Page 34 of Four Weddings and a Funeral Director
The alleyway opened out into the cosy parking lot where the residents of the downtown area stashed their cars – the promenade was strictly for pedestrians and well-mannered bicyclists. Lily’s Miata sat there primly, covered in bumper stickers and filled with pink stuffies, its pop-up lights (complete with eyelashes) staring happily at her.
She gave the little car a pat on the hood. ‘Hi, Lucille! Don’t be jealous, but we’re taking … what’s the name of your hearse?’
‘The hearse,’ said Mort.
‘How about Hearston Gloomenthal,’ suggested Lily. ‘Like the chef.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Mort.
‘Herbie the Death Bug? The Black Widow?’
‘Please stop.’
Mort unlocked the hearse and opened the passenger-side door for Lily, who climbed in, her gaze flickering over the vehicle’s curved hood, which was topped with a silvery skull ornamentation. Matching skulls shimmered from the silvery centre of each wheel. Apparently the hearse hadn’t been switcherooed – perhaps there was some sort of geographical limit on the impact of the spell. (Maybe Lily could look at working remotely. From the beach, perhaps.)
Inside, the hearse was plush and roomy, with … oh, look, more skulls. But it was pristine, and smelled gently of pine and sage and not of, well, what Lily had worried it would smell of. There was not a single whiff of a corpse.
‘I feel like Wednesday Addams,’ she said, as she buckled up and Mort cautiously pulled out from his spot, checking around him multiple times for possible pedestrians.
They cruised slowly – excruciating slowly – down Jupiter Street, the thoroughfare that connected the various residential streets of the village, with their storybook houses and their tiny pocket parks. Every street sign was hand-painted and decorated with tiny hanging sculptures and baubles: disco balls, gleaming birds, glimmering windchimes that sang softly in the omnipresent breeze.
‘You know you don’t have to drive this slowly when you’re not part of a funeral procession, right?’ prodded Lily, although she didn’t mind so much – not really. The town was so pretty, with its pink cottages and rose gardens and roundabouts decorated with sculptures and string lights. She wound down the window, drinking in the feel of it all: the gently salted ocean breeze and the fragrant wildflowers exploding from the garden beds, all topped with a dash of cinnamon wafting up from TheCakery, which was the residential part of the town’s answer to The Hot Pot. (Lily received cake samples from both on a daily basis, and had quite the cake stash going. Not to mention that her treasure map was looking pretty well filled out. She’d also had the joy of reciprocating with her own stamp, a pink heart with wings.)
‘I’d rather be late than dead,’ said Mort firmly. His knuckles gripped the steering wheel with the strength of a thousand panic attacks. Lily said nothing, but she added it to the dossier of facts about Mort that she’d been collecting.
‘Would you prefer me to drive?’ she asked gently.
‘Absolutely not.’
They drove in silence for a few minutes, Lily pointing out her favourite houses along the curving road, and then the gorgeous eighteenth-century Spanish basilica that loomed in all its tiled glory over the top of Mission Hill.
‘If only they were looking for consecrated ground,’ said Lily wistfully. ‘What a beautiful spot.’
Mort put on his indicator. ‘Let’s take a look anyway.’
‘But there’s no point,’ said Lily. ‘They specifically said …’
Mort shrugged. ‘Maybe you can get some inspiration for another event. Or who knows, maybe …’
He trailed off, leaving Lily’s imagination to run off in all directions, a bit like the fluffy alpacas flocking around on the other side of the fence that divided the mission from a nearby farm.
Mort pulled the hearse with sloth-like form off the road and beneath a huge fir tree that had carpeted the ground with needles and tiny pinecones. Lily grinned as she stepped out of the car, her heels sinking into the spongy combination of moss and tile.
‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed, turning on the spot as she took in the peaceful courtyard and the tranquil mix of greenery –cycads, olive trees, even a herb garden with a central fountain decorated with patterned tiles.
Lily made a beeline to the fountain, on the way crumbling a lavender flower between her fingers, then rubbing the fuzzy leaves of a lamb’s ear plant.
‘Do you have a coin?’ she said suddenly.
Mort pulled out the thickest wallet Lily had ever seen. She hoped Mort had a permit for carrying a deadly weapon, because you could absolutely kill someone with it.
‘You’re going to get scoliosis walking around with that thing in your back pocket,’ she warned.
‘The things I suffer through to have a readily available collection of coins.’ Mort passed her a quarter. ‘Well, just the one coin. It’s my quarter for the bodega basket.’
‘You really are making sacrifices for me, huh? Such a gentleman.’
Mort folded his arms and harumphed. ‘Make your wish. And make it a good one because I’m going to have to use my bare hands next time I shop for food.’
