she said, “I’m sorry everyone. Gregg’s just so grief-stricken he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“So upset my ass. I’m not too upset to know that Jim, our very own UPS man, is Mark’s father,” he countered.

The crowd turned with astonished eyes to the back of the crowd where Jim the UPS man stood. When he lowered his eyes to the pavement in defeat, it was all the confirmation anyone needed. The crowd turned their gaze back to Felicia and Gregg.

Suddenly Mark lunged at Gregg. “You bastard! How dare you?” He swung a fist into Gregg’s face and then in his abdomen. Gregg collapsed onto the pavement, his nose pouring with blood.

Mark stood over him. “It’s not enough that you had to screw my ex-wife to make me jealous, but now you have to embarrass me in front of all of these people.”

I had just opened my mouth to once again plead with them to stop when Mr. Brown’s best friend stepped forward. “You boys stop this right now. I can’t believe you’d do this at your own father’s funeral.”

Mark reluctantly helped Gregg to his feet as they both stood to face their accuser. “Like you have any room to be talking, Ed,” Gregg grumbled, as he held his head back to stop his bleeding nose.

Ed’s face paled slightly as his hands went to fiddle with his tie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mark shook his head. “You honestly have the gall to come here when everyone knows that you were sleeping with my father,” he countered.

At the accusation that not only was the deceased man’s wife a notorious adulterer, his youngest son was not biologically his, but he was a bisexual, one woman in the crowd fainted and the rest were left in hushed astonishment.

All the color drained from Ed’s face. “How did you know?”.

Gregg looked at Mark before he spoke. “We knew something was up when you and dad went on all those fishing trips. Alone.”

Ed straightened his shoulders as he looked around at the wide-eyed, open-mouthed faces. “Fine. It’s true. I loved Paul Brown for forty years, and he loved me. He certainly deserved better than his wife and sons making a scene at his funeral.”

“Oh shut up, Ed,” Gregg said.

Mr. Brown’s middle son, Wes, stepped into the fray. “It’s true. You two *s should be ashamed of yourselves. But why am I surprised? I mean, it’s always been about you two. You practically sucked the life out of Dad. Gregg—the washed-up football god turned lush, and Mark—the sex and gambling addict.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Oh get bent, drama queen.”

Given what happened next, I guess Wes had been Jan Brady’d one too many times in his life because he just snapped. He jerked a pistol out from inside his suit pocket. At the sight of the gun, pandemonium broke out. People began screaming and scrambling away. Immediately, I dug my phone out of my suit pocket and dialed 911.

“What the hell are you doing, Wes?” Gregg demanded.

“If you two aren’t going to quit making a scene voluntarily, I’m going to make you.”

“Like waving a gun around isn’t making a scene, dumbass,” Mark replied.

“It’s probably not even loaded,” Gregg mused.

Wes narrowed his eyes at Gregg before firing off a shot at his feet. The screams and shouting rose up again as Gregg began moonwalking like he was in a Michael Jackson video. “Jesus Christ, are you crazy?”

“I couldn’t get you to listen to me,” Wes replied, his tone eerily calm.

When I tried to step forward, Wes swung his arm around to train the pistol on me. I skidded to a stop and quickly threw up my hands, sending my phone clattering to the pavement. “Wes, I understand that you’re hurt and angry with your brothers, but surely, we can resolve this without violence,” I suggested.

Wes cocked his head at me. “You’ve seen my family. What do you think?”

At that moment, Earl, one of our other attendants, appeared in the doorway with two stands of floral arrangements. From his horrified expression, I’m sure he had anticipated the flower van to be waiting on him, not a hostage situation.

The sight of the flowers put an idea in my head, and I didn’t stop to question it. “Don’t drop the casket!” I screeched.

With Wes and his brothers now distracted, I lunged over at Earl and snatched the tallest of the floral wreaths out of his hand. Using all the strength I had, I lobbed Wes in the back of the head with my floral weaponry. “What the—” he started to demand, but I whacked him in the face. As Wes sputtered and choked on a mouthful of football mums, I went for his crotch, making sure to bring the wire part of the arrangement against his dick.

As he screamed in agony, the gun fell from his hands. I dropped the wreath, grabbed the gun, and pointed it at Wes as he writhed back and forth in pain.

“What a *,” Mark muttered.

“Shut. Up,” Wes huffed through his clenched teeth.