Grave Intent (15 page)

Ephraim exhaled her name, “Anna.” His thumb
pressed against her lips, then he removed his hand and brushed at
it as though repulsed. “Cela!” he yelled.

A young, pregnant woman waddled to Ephraim’s
side. Her dark, eager eyes searched his face.

With a barrage of rolling r’s and staccato
syllables, Ephraim spat his demands, and Cela hurried to comply.
From a nearby satchel, she removed a diaper, ripped it in two, then
barked a command to two other women. The women rushed to Anna’s
side and laid their hands on her shoulders. Cela stepped carefully
to the side of the chair, then quickly wrapped Anna’s left wrist
with a section of diaper. Anna’s expression remained blank, her
breathing heavy and audible as though she’d fallen into a deep
sleep.

As soon as the other diaper remnant was tied
around her right wrist, Anna was lifted to her feet. A single-edged
razor fell from her lap to the floor. The women gasped
collectively, and Anna was quickly escorted from the room.

“So, so sad,” Sally murmured.

Michael stood numb. He’d witnessed many
spectacles over the years as a funeral director. Wives trying to
climb into their dead husband’s casket, a father who’d obsessively
clipped the toenails of his deceased son throughout a viewing. Once
he’d even seen a woman spit on her dead brother’s face, then rub
the spittle across his cheeks and into his ears. As bizarre as all
those things were, not once had he been faced with an attempted
suicide.

Relieved that Anna was at least being tended
to, Michael whispered to Sally, “Did Chad get back yet?”

“A couple of minutes ago.”

“Have him get the hearse ready. It’s time for
this to end.”

“Way past time,” Sally agreed.

When she slipped out of the room, Michael
walked over to Ephraim. He teetered between professionalism and
chivalry, debating on whether he should keep his nose out of
Stevenson’s business and just finish with the service or flatten
Ephraim’s face for being a Neanderthal to his wife. He figured the
latter would solve little. The Stevensons would be leaving soon,
and his interference might only serve to make Anna’s situation
worse once Ephraim had her alone.

Michael glared at Ephraim. “Have you assigned
pallbearers?”

Ephraim looked at him as one would a
pestering dog.

“Men who will carry the casket,” Michael said
sternly, assuming Ephraim didn’t understand the term, ‘pallbearer’.
“It’s time to go to the church.”

Ephraim turned away and with an unsteady
hand, signaled for a one-eared woman, who stood nearby. Quickly and
silently she left the room only to return a moment later with six
men in tow. Lenora appeared behind them.

The entourage walked in procession to the
casket. When they reached it, Lenora laid her hands on top of the
casket and began to chant while her fingers slid across the
polished surface. A hot band of apprehension wrapped around
Michael’s stomach when she pulled against the lids. What if she
opened one and noticed the coin missing? How would he explain?

But Lenora’s hands kept moving. They traveled
along the handles and over each bronzed corner. After a while, she
made her way to the water glass and bowl still resting on the stool
at the head of the coffin. She lifted the bowl and placed it on top
of the casket, then removed the glass and holding it reverently in
both hands, walked slowly out of the room.

The six men separated into two groups of
threes, a group on either side of the casket.

Suspecting they were preparing to lift it,
Michael said to Ephraim,“There’s no need to carry the casket. I’ll
get a church truck so you can roll it out.”

Ignoring him, Ephraim signaled to the
pallbearers. Together they reached for the rail handles and lifted
the casket off the bier, the bowl balancing atop it.

With a perturbed sigh, Michael stepped aside
as they carried Thalia out.

Ephraim followed them with his head bowed
low. Michael trailed behind Ephraim, glancing once over his
shoulder at the vacant bier and the lone chair, which sat bracketed
in blood.

When they reached the front entrance, the
doors were already open with Sally and Chad standing on either
side. The hearse, backed up to the building, awaited its
passenger.

Chad led the pallbearers to the back of the
vehicle and gestured for them to set the casket on the rollers
inside. The incense bowl was removed, and the bronze box gently
pushed in and secured. One of the pallbearers closed the hearse
door behind it.

Resolved to civility, Michael turned to offer
Ephraim last condolences, but the man was already sliding into a
station wagon four vehicles away. Anna sat behind him, her face
pressed against the window. She looked like a lost, desolate
child.

A shout of “Mia subtolamain!” jerked
Michael’s attention back to the hearse. Lenora, hunchbacked and in
a pitcher’s stance, had the water glass balanced in her right hand.
The reality of what she prepared to do sent Michael’s arms waving
in the air.

“Stop!” he shouted.

Lenora threw the glass against the door of
the hearse, missing the back window by inches. She turned sideways
as water and shards of glass flew everywhere. Once the debris
settled, she trotted off to a nearby van.

Appalled, Michael could only gawk at the
three-inch scratch now etched across the back of his vehicle.

“Damn,” Chad said, appearing beside him with
Sally. He went to the hearse and examined the damage.

Sally shook her head in disbelief. “The nerve
of those people. After all we did for them. After all we put up
with.”

Throughout the parking lot, engines roared to
life, and cars and trucks began to line up on the street.

Michael kneaded his brow. “Yeah, well,
there’s nothing we can do about this now. We still have to get them
to the church and cemetery.”

“If you want, I can make that run,” Chad
offered.

Sally scowled. “Are you crazy?”

“Pretty big crowd for you to handle alone,”
Michael said.

Chad opened the driver’s door to the hearse.
“What’s to handle? The pallbearers will take the casket through the
church and cemetery. All I have to do is direct them on where to
go. Besides, the two bodies from Magnolia are in the prep room, and
since you’re faster at embalming than I am, it makes sense that you
stay. If we both go to the cemetery, those bodies won’t get
embalmed until late. We’ll be here past midnight.”

The man has a point
, Michael thought.
If they didn’t divide the tasks, not only would they be working
late, he’d probably be forced to put some chores off until
tomorrow, which meant a later departure for Carlton.

“You that sure you can handle it?” Michael
asked.

“Absolutely.”

“All right then, but take the cell
phone.”

“Got it right here.” Chad patted his jacket
pocket.

“If you run into any problems, give me a
call.” Michael turned to Sally. “Better yet, why don’t you—”

She ticked a finger at him. “Huh-uh. Don’t
even ask.”

“What?”

“For me to ride along with Chad. I’ve had my
fill of those people.”

“Sal, Chad hasn’t been around long enough to
know how Father Melancon and Jasper work. You have. Just sit in the
hearse. If he runs into a snag with either one of them, you’ll be
right there.”

“Like that’ll do any good,” she said. “You
know Melancon. This late in the day he’ll be so anxious to get back
to his rum and Coke those people will be lucky to get holy water
sprinkled on the casket.”

“You don’t have to come,” Chad said. “I’ll
figure it—”

“And as for Jasper,” Sally continued. “That
caretaker’s deafer than a rock. It wouldn’t matter who told him
what anyway. He couldn’t hear it.”

“In case, Sal,” Michael said. “Just in case.
You shouldn’t have to deal with the Stevensons at all.”

Sally pursed her lips while car engines
whined impatiently nearby. Finally, she threw her hands up and
marched to the passenger’s side of the hearse. “Okay, okay, but if
those people start acting up in church, I’m leaving. With or
without Chad.”
Chad slipped behind the steering wheel, closed the door, and gave
Michael a thumbs up through the open window. “It’ll be all right,
boss. Don’t worry.”

“Quit sucking up already and go,” Sally said,
and slammed her door shut.

Michael peered into the hearse. “When you’re
done at the cemetery, both of you can head straight home. We’ll
meet back here at nine in the morning.”

“You got it.” Chad started the hearse and
began to power up the window.

Michael backed away, then remembered Wilson.
“Hey, wait.”

The window stopped at half-mast.

“Have either of you seen my father?”

“Not me,” Chad said.

Sally harrumphed loud enough for Michael to
hear her over the chugging engines. “Not since the viewing room
earlier. I left to answer the phone, and when I got back, he was
already gone.”

Michael nodded and signaled them off. The
coach bucked out of the parking lot, and streams of vehicles lined
up behind it, forming a parade down Alabaster Road.

He watched until the last car disappeared
around the corner, then allowed his shoulders to sag. Exhaustion
pummeled his body, every muscle and bone seemingly screaming for
relief from even the simple task of standing. A light breeze
brushed across Michael’s face, and he scanned the empty parking
lot. Dusk was closing in, but his day was far from over. He still
had a funeral home to get ready for the next day’s viewings, bodies
to embalm, and a father to confront.

Wearily, Michael headed back into the
building.

He’d barely crossed the lobby when he heard
someone mutter, “Shit!” from inside the viewing room. He paused,
not recognizing the voice. Had the Stevensons left someone
behind?

Michael peered around the doorjamb, relieved
to see Agnes. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I’m fixin’ not to be,” Agnes said. She was
on her knees near the bloodstains with a spray bottle of spot
remover in one hand and a scrub brush in the other. The divider
wall had been pulled across the room, and the narrowed space made
the crimson mess appear bigger.

With a gloved hand, Agnes dipped the scrub
brush into a plastic bucket half filled with water beside her.
“This crap ain’t coming out, and it ain’t gonna come out.” She sat
back on her heels. “What’d they do? Slaughter a pig?”

“The mother cut her wrists.”

Agnes squinted up at him. “I didn’t see no
ambulance outside.”

“They refused to let us call one, just
bandaged her up themselves.”

She shook her head, labored to her feet, and
tossed the scrub brush into the bucket. “I told you them people was
bad juju. Look here, they already gonna cost you a brand new
carpet.”

“Maybe a steam cleaner will get it out.”

“Nope. New carpet,” she said authoritatively
and peeled off her gloves.

Not wanting to get into a debate, Michael
said, “Fine, new carpet. I’ll close this part of the room off and
deal with it tomorrow.”

“Good enough then. I already finished
cleanin’ the lounge and bathrooms, so if it’s all the same to you,
I’ll be headin’ on to my house. I’ll finish up here early in the
mornin’.”

“Sure,” Michael said. “But how’d you get
those other rooms cleaned so fast?”

“Oh, I got my way,” Agnes said with a
mischievous grin.

“I’m not even going to ask what that might
be.”

“Smart man.”

Michael touched her arm as she walked past
him. “Thanks, Agnes. I really don’t know what I’d have done today
without you.”

Her smile broadened. “Probably be stompin’
knee deep in shit by now.”

“Probably.”

He walked Agnes to the front door, then after
locking it behind her, leaned against the jamb and listened to the
silence. No music, no voices, no yelling, nothing. Glorious
nothing.

With great effort, Michael pushed himself
into motion and headed for the prep room. Halfway down the hall, a
chill ran up the back of his neck, and he had an overwhelming sense
someone was behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and caught the
tail end of a shadow slipping into the viewing room, the one with
the ruined carpet.

Michael stopped short, knowing he’d locked
the front door. How could Agnes have gotten back in there?

“Hello?” he called.

No answer.

“Agnes?”

The only response was the sound of his left
knee popping as he headed back to the viewing room.

“Dad?” Michael peered into the room and found
it empty save for a few chairs and Agnes’ cleaning supplies.

Michael turned off the lights and started for
the prep room again. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d captured
something unusual in the funeral home from the corner of his eye.
Weak flashes of unidentified light, a skittering shadow now and
then, sometimes just a sense of nearby movement. Most of the time
Michael shrugged off the episodes to fatigue, which was a standard
lot for funeral directors. There might be truth, as some claimed,
to a soul lingering behind after death, but Michael felt his hands
were already overflowing with the living. The last thing he needed
to deal with was ghosts.

He was almost to the next corridor when the
chill returned. Michael brushed the back of his neck with a hand,
meaning to ignore it, when he heard what sounded like a titter
behind him. He spun around.

Nothing there.

“Who’s here?”

Another snicker—from the opposite
direction.

He whirled about again, and caught sight of
something black, like the coattails of a long jacket, rounding the
intersecting hall.

Michael took off after it, his leather shoes
slipping across the floor as he raced down the hallway. He swerved
left into the connecting corridor, just in time to see the
embalming room door ease shut.