The Funeral Singer Read Online Free

seeing those here. After all, most of my Dad’s clients were about fifty years older than the typical fan.
    Whose car was that? What if it was Zed’s? My heart began to race. He could be inside right now, wrapping up some final details with my dad or maybe picking up something the band had left behind.
    I thanked Pete for the ride, jumped out and darted up the funeral home steps. I paused. Dad wouldn’t want me walking around the funeral home like this, wearing jeans and a hoodie, but if I went up to the apartment to change, I might miss my chance. Whoever owned that car might leave before I got back. I dropped my backpack on the front porch and opened the door. This could be my second chance to see Zed, and I was determined to make the most of it. Please, please, please let him be here.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The smell of lilies hit me right away. Ugh. I hated it when families went lily-crazy. They were gorgeous, but they stunk up the place. I’d once read that our sense of smell is tied more closely to our memories than any of the other five senses. The smell of a certain type of food or cologne can transport us immediately back to a moment from our past. Funerals gave people a chance to create one final memory of the person who died. Why would anyone screw that up with this sickening-sweet stench?
    Dawn was on the phone. I could tell by her soft murmur that it was an at-need call, somebody who had just lost someone. She glanced up from the front desk and gave me a brief wave. Other than the soothing lilt of her voice and the gurgle of a small fountain bubbling near the entrance, the place was quiet.
    I headed down the hall, passing the chapel. A sign on the door announced the service being held tonight for Mildred Jackson. Dad was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in the prep room, getting Mildred ready.
    As I continued past the visitation room and the arrangements office toward the back of the building, I heard the muffled sound of my mother’s voice coming through her office door.
    Who was in there with her? Was it Zed? Somehow I couldn’t imagine him coming here for grief counseling. Then again, even though Zed was two years younger than Mick, they were supposedly really close.
    My hands began to sweat. What should I do? This was so unfair. This could be my big chance to meet him, but what if he came out in tears?
    I sat down on a lavender velvet settee outside the office. If Zed was in there, I’d better think of something to say when he came out. Dad always taught me to simply say, “Sorry for your loss.” But that seemed so ordinary, so … forgettable. I needed something he would remember. Maybe a lyric from one of their songs? “He’ll never come back, but that don’t mean he’s gone,” the line on Mick’s vault. No, that would sound totally fan girl.
    The voices inside the office stopped. I held my breath and listened. Was Zed crying? I crept up to the door and leaned my ear against it. My heart stopped as I heard my mother’s voice directly on the other side. “I’ll be right back with that paperwork.”
    I took two quick steps backward as the door opened. Mom’s expression registered somewhere between startled and confused, but she recovered quickly. “Melanie, I’m so glad you’re here.” She moved aside and motioned me into the room. “I have someone I want you to meet. Or maybe I should say, someone who wants to meet you .”
    What? Zed wanted to meet me? My heart raced. Why? What should I say? As my eyes adjusted to the soft lighting in the office, someone stood and turned toward me. Only it wasn’t Zed, it was Mick’s grandmother.
    I froze. In an instant, I was back in the cemetery with her advancing toward me. The tightness in my chest and the ringing in my ears returned as if on cue.
    “You remember Ruth Nolan.” Mom placed her hand on my arm and watched me warily. “We were just talking about the song you sang at the burial ceremony.”
    Mrs. Nolan stepped forward, took my hand and