Free A Deadly Encounter (A Seagrove Cozy Mystery Book 3) by Leona Fox

Victor Rumsfeld’s viewing. A funeral home was no place for a dog, not even an excellent and well-behaved dog like Mr. B. She arrived early and found parking out front, right behind the chief’s jeep.
     
    The chief was outside on the porch, waiting for her.
     
    “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “I thought we could wait out here until people start to arrive. I don’t much like hanging out with dead people as my only companions.”
     
    “I hear they are very peaceful,” Sadie said, holding back a smile.
     
    “I’m not much for peaceful,” he said. “I prefer a companion who can talk. Have a seat.” He gestured to a bench near the door.
     
    Sadie sat next to Zack on the bench and took his hand. She knew it was technically work, and she’d worked really hard to keep the two separate, but it was so calm waiting here on the bench together. It seemed unlikely that anything would happen at Victor’s viewing. They’d probably just sit together the whole evening.
     
    The front door slammed and a hooded figure carrying a small case ran down the stairs and out into the street like there was a tiger on his tail. Two heartbeats later, before either Sadie or the chief had reacted, the Hyattsville mortician came flying through the door after him.
     
    “Catch him,” he shouted. “He’s ruined my corpse.”
     
    The chief vaulted the porch railing and ran out into the street after the first figure. Sadie let him go. She wouldn’t be able to keep up, and besides, she wanted to see what a ruined corpse looked like. She went inside to Slumber Room Two, where the mortician was almost in tears.
     
    “They’ll be arriving in any time,” he fussed. “And just look. How am I going to fix this before anyone sees him?”
     
    Sadie took a look in the casket. “Oh my,” she said. Victor’s face had been covered in white stage makeup with big red circles on his cheeks and black triangles over his eyes. His mouth was a red smile that was painted almost to his ears. It was ghastly. The kind of image that could give you nightmares for a month. She quickly looked away.
     
    “Quick,” she said. “Roll him out of here.”
     
    He looked startled.
     
    “Listen,” she said, “this could be a problem if anyone comes early. Better he not be here than for someone to come and catch you trying to fix this mess. Show me where you prep them.”
     
    They rolled the casket out a rear door and into a private antechamber.
     
    “You must have some makeup remover,” she said.
     
    The mortician looked glum and shook his head.
     
    “Cold cream? Coconut oil? Vegetable oil?”
     
    His head just kept shaking back and forth.
     
    “Well what do you do if you make a mistake?” Sadie asked, exasperated.
     
    “I don’t make mistakes,” he said.
     
    “Everyone makes mistakes,” she said. “What about a razor? Do you have a razor for shaving men?”
     
    He left the room and came back with a straight blade. She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the clown face—just in case the chief need it for evidence.
     
    “Right,” she said. “You start scraping the face paint off. I’m going to run down the street to the drug store and buy some cold cream. Okay?”
     
    He nodded, and she grabbed her purse and fairly flew out the door. She ran the two blocks down to the Hyattsville Drug and Save and back in a recode ten minutes, the majority of the time taken with waiting to be served in the near-deserted store.
     
    When she jogged back through Slumber Room Two and into the antechamber, the mortician was still working on scraping the clown paint off Victor’s face. Sadie took the razor from him, turned it over so the dull edge was against the face and scraped with record speed. Then she opened the cold cream and layered it on his face.
     
    “I need a towel,” she said. “A big towel.”
     
    One of Victor’s eyes opened while she was trying to clean the black triangle off. She squealed and jumped back.