Regent's of Paris by Phillip Hurst

Author:Phillip Hurst
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Regal House Publishing
Published: 2022-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

18

Hard as this was to admit, Maurice Currant was winning.

He was rich but didn’t work a real job. He indulged his outlandish and criminal fantasies, all while enjoying a family man’s reputation. Mayhem was his nature, and he gave no consideration to others, and yet he was respected around Paris in a way Jennylee and her family could only dream of. Maurice was sneaky and two-faced, of course—nobody really knew what lurked behind that handsome mask—and he’d married well, and money was often confused with virtue, but there was more to it. Maurice simply ignored the rules. He ran his own life.

Strange as it sounded, a woman could learn a thing or two from a guy like Maurice, just as she could learn a thing or two from selling cars. And so, resolved to finally start running her own life, Jennylee had decided to accept the internship at Higgenbottom’s after all. She’d boldly pursue her aspirations, just as Alice had advised.

She turned down the funeral home’s long driveway. Nearing the whitewashed mortuary, she tapped the brakes and cringed when the Nissan sputtered, the idle hiccupping. Before climbing out, she checked her phone for any word from Chast’s doctor or from Derrol. No new messages, but she did call up those images of Maurice Currant and his boyfriend. Scrolling, Maurice’s hands were on the kid’s shoulders, then resting on his slim hips. Maurice’s grinning face was tossed back in hilarious laughter one moment, then swooping in for a peck on the lips the next.

A shot of Maurice and his friend drinking wine coolers recalled a song from her wedding: “Strawberry Wine.” It’d been the big slow song during the reception’s first dance, when it was just her and Derrol all alone on that American Legion ballroom floor, friends and relatives smiling and watching them twirl and—Jennylee now understood—taking bets on how long until they’d be at each other’s throats. But none of those wedding guests could’ve known that “Strawberry Wine” had been playing on the boom box in Derrol’s parents’ basement their very first night, their very first time.

Soon enough, though, Jennylee found herself once again face-to-face with Alice Higgenbottom. “In the future,” Alice said, holding the door, “feel free to let yourself in.”

The chapel smelled of pine wax and was utterly spotless. Even the intricately carved whorls and divots footing the pews showed not a speck of dust, as if Alice had gone over every inch with a Q-tip wetted in oil soap.

“I was beginning to think you’d had a change of heart, my dear.”

“I still want to intern, Alice, but…”

Her feelings got in the way of her words and she just stood there with her eyes glued to the swatch of carpet between them. Finally, Alice asked if anything was wrong.

“Not to burden you none, but remember how my little girl’s been sick? Well, we finally got her diagnosed. Ever hear of Crohn’s disease?”

Faint lines grooved Alice’s brow and Jennylee wished she’d never mentioned her personal troubles. Nobody wants to hear that stuff.

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