Page 17 of Dirty Liars

“Why are there so many steps?” she asked in return. “There were not this many on the way down.”

“We should have taken a break between autopsies,” I said. “My lunch tacos aren’t doing it for me anymore.”

“I don’t even care about food,” she said. “Wine. Just wine.”

I pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen, and then I wondered if I’d opened a door to a portal somewhere else. Maybe to hell. Led Zeppelin was pumping through the speakers loud enough to shake the appliances on the countertops. The lab was completely soundproof, so this was a shock to the senses.

Lily’s hands went to her ears and she yelled, “What is happening? Are we under attack?”

“Maybe it’s psychological warfare,” I said, tossing the file onto the island countertop and plugging my own ears. “It worked with the Branch Davidians.”

Lily shrieked as Jack came out of my office, taking us both by surprise. He was wearing my noise-canceling headphones.

“What is happening?” I yelled.

He said something back, but I had no idea what it was. He finally motioned for both of us to go outside. I grabbed my file and my medical bag on the way through the mudroom, and hoped my keys were somewhere inside because I was not coming back to get them.

Jack was right behind us and shut the door with a loud thud. You could still hear the music, but it was a little more tolerable.

“What is going on?” I asked again.

“It’s the bikers,” Jack said, trying to contain his laughter. “They told Sheldon Victor loved Led Zeppelin and that Victor would have loved to be seen into the next life with the party of all parties.”

“In my funeral home?” I asked. I was ready to go back in and face deafness and bikers to shut the whole thing down.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “I’ve got off-duty cops here to cover, and it looks like Emmy Lu has everything well in hand. She seems to have a surprising amount of experience dealing with situations like this.”

“You have no idea,” I said.

“And believe it or not, Sheldon is handling things well. Maybe bikers are his people.”

“No, don’t say that,” I said. “The last thing I need is my assistant running off with the Hells Angels. He wouldn’t last ten minutes. He doesn’t even drive a car. How’s he going to drive a motorcycle?”

“But I bet he can tell you all about them though,” he said, grinning.

“A rational part of my brain is telling me to go back inside and keep an eye on things, but my lower back is screaming at me to go home and not look back. We can come back in the morning and pick through the rubble.”

“That sounds like a pretty rational idea to me,” Lily said, eyeing the street filled with motorcycles. “See you guys tomorrow.”

And with that Lily headed off to her little red car in the side lot. There were a group of men in their biker leathers smoking cigarettes under the farthest oak tree, so Jack and I watched Lily until her car was out of sight.

“Come on, kid,” Jack said. “Let’s get you home. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

I let Jack load me into his truck, and then I took one last look at the funeral home as we drove away. I was asleep before we reached the end of the block.

* * *

I felt Jack’s hand squeeze my thigh, and I stirred in the seat, my eyes opening before my brain could catch up. I’d learned to wake quickly during medical school, and it was a useful skill once I’d started my residency and then my subsequent years in the ER. I lived on coffee.

“You okay?” Jack asked.

“Why?”

“You growled.”

“I was thinking about coffee.”

“So have some,” he said. “I did my research.”

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