Page 16 of Remy

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t touch your precious cremator.”

“Hugo, please. I hate this as much as you do?—”

“Hate what? Accusing me of things I haven’t done? I just told you I didn’t go anywhere near the stinking cremation room. I put some old crone from Settler’s on ice, then went the fuck home.”

And that right there is another reason why his disrespectful ass should get the boot.

Ivy told me months ago that he had no empathy for the deceased. It just took me a little longer to notice.

“I wish I could believe you.” I shrug. “But when moments ago you were still denying the whole cremated dog story after you previously admitted to it, there’s no trust here. You?—”

“No trust?” He raises his voice. “Are you firing me?” He shoots a glance to Allison. “This is bullshit. She has no proof.” His furious gaze returns to mine. “Does your dad know you’re doing this?”

God, how I wish my father knew. There’s no way he’d let me suffer through this on my own if he were privy to another Hugo stint. And even though my dad is probably right upstairs watching television or reading the biography of some random sports athlete, I refuse to break the sacred oath not to contact staff on their day off. He deals with enough hours on call and deserves his downtime to be uninterrupted.

“You’re well aware I don’t need Carlo’s permission to handle something like this. Every time you misuse the retort you put our livelihood at risk. We could lose our license. Not to mention how unethical it is.”

If news broke that a local funeral home was cremating pets in the same sacred space as loved ones, we’d be blacklisted.

Closed.

End of story.

“But I didn’t fucking do it.” He thunders toward me, his height seeming so much taller than mine now that he’s enraged. “You can’t fire me on an assumption.”

My pulse increases, my hatred of social interaction skyrocketing to nauseating heights.

“Your past is damning enough at this point.” I sidestep, cautiously walking around him to make my way to the entry. I pull the door wide, the freezing winter air swooping in to swallow me whole. “I suggest you leave quietly so this doesn’t become a legal matter. I’ll pack your things and?—”

“Legal matter?” His face is red now. “It’s currently a fictional matter. I didn’t touch the damn retort when I came in last night. You probably left it on after you fried that junkie with the rich parents.”

“What did you say?” Ivy’s voice carries down the hall, her heels furiously clapping as she approaches along the tile.

Shit.

“Hugo, leave.” I cling to the door handle, wishing I would’ve thought this through before taking action.

“Aaron Jefferson was not a junkie.” Ivy marches into the room, scowl fully engaged. “He was a returned serviceman who was injured fighting for our country. The health system let him down?—”

“Ivy.” I give her a pleading look. “It’s okay. Let me handle this.”

“Yeah, Ivy,” Hugo mocks as he trudges toward me. “Mind your own goddamn business.”

My heart pumps harder. Faster.

He stops before me. My pride has me standing taller when I should probably shrink back.

“You can’t do this.” He gets in my face. “You fucking can’t. I need this job.”

“I’m sorry,” I lie because I don’t have a death wish. “Please, just leave.”

“Or what?” He stares at me. “What are you going to do, Liv?”

I’m more concerned about what he’s going to do. If my cremation-obsessed friend over here will turn violent.

There are no weapons on the premises apart from my surgical supplies in the mortuary.

No monitored alarms to trigger.

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