The inertly handsome man held a frighteningly striking gaze. Although a lovely color, his eyes held an emptiness that seemed to swallow her whole. “I’m here to discuss the payment terms of your pre-arranged funerals,” Sage finally managed to explain. “Recently my husband Mark passed away, leaving me with a massive bill of services he chose behind my back.”
The man’s flawless face furled in disgust. “Good lord!” he exclaimed, choking into a handkerchief. “Out of all the foods you could have chosen to eat before coming here, you chose pasta with a garlic cream sauce?”
“What?” Sage observed the man in disbelief. How had he been able to smell exactly what she’d eaten for dinner? Could her breath be that bad? Moreover, he hadn’t listened to a single thing she’d said. Despite being good-looking, this man certainly wasn’t polite. “I don’t understand how my dinner is relevant,” she stated.
The man looked at her as though she’d just grown a second head. “I’m allergic to garlic, you ignorant wench!” he declared. “Even the smallest sprinkling of the substance has me in a bout of asphyxiation. You can’t possibly fathom the size of the hives I get. They’re as big as nectarines, and I dare say three times as juicy.”
Even after offering her sincerest apologies, Sage was forced to listen to the man ramble on about his garlic-related woes.“You smell almost as repugnant as the woman who’d had souvlaki for dinner,” he droned. “The amount of garlic used in tzatziki dip could knock me out for a fortnight!”
A shrill bell concluded her brief encounter with the rude man as everyone on Sage’s side of the tables moved one position over to the left. While relieved to be away from the insulting stranger, Sage felt completely lost. Surely this couldn’t be how business was normally conducted within a funeral home? There had to be some sort of mistake. She’d heard of chapels and churches hosting clubs and social meetings. Perhaps the receptionist had mistaken her as a member of whatever gathering was currently in session. Still, maybe one of the colorless people within the chapel could help her.
The next man Sage found herself in front of was just as handsome as the last, and just as peculiar. Upon taking her seat, the man began to waft the air around her. He then proceeded to sit back in his chair and study her. “I’ll be frank with you,” he began, “I’m not particularly fond of the universal donor type. I prefer rare types, because who doesn’t love things that are rare? Only a cad wants something everybody can have. Though on a weekday, other types can be palatable, I suppose. A positive, in particular, I don’t mind. So, if you know anyone fitting those requirements…”
“I’m sorry,” Sage interrupted, “what exactly is going on here? What are you talking about? Do you work here? I need to talk to someone about a casket expense.”
The sooner Sage could get the casket selection out of the way, the better she would feel. Over the phone, the receptionist had informed Sage that Mark had chosen a premium casket, with a premium price tag he’d been stupid enough to pay. Now the remainder of the sum was expected within three months. Realistically, there was no way Sage would ever be able to come up with the kind of money needed to cover the funeral Mark arranged for himself. What she hoped for was a way to put the funds he’d used for the casket to better use. With the money he’d wasted on a box intended to be covered in dirt, Sage figured she could pay for a basic funeral somewhere else.
The man leaned forward, a curious glint in his eyes. “caskets you say? While it’s true some prefer caskets, I’m open to trying other accommodations. Honestly, it’s always been a bit of a fantasy of mine to spend a night naked in an empty grave. There’s something about the idea of feeling the worms writhing beneath my tight ass cheeks that has me burning with desire.”
Gobsmacked, Sage could only stare at the man in horror. What kind of psycho fantasizes about sleeping in a casket? As for the comment about the worms, it made Sage want to vomit. Just who were these people? Was she in the middle of some sort of cult-related soirée?
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she started to say. Before she could finish, three men barged through the chapel doors. The room grew silent upon their arrival.
Rolling his eyes, the man with the apparent casket fetish scowled. “There goes my window of opportunity,” he uttered. “Now that the adult supervision has arrived I won’t be able to get my hands on that scrumptious B type at table five.”
As far as Sage was concerned, the men she’d spoken to were complete nut cases. The three who’d just entered bore a familial resemblance and were likely brothers. They ventured into the room, the middle one swiftly taking up the empty seat across from the lady next to Sage. Seeing him up close, Sage recognized him as the man who’d directed her when she’d first arrived. Until that moment, she hadn’t had a good look at him. Now she could see, his appearance, although impeccably handsome, was somehow less intimidating. This could have been due to the slightly nervous nature of his countenance. She felt herself flush when she saw him undo the buttons of his jacket, revealing a waistcoat tightly fitted to his svelte figure.
Even more appealing to her was the name engraved on his pin. It read, Irving Garrow. This man was the owner of The Chapel and Church funeral home. Sage fingered the business card in her jacket pocket that she’d found amongst the cluttered mess of pre-arrangement forms. The card had belonged to him, which meant, presumably, that he’d been the person to fill out Mark’s funeral documents.
The woman across from Irving turned to Sage suddenly with a look of unease on her face. “Sorry to inconvenience you in any way, but would you mind switching seats?” she whispered. “Irving is a little too batty for my taste if you know what I mean.”
Sage had no idea what the woman meant. Nonetheless, she was happy to trade spots. Irving was the funeral home’s head. If anyone could help her sort out her husband’s funeral arrangements, surely it was him.