Free Funeral with a View by Matt Schiariti

with Catherine. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Mary Jo Maddox.” She
offered her hand and forced a cordial smile. “Cat and Jude’s mother. But I’m
sure you figured that out already.”
    Her hand was cool despite
the heat.
    “Richard Franchitti,” I
said, trying out a smile. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Maddox.”
    “Call me Mary Jo, please.
Do you prefer Rich? Richard?”
    “You can call me Rick, or
Ricky. Just don’t call me Shirley.” I winked.
    Jude snort-laughed and
Catherine stifled her own with a hand. After a moment of confusion, Mary Jo’s
face opened up in a genuine smile. “You’re funny … Rick. And handsome to boot.
I can see why my daughter fancies you.”
    Fancies? Did people still
say that? Probably a southern thing.
    “Thank you, Mary Jo. You
have a beautiful home by the way. Almost as beautiful as the lady of the
house.”
    From behind Mary Jo, Jude
put a finger in her mouth and crossed her eyes.
    Mary Jo had an altogether
different reaction. She blushed.
    Major points for me.
    “Aren’t you a charmer,
Rick? Flattery will get you everywhere.”
    I raised one side of my
unibrow. “Not laying it on too thick, am I?”
    “It’s entirely too much, but
I’m not complaining.” Catherine’s mother showed me an impish smile and I felt
my tension fall away by a sizeable margin.
    “I calls 'em as I sees
'em. I can certainly see where your daughters get their good looks from.”
    A deep voice resonated
from behind me. “They sure as hell didn’t get them from me, son.”
    So much for being
relaxed .

CHAPTER 18
     
     
     
     
    While it was apparent
Catherine’s mother was making a concerted effort to not hate the guy she
assumed had defiled her little girl, the bulldog of a man whose steely eyes
bored into me did nothing to hide his disgust.
    “Hey, Daddy.” Catherine hugged
her father, and Butch plodded over, tail wagging as he sniffed his master’s
shoes.
    “Hey, Kit Cat.” Patrick
Maddox hugged Catherine with powerful, hairy arms, his gaze unwavering. He
stared at me with barely concealed contempt. I stared back. We were locked in a
visual game of chicken and I had no intention of swerving first. “Your mom
didn’t let all the food burn while I was inside, did she? It should be done
soon.”
    “No, I think it’s safe.
Daddy, this is—”
    “I know who it is,” he
said gravely. The tension crept back. Butch whined.
    “Rick Franchitti. Thanks
for having me over, Mr. … Colonel. It’s great to finally meet you. We should
have done this sooner.”
    The Colonel regarded my
hand with eyes so pale they bordered on gray before taking it in a crushing
grip.
    Yep. This man is gonna
be a hard sell
    Without another word, The
Colonel marched over to the grill where dancing flames had already been working
their culinary magic.
    “He’s a charmer,” I
whispered. “Kit Cat?”
    “If you ever call me that
again, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
    Catherine and I joined
Jude and her mother at the picnic table.
    “Want anything to drink,
Rick?” Jude said. “Maybe something fruity? With a teensy-weensy umbrella in
it?” I glared at Catherine. How much detail had she gone into about poker
night? Catherine shrugged her apology then fixed a venomous glare on her older
sister, who volleyed with a shit-eating grin.
    “Um, I’ll take a beer if
you’ve got one. Thanks.”
    Jude skipped into the
house, and not long after she returned with my Negro Modello, The Colonel had
gathered up an abundance of charred mammal flesh and set it on the table.
    Catherine inhaled deeply “This
smells great. Thanks for cooking.”
    “You’re welcome, Kit Cat.
We have a guest after all.” He glanced at me, and I realized from whom my
girlfriend had inherited her death looks. The beauty was Mary Jo, but the evil
eye was all Big Daddy. “Go on, then. No invitations here. Dig in, folks.”
    Sir, yes sir. We loaded
our plates and dug in as ordered.
    “So,” Mary Jo said. “Cat
tells us you’re in graphic