Page 61 of The Last One to Let You Down

“Of course, you wanna see it,” Cypress said with a laugh.

“Professional curiosity.”

They passed by a long workbench before making the turn to the cooler, and Cypress opened the door for him. “Go right ahead. Knock yourself out.”

It was an impressive sized walk-in refrigeration unit, not too dissimilar from the one at the funeral home. Tom couldn’t help but think it could hold at least eight bodies, more if they had a rack. Instead of racks or tables, there were several shelves with dozens of buckets all packed full with a rainbow of various flowers.

“Smells like bleach in here,” Tom noted.

“Yeah, everything has to be cleaned daily to keep bacteria from growing. It can mess up the flowers, make ‘em wilt too early, make ‘em smell bad. A lot of the flowers we get from wholesalers don’t have much of a scent anyway, so people really notice if they’re funky.”

“They don’t smell?”

“Believe it or not, smelling nice isn’t a high priority for big growers. They want flowers that are gonna stay fresh longer after they’ve been cut and survive transport. You end up with roses that might last two weeks, but they won’t smell like anything.”

“Huh. I never even thought about that.” Tom glanced down at a plastic bucket on the floor full of water and knives, nudging it with his foot. “You have to clean your instruments, too?”

“You mean my tools?” Cypress grinned. “Yeah, shears, knives, scissors, all that. I wash ‘em with water and dish soap. If there’s really stubborn gunk on them, I’ll soak ‘em in buckets like that.”

Tom started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I never realized how similar our jobs are,” Tom replied. “We both have coolers, we clean a crap ton, and we have to soak stuff when it gets really nasty.”

Cypress chuckled. “Okay, okay. I see what you mean. I feel like half my day is just cleaning.”

“Yeah, same, except we never use bleach.”

“No?”

“If it mixes with formaldehyde, it can actually create chlorine gas and a bunch of other nasty stuff. Gerald had some near-death experience with it once, so now if he eventhinksthat he smells bleach, he freaks out.”

“Duly noted.”

Tom finally had enough of the cold and stepped out, his attention now drawn to the workbench. While Cypress closed up the cooler, he explored the neatly arranged tools and a large trash can underneath. It was full of leaves, twigs, and all kinds of petals. “What’s that? Leftovers?”

“When we get flowers, we have to clean and process them,” Cypress replied. “They don’t arrive ready to be used in an arrangement. We have to trim off the leaves, wash off the dirt, all that stuff.”

“You have to get them ready for a viewing,” Tom said with a smile, happy he’d found another parallel between their jobs. “I mean, you know, to be viewed in a bouquet or whatever.”

“Exactly like a viewing,” Cypress agreed. “Well, have you seen enough?”

“Mm, for now,” Tom replied coyly. He looked down at Mister Doodles, who was busy sniffing herself. “Doesn’t seem very impressed, does she?”

“Not so much. Come on. Maybe she’ll like the kitchen.”

“Which used to be down here?”

“Right,” Cypress said, taking Tom’s hand and heading back to the staircase by the back door. “My grandparents remodeled the downstairs back in the sixties to expand the business and moved the kitchen up to the second floor.

“They also ripped out this massive staircase that used to be about where the front counter is now and closed it all off. Then they built this one to replace it.”

The stairs creaked quietly as they ascended, and Cypress ushered Tom into a small parlor. The first thing Tom noticed was the smell—he could smell flowers, sweet and fragrant, underscored by the scent of something savory cooking.

There were plants everywhere: green and tall, small and flowery, long and climbing all over the doorways. It was beautiful and made the entire space feel alive as if a little bit of nature herself had taken up residence here, too.

The parlor opened up into a large sitting area with a plush couch, a recliner, and a modest television. Beyond that was the kitchen, a small breakfast area, and a hallway that led to the rest of the house.