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“Hello?” I called again, waiting for a response.
“Oh, um, I’m coming,” a voice called from the office.
Moments later, Imogen emerged from the office, a cup of coffee in hand. She was wearing black slacks, a white blouse, and sexy little heels. I couldn’t help but be taken aback by her beauty. “Damn you, Uncle, for not telling me how beautiful Dorothy is,” I whispered under my breath.
“What’s that?” Dorothy asked, catching my murmur.
I shook my head, trying to play it off. “Oh, nothing. I was admiring how nice the funeral home is.”
Dorothy glanced around. “Mr. Brooks did take pride in the funeral home.”
I nodded in agreement. “Yes, but he did seem to be stuck back in the eighties,” I chuckled, gesturing to the décor around us. The funeral home was nice but dated, with lots of framed photos, tissue boxes stashed here and there, and lots of comfortable-looking chairs and couches.
“I mean, can you blame him? The eighties were probably the last great decade,” Dorothy remarked.
“The nineties were pretty good, too,” I laughed, trying to keep the conversation light.
The silence stretched between us as Dorothy hesitated, clearly unsure of how to proceed. I could sense her uncertainty hanging in the air, mingled with the anticipation building within me.
“Uh, I’m not sure what you wanted to do, but I can show you around if you would like, or you can wander since...” she trailed off, her words faltering.
“Since I now own the place?” I interjected with a chuckle, trying to break the tension that had settled between us.
Dorothy nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Um, yes.”
I offered her a reassuring smile. “I don’t want to be a bother to you. I’m sure you’ve got some things you need to get done before the funeral this afternoon.”
She shrugged, a hint of uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Just some small things. Once we get closer to two, I’ll need to help the ladies from the church set up the meal, and then the reverend will be here. He knows what he’s doing, but it’s always good to just go over things with him. And then the family...” Her gaze shifted to meet mine.
“That would be me,” I replied with a laugh. “I promise not to make a fuss. Whatever Uncle wanted is fine with me.”
“It’s just you?” Dorothy inquired, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“My mom had hip replacement surgery the day Uncle passed away, and she isn’t up to traveling just yet,” I explained. “The good thing about Uncle owning the funeral home is he had everything planned out, so we didn’t have to do anything. My mom was trying to figure out how to get here, but I told her not to worry about it.”
“We can stream the funeral for her if she would want. I know a lot of the community will be here today to pay their respects. Mr. Brooks was a big part of Jackson.”
I nodded. “I’m sure she would like that.”
Dorothy nodded in understanding. “Um, yes, his plans were very detailed.”
I tilted my head slightly.
“Did you, by chance, see those plans?” she asked.
“Um, no,” I replied, my gaze darted away briefly before returning to meet hers. “I figured Uncle knew what he wanted, and you guys would do everything you could to make it happen.”
“Oh,” she chuckled, though a sense of intrigue lingered beneath the surface, “we made it happen all right.”
“Dorothy,” I called out, my curiosity piqued. “You have to tell me just what you mean by that.”
She motioned towards the closed door at the end of the hallway. “Um, why don’t I just show you what I mean?”
I followed her lead, my heart pounding in my chest as she approached the doors, her hands resting on the pulls. A sense of apprehension gnawed at the edges of my mind, mingling with a growing sense of anticipation. What was she about to show me? I was the director of a funeral home back in Chicago and had seen my fair share of weird and crazy. In the business and in my personal life. I was hoping to get a slower pace of life in Jackson once we laid Uncle to rest.
“Everything you are about to see is what your uncle wanted, okay?” Dorothy’s voice was tinged with a hint of worry as if preparing me for something unexpected.
“Open the door,” I urged, my impatience getting the better of me. I needed to know what was behind those doors.
