The Devil Makes Three by Julie Mangan Read Free Book Online Page B

rather than his tongue.
    So how should I open it?
    In my life of solitude I watched a lot of TV. During that time, I had become quite the aficionado of M*A*S*H. I owned every episode on DVD and could quote them by heart. This was usually a useless pastime, but today tidbits floated through my mind, speaking to me with a tone of devious excitement and a slight death wish.
    Radar O’Riley, Iowa bumpkin and indispensable company clerk for the 4077, had frequently violated the sanctity of the mail by opening letters and reading them. One specific occurrence came to mind and I seized the letter, holding it as he had in his hands. Next to me, the group of girls giggled but I ignored them, intent upon my goal. Working at the seal by bending the envelope I tried to loosen the glue then flicked it with a violent finger, as O’Riley had. In the show, the envelope had popped open. I had no such luck.
    Damn television. It never told the truth.
    #
    Weeknights are busy for me. My father usually has at least one burial during the day if not more. It was a rare occasion where there were none at all. Because of this, I’d made it a habit to get my homework done first, and then get down to business. Tonight was no different and I hurried through my studies in an effort to squeeze everything in. I liked to finish grave robbing by one o’clock and after that my mind was in no condition to indulge educator’s whimsical delights in busy work. In fact, my mind felt up for little more than vegetation and sleep on the office couch after a good grave robbery. Tonight however, I knew I wouldn’t sleep. I’d wait for him to come for his envelope.
    He hadn’t said he would come by, but I figured this the most logical place for him to come, since he had approached me at the funeral home already.
    Before I set out onto the grounds I took care to place my backpack in the file cabinet and lock it. It wouldn’t do much to keep the crazy trio out if they put their mind to it, but then they didn’t know where I had hidden it, so I felt confident they would at least have to hang out until I got back if they did show.
    Not that I wanted to have another episode steeped in insanity and flirtatiousness. I just wanted to know how often I should plan on this happening, and couldn’t figure out any other way than talking to him. Them. Whatever.
    My mind ached at the possible plural personalities. Why me? I wondered for the umpteenth time.
    Outside I surveyed the terrain as usual then got to work. Digging went quickly since the dirt had been replaced only hours before and the vaults had yet to firmly set in their sealant. I collected a pair of diamond earrings, a ring and a set of cufflinks. When I finished I returned my equipment to the garage and made my way back to the funeral home, ready for anything.
    It was empty.
    He hadn’t come yet and I went down to the cooler to scout out my prospects for the next evening, then settled down on the couch in the office, flipping on the TV that sat, tucked away in an armoire in the corner. Hour after hour of the home shopping network slipped by and he never came. Finally, at six AM the senior mortician, a man by the name of Robert Taylor, showed up and I let him in the front gate.
    “Everything all right? You don’t look too good,” he said, eyeing me.
    “I’m exhausted.”
    “Go home. Get some sleep.”
    I grunted in reply and fetched my bag from the office then headed home. The bus wouldn’t stop nearby for another twenty minutes so every morning I got a mile and a half worth of exercise in before I got to sleep. This morning it felt like ten miles and I fell into my apartment, slamming the door shut behind me, tossing my bag on the table and shuffling into the bedroom. Stripping down to the essentials I collapsed onto the sheets and slept like a drunk.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
    In which Gretchen test drives lingerie.
     
    When I woke I found my bag had been rifled through, and a new envelope filled