Tallulah had never complained, at least not to Murray. She’d endured this imbalance of justice since she’d been old enough to talk. When little Murray had gotten to tag along to their father’s business lunches, her crying and pouting had gotten her nothing but a resounding slap.
“Men run the world, Tallulah.” Mother had always managed to dole out advice and all other domestic obligations without a hair falling out of place. Though always funeral-ready in dark clothes, Mother Layhe had seemed impervious to mess, though she’d baked and polished morning and night. “A woman’s job is to decorate and accommodate.”
Tallulah appeared from behind the tapestry, and like clockwork, all men present turned her way. Murray watched his sister’s spine straighten, the only visible indication that she bristled at their attention. Her demure nod to one gentleman’s hello gave little hint of her true feelings. Murray knew Tallulah was far more at home with the dead than the living. Impressive genes and puberty had earned her flocks of admirers. She’d once abused this power she wielded over men, but those days, like Murray’s nights on the town, seemed a distant memory.
Tally sidled up to her brother, leaning her long frame in close enough that he could smell her Burberry perfume and the Bailey’s on her breath. It was that time of year again, and with the falling leaves came the anniversary of terrible times. Bare trees and fewer hours of sunlight had always put Tally on edge. These days she coped with the onslaught of autumn with a steady stream of alcohol from dawn to dusk.
“Diamond cufflinks,” she murmured, her gray eyes lively and bright. “A gold tie holder—24 carat I think, and a size 12 platinum wedding band.”
Though buzzing from her liquid breakfast, Murray’s sister was still a hundred times sharper than most people at the top of their game. This verbal catalogue was their routine. Tally took inventory, then relayed the treasures she found preparing the corpse. Murray made sure said treasures ended up in the center console of the hearse before the first handful of dirt hit the casket lid.
You know what they say. You can’t take it with you.
“Duly noted.” Murray lips moved no more than those of a ventriloquist. Not that anyone paid them much mind. Today’s cast of characters was in full keening mode, or as close to that as suburban southerners dare to come. The widow’s discordant caterwauling and repeated nose-blowing set Murray’s teeth on edge.
As if she’d heard his thoughts aloud, Tally pressed on, her raspy voice alight with a rare flash of genuine enthusiasm. “And there were fillings. Seven. All gold.”
She wriggled her brows, and an unexpected surge of revulsion shot through Murray. They’d stooped quite a few times since their parents had died, low enough to limbo. But when the Covid-tide had come rolling in, Murray had thought this petty bullshit was behind them. The waves of plague profits hadn’t lasted nearly as long as they should have, and that was entirely on Murray.
“Classy.” Murray’s dig seemed to have missed its mark since his sister’s smile never faltered. Tallulah didn’t know how badly they needed the money. Tally grave-robbed just for sport. She considered it a victimless crime, and Murray tried to ignore the charge she got out of it. He assumed this, like the other “new normals,” would eventually pass.
“Maintenance isn’t cheap,” Tally murmured, and Murray couldn’t argue.
“Agreed.” Upkeep on a historic home while running a business out of the back took a hefty chunk of change. Throw in the philanthropic endeavors their mother had spearheaded (and Asheville expected them to perpetuate) and it was enough to make one pray for a local catastrophe with multiple casualties.
As Tally rattled off a couple more things she’d pilfered from the late Mr. Garrett’s wallet, Murray ran a hand over his face. He’d had a low-grade headache when he’d gone to bed the night before, and it was still lurking like an enamored wallflower on the fringes of his consciousness. He thought about asking Tallulah for some Advil, but it was almost time to begin.
Thunder clapped outside, and the power flickered. Murray cursed himself for going to the tracks all those times instead of buying a backup generator. Then the lights surged full again, and he breathed a collective sigh of relief. Seconds later, the skies opened, and torrential rainfall hammered against the roof.
“Interment’s going to be a muddy nightmare. Have fun with that,” Tally quipped, smug that her portion of the dirty work was finished.
Murray groaned, but thankfully his displeasure was muffled by Mother Nature’s brutal assault. He watched Tallulah scan the crowd and imagined her counting the sea of black suits much like he had just minutes before. Tallulah was buckets of shrewd stuffed into a pencil skirt and sensible flats. If he’d screwed up any detail, she’d find it.
Apparently he hadn’t, because Tally gently rocked her shoulder into his. “’Suppose we’d better get on with it. No sense in wasting electricity on this sorry bunch of rubes.”
Murray suppressed an eyeroll at his sister’s tastelessness. When Tally’s snobbery shone through it was always in the tackiest of shades. With a curt nod, Murray turned away, wishing nothing more than to put distance between himself and his snarky sister. That was when the door banged opened, and Lucy burst in, stumbling directly into Murray’s chest.
Pale and gasping for air, the new arrival had evidently sprinted to the entrance to avoid the deluge.
“I’m so sorry.” Lucy chuckled breathlessly, tossing back her hood. Fiery locks spilled around the collar of her brilliant yellow coat. She looked up into Murray’s eyes, her bow-shaped lips quirking toward the ceiling. Murray’s throat went dry, and he could barely breathe. Lucy’s arrival was akin to an open window on the first warm day after a
