Grave Intent (11 page)

“Don’t you talk to me like—”

“That’s enough,” Michael warned. Fortunately
the women’s sparring ground was near the embalming room, the one
area the Stevenson group seemed to have little interest in
exploring.

“She started it,” Sally fumed.

Agnes’s nostrils flared. “Why you
skinny—”

“Stop,” Michael demanded. He lowered his
voice. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got a viewing going on. You
want everyone to hear you?”

Agnes glared at him. “It ain’t gonna make no
difference if they do ‘cause not a damn one of them gypsies speaks
American anyway.”

“Shows what you know,” Sally said. “Their
name’s Stevenson. Gypsies don’t have names like that.”

“Look here, Miss Thing.” Agnes held up a
warning finger. “It’s you don’t know nothin’. They just usin’ names
like that so nobody turns ‘em out. But wait, you gonna see. Juju.
That’s what they workin’ in here, plain and simple. I can feel
it.”

Chad grimaced. “Really? How—”

Sally huffed. “Agnes, the only black magic
going on around here is you trying to disappear from work.”

Michael pushed himself between the women just
as Agnes’s hands curled into fists. “I said enough.” He glanced
behind him to make sure no one else was close enough to hear, then
turned back to his employees. “I don’t care if the Stevensons are
pygmies from Zimbabwe. We have a job to do.”

Agnes folded her arms, tucked them under her
huge breasts, and snorted. “Doin’ my job don’t mean pickin’ up no
dirty diapers, a mountain of paper plates half-f of food, or no
used women’s plugs. It’s wall to wall elbows and butts in here, and
not a damn one of ‘em knows how to use a trashcan.”

“Women’s plugs?” Michael asked.

Chad leaned into him and whispered, “Tampons.
They found one in the women’s bathroom sink. Used, just like she
said.”

“Jesus,” Michael groaned.

“Jesus ain’t gonna pick ‘em up either,” Agnes
said with a snap of her head.

Sally matched Agnes’ stance. “Michael, you
have to get us more help. There’re too many—”

“Too many people,” Chad finished for her.

“And they’s all crazy,” Agnes added. “Every
last one of ‘em out there. You—”

“Wait a minute.” Michael held up both hands,
wanting time to think. The last thing he needed was a mutiny.
“Sally, have Richard man the phones while—”

“He left,” Chad said.

“What?”

“Mr. Mason left about a half hour ago.” Chad
shrugged. “Said he wasn’t being paid enough to deal with this
mess.”

“Oh, Lord,” Sally muttered.

“Smart man,” Agnes said with a nod.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Michael
asked. “Maybe I could have—”

“Tell you?” Chad shook his head. “I couldn’t
even find you. I’ve been doing everything to—”

“Okay, okay, so he’s gone,” Michael said,
rubbing his left temple. “Let’s just keep this simple. Chad, you
keep an eye out in the viewing room. Make sure they don’t trample
one another in there. Sally, you answer the phones and give people
directions to the bathrooms and lounge. And, Agnes, would you
please stay and at least keep a path cleared between the lounge and
reception area?”

Agnes eyed him suspiciously. “That’s all I
gotta do?”

“That’s all. We’ll worry about the rest when
this is over.”

She puckered her lips as though considering
the task ahead, then said, “Yeah, I guess I can do that. But what
you gonna do?”

“Right now? Find aspirin.”

Michael headed for his office, making his way
past a wall of chattering women in ankle-length, multi-colored
dresses. All of them were bedecked in heavy gold jewelry and
acknowledged him with a cautious eye when he excused himself and
sidled by.

By the time Michael finally entered his
office, he’d squeezed past so many people it felt like his suit was
on backwards. He closed the office door, brushed the twists out of
his jacket sleeves and pant legs, then went to his desk.

He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes
for a second.
Too much,
he thought.
I should have Dad
locked up for ever agreeing to—

Michael’s eyes flew open. He’d been too busy
to realize he hadn’t seen Wilson around all morning. As frantic as
his father had been last night, logic said he should have been
sitting on the funeral home steps by five this morning, waiting for
an answer about the money.

“
They’ll kill me, Michael. I swear to God
they’ll kill me.”

Sudden worry fueled Michael’s headache to
near migraine intensity. He unlocked his desk, pulled open the
bottom drawer, and grabbed a bottle of aspirin. Shaking out three,
he tossed them into his mouth and chewed the bitter tablets. He
thought about the creep at the gas pumps, the one Janet had told
him about yesterday. Was he one of Wilson’s investors? Had they
found his father? Could Wilson
really
be in danger?

Michael considered going out to look for him,
but quickly dropped the notion. He couldn’t leave with a funeral
home full of people and too few employees.Maybe he should call the
police and ask them to start a search.

Just then, Michael’s office door opened, and
Wilson strutted in like a crippled rooster.

“Full house, I see,” Wilson said.

Relief and anger swirled through Michael
until his hands shook. “Where the hell have you been?”

Wilson’s eyebrows peaked into twin steeples.
“Why? You missed me?”

“I asked you a question.”

“And I asked you one.”

Michael gritted his teeth. He wasn’t up for
an argument. He relocked his desk and stood. “I don’t have time for
this,” he said, and stormed toward the door.

“What?” Wilson reached for Michael’s arm as
he passed by, but Michael pulled away. “Well I’ll be damned,”
Wilson exclaimed.

Michael whirled around. “For once you’ve got
something right.”

Wilson chuckled. “Yeah, maybe, but that’s not
what I meant. Now hold up, hold up.” He stepped in front of the
door before Michael could open it. “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Move.”

“You were worried about me, weren’t you?”
Wilson asked. “And that pissed you off.”

“Get out of my way.”

“You don’t have to admit it, but I can tell.
Saw it in your eyes when I first walked in.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“No it’s not.” Wilson reached out to touch
Michael’s arm again, but pulled his hand back before they
connected. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I went to see
your Aunt Dora in Metairie this morning. Left early but I got
caught on the Pontchartrain coming back. Some delivery truck caught
fire. Shut down both lanes for hours.”

It took Michael a moment to recollect the
face of his father’s only sister. The last time he’d seen Aunt Dora
was twelve years ago, at his mother’s funeral. The polite thing
would’ve been to ask about her welfare, but Michael’s anger
bypassed the courtesy.

“So what’d you do? Swipe her Social Security
check?”

Wilson’s face clouded. “No, Michael. She has
cancer. Thought I’d get in one more visit while she was still
around.”

Michael looked away and shoved his hands in
his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. He
suddenly felt like a jerk. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t
know.”

“Yeah, well—” Wilson cleared his throat, then
jerked a thumb toward the door. “Sure looks like those people are
getting their money’s worth, huh?” When Michael didn’t respond, he
shifted from one foot to the other. “Talking about money . . . have
you . . . uh . . . have you decided about—”

“I can’t do anything about money,” Michael
said.

“But—”

“If you’re really in some kind of danger,
I’ll go with you to the police. That’s all.”

Something sparked in Wilson’s eyes, and he
pounded fist to palm. “The police can’t take care of shit, Michael.
I’ve already told you, these people aren’t playing around!”

“Neither am I.”

“So that’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?
You just want me out of the way, don’t you? You want me dead.”

“Stop being melodramatic. It won’t work.”

Wilson turned away sharply and scratched the
back of his neck. When he faced Michael again, tears pooled against
his lower lids. “Look, there’s got to be something I can do
to—”

“Yes, there is something you can do,” Michael
said, opening the door. As familiar as he was with his father’s
antics, he felt his resistance slip. He couldn’t get used to the
tears. “I’ve got a building full of people, and we’re short
staffed. You need to help.”

“Sure, sure, but wait,” Wilson pleaded. “You
can’t just leave. Give me another chance, son. That’s all I’m
asking for. With that money I can set things right again. Pick up
the pieces and make things different with this family. Look, see
here?” He pointed to the picture of Ellie on the windowsill. “I’ve
got a granddaughter I don’t even know. Help me out. Give me a
chance to get to know her. We could be a family, Michael. A real
family.”

At that moment, the frame that held Ellie’s
picture toppled from the sill to the floor and shattered.

Michael glanced at the web of glass slivers,
only mildly curious as to how the fall occurred, since his father
hadn’t touched the frame, or how a tumble onto carpet could have
caused so much damage. He was more interested in the irony of what
he saw. Sharp broken pieces, worth nothing more than pain to the
one who handled them. A mosaic of his father.

“Just what you wanted, Dad. Pieces to pick
up,” Michael said, and left.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Anna sat in a folding chair, which someone
had placed in the back corner of the viewing room. Maria and
Felicia, Antony’s sisters, sat next to her, assigned as her
guardians for the time being. Antony was the only one Ephraim told
about her impious act and that was only because he’d helped Ephraim
pull her off Thalia. Everyone else had been charged with keeping
her away from the casket. “For her own protection,” Ephraim had
said.

For hours, Anna had watched people file in
and out of the room. Most of the chairs had been removed to allow
more space for the crowd. Men sat on the floor cross-legged,
talking and laughing while women served them food and drinks.
Lenora flitted about, visiting with one person or another and
periodically checking for evaporation in her water glass. Lenora
maintained the old custom of placing a drinking glass filled with
water on a stool at the head of the casket. The meaning of the
custom was divided amongst the tribe. To some the water assured the
dead would never thirst. To others it was a method used to ward off
evil spirits during the deceased’s transference to the other side.
To Anna, the stupid water glass meant nothing if it could not
resurrect her Thalia. Either way, Lenora had kept busy, making
certain the glass remained brim-filled and that her brass bowl,
which had been placed alongside the water, plumed continuously with
hickory-scented smoke.

Ephraim had spent most of his time drinking
and singing old love songs. Occasionally, he’d swagger by, and give
Anna a contemptuous sneer. At any other time and in any other
place, she might have worried about his scorn. But not today, not
anymore.

A sudden shift in activity told Anna they
were nearing the end of the service. People started to vacate the
room, leaving only those who had been invited to remain. The chosen
men stayed seated on the floor in a semicircle while a large group
of women lined up against the walls. A mandolin began to play, and
Antony, in a trembling, baritone voice, sang ‘Of Seasons Past’ in
their native tongue. Anna had to hold onto the seat of her chair to
keep from bolting out of the room.

The end had come too fast. Soon she would
have to say goodbye to her beloved child, and she wasn’t ready. She
would never be ready to carry the measure of sorrow that forever
meted out. It was all consuming, so eager to devour her. Anna
clutched her hands to her breast and reminded herself that the pain
was but for a short time. In a while, none of this would
matter.

As Antony’s song reached its climax, Roslyn
entered the room, carrying a long, unlit white candle. She handed
it to Ephraim, who took it and laid it across Thalia’s chest, being
careful not to touch the clothes or body with his hand.

“Let there be no darkness in your travels,”
he said, his voice strong and clear despite the level of alcohol
consumption. He nodded to Roslyn, and she took her place against
the wall with the rest of the women.

Lenora stepped forward, faced her son, and
bowed her head. Loud murmuring echoed from the doorway as people in
the hall pressed tightly together, straining to see what was about
to take place.

The men sitting on the floor began to chant,
“Drosna, drosna,” a drunken Roma version of ‘peace be with you.’
From their pockets, they drew silver coins and dollar bills, each
man forming a little pile with his money in front of him.

Ephraim touched his mother’s shoulder, and
she turned to face the women against the walls. She lifted both
hands, and one by one the women walked to the center of the
semicircle and deposited bits of cloth, jewelry, and small sacks of
food.

When they were done, Lenora entered the
circle, sat back on her haunches, then began sorting through the
gifts. She pulled aside anything she considered unfit. When she
completed her task, Lenora stood and signaled for Maria and Felicia
to bring Anna to her.

Anna clung to her seat, refusing to budge. If
she moved, someone would surely see what she had hidden beneath her
shoe, and she couldn’t let that happen because they’d take it away.
It had taken her the longest time to find it, searching through so
many pockets, so many purses.