J. Mavity Mystery /**/ Chapter 8 The foyer of the funeral parlor smelled of flowers and furniture polish. The pink fountain at the center of the small oval room wasn't functioning properly and every few seconds a spurt of scented water shot up almost to the domed, pale green ceiling. Weak, forlorn, organ music was drifting out of two small dangling speakers. A very old man in a wrinkled black suit was slumped, arms dangling and eyes shut, in one of the three straight back chairs that lined the far wall. A net shopping bag beside his chair had slumped, too, and spilled three oranges and a tin of deviled ham onto the hardwood flooring. Tugging at Ben's arm, H.J. led him over to the announcement board on the wall to their right. "C'mon, kick up your pace," she urged in an exasperated whisper. "We're almost to our goal." "We're almost into the hoosegow for violating a tomb." "That only applies to Egypt, when you go break into a pyramid." She scanned the listings in white plastic lettering on the board.
