Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Margot

Four funerals and a wedding this week.

My social calendar really needs an overhaul.

And I'm attending Teller's wedding with my father. Like a twelve-year-old. Although my father didn't have to work hard to convince me to go with him.

I haven't stopped thinking about Jigsaw since the night he was at our house. He'll be at the wedding, right? He has to be. Of course, I didn't tell my father Jigsaw was the reason I said I'd go to the biker's wedding. If he's ever going to let me take over the family business, I have to prove to him I'm willing to nurture business relationships.

Not that I'm sure I actually want to take over the family business. I'm the obvious choice, since both of my brothers decided to opt out. I wanted to be a cosmetologist. But as soon as I finished cosmetology school, I enrolled in the Mortuary Science program at the local college. I passed my national and state board exams. Although Cousin Paul sure has made it known he's open to taking on the burden of the family business.

Ugh . I don't even want to compete with Paul. When we were younger, I was closer to him than my brothers since they're both so much older than me.

But one day, I might end up fighting my cousin for the family business.

Stop it. Today's a day to celebrate life and love.

What does someone even wear to a biker wedding? It's warm, so I choose a dress I've wanted to wear but didn't have the proper occasion. Now I do. It's a sleeveless mint green with bright pink flowers. The skirt falls to my shins. I'll pair it with a wide pink belt and bubble-gum pink, patent leather open-toed heels. Everyone assumes I sleep in a coffin and surround myself in black, but I love color. For work, I have to present myself as bland and toned-down as possible. Dark colors, low-key makeup. It's just not appropriate to greet a grieving family in something as bright and cheerful as a mint green and hot-pink dress.

It's perfect for an outdoor wedding, though.

I carry my heels down the three flights of stairs to the main floor of our home and meet my father in the parlor where he's leaving Paul instructions for the afternoon. Death doesn't care about plans or weddings. The grim reaper loves to show up at the most inconvenient times. I'll be surprised if we even make it to the wedding and are able to stay through the whole event.

Paul smiles when he sees me. "You look pretty."

"Thanks."

My father gives me a more critical once-over, as if there's a slim chance he might ask me to go upstairs and change.

"That's lovely, Margot," he finally says.

"Thank you." If I had a mom or an aunt to gush about clothing with, I'd show off that the dress has pockets. But I don't, so I have to be content with patting my right pocket, holding a tube of lip balm, and the left one with a tiny tin of mints.

"Let's go. I'm not quite sure where the place is, and I don't want to get lost in Empire County."

I already pulled up the map on my phone earlier. It is way out of the city limits. At Teller's house.

An hour later, I spot dozens of teal and silver balloons sticking out in the lush, green foliage.

I point ahead and to the left. "I think that's it, Dad."

He slows the Cadillac. "Thank you."

I squint at the giant black iron rooster-shaped mailbox the balloons are attached to. Two stone pillars on either side of the driveway look like they were recently installed.

The long, wide gravel driveway is flanked by neatly trimmed grass and trees. Cars, trucks, and motorcycles are parked on either side of the driveway. It looks like they tried to keep the parking orderly for a while but then people just started leaving vehicles wherever they wanted. A white chicken squawks and flaps its wings, running in front of the car.

A tall, slender man in one of the black vests identifying him as a Lost King holds out a hand to slow us.

My father rolls down his window and the man sticks his head in, searching the car like he's looking for a bomb. "Name?"

"Cedarwood."

"Welcome, Mr. Cedarwood." The man flicks his gaze to me and beams. "You must be Margot?"

Surprised, my cheeks warm and I fiddle with my dress. "That's me."

"My name's Sparky." He flashes a lazy smile. "If you need refreshments , I'm your guy."

Refreshments? Right now, he seems to be directing traffic.

"Where can I park in case I get a call and need to leave early?" my father asks.

Sparky nods solemnly. "Death waits for no man, right?"

My father's head jerks in surprise, but he nods slowly, appreciating Sparky's understanding. "Unfortunately."

Sparky taps his hand on the roof. "Let's put you near the exit. You can park in front of my bike. I'm not leaving any time soon."

"Thank you."

Through a series of hand waves, gestures and shouts, Sparky guides my father into a spot right next to one of the stone pillars marking the driveway. There's no way for anyone to block us in unless they block the entire driveway.

We step out and my father tries to hand Sparky a tip.

Sparky chuckles and holds his hand in front of him like a crossing guard slowing traffic. "No, I'm the one giving out favors." He hands us two cellophane bags that appear to have a small brownie in each. "My gift to Teller and Charlotte's guests."

"Thank you," I say, smiling brightly to make up for my father's hesitation to take his bag.

We're a few steps away from Sparky when my father hands me his brownie. "Take mine. You know I can't eat that."

"Sure." Dad may need to avoid sugar, but I love brownies. I stick both bags in my purse for later.

"Are you okay to walk in those?" My father points to my shoes.

I glance at the gravel driveway and sigh. We just had to park as far away as possible. "I'll be fine."

I end up walking in the grass when I can. The closer we get to the house, the louder things are. Different groups of people are milling around the yard. Anxiety snakes its way through my chest as we follow the path between the side of the old farmhouse and several barn-like outbuildings to the backyard.

Days' worth of decorating must've been done to transform the backyard into a wedding wonderland. Rows of chairs are lined up in front of a beautiful floral arch. Behind that, the natural landscape of forest stretching up the side of a long, steep hill creates a beautiful backdrop.

I scan the crowd, searching for Jigsaw, trying not to be obvious about it. He's probably here with someone. Or even worse, what if he's married?

My father and I take seats in the last row. We don't actually know anyone here. At least I don't.

The ceremony starts and the maid of honor walks down the short aisle with a young man and takes her place at the front. "That woman looks like Mayor Concord's daughter," my father whispers. "And that's Judge Oak officiating."

As the face of the business, my father's always been the one to socialize with community leaders and to lobby politicians. It's not something I've ever been included in. Nor do I want to be. I prefer to help the families and clients who come to us.

"Oh." What else does he expect me to say? Besides, I'm still busy searching for Jigsaw.

There. Near the front left. Wearing a worried frown while he helps a heavily pregnant blonde woman stand.

Well, damn. He is married.

And about to be a father.

Then an older man with a sinfully perfect silver beard scowls and elbows Jigsaw out of the way, taking the blonde's hand. He was there the night all the bikers showed up to borrow the crematorium, but I didn't say more than a couple of words to him. Is he Jigsaw's father-in-law?

I'm so distracted by the scene, and trying to figure out everyone's roles, I miss most of the ceremony. Until a baby starts wailing.

My stomach rumbles and I quietly unwrap one of the brownies, careful not to get any crumbs on my dress. I pop a small piece in my mouth.

Then the ceremony's over and Teller kisses his bride. They're so passionate and intense it's almost uncomfortable to watch. Well, for me. Everyone else seems to whoop and cheer for them. Even my father gives a half smile and claps.

That's probably what he wants for me, isn't it? Not only did my brothers decide the family business wasn't their destiny, neither of them has married or had children, yet. No grandchildren to carry on the Cedarwood legacy.

According to my ex, I'll have to get better at sex if I plan to marry and have kids one day. Although, I'm sure women throughout history have had to bear children even if they didn't enjoy sex. That's too depressing to contemplate at such a happy occasion.

Just focus on these two beautiful people I barely know celebrating their love.

Everyone stands as the bride and groom run down the aisle holding hands. It's hard to believe this is the same man who showed up after hours covered in blood, casually tossing bodies into the fire.

How fascinating.

After the ceremony people mingle, something my father excels at and I don't. Unsure of what to do, I follow him around like a well-trained puppy.

I'm standing slightly behind him and to his left when a taller, curvy woman with long auburn hair approaches with a warm smile stretched across her pretty face.

"You must be Margot?"

"Uh, yes." I step out of my father's shadow and shake her hand.

"I'm Hope." She hesitates, frowns, then smiles. "The, uh, stepmother of the groom. Thank you for coming."

"Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you for inviting me. I've only had a chance to meet Teller a few times…" And the last time he was splattered with blood.

Nope, better not say that out loud.

Rock, the president, steps up next to Hope, placing his arm around her waist and resting his hand on her hip. Oh, God. Hope's the president's wife . She may look nice and inviting but her curious green eyes seem to be quietly assessing me. She's probably trying to figure out how much I know about what her husband and the other men did the night they "borrowed" our crematorium. Thank God I never actually saw anything incriminating.

What's a polite way to express that all of her stepson's and husband's secrets are safe with me?

"Hello, Margot." Rock dips his chin in greeting. "Nice to see you again."

"Nice to see you too, Mr. North."

"Rock," he corrects.

"Rock," I repeat. Neither of them look old enough to be Teller's parents but that seems rude to say, so I bite my tongue.

Teller and his bride join us. Hope beams at them and Teller leans down to kiss her cheek and whisper something in her ear. Her lips curve and she gives him a playful slap. They're all so…casual and loving toward each other.

"Thanks for coming," Teller says to me. "Margot, this is my wife ," he unleashes an utterly charming grin like he's thrilled to finally use that word, "Charlotte. Char, this is Margot."

Charlotte smiles wide and doesn't seem to be annoyed she's wasting time talking to a stranger on her wedding day. She stretches out her arms and pulls me into a hug. "Thank you for coming," she says softly against my hair. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

So, everyone knows I'm the body disappearing service lady?

My father turns and Teller makes the introductions again. Charlotte shakes his hand politely, but he doesn't get a hug. I guess I'm special.

Eventually, I gravitate toward the table of food, picking up a can of soda. I pull the brownie out of my purse and pop the rest in my mouth, then wash it down with Sprite.

I'm staring off into the woods, wondering if I can hide until it's time to go home when a shadow falls over me.

"Look who it is, our little last responder." Jigsaw's rich, low voice slides over my skin like velvet. "What are you doing over here?"

I glance up into his amused eyes, my breath stuttering in my lungs. My heart pitter-patters faster and heat races over my skin. This is ridiculous. I've never responded to any man this way before.

"Thirsty." I hold up the half-empty can.

His lips quirk. "Sprite?" He chuckles. "You want wine or something? There's a table over there." He lifts his chin toward one of the barns.

Is he making fun of me? "I don't drink."

"Ever?"

"Not when you've had as many results of DWI on your table as I have."

"Shit." He runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah. Makes sense."

"Where's your wife?" I sip my soda casually while watching his face.

"My what ?" His eyebrows draw down and he rears back. "Why would you think I'm married?"

"Or girlfriend."

"You're misinformed." He snorts. "I don't do relationships, sweetheart."

I turn, scanning the backyard, but it's so crowded now, it's hard to search. "The pretty blonde." I curve my hand in front of my stomach. "Who looks ready to give birth any day."

"Serena?" He laughs, then quickly looks around. "Jesus. She's my SAA's ol' lady."

"She wasn't old."

He shakes his head quickly. "That's just what we…never mind. Serena's my friend. She's Grinder's fiancée. Christ." He casts another quick glance around our immediate area. "He hears you say that, the grumpy old goat might gut me."

I can't tell if he's joking or actually afraid of one of his brothers sticking him with a knife.

"Wait." I clap my hand over my mouth and giggle. "I thought he was her dad," I whisper.

His mouth flattens. "Whatever you do, don't say that to him. Please."

I nod quickly, unsure of why that seemed so funny. "Of course not."

Jigsaw tilts his head. "Are you okay?"

Suddenly, my legs feel kinda rubbery. "I think so." I clutch my stomach, willing the swirly sensation to go away.

"You get too much sun?" he asks.

Burning shame pulses over my cheeks. Is he making fun of me the way people have my whole life? "Just because I live in a funeral home doesn't mean I'm a ghoul who never sees the sun." Why did that sound sad rather than the angry I was going for?

He stares at me with comically round eyes. I'd laugh if I wasn't so itchy with embarrassment.

"No. It's hot." He waves his hand toward the chairs we sat in for the ceremony. "That's why Serena said she didn't feel well."

"Well, I'm not pregnant."

He rakes his gaze over me. "No, but you are pretty."

When he drags his eyes back to my face, they're heartbreakingly sincere.

Heat bursts over my skin. "Thank you." My legs wobble. I've been fine in my heels all day. Why are they now a problem?

Jigsaw frowns again. "Are you sure you're okay? Have you eaten anything today?"

"Just one of the brownies the guy who helped us park handed out…Sparky?"

"Nooo." Jigsaw squeezes his eyes shut. "Fuck."

"What? He was very nice."

"Come here." He clasps my elbow and steers me toward a small, round picnic bench set up under an old maple tree, even farther away from the guests.

"Their yard is so pretty." I carefully slip my leg over the bench and sit as ladylike as possible, tucking my full skirt around my legs. "It's like they have their own park or something."

"Teller's a country boy. He's always doing one project or another around here." Jigsaw settles onto the bench next to me. "Sometimes he ropes us into helping."

"That's nice of you."

"Not that nice. I don't do it often." He laughs. "Rooster keeps me busy enough at his place."

"You live together?" I gasp and lean in, lowering my voice. "Are you a couple?"

He scowls. "Couple of what ? Bikers? Friends since elementary school? Yes and yes."

"Sorry, that was rude." I press my hand to my forehead. "I feel so fuzzy."

"When'd you eat that brownie?"

I shrug. "I dunno. During the ceremony. After."

"Shit," he mutters.

"What."

"You said you don't drink." His lips quirk into a teasing grin. "I'm guessing you don't indulge in the devil's lettuce, either?"

I lean in closer. "You mean smoke weed ?" I half whisper, half gasp. "Never."

"Satan's balls." He laughs and shakes his head. "Seriously?"

The pieces of whatever puzzle he's offering aren't clicking into place fast enough for me.

"You ate a pot brownie, Margot." He lifts an eyebrow. "You're going to be flying high for a while."

Horror and indignation battle inside me, but indignation wins. "Don't give me the eyebrow raise of judgment." I lift my head in a haughty manner. "I didn't know the brownie was laced with," I pause and cast a shifty gaze from side to side. "Laced with pot ," I finish in a hushed whisper.

Jigsaw chokes, then snorts with laughter. "Eyebrow raise of judgment?" He raises his eyebrows higher.

Oh God. No. What if he thinks I'm making fun of his scar? "I didn't mean…" Now I'm fixated on the faint jagged line running across his forehead through his eyebrow. Did he get in an accident? A fight? I can't ask. That's rude.

He doesn't seem to notice my inappropriate staring. "It'll take a bit to fully kick in and it's gonna last for a few hours." His voice is nothing but sympathy and concern. Not a trace of contempt for how dumb I am for eating something a stranger gave me.

Hot tears sting my eyeballs. "My father will kill me if I embarrass him here."

"I'm going to kill Sparky for not warning you." He lifts his head, his intense gaze scanning the party.

"I still have one if you want it." I reach into my purse and pull out the crinkly cellophane-wrapped evil brownie.

He takes it from me and smirks, then turns it to show me the iridescent green sticker on the back in the shape of a marijuana leaf.

"Oh." Damn, why didn't I notice that? Would it have mattered if I did? "You can have it."

"Nah." He hands it back to me. "I think I better stay clear-headed to watch over you."

"Watch over me?"

"You said you've never done it before."

"Oh, I've done it." I clap my hand over my mouth and giggle.

Why are you brining up sex when there's nothing to brag about? My brain is truly scrambled.

His lips twitch with amusement.

"Jiggy! There ya are!" A short, pretty blonde runs up behind Jigsaw and wraps her arms around his neck, halting whatever he was about to say. "Where ya been hiding?"

He reaches up and pats her arm. "I'm hardly hiding, songbird." He tips his head back and smiles at her. "What're you up to?"

"I was watching Grace, but she wanted her momma, so Hope took her inside for a nap."

A nap. Maybe that's what I need.

"Shelby." Jigsaw reaches over and taps my arm. "Have you met Margot?"

"Sorry, I'm being rude." Shelby steps closer, holding out her hand. "Hi, Margot."

"Margot's a friend of the club." Jigsaw tilts his head at me. "Shelby's Rooster's fiancée."

"Oh!" Recognition flits through my fuzzy brain. "I met Rooster."

Shelby's eyes narrow slightly.

"Hey, Margot," Rooster's deep rumbling voice interrupts. He wraps his arms around Shelby's waist and leans down to kiss her cheek.

"Hi." I wiggle my fingers. "How are you?"

Jigsaw stands and pulls Rooster aside, whispering something in his ear. Rooster snorts and glances at me, then nods.

Great, is Jigsaw telling everyone I'm a dope who ate a dope-laced brownie?

"We're gonna grab food," Rooster says, taking Shelby's hand. "You want us to bring you back a plate?" he asks.

I clutch my stomach and shake my head.

"Nice to meet ya, Margot," Shelby says. "I'm sure I'll see you again before the night's over."

When they're out of earshot, I lean over to Jigsaw. "Did you have to tell him?"

"I tell Rooster everything." He doesn't even bother denying it and he doesn't look embarrassed.

"Everything?"

The corner of his mouth lifts. "Almost everything." His expression flattens into something more serious. "I wanted to let him know so he can ask Sparky to stop handing out those damn brownies."

"Don't get Sparky in trouble. He was so nice to us."

He ducks his head and laughs. "Fuckin' Sparky."

"Margot! There you are." My father's frazzled voice rushes up behind me.

Another wave of dizziness sloshes around my stomach.

I brace myself against the table and turn. As my father gets closer, I straighten my spine and try to erase all evidence that I'm high from my face.

"Hi, Dad! What's up?" I ask in a cartoonishly chipper tone.

Jigsaw cough-laughs into his fist.

I'd kick him if I didn't think I'd fall off the bench.

When I don't immediately jump up, my father frowns. "I received a call for a pick-up. I have to go but?—"

"I can take her home, Mr. Cedarwood. No problem," Jigsaw offers.

My father seems…relieved? He tilts his head and stares at Jigsaw. "It's a long drive. Are you sure?"

Jigsaw nods. "I remember how to get there."

Dad frowns, his gaze sliding between us. "Is that okay with you, Margot?"

"Yes," I answer a little too fast.

He stares at Jigsaw for a few beats. "If you're sure…"

"I haven't been drinking, sir," Jigsaw answers like the most responsible college boy in the dorm. "I'm good to take her home whenever she says she's ready to go."

Surprisingly, my father seems satisfied. "Well, I hate to make you leave early." He glances at Jigsaw again. "If you're sure you don't mind."

"It's really not a problem." Jigsaw lifts his chin. "I promised Teller I'd be available to give rides to any guest who needed one tonight."

"Well, that's very nice of you." My father holds out his hand and Jigsaw shakes it quickly. "Thank you, Jensen."

Jensen. That's his name. Jensen . I like that.

"All right." My father nods at me. "I'll see you later."

"Do you need me to help?" Please let the answer be no. I don't think I could stand up straight for two minutes let alone prep a body right now.

"No. Paul's meeting me there. And I called Rudy in. You enjoy a night off."

I nod quickly. "Okay."

I lazily track my father's movements as he stops to speak to Rock, then Teller and Charlotte.

"You okay?" Jigsaw asks.

"No, I feel really spinny." I loop my fingers through the air next to my head a few times.

"You want to go inside and take a nap?"

I slide my gaze to the big farmhouse that suddenly looks miles away. Nap in someone's house during their wedding? That seems like poor guest etiquette. "No."

He pulls out his phone and taps the screen several times.

A few minutes later, Sparky shows up, looking sheepish. He thrusts a thick, folded, shiny blue blanket at Jigsaw.

"Thanks," Jigsaw growls.

"I'm sorry, Margot," Sparky says. "I thought you knew."

He looks so sad, I can't be mad. Ha! I rhymed. "It's okay. I've just never done it before."

"I'll stay with you and walk you?—"

"Nope. I'm staying with her." Jigsaw stands, and even though he's only a few inches taller than Sparky, he seems to tower over him. "You've done enough."

Sparky fidgets and shifts back and forth on his feet. "I'll bring some snacks."

My stomach lurches. "I feel too queasy to eat."

Concern draws Sparky's eyebrows down. "Queasy? That's?—"

"She'll be fine." A bit gentler, Jigsaw adds, "Some water and food would be good. She might be hungry later."

"Got it." Sparky salutes Jigsaw and hurries away.

Jigsaw unfolds the blanket and spreads it out under the maple tree next to us. It's slick, and shiny, made of a sleeping bag-like material meant to keep us dry from the damp grass.

"Come on." Jigsaw holds out his hand to me.

"You want me to just nap on a blanket?"

"You don't have to sleep. Just close your eyes until the queasiness passes."

Thank God for his strong, steady presence. I need his assistance more than I expected. I clutch his hand and use it as leverage to lift myself off the bench. My head might be in the clouds, but my body feels like concrete blocks in human form.

At the edge of the blanket, I toe off my heels and touch my feet to the cool, soft ground.

"Ahhh." I close my eyes, enjoying the bliss of tiny blades of grass tickling my toes.

A low rough chuckle comes from below me.

My eyes pop open.

Jigsaw's sitting on the blanket with his back against the tree.

I sway on my feet a little. Even relaxed and in bright daylight, he looks utterly lethal.

He pats the blanket next to him.

Exhausted and dizzy, I drop down and slide over the slick material until I'm kneeling next to him.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod slowly, jostling all sorts of inappropriate thoughts and questions around inside my skull.

He pats his thigh. "Use me as your pillow."

I blink and frown at him. "Are you serious?"

"Or fold the edge of the blanket up if you want. It's big enough."

I drag my gaze to where the blue meets green grass. It looks so far away. And Jigsaw looks so inviting. I slide my body down, the fabric of my dress making a zzzzzzp sound against the slick blanket.

I curl on my side, my cheek resting against his rock-hard thigh. "You're very hard," I murmur.

He chokes and sputters. "What?"

Slowly, the words that came out of my mouth trickle into my brain. "Uh, not like that." I squeeze his thigh. "You're all muscle."

He chuckles. "Thank you." His body shifts.

"Are you sure you're comfortable like this?" I ask.

"I'm fine." He shifts again and something glides over my cheek, pushing my hair over my shoulder. His heavy arm settles along my side, his hand resting on my hip. "I got you. Just relax. Try to enjoy the high."

"Relax," I murmur. The calm and safety absorbing me into another world.