Yet another pause. So I pipe up. “Are we doing it?”
“Yes,” says Dr. Kurth. “Where’s the body?”
Ceepak looks at me. I shrug. The hearse we saw earlier didn’t have anything like “Fred’s Funeral Home” decals plastered all over it.
“We’ll get back to you with that information,” says Ceepak.
“Hurry. My other daughter’s birthday is today. We’re doing a cookout and ball bounce.”
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
“You boys owe me one.”
“Roger that,” I say while Ceepak nods.
He thumbs off the phone.
We both look back at the beach house.
Now it’s Ceepak’s turn to sigh.
Because he knows we have to walk back inside and say, “Excuse us, where is your father’s dead body? We’d like to pump his stomach.”
Should be fun.
Heading back into the beach house through the back door, we hear a lady screaming her head off.
Judith.
“Severance pay? Are you insane, Michael?”
“She worked for Dad for six months …”
“Christine gets nothing,” says David. “Zip. Nada.”
“She humiliated my sister in open court …”
Ceepak clears his throat. Loudly.
We’re cops. We don’t get to eavesdrop without announcing our presence.
“Excuse us,” he says when we step into the room where the Rosen family stands arguing around their late father’s empty hospital bed.