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“Because he wants us to get comfortable, and then he’s going to pounce on us like a little baby kitten.”
Imogen tipped her head to the side. “I’m sure you were trying to make that sound more terrifying than you did.”
“Hey, I tried.”
“Well,” Imogen smirked, “how about you just try to focus on Mr. Brooks’ funeral that is about to happen in a couple of hours, and not worry about Rocco? I’m not getting a bad or weird vibe from him. I think we need to give him the benefit of the doubt before we don him as the big, bad new boss who wants us to quit.”
Well, whatever. I guess if that was how Imogen wanted to play this, we could, but I wasn’t going to trust Rocco fully.
We made our way out of the office, setting about organizing the last-minute things for the viewing.
The ladies from the church arrived a little bit later with all of the food, and the reverend was right behind them.
“Where is he?” I asked Imogen.
Imogen popped the last of her ham sandwich in her mouth and looked around. “Who? The reverend? I think he’s getting the shock of his life right now. He asked to see Mr. Brooks. I literally opened the door and pushed him in. Good luck, sucka,” she giggled.
“No,” I laughed. “I meant, where is Rocco? I haven’t seen him.” I had caught a few glimpses of him while double-checking everything, but he never stuck around for long.
Imogen shrugged and snagged one last sandwich off the tray. “Maybe he needed some time to himself. His uncle is getting buried today, Dorothy. I know you think he’s just here to make your life a living hell, but I think he’s got more going on right now.”
I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. “Now you’re making me sound ridiculous.” Maybe I was making today about me when it was more about laying Mr. Brooks to rest.
Imogen patted my hand. “I’m not trying to make you feel anything other than you need to just chill out. I’m going to find Mace before people start arriving. You need to take a breath, grab a sandwich, and double-check to make sure all of the tissue boxes are full.”
I gave a fake salute. “Will do.” Telling me to snack on the delicious little ham sandwiches was not a hard thing to do. Relaxing, well, that might be a little bit harder.
As I wandered through the rooms after eating two ham sandwiches, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I was making today about me and not Mr. Brooks. Imogen’s words echoed in my mind. Maybe I was overreacting. Rocco had lost a family member, after all. But something about him still rubbed me the wrong way.
I glanced at my watch. Time seemed to crawl as I waited for the viewing and funeral to begin. Never had I wanted a funeral to begin more than I did Mr. Brooks’. I expected the whole town to show up, and I knew it was going to be a long day of greeting, talking, and corralling everyone. And I had been right.
Guests began to arrive, offering their condolences and sharing memories of Mr. Brooks. I put on my professional face, accepting their kind words while directing them to the viewing and the late lunch the church ladies had laid out.
Rocco did appear right before the guests started arriving, but he didn’t talk to me or Imogen. He kept his place by Mr. Brooks at his desk and accepted condolences from the residents of Jackson.
It was probably for the best that he stayed by Mr. Brooks because Imogen and I had tried to warn everyone before they went in that Mr. Brooks was, uh, well, in a different position than normal, but there were still gasps of horror when they saw him.
It seemed that while Mr. Brooks wanted everyone to remember him as someone who always worked hard, this was more of a nightmare that came to life.
Finally, the service began. The reverend spoke solemnly, his words a comforting melody in the midst of grief. I stole a glance at Rocco, who stood at the back of the room, his expression unreadable. Despite my reservations, a pang of sympathy tugged at my heart. Losing a loved one was never easy, no matter who you were.
As the service drew to a close, I found myself standing beside Rocco. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I murmured, surprised by my own sincerity.
Rocco’s gaze met mine, his eyes holding a hint of gratitude. “Thank you, Dorothy,” he replied quietly. “I appreciate it. I didn’t spend a lot of time with Uncle these past years, but we did talk regularly on the phone. I’m going to miss those calls.”
Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe there was more to Rocco than met the eye. I felt a twinge of guilt for assuming the worst about him.
It wasn’t like he had masterminded his uncle dying to get the funeral home. I needed to chill out and let whatever was going to happen, just happen.
Chapter Six
Rocco
That was…hard.
Chapter Seven
Dorothy
