As inconspicuously as possible, Ginny glanced over her shoulder to see Jonas was nowhere in sight. She hadn’t even heard him move. Turning back to Larissa with genuine contriteness, Ginny stripped off her gloves and laid them down beside Kristof’s head. “I’m sorry about last night. I hope there wasn’t much extra work.”
“No. No, I left it all for you.” She pressed a thumb to the center of her forehead. “I can just about manage my own shifts without taking on yours, too. Who is this friend you were with since last night?”
“Someone from my dress making club,” Ginny said, too quickly and too unconvincingly. Just don’t add any unnecessary information. It’s a classic tell when someone is lying. “She’s a brunette. Bangs. She has bangs…and she loves an A-line.”
Larissa sipped her martini. “Hmm.”
Ginny traced a circle on the metal table with her finger. “The thing is, I might be spending more time with her. We’re working on a project together…for the silent dress auction that’s coming up. Just in case you’re wondering where I am.”
Her stepmother gestured to Kristof with her martini glass. “I suppose I’m going to handle hosting duties for the wake?”
“Yes. If you could just this once. I’ll call the church and book the driver. As soon as I’m finished here, I’m going to send the prayer cards to the printers.”
“Flowers?”
“Arriving tomorrow morning, first thing.”
“Hmm.” She drained her glass. “Then I best get off to bed. I’ve got another depressing day ahead, don’t I?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny murmured. “There’s some happiness to be found in everyone coming together and sharing memories, too, isn’t there? Ensuring those moments don’t die with their loved ones. Reliving times out loud doesn’t have to be encouraged, it’s just a human reaction. It’s beautiful in a way.”
Not a single family member remained on her father’s side. Without her mother’s side to bolster his funeral guest list, there’s been a very sparse turnout. Larissa had family in Florida, but she’d never brought them for a visit, rarely spoke of them and they weren’t in attendance.
Oddly enough, it had turned out to be her father’s barber who saved the day. Sitting to Ginny’s left in the front row, he’d listened to her recount memories of her father, even adding some of his own. Until the day of his funeral, Ginny didn’t know her father used to read celebrity epitaphs aloud in the barber shop and buy coffee for whoever guessed their identities correctly.
It was entirely morbid, exactly like him and the story made her feel peaceful when she didn’t think anything could.
Ginny realized with a jolt that, while she’d been deep in thought, Larissa had paused at the door. “Did you say something?”
She shook her head. “It was nothing. Sleep well.”
“Oh!” Her stepmother jerked her chin toward the lobby. “I forgot to mention that Gordon is here to see you.”
The overhead lights flickered.
She swallowed. “Oh. Could you let him know I’ll be right out?”
Larissa rolled her eyes and vanished from view, leaving the smell of Dior perfume in her wake. Ginny turned and looked for Jonas, expecting him to return now that Larissa was gone, but his chair remained empty.
After lifting the rubber apron over her head, Ginny washed her hands and meandered out to the lobby, which was empty except for a pacing Gordon.
“Hi, Gordon.” Ginny stopped about ten feet away, lacing her fingers together at her lap. “Larissa said you wanted to see me?”
He scratched behind his ear. “Yes, but could we work up to the reason?”
“Sure.” She breathed a laugh. “Lovely fall weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“It is. I finally broke out the winter sweaters.” He gestured to the ribbed, woolen top he wore. “Might have been a mistake, because I’m definitely sweating and perspiration definitely doesn’t mix well with wool…odor wise.” Finally, he ceased his pacing. “Why am I telling you this?”
“No judgments here. I smell a little like embalming fluid.”
A dreamy smile broke across Gordon’s face. “You’re so kind. Hardly anyone is kind anymore.” He tugged on the neck of his sweater. “And I think you smell amazing.”
Once again, the lights flickered, dimming the room, before brightening it to the extreme and leaving it like a giant, glowing x-ray machine.
Ginny laughed nervously.
“Is there something wrong with the wiring?” Gordon turned in an observant circle. “I have an uncle that could take a look.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”
As a matter of fact, she was getting semi-annoyed at the gall it took on Jonas’s part to tamper with her electricity in what she was fast beginning to suspect translated to a fit of jealousy.
If he wanted Ginny so badly, he had a funny way of showing it, considering he planned on absconding with her memories of him and moving on, as soon as she was free of danger. Once she no longer knew Jonas, she might choose to date and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he would do about it. Were these light flickering antics a classic example of not wanting someone, but not wanting anyone else to have them, either?
Maybe men were the same, human or vampire.
Ginny crossed her arms and glared at a trembling sconce.
Annoyed or not, maybe it was best to get Gordon out of harm’s way.
“Gordon, I’m so glad you stopped by, but I’m in the middle of an embalmment—”
“Your birthday is tomorrow,” he blurted, drawing her up short. “I…this is so embarrassing, but you have a Facebook profile and you never post there. Or anything.” He let out a rush of breath. “But it does have a blurry picture of you and your date of birth, so that’s how I knew. I didn’t hire an investigator or…anything like that.”
“Of course not.”
“I’m just explaining how I knew.” He muttered for a moment under his breath about sounding like a psychopath. “Long story short. I came to see if, um…do you have plans for your birthday?”
The front door of P. Lynn flew open, allowing in a mighty gust of wind carrying leaves, abandoned Metrocards and moisture from God knew where. Ginny lunged out of the line of fire, taking Gordon with her. “Wow,” she called over the noise. “The weather really took a turn. You should get home before it gets worse.”
“Yeah,” Gordon hedged. “About your birthday—”
The door slammed hard and one by one, the light sockets started to explode in the lobby, pop pop pop.
“Gordon, you need to go,” she urged, hustling him toward the door.
“No way, Ginny,” he sputtered. “I-I can’t leave you here. It’s unsafe.”
P. Lynn’s front door opened a final time and Gordon’s body moved backward, seemingly on its own—though, Ginny knew different—and in seconds, he was on the stoop of the funeral home, the door cracking shut on his stunned expression.
“Jonas Cantrell,” she gasped, searching the dark lobby for his figure and finding nothing in the pitch blackness. “I hope you plan on cleaning up this mess and replacing these lights. Kristof’s wake is in the morn—”