A Rose From the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

so that when they’re at death’s door, so to speak, she’ll be at their bedside with her recorder.”
    “That’s where the term soul music comes from,” Max said, then waited for a laugh.
    Delilah patted his cheek. “Pumpkin, you’re simply not cut out for comedy.”
    She was so right. Max was a very ordinary-looking, mild-mannered guy with kind eyes, a gentle voice, a receding hairline, and the air of assurance that people needed when they were overwhelmed with grief. A comedian he was not.
    “Don’t feel bad, Max,” I said. “Apparently, I’m staccato .”
    Marco’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Short and disconnected? Yeah, I can see that.”
    I gave him a glance that said, You are so not funny. Lucky for him, he was hunky enough to get away with it. “How do you know what staccato means?”
    “I took guitar lessons in high school. So, did you straighten out the Urban legends?”
    “Urban legends,” Delilah said with a laugh. “I like that. See, Max? He’s funny.”
    “As a matter of fact, I did straighten them out,” I said, “and trust me, they won’t pull any more pranks on me. But I can’t say the same for Sybil. When I left, they were plotting something. That reminds me. Is it just me, or does her face look plastic? And what’s with that rose in her hair?”
    “What you witnessed is a walking advertisement for her line of cosmetics—Sybil’s Select,” Delilah said. “The red rose is her trademark. Her business hasn’t been successful, and I’m sure you can see why, but that makeup sure doesn’t discourage the men from coming around.”
    “They’re not looking at her face,” I noted.
    “You lost me,” Marco said. “Why would Sybil push cosmetics here?”
    “It’s for those loved ones who pass on, dumplin’,” Delilah explained. “It makes their viewing more tolerable for their families. Some people are jaundiced when they leave us, you know. They need purple to normalize their skin tone. Then others are more of a green tone—”
    “Too much information,” I said, preparing to stick my fingers in my ears.
    “If you want to see the full line of her products, her booth is number four,” Max said, “right next to Chet Sunday’s make-it-yourself booth.”
    “ The Chet Sunday?” I asked. “From television? Marco, you know who he is—the star of Make It Easy , the Saturday afternoon cable TV show on the handyman channel.”
    “I work Saturday afternoons,” Marco reminded me.
    “No offense, Max, but what is Chet Sunday doing at a morticians’ convention?” I asked.
    “It was Sybil’s idea,” Max said. “She said his name would be a big draw. Apparently he came as a personal favor to her.”
    “I can’t imagine why,” Delilah said with a wink.
    “Chet is even going to tape two shows from here,” Max finished.
    “That is so cool,” I said. “We have to see his shows, Marco.”
    Marco looked less than thrilled.
    Delilah pulled out her convention schedule. “Today’s show starts at eleven o’clock, so why don’t you two use the rest of the morning to see his show and the booths, then take over for us after lunch?”
    “Sounds like a plan.” I glanced at Marco, knowing he wanted to get away. “Don’t worry. You’ll be off the hook by noon.”
    Suddenly, we heard a deep voice behind us boom out in fury, “Young men, you have just pulled your last prank.”
    I turned around to see Ross and Jess dart between two booths as a tall, dark-suited man with ruddy cheeks, a red-veined, bulbous nose, and a bad comb-over strode after them, shaking his fist.
    “Now those boys have done it,” Delilah said. “They’ve got the colonel riled.”

C HAPTER F OUR
    M arco, who had never quite gotten the army out of his blood, perked up. “A full-bird colonel? What outfit was he with?”
    “I don’t believe he’s ever said, has he, Max?”
    “No, come to think of it. His full name is Walker T. Billingsworth. He and Sybil Blount’s husband did a tour of duty