Billy’s face as he says, “So you think he’s a cadaver conductor?” and Casey“So you think he’s a cadaver conductor?” and Casey throws in, “A posthumous priest?” and Billy shoots back, “A deacon of the dead?” which makes Casey cry, “A cardinal of corpses!” and Billy come back with, “A minister of … memorials?”
“Stop!” I laugh. “I don’t know
what
funeral directors are. I just heard my grandmother talk about them. I’ve never actually been inside a funeral home.”
“
Parlor
, if you please,” Billy says, pointing to the PARLOR AND CHAPEL sign that’s right below the main BOSLEY-MOORE FUNERAL HOME sign.
“Fine. I’ve never been inside a funeral
parlor.
”
Casey eyes the front door, where a steady stream of people are filing in. “We could fix that, you know.”
I look down at my jeans and thrashed high-tops. “Don’t parlors require, you know, lace gloves and shiny shoes?”
“There’s a guy in jeans,” Casey says, nodding toward the entrance.
“Yeah, one.”
But I
am
curious. I mean, there are lots of cars parked in the front lot, but it’s not full or anything, so the only reason the Vampire’s car would be parked around back is if he worked there. Or had some, you know,
business
being there. But even if he was in the mortuary business, that didn’t explain why he was cruising through the cemetery at night in his Deli Mobile, or why he and Shovel Man were stalking us to get those skulls.
Obviously I wasn’t going to get any answers by standingon the sidewalk, so when Casey says, “There’s another guy in jeans,” and starts toward the entrance, I pull him back and say, “If we’re going to do this, we need to split up.”
He looks at me. “And then … ?”
Through my mind flashes something Holly had told me about the way she dealt with things when she was homeless. “And then we attach ourselves to our own little group of adults as we go in. We look solemn, avoid eye contact, and once we’re inside, we don’t hang out together or act like we know each other.”
Casey thinks a minute. “I can do that.”
I eye Billy. “I don’t know if
he
can.”
“Hey!” Billy says. “I can be as solemn as the next guy. I can be
more
solemn than the next guy! No, wait! I can be as solemn as the
dead
guy.”
I look at Casey and say, “That’s pretty solemn,” and Casey agrees. “Very solemn.”
So we watch the people filing into the funeral home for a minute, and then Casey says, “It was my idea, so I guess I’m going first.”
He’s quick, sly, and never looks back.
“Okay,” I tell Billy. “My turn.”
I sidle up behind a middle-aged couple helping along an old lady. It’s slow going, but I hold back a little, trying to seem like I’m just patiently walking with Grandma to a sad, sad day at the funeral parlor.
But as we’re approaching the doorway, the middle-aged woman looks back at me and says, “You can go ahead.”
“No, no. I’m fine,” I tell her, and I back off a little until they’re right up to the door.
Then in we go.
There’s a little sign on a post with movable white letters that spell out CHAPEL with an arrow pointing to the left, and VIEWING with an arrow pointing to the right. And standing beside the sign is a short, pear-shaped woman wearing a dark purple dress and a dark green and purple hat. To me she looks like a giant, smiling eggplant.
“Cynthia! Roscoe!” she says to the people I’m with. “And Mrs. Kennedy! Thank you so much for coming.”
There’s a bunch of people milling around, blocking the entrance to the chapel, so before she can even think about saying something like, “And who is this darling ragamuffin?” I ditch it to the right.
Now, I’m trying to remind myself that the whole reason we’re infiltrating a funeral parlor is to find out more about the Vampire. Stuff like, does he work there? And if he does, what does he do? Maybe it’s his job to check out the gravesite for a
“Stop!” I laugh. “I don’t know
what
funeral directors are. I just heard my grandmother talk about them. I’ve never actually been inside a funeral home.”
“
Parlor
, if you please,” Billy says, pointing to the PARLOR AND CHAPEL sign that’s right below the main BOSLEY-MOORE FUNERAL HOME sign.
“Fine. I’ve never been inside a funeral
parlor.
”
Casey eyes the front door, where a steady stream of people are filing in. “We could fix that, you know.”
I look down at my jeans and thrashed high-tops. “Don’t parlors require, you know, lace gloves and shiny shoes?”
“There’s a guy in jeans,” Casey says, nodding toward the entrance.
“Yeah, one.”
But I
am
curious. I mean, there are lots of cars parked in the front lot, but it’s not full or anything, so the only reason the Vampire’s car would be parked around back is if he worked there. Or had some, you know,
business
being there. But even if he was in the mortuary business, that didn’t explain why he was cruising through the cemetery at night in his Deli Mobile, or why he and Shovel Man were stalking us to get those skulls.
Obviously I wasn’t going to get any answers by standingon the sidewalk, so when Casey says, “There’s another guy in jeans,” and starts toward the entrance, I pull him back and say, “If we’re going to do this, we need to split up.”
He looks at me. “And then … ?”
Through my mind flashes something Holly had told me about the way she dealt with things when she was homeless. “And then we attach ourselves to our own little group of adults as we go in. We look solemn, avoid eye contact, and once we’re inside, we don’t hang out together or act like we know each other.”
Casey thinks a minute. “I can do that.”
I eye Billy. “I don’t know if
he
can.”
“Hey!” Billy says. “I can be as solemn as the next guy. I can be
more
solemn than the next guy! No, wait! I can be as solemn as the
dead
guy.”
I look at Casey and say, “That’s pretty solemn,” and Casey agrees. “Very solemn.”
So we watch the people filing into the funeral home for a minute, and then Casey says, “It was my idea, so I guess I’m going first.”
He’s quick, sly, and never looks back.
“Okay,” I tell Billy. “My turn.”
I sidle up behind a middle-aged couple helping along an old lady. It’s slow going, but I hold back a little, trying to seem like I’m just patiently walking with Grandma to a sad, sad day at the funeral parlor.
But as we’re approaching the doorway, the middle-aged woman looks back at me and says, “You can go ahead.”
“No, no. I’m fine,” I tell her, and I back off a little until they’re right up to the door.
Then in we go.
There’s a little sign on a post with movable white letters that spell out CHAPEL with an arrow pointing to the left, and VIEWING with an arrow pointing to the right. And standing beside the sign is a short, pear-shaped woman wearing a dark purple dress and a dark green and purple hat. To me she looks like a giant, smiling eggplant.
“Cynthia! Roscoe!” she says to the people I’m with. “And Mrs. Kennedy! Thank you so much for coming.”
There’s a bunch of people milling around, blocking the entrance to the chapel, so before she can even think about saying something like, “And who is this darling ragamuffin?” I ditch it to the right.
Now, I’m trying to remind myself that the whole reason we’re infiltrating a funeral parlor is to find out more about the Vampire. Stuff like, does he work there? And if he does, what does he do? Maybe it’s his job to check out the gravesite for a
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