Grave Intent (12 page)

“You must come and bless gifts,” Ephraim
commanded with a lift of his chin. His eyes blazed with fury. “They
will be of no use to her, Anna, if you do not.”

Anna sat quietly, feeling every eye in the
room rest on her.

Maria pressed her lips to Anna’s right ear.
“Don’t be afraid. I will go with you.”

“You come or I will get you myself,” Ephraim
said, and pushed his fedora farther back on his head.

“Anna, come.” Felicia tugged on her arm. “Why
you not want to bless Thalia’s gifts?”

Anna brushed Felicia’s hand away, knowing
she’d have to do something before Ephraim physically moved her.
Gradually she stood, and the room and every face in it wavered in
slow, horizontal lines. Her face felt flushed, and her body swayed.
Maria and Felicia grabbed her arms, bracing her upright. Anna heard
throats clear as she considered her dilemma.

She couldn’t slide her right foot along the
floor while she walked because the carpet would snag the tool and
keep it from moving with her. And besides, it would look too
obvious. With everyone staring at her, she couldn’t very well lean
over, move her foot and pick it up either. That left only one
option.

When Anna felt Maria and Felicia’s grasp
loosen, she allowed her knees to buckle and collapsed in a
heap.

Lenora shouted something incoherent as Anna
groped for the object now under her leg. Finding it, she clutched
it tight and winced.

Maria and Felicia chattered frantically and
pulled Anna to her feet.

“Be careful, Maria,” Felicia said, pushing
her sister aside. “You will make her fall again.”

“You are the one pushing,” Maria said,
straightening the kerchief on her head. The heavy gold jewelry
around her neck clanged like chimes in a strong wind. “Watch for
her hand, the bandaged one.”She lowered her voice and pulled on
Anna’s left arm. “Anna, please. Get up.”

“Get to your feet, woman,” Ephraim shouted,
spittle flying from his lips. “Now!”

Ephraim’s condescension seemed to split
nerves in Anna’s jaw. A peculiar sensation moved across her face,
and only when she rose to her feet again did she realize what it
was. A smile, growing wider by the second. Anna peered at Maria and
Felicia, whose expressions became nothing short of dumbstruck.

“Let go of me,” Anna said, and a giggle
escaped her.

The women released Anna and backed away like
they’d just discovered she carried a contagion. Anna’s giggle grew
louder, and she bit her bottom lip in an attempt to control
herself.

She walked toward Ephraim and saw Lenora lean
into him and whisper. Ephraim nodded earnestly, which caused his
hat to fall askew over his right eye. The sight of his crooked hat
drew a burst of laughter from Anna so loud and long, it made her
sides hurt. She stumbled blindly into one of the men sitting on the
floor, and he scurried away from her as though bitten. When Anna
was able to focus on the confused faces all around her, she
stopped, threw her head back, and roared with laughter.

It took several moments for her to start
moving again. Her sides and stomach ached terribly, and she began
to hiccup. Anna’s brain felt useless, fumbling aimlessly to find a
reason for her laughter but not finding one. The possibility that
she was losing her mind did occur to her, but that thought seemed
even funnier than the lopsided hat.

The next thing Anna knew she was standing in
front of Ephraim. She blinked, and her husband suddenly doubled
over and cupped his groin, his eyes wide with disbelief and
anguish. Anna stopped laughing, but a smile remained plastered on
her face. A rush of adrenaline gave way to an overwhelming sense of
freedom. In the time it had taken Anna to blink, she’d kneed
Ephraim—hard. Maybe hard enough to keep him from walking upright
again. Maybe not.

If nothing else, it stopped her hiccups.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Large, gravy-laden meatballs established the
line between sanity and insanity. Or so it seemed to Michael the
moment one flew over his head and landed with a splat across the
picture of Saint Peter’s Cathedral in the hall. The people milling
around him only glanced back at the mess like it was the newest
fare in haute cuisine.

“The food’s got to go!” Michael said over the
rumble of voices. “This is getting way out of—”

A middle-aged woman in a hot pink tent dress
let out a shrill, incoherent squawk and spat on Michael’s pant leg.
The crowd swallowed her into obscurity before he had time to
react.

“Michael!” An urgent voice called above the
din. One frantically waving arm rose above the landscape of heads
near the reception desk. Sally’s lopsided bun bobbed beside it.

“Jesus, now what?” Michael grumbled. Trying
to ignore the wet stain on his trousers, which looked suspiciously
like tobacco juice, he made his way to Sally.

When he reached her, she lifted two fingers,
then pointed to the receiver lodged against her ear. “—as soon as
possible,” she said into the phone. “Yes. Thank you.” She hung up
and shook her head. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said to
Michael. “We’ve got two pickups to make at Magnolia.”

Michael closed his eyes for a second, feeling
another ton drop onto his already overloaded shoulders. “How
soon?”

“They want the bodies out in an hour.”

“Ask them for a little more—”

“I already tried buying more time, but you
know how the aides get when there’s a dead body around.” Sally
picked up a notepad from the desk and ripped off the top sheet.
“You want me to send them to Pellerin’s?”

“No.” The thought of sending business to his
shark-toothed, greasy-palmed competitor made Michael cringe. He
wouldn’t have sent Judas Iscariot to the man.“Where’s Chad?”

“In the viewing room, I think. He said
something about a kid taking a dump in one of the potted plants or
a kid dumped over a potted plant—I don’t know, one or the other.
He’s probably cleaning—” The corners of her mouth dropped abruptly.
“Michael, you can’t send Chad to Magnolia. We’re having a hard
enough time handling everything now. One more person short and
we’ll keel—”

“I’ll help.”

The sound of Wilson’s voice made Michael do a
double take over his shoulder. His father stood behind him, a hand
traveling restlessly between chin and shirt collar.

Michael turned and eyed him warily.

“No, really,” Wilson said. A smile that
seemed to hold old hurts and new hope quivered on his face. “While
your apprentice is out making the removals at the nursing home,
I’ll help out here.”

“Thank God,” Sally breathed.

Although Michael suspected that his father’s
prodigious generosity carried an ulterior motive, like changing his
son’s mind about the money, he needed the extra pair of hands. If
Wilson wanted to grabble with false hope, that was his problem.

“All right,” Michael said, checking his
watch. “We’ll be doing last call soon. You can give me a hand with
that while Chad’s gone. When he gets back from Magnolia—”

A loud wail erupted from the viewing room,
and every head whipped in that direction.

“Shit and crackers,” Wilson exclaimed. “What
the hell was that?”

“Trouble,” Sally said, indicating the crowd
now shoving as one coagulated mass to get inside the viewing
room.

Michael looked at his father.

“Right behind you,” Wilson said.

Slightly unnerved by his father’s support,
Michael wet his lips before charging through the throng.

Wilson literally held to his word, pressing
himself against Michael’s back as they forged ahead. He shouted,
“S’cuse me!” repeatedly until they made it inside.

Just as Michael stepped over the threshold,
he saw Ephraim swing a hand across his wife’s face. The slap rang
loud and sharp, and Ephraim immediately drew his hand back,
preparing for another strike.

“No!” Without thinking, Michael leaped
forward, but before he could reach Ephraim, a thick, hairy arm
clotheslined him in the gut. Michael dropped to his knees with a
groan, and the bitter ring of another slap echoed overhead.

Ephraim shouted in a strange language, and
someone promptly helped Michael to his feet. Breathing hard,
Michael found his footing and fisted his hands. Ephraim glared at
him, then without a word, turned away and trudged toward the
casket.

Two crying women led Ephraim’s wife to the
back of the room. Angry welts blazed across Anna’s cheeks, but her
eyes remained dry, her expression eerily detached.

Michael’s fists tightened until fingernails
cut into his palm. The pain was the only way he could stop himself
from running after Ephraim and drop-kicking the sonofabitch.

“I must apologize for Polamu,” Antony said,
suddenly appearing beside Michael. He pointed the knob of his chin
toward the Titan-sized man pacing Ephraim. “His job is but to
protect. Are you damaged?”

“I’ll live,” Michael snapped.

Antony sighed. “This is good. But you must
not interfere again, Mr. Savoy. My cousin Ephraim, as leader, does
what he must to preserve order.”

“Order?” Michael glowered at him. “He hit his
wife, for God’s sake!”

“You would not understand,” Antony said.

“What’s there to understand?”

“Yeah, what the hell?” Wilson asked, emerging
from some remote corner.

Antony shook his head slowly as one would to
enthusiastic, but ignorant children. “The ways of our people are
far too complex to explain to Gaji.”

Wilson aimed a finger at Antony. “Who you
calling Gaji, boy?” He threw Michael a puzzled look. “What’s a
Gaji?”

Michael ignored his father and folded his
arms across his chest. “Listen, Antony, here’s something that isn’t
difficult to explain at all. If he touches her again, I’m calling
the police.”

“That would not be wise.”

“Regardless. I
will
call them. That’s
a promise.”

Antony studied Michael for a long moment,
then squared his shoulders. “We complete ceremony now.”

Sensing a silent victory, Michael raked his
fingers through his hair. “Fine. I’ll announce last call.”

“What is this last call? Its purpose?”

“To allow everyone a final moment with the
deceased. Then we close the casket and head for the cemetery.”

“Yes, we make last call then,” Antony
said.

Wilson stepped in front of Michael and
hitched up his belt, a preamble for assuming control. “Okay, then
everyone needs to line up—”

“No, no,” Antony said. “
We
make last
call.”

“Fine,” Wilson said, throwing up a hand.
“Have at it.”

“Wait a minute,” Michael said, remembering
the caution each visitor had used when approaching the casket. Not
one of them wanted to touch the Thalia. Not even her clothes. “Are
you saying you want to handle all the final preparations?” Michael
asked. “Lower her head? Straighten her clothes? Close the
casket?”

With a visible shiver, Antony shook his head.
“No. We will need you for those tasks because we are not allowed to
do such things. But for now, you may stand over there.” He
indicated the opposite side of the room.

Wilson snorted, an implication that he was
about to tell Antony exactly who had the right to stand where.
Before he could, Michael grabbed his arm and pulled Wilson away.
There had been enough upheaval for one day. It was time to send the
Barnum and Bailey show on its way.

After settling his father against the far
wall, Michael spotted Chad twenty feet away. The apprentice stood
gray-faced and half-hidden behind a short, lumpish woman. When
Michael caught his attention, he mouthed for him to find Sally;
confident she would tell Chad about the nursing home removals.

Chad nodded and hurried toward freedom.

Exhausted, Michael leaned back and closed his
eyes, only to have them pried open by the high-pitched whine of a
harmonica. He couldn’t locate the off-key musician, but there was
no missing Lenora. She stood center stage amid a circle of men. The
brass bowl she carried belched thick, acrid smoke. The smell
reminded Michael of burning tires.

Wilson gagged beside him. “Damn. Smells like
shit,” he muttered.

“Mia lona, mia rhine. Mia lona, mia rhine,”
Lenora chanted, her body now swaying from side to side.

The men in the circle clapped, keeping time
with her words. Their bodies rocked to match Lenora’s rhythmic
movements. With eyes closed and mouths slightly open, they appeared
closer to an orgasm than the end of a wake.

Michael peered over at Anna, who stared at
the floor, seemingly oblivious to the activities. As though she
sensed being watched, Anna pulled the kerchief tied to her head
down low, covering her long, black widow’s peak.

Wilson nudged Michael, drawing his attention
back to the center of the room. The chanting grew louder, and the
swaying of pensive bodies more urgent. Ephraim, who stood in front
of the casket, held two small, copper pots. He faced the circle of
men and slammed the pots together three times. The clanging set
Michael’s teeth on edge.

“We call all spirits dark and light,” Ephraim
shouted over Lenora’s mantra. “You will make way for this child as
I command.”

A cool breeze caressed Michael’s face, and
the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.

The chanting ceased abruptly, and the group
of men on the floor gathered their individual piles of money and
stood. Lenora walked past them and carried her bowl to the stool at
the head of the casket. She waited there while the men lined up
single file.

“Come,” Ephraim commanded, and the first man
limped toward him with his money cupped in his hands. When he
reached, Ephrain, he gave a little bow, then dropped the coins and
bills inside the casket. Ephraim nodded his approval and clapped
the man on the back before he hobbled away.