The Darkest Corner (Gravediggers #1)(32)

Fortunately, no one had witnessed her attempt, as she'd more than likely looked like a madwoman. The rain and humidity made her hair about twice the size it normally was, and she'd alternated between muttering niceties and curses as she looked for the switch to open the wall. She'd even tried ramming her shoulder against it, but that had led to nothing but a sore shoulder and more curses.

Tess returned to the house a little defeated and a lot wetter. She ran upstairs and changed clothes, opting this time for black leggings and a pale blue summer sweater. She also dug out of the bottom of her bathroom drawer the wrist brace from when she'd had carpal tunnel-the pain was getting worse, and as Cal had so adroitly pointed out, there was definitely some swelling around her wrist and fingers. The pressure of the brace immediately felt better, but she was going to have a heck of a time getting Mrs. Schriever prepared.



       
         
       
        

She glanced in the mirror and decided her hair was a lost cause. It was still damp, and fuzzy tendrils were sticking out in every direction. She looked at her watch and decided there was no more time to waste. Either the man who wasn't dead was gone from her table so she could work on Mrs. Schriever, or she was going to move him herself. Even if she had to roll him out the door and leave him in the hallway.

By the time she was unlocking the embalming room door, she'd talked herself into quite a temper and was ready to go head-to-head with anyone who got in her way. The bodies that came through her funeral home deserved respect and her time and attention. She didn't care that Eve Winter's name was on the deed to the house. It was her funeral home.

But when she pushed open the door to the embalming room, the table was empty.

"Well, then," she said into the silence. "That's more like it."

Her heart thudded in her chest as she scanned the room quickly to see if he was hiding behind anything, and then she turned around to see if he was behind her. She didn't like the idea of a strange man on the loose.

Tess left the door open and went to the large walk-in cooler at the back of the room. Her pulse pounded and her hand trembled as she reached for the latch on the door. No one in their right mind would hide inside the cooler. Unless he wasn't in his right mind.

There was no reason to delay the inevitable. She looked around for a weapon and picked up the trocar, which was what went into the belly button and drained fluids from the body during an embalming, and then she wondered how she was going to hold it and open the cooler door at the same time with her damaged wrist. She finally decided to hold it under her arm so she could open the door with her good hand, since the door was heavy.

Once she got everything situated to her liking, she pulled at the handle and slid the door back with a whoosh. Fog from the cold crept from the cooler, and she grabbed the trocar and held it up, ready to impale anyone who jumped out at her. Fortunately, the only person in the cooler was Mrs. Schriever, and Tess let out a nervous exhale and leaned her head against the cooler door.

"What in the world are you doing, Tess?"

Tess shrieked and wielded the trocar like a sword as she turned.

Coming face-to-face with none other than her mother.

Theodora didn't look the least bit concerned that Tess was brandishing a weapon. Of course, Theodora never looked concerned over much of anything. She said worry didn't do anything but give a woman wrinkles.

"Mama," Tess said, putting her hand to her heart. "You scared me to death. What are you doing here so early?"

"I asked Sissy to do my roots and give me a trim, but she said she could only do them early because her husband had to leave for work by eight, so she had to be home for the kids. I tell you, people are too soft on kids these days. Nothing wrong with leaving them home alone for a couple of hours. Gives them a sense of independence. Look how great you turned out." 

"Sissy's kids are two and four," Tess said, putting the trocar back where she'd gotten it. "It's generally frowned upon to leave toddlers alone."

Theodora waved that bit of information away like she did anything she deemed unpleasant. "It's neither here nor there. The point is I dragged myself out of bed at an ungodly hour, and I'm not even sure I like the cut she gave me. It's so hard to let another stylist work on me. With my level of expertise, I guess I'm just too critical."

Tess wasn't sure what level of expertise her mother was talking about. She'd dropped out of high school at sixteen when she'd become pregnant with Tess, and her grandmother had made her enroll in beauty school so she'd have some means to support herself and a new baby. In many ways, Theodora still had the naïveté of that sixteen-year-old girl, plus she had narcissistic tendencies, was a pathological liar, and an unapologetic gambling addict. It had made holidays growing up extra special, especially the Christmas Tess had gotten the penny gumball machine and then one day realized Theodora had taken all the pennies out of it to play the slots. But like her grandmother said, Theodora had a sickness. She always had, and all they could do was love her the best they could. Some days were easier than others.