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Yup, Rocco and I were totally going to be screwed the next two weeks. He had literally just put the nail in the coffin by saying the Q word three times now. “I’m going to need you to just stop talking right now, okay?”
“Dorothy,” he laughed. “We are going to be fine.”
“Yeah, we will be as long as you don’t say it again.”
“You mean quiet?”
I threw my hands in the air and stormed towards the front doors. “I’m done. I’m going home right now so I can try to get some sleep before the phone starts ringing off the hook.” Rocco might not be superstitious, but I sure was when it came to the Q word. “Just call me when the bodies will be here.”
Rocco’s loud laughter followed until the door closed behind me.
I grabbed my purse and keys and headed right back out the front door.
“See you soon.”
“It’s two o’clock, Dorothy. You can’t seriously be going home.”
I waved my hand over my head and got into my car.
“Dorothy,” he called.
I started up my car and rolled down the window. “See you in the morning, Rocco. Hopefully, the phone waits that long to ring.” We would be lucky if we made it twelve hours without someone kicking the bucket and needing our services.
“No one is going to die soon.”
I grabbed my sunglasses from the visor and slid them over my eyes. I plugged my phone in and played the most fitting song.
I turned up the song and slowly rolled past Rocco with “Another One Bites The Dust” playing.
“Really?” Rocco called.
“You’ve brought this on yourself,” I shouted. “Now you have to live with it.”
“You’re insane, Dorothy,” he laughed.
Maybe I was.
Rocco hadn’t seen this side of me yet, but he was about to for the next two weeks.
I knew the man wasn’t going to fire me, so now it was time for him to see who I really was.
And now that was unfortunately going to happen when we were going to be slammed with funerals because the man had said the Q word.
Idiot.
Chapter Eleven
Rocco
Dorothy pulled into the parking lot as the second ambulance pulled out. I watched it disappear down the street, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. Yeah, she had been right. I never should have said the Q word. I had totally jinxed us, and it hadn’t even taken a day for it to happen.
Last night, around four in the morning, I was awoken by the shrill ringtone of my phone, the sound cutting through the silence of the night like a knife. I stumbled out of bed, bleary-eyed and disoriented, and answered the call. The voice on the other end informed me that a body was on its way to the funeral home, a grim reminder of the unpredictable nature of our business.
By the time I arrived at the funeral home, the first body was waiting for me to deliver it to the basement. It was a routine procedure, one that I had done countless times before, but this time, it was different because it was here.
I waited for Dorothy to get out of her car, but instead, she just sat there, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, her gaze fixed straight ahead. I approached her cautiously, unsure of how to broach the subject.
“I told you, Rocco!” she suddenly shouted at the windshield, her voice echoing in the empty parking lot. Dorothy turned to face me, her eyes blazing with frustration. “I told you we shouldn’t have tempted fate,” she continued, her voice trembling with anger. “I told you it was a bad idea to say the Q word.”
