Page 51 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
Theo simply unlocked the front door in the morning, spent all day reading luminary short fiction of years past, then locked the door at night. It was a charmed existence, and just quietly, Mort wouldn’t have minded being dropped on Theo’s doorstep as a baby, if this was how his life might have turned out. Although maybe it was for the best. The man was of so few words that if he’d raised Mort, Mort might never have learned to talk. But he’d be very knowledgeable about the short stories of thirty years ago.
Anyway, Mort was here on business today. Well, mostlybusiness. And a bit of … not pleasure, exactly, butcuriosity. For the pink-and-black grille between the Eternal Elegances had informed him that Lily was heading this way in search of plates, which had reminded Mort that he had a client’s record collection that needed dealing with. And if Lily happened to arrive while Mort was still browsing the shelves, so be it.
‘Mort?’ A familiar pair of large blue eyes regarded Mort through a gap in the wall of vintage records. An equally familiar pair of pink lips quirked into a grin. ‘Fancy seeing you here. Shopping for some new tunes?’
‘I’m helping a family with an estate sale,’ said Mort.
‘Always good to diversify your income streams. Have you considered becoming an influencer? I think you’d be fab. Morbid Mort would kill it as a live-streamer.’
Mort shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’ve never been more disappointed in you.’
‘I should hope you’ve never been disappointed in me at all.’ Lily hefted a hideously ugly brass sculpture of a hand making a thumbs up.
If only she knew the half of it.
‘I’m actually fairly impressed with how you’re handling this whole switcheroo thing. You were very sanguine regarding the maggots.’
‘Ah, the maggots. My only other option was to go screaming into the night, which would have been terrible for my Yelp reviews.’ Lily upended the sculpture to make an ostentatious thumbs down. The sculpture clanged against the shelf, but unfortunately didn’t break. ‘Besides, switcheroo or not, the show must go on. And believe me, when it comes to weddings, theymustgo on. Bridezillas are no joke.’
‘I bet. At least the dead don’t complain. Just their families. Hence this trip. There’s been a whole … kerfuffle—’
‘Kerfuffle! Such an emotive word.’ Lily returned the sculpture to its thumbs-up position. ‘Must be serious.’
‘Kerfuffle,’ repeated Mort. ‘Regarding someone’s uncle’s music collection. Some guy with a statement moustache came in offering to take it off their hands for the princely sum of a hundred bucks.’
‘And you think it’s worth more than a hundred bucks.’
‘I think we’re definitely looking at a few extra zeros.’
Lily set down the thumb. ‘Righteous indignation looks good on you. And maybe a moustache, too. You could beat that guy at his own facial hair game.’
‘Absolutely not.’ Mort picked up a terrible still life of some pomegranates – or possibly juggler’s balls (or possiblyajuggler’s balls) – positioning its oversized frame as a way to hide the fact that the colour was rising in his cheeks, like the first flush of embalming fluid through a corpse. No, not like that. Goodness, this job was doing a number on him. Or was it Lily? Lily with her bright eyes and brighter personality and, brightest of all, those outfits that appeared to have come straight out of a My Little Pony cartoon?
‘Death can be expensive. And it can bring out the grifters. I want to make sure that they’re not getting ripped off. Theo’s going to look into it for me when he’s done with his current short story.’
‘Almost there,’ came Theo’s creaky voice over his magazine. ‘Just at the good bit. Well, I think so – you never can tell with literary fiction. Just another ten pages to go.’
‘So how’s the plate shopping going?’ asked Mort.
Lily cocked her head. ‘How did you know about the plate shopping?’
Mort spluttered. He couldn’t exactly sayeavesdroppingandborderline stalking, could he?
‘Your basket,’ he said eventually, pointing at the mismatched plates Lily was pushing along the floor in a wheeled floral basket – her own? Was it normal to have a floral rolly cart? How did one procure such a thing? ‘I like the practicality,’ he added.
‘Thank you.’ She beamed, scooting the basket back and forth. ‘Well, I need 250 plates – all different – and so far I have ten. And also a jigsaw puzzle in a jar for Gramps. Anyway, daisies, starbursts, Puebla, lapis, floral, rooster … That one’s for me.’
Of course it was. Nothing said Lily more than a hand-painted rooster plate. Except maybe a floral rolly cart that Mort was just now seeing was embellished with a flying rainbow bread-cat sticker. Mort had no idea what this was meant to symbolise, and was afraid to ask.
‘Dierdre at The Hot Pot might be able to help,’ offered Mort. ‘When it comes to crockery she puts the Smithsonian to shame.’
Lily smacked herself on the forehead, the vintage rings she’d picked out from the shop’s jewellery overflow bowl glinting. ‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?’ She paused. ‘How is she with ridiculous menus for the trend-forward and ingredient-averse? We’re talking more substitutions than teachers in a school plagued with norovirus.’
Mort shook his head. Dierdre did her best, but there was a limit to the bullshit a small business could reasonably handle without having to close their doors.
‘Actually,’ he mused, ‘Idohave someone who could help you.’
‘Whispering Waters,’ read Lily, who upon Mort’s recommendation had made the smart decision to come back for her cartful of plates. They’d hiked to the top of the promenade to arrive at an ivy-clad steamship-style building that loomed, all curved walls and metal-framed windows and sad-eyed sculptures surrounded by tulips.
