classified rodent is one thing…coddling it feels like a whole other level of deceit I want no part of. Plausible deniability is important. “Nah,” I say. “I’m good. Why don’t you go put him in his cage before you get us both into trouble? Then you can come back and help me paint those moldings on the floor over there.”
“Fine,” she grumbles. “Be right back.”
“I’ll be here.”
The kid isn’t gone five minutes before I start hearing one hell of a commotion coming from the area of the viewing. My stomach sinks to my toes, and I close my eyes and pray to Jesus that it isn’t what I think it is.
Mrs. Marie pops into the chapel, red-faced and breathing like she’s just run a marathon. “We got us a situation.”
“What’s going on?”
“There’s a—a squirrel flying all around the visitation room.” Tears drip down her cheeks. “We ain’t never had nothin’ like this happen before.” She clutches my sleeve, tugging me toward the door. “Will you come help?”
“Of course.” Not that she’s affording me much chance to say no.
“Stop it! Don’t! You’re gonna hurt him.”
Upon entering the parlor, I find Prissy screaming while yanking on the shirt of a teenaged boy, who’s chasing after her pet, wielding a broom like a sword.
There are guests laughing, others crying, some hiding behind chairs and a couple others who’ve made it their mission in life to catch the damn thing.
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to get some kind of control over the situation. “He’s friendly.” I snatch the broom from the kid’s hand, passing it off to Whitney, who is presently breathing fire in my direction. I half expect her to come after me with it. If we weren’t surrounded by mourners, I’m positive she would.
It’s painful to watch all the progress I thought I made with the woman last night burst into flames. But I’ll have to save that problem for another day, seeing as I can only focus on one crisis at a time.
“Come here, Priss.” I hold my arms out for the distraught child. “I’m gonna lift you up, and you grab him.”
She nods, sniffling into her sleeve.
“Everyone else, stay calm, and try not to spook him.”
Stay calm, I repeat in my head, while making my way toward the casket. I hoist the little girl up higher, dangling her over the body of an old man—an old dead man, so she can retrieve her frightened pet from the top of the casket lid.
I don’t breathe until she’s back on the floor and I’ve moved away from the corpse.
That’s when I look up to find nearly every pair of eyes in that room glaring in my direction. “What?” I say to no one in particular.
“What the hell, Wyatt?” Whitney grabs my wrist, dragging me from the room like I’m the one to blame for that epic shit-show. “We’ll be lucky if we don’t get sued for that.”
“It’s not mine,” I say, once we’re closed up in her office.
“No? Then how’d you know it was tame?” Her hands land on her hips.
I sigh, not wanting to break Prissy’s trust but also not willing to take the fall for something I truly had nothing to do with. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to get mad.”
“Too late,” she growls.
“You’re pretty when you’re angry.”
“Not now, Wyatt.” The woman looks truly defeated.
“It’s your dad’s.” A little white lie never hurt anyone. I hate doing it, but it’s the only explanation I can think of to save Priss from her mother’s wrath. I’m positive Hank won’t mind, being he’s the one that’s been aiding and abetting this situation.
“You expect me to believe Daddy has a pet squirrel?”
“I don’t care what you believe,” I snap back. “It’s the truth. He showed it to me this morning.”
She shakes her head in disbelief, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to ward off a migraine.
“I don’t appreciate being treated like the enemy, either, considering I just saved your asses in there.”
Before Whitney can think up a response, her office door flies open, and Hank and Marie come charging in.
The fire-breathing blonde whirls on her father. “Is it true?”
He crinkles his nose. “Is what true?”
“That rodent belong to you?”
I’m nodding behind her head, widening my eyes and praying he’ll catch my meaning.
“Yeah,” he says. “So, what? Last I checked, this was my house. I pay the bills, and I can do what I damn well please.”
“Well good then,” she snaps, stepping into his personal space. Her