Twist the Knife (Lost Kings MC #24)

I spot April as soon as I pull into the parking lot. In her bright, butter-yellow dress, she’s hard to miss standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance.

“Hi!” she shrieks and runs over the pavement to greet me as I step out of the car, holding my purse and a bag of supplies to get me through the morning. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Her body collides with mine in an exuberant hug, a wash of gardenia and something earthier filling my nose as I return the embrace.

She holds me at arm’s length. “You look so adorable. I love the pink dress.” She fingers the collar of my black cardigan with pink edging. “This is too cute.” A bright grin breaks out over her face as her gaze lands on my tiny black-and-gold All men are cremated equal pin. “Stop it!” she squeals. “Oh my God, that’s hilarious for this class.”

“I know, right?” I return the grin, lock my door and slam it shut. “I love the dress.” I nod at her sleeveless cotton poplin dress with thick straps and a modest, square neckline. “Aren’t you worried you’ll be cold in there, though?”

She holds up a white-and-yellow tote bag. “I have a sweater in here.”

As soon as we step into the large lecture room, we stand out. Almost all our peers are twenty or more years older and dressed in professional attire at the darker end of the spectrum. April and I circulate around the room for a few minutes, saying hello to colleagues. Most people know my father and ask how he’s doing. We run into a few of our college classmates and after they share a few horror stories about job-hunting, guilt settles over me. I never had to worry about resumes and interviews.

“You okay?” April touches my shoulder.

“Oh, yes.” I force a bright smile. “I think my dad’s tough on me until I hear what everyone else is going through.”

“Yeah, I think I got lucky too. I love my place. They’re actually open to new suggestions and moving forward.”

We find seats in the last row at the back of the room. The lights dim and I bend down to pull a small notepad and a pen out of my tote bag.

“Really?” April tips her head toward the paper.

“I need to do something with my hands.”

The president of the Empire Funeral Directors Association steps up to the podium to welcome everyone. “Good morning…” I tune out until he gets to our speaker’s bio. “…a third-generation funeral director…”

Just like me. My grandparents, my parents, and now me. It sounds so weighty. How did this guy transition into giving lectures instead?

“According to our industry’s comprehensive cremation statistics,” the lecturer’s face shifts into a devilishly comedic smile, “cremation is the burning desire of a growing portion of our consumers.”

The room vibrates with groans and chuckles. Tittering with my own laughter, I roll my eyes April’s way. Her shoulders shake and she gestures toward the front of the room.

“We paid two hundred bucks for this,” she whispers.

Two hours later, I’m dizzy with statistics and ideas for ways to offset the revenue losses from more people choosing cremation over casket burials.

“What’d you think?” April asks as we walk out to our cars.

“I wanted to ask if that shift is true in rural areas or just urban. His numbers didn’t break it down.”

“You’re not seeing more cremations?”

Yes, but not legal ones.

That’s not true. Besides the bikers’ late-night usage of our crematorium, a lot of our customers have chosen that path lately. “There’s been an uptick in clients choosing it but not the seismic shift he’s talking about.”

She shrugs. “You’re probably right about the shift being slower in rural areas. I’m more interested in some of the green alternatives being developed. He didn’t spend a lot of time on that. Just how to boost revenue for the industry.”

“Well, yeah.” There’s one part of the business I’m more intimately acquainted with than April would be.

“What else have you been up to?” April asks with a saucy eyebrow lift. “Seeing anyone?”

I’ve never been the kind of girly-girl to talk about relationships with my friends or, God forbid, sex. Probably because none of them had been worth talking about. “Not really.”

She leans closer. “Margot.” Her stern friend voice rings loud and clear. “You’re blushing. Who is it?”

“Just a guy.” I give her a teasing push away. “But we don’t really have anything in common.”

“Is he hot?”