If the Coffin Fits Page 6

  The council will review the bids and vote on them in a special closed-door meeting on October 8.

  *

  I slept late the next day. I’d been up until the wee hours waiting for the window repair people. Orion and I had huddled together in the Element to keep warm. How had I survived all this time without a dog? How was I going to survive once he was gone? I needed to figure out a way to keep him around. If I could make Donna understand how useful he was beyond not having to sweep the kitchen floor nearly as often, I’d have a shot. Maybe I could get him to sit on her feet while she watched television. Her toes were always like ice cubes.

  I’d only just finished drinking my coffee and eating breakfast when the doorbell rang. We don’t get a lot of drop-ins at Turner. People usually call first to make an appointment. Plus it was Saturday. I assumed it was a friend. It didn’t occur to me not to let Orion trot at my heels when I answered the door rather than putting him some place so he wouldn’t disturb a client. We trotted down the stairs from our living quarters and I opened the extra wide front door.

  The woman who stood in front of me was my age, maybe even a little bit younger. She had on Lycra biking shorts, the kind with the big pad in the seat, and a biking jersey that had a picture of Rosie the Riveter with the slogan “We Can Do It!” on it. She was also clearly devastated. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her face blotchy. “May I help you?” I asked.

  She fell into my arms and sobbed against my shoulder.

  I guided her inside, her biking shoes clicking on the hardwood, and into the Lilac Room where we have some couches for people to sit on while they make their decisions. It is well stocked with tissues. Always. Keeping the tissue supply steady and swapping out the magazines and newspapers had been my first job at Turner back when I was in fourth grade. Dad paid me a dollar a week for it. I guided her to a couch, snatched up a cough drop that apparently Daisy Fiore must have dropped when she sat here last, helped my biker girl sit down, and handed her a box of tissues.

  She blew her nose. “Sorry,” she choked out.

  “Don’t be,” I said. “Crying is pretty normal and it’s way better than keeping it all bottled up.” Whether it was normal to show up in bike gear to cry at a funeral home was another question, but I figured we’d get to that.

  Orion went over to her and laid his chin on her leg. Her hand dropped to his head and he licked it. “Ohhhh,” she gasped out.

  I was about to drag him away, when she slid off the couch onto the floor next to him and buried her face in his fur. As she cried, he placed one paw on her leg and left it there, resting gently.

  It took her a few minutes, but she finally calmed down enough to speak. “I didn’t know you had a therapy dog,” she said. “It’s not on your website. You should totally tell people. I wouldn’t have even looked at any of the other places if I’d known.”

  I looked at Orion as he sat next to her, leaning the bulk of his body against her and letting her hold on for dear life. “To be honest, I didn’t know we had a therapy dog either. We’re just taking care of him for a little while for someone.”

  “Oh,” she said, brushing at the tears on her cheeks. “Then he’s a natural.”

  As intrigued as I was with the idea of Orion as a therapy dog, I felt we probably had some other business. “So what can I help you with? What brings you here today?”

  My questions set off another bout of crying, but it was less violent this time. Orion stayed right where he was next to her. “It’s my Blaine. He’s … he’s gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder, wondering why on earth she’d opted to bike here to make arrangements.

  “Thanks. The people at the hospital, they said I needed to make arrangements.” She had a hard time choking out that last word. “Your name was on a list of places they had. It was the only one I could bike to.”

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard that correctly. “You biked here directly from the hospital?”

  She nodded. “Blaine and I were out for a ride. We were going down the big hill over by the dam. He must have hit a rock or a pothole or something because all of the sudden he was flying over his handlebars.” Her chin wobbled. “I told him not to take off his helmet, but he said he just had to feel the wind in his hair.”

  My heart clutched. The hill down from the dam was known as Heart Attack Hill to local cyclists, of which we had quite a few. It was seriously steep. The heart attacks came from trying to climb it. Going downhill was supposed to be fun. Usually it was smooth, but apparently not always. “You were there?” I asked. I cringed thinking about it.

  “Right behind him.” She blew her nose again. “Can you help me? Can you … can you pick him up?”

  It was the absolute least we could do. “Of course we can. Do you want us to make arrangements with some place closer to where you live?”

  She shook her head. “No. That’s okay. I … I just want him cremated. No service or anything else. Can you do that?”

  “Of course we can.” I pulled out the folder of information and handed it to her. “Let’s go over some of your choices here.”

  Once Annamarie, that was her name, knew all of her choices, we went through the process of filling out all the paperwork. “How are you going to get home?” I asked.

  She gave me a funny look and looked down at her clothes and shoes. “I’ll bike.”

  “Isn’t Oak Pass at least fifty miles from here?” I wouldn’t be able to walk after I’d ridden fifty miles, much less figure out how to grieve my husband who had died right before my eyes. “I could give you a ride.” I was sure Donna and Uncle Joey would say it was okay and her bike could easily go in the back of the Element.

  She nodded. “I’m sure. It’ll give me time to process. You’ll let me know when he’s ready for me to pick up?”

  I stood up to go downstairs and let Uncle Joey know we had a pickup at the hospital, but I still felt uneasy. “Of course. Are you sure we can’t call someone to give you a ride or something?”

  She shook her head. “No, but can I sit here with Orion for a little bit longer?”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  I stepped out to give her some privacy, then pulled out my phone and pulled up the search engine. I typed in “how to train a therapy dog.”

  *

  Writing an obituary was a great way of getting to know someone, as long as you didn’t mind them not being around to actually know. I was the official obituary writer at Turner Family Funeral Home. Cousin Lizette hadn’t actually asked me to take care of the task for Violet, but it was generally part of the whole package. I’d be doing my job and finding out a bit more about Violet. Maybe there’d be an explanation of how she’d ended up with so much insulin in her system that she’d passed out and had a seizure.

  I’d looked her up on social media. Her Facebook page mainly had shares of dog memes. She was a member of a lot of different groups: one for only-children, one for people with puppies, one for Zumba enthusiasts, one for Italian cooking, one for amateur photographers. She liked purple. She liked her dog. That wasn’t much. I decided to drop by Greg’s office to see what her coworkers might say about her. It was also a great excuse for finding out a bit more about who hated her enough to possibly orchestrate her car accident. Greg hadn’t wanted to talk about her. Maybe there was a reason for that. He wasn’t one to spread gossip. Whatever. Everyone has their failings.

  I parked on Sparrow Street, took Orion for a spin around the gazebo to stretch his legs, and then went to the You’re Covered Insurance Agency on Oriole. No one heard the chime over the door tinkle as we walked in because there was a burst of applause as I opened the door. I looked around to see what I’d done, but then realized it wasn’t for me. Most of the staff was gathered around an area in the back of the office, and people were clapping for something back there.

  I found Greg standing on the edge of the group and walked up next to him. “Hi, Greg. What’s going on?”
I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to interrupt the party.

  “Oh, hey, Desiree. Rachel got a promotion. We’re congratulating her.” Greg pointed to a pink-faced young woman of about thirty who stood in the middle of the group, beaming.

  “Good for her! Congratulations, Rachel!” I called out.

  Rachel turned to me and waved. “Do you want a piece of cake?” she offered.

  I was about to say yes, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Greg give me a teensy tiny head shake.

  “Uh, no thanks,” I said. Was I getting fat? I patted my hips. “Watching my weight, you know.”

  “Oh, this has hardly any calories. It’s vegan, sugar-free, and gluten-free.” She lifted the plate toward me.

  I looked over at Greg whose eyebrows had climbed up his forehead. “Oh, I really couldn’t,” I said.

  I sidled over to the side of the group and Greg sidled with me. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “No problem. It’s like eating cardboard. They suck you in with those pretty icing flowers. It’s kind of evil. But it’s what Rachel wanted. She could never eat the cake before.” He looked down sadly at his plate. “So what are you doing here? You didn’t just drop in to say hello, did you?”

  “No. I was hoping someone might give me some material to put in Violet’s obituary.” I leaned against his desk.

  Greg pursed his lips. “This might not be the exact right moment to ask.” He gave a head nod toward the front and started walking. I followed him.

  “What’s up?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “Rachel is being promoted into Violet’s old position. It would be weird to talk about Violet when we’re all so happy for Rachel,” he said.

  “Because people are also going to miss Violet and you don’t want Rachel to feel bad?” That was nice. So typical that Greg didn’t want to bring down the room when they were celebrating.

  Greg shook his head. “Look. I don’t like to trash-talk anyone and I especially don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Violet wasn’t the most popular employee around here.”

  My eyes opened wider. “Why?”

  “Can I tell you about it at home?” He looked around like he was about to get caught with his hands full of full sugar cookies.

  “Sure. No problem.” I had some time before I had to get the obituary in since there wasn’t going to be a service. “Did she have any friends I could talk to?”

  He thought for a second. “I think she was tight with Brandie Frierson over at the Mailbox Place. At least, they used to have lunch together.”

  I’d seen that name on Violet’s Facebook page, liking her posts and commenting on them. “Great. I’ll go talk to her.”

  He held up one finger. “Oh, one more thing. You’re dealing with Violet’s stuff, right?”

  “Sort of.”

  He picked up a box and put it in my arms. “This is her stuff from her desk. Can you deal with it?”

  I looked in it to see a framed photo of Orion, some painkillers, a comb, some honey lemon cough drops. It wouldn’t be too hard to put it in her house with the rest of her stuff. “Of course.”

  Orion and I headed to the door. We were stepping out onto the sidewalk when Iris and Daisy walked toward us. “Oh, hi,” I said. I was still feeling a little awkward about the whole kind of accusing them of murdering their father thing. “Fancy meeting you here.” I cringed. I sounded inane.

  Daisy nodded her head at me. “Desiree.”

  Orion sat and offered up his paw for her to shake. She reached down to pat him on the head and Iris made a noise in the back of her throat. Daisy straightened up, wiping her hand on her jeans. I guessed Orion knew better than to try to shake hands with Iris.

  A man from inside came out and said, “Ladies, come in. There are a few papers to sign and we’ll get your father’s affairs all tidied up.”

  Oh. That’s why they were there. Greg’s firm issued their father’s insurance. I waved as I left.

  Orion and I stowed the box of Violet’s things in the car and walked to the Mailbox Place to talk to Brandie. “Come on, boy,” I said to Orion. “We’ll walk to get our exercise in.”

  The corn maze was nearly complete, and banners advertising the pumpkin patch, the zucchini carving contest, and the ghost tours had gone up. Nearly every business in downtown Verbena had pumpkins or scarecrows or black cats decorating their doors. Except the Mailbox Place. Their door was decoration-free. Turner Family Funeral Home decorates for a few of the holidays. We have pine wreaths during the winter holidays, flags for Memorial Day and Fourth of July, a cornucopia for Thanksgiving. We do not decorate for Halloween. No one wants to go into a funeral home with a plastic skeleton on the door. I wondered why Brandie didn’t decorate. Surely a few grinning skulls or bats with vampire teeth wouldn’t put anyone off picking up their mail.

  The Mailbox Place was a fairly small room. One side held a bank of post office boxes for rent. There was a display of packing supplies. Then Brandie presided behind a counter with a computer. She was a white lady with dark hair cut in a chin-length bob. Medium height and medium weight. Her one distinguishing feature was her facial expression. She pretty much always looked as if someone had farted near her. There was a line at the counter when Orion and I walked in. I scooted to one side by the boxes to wait until the place cleared out.

  Brandie looked up. “No dogs in here.” She made a shooing gesture.

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.” Orion and I stepped out to wait outside for the place to clear. Orion lay down on the sidewalk with a “hmmph.”

  “Nothing personal, big guy. Rules are rules.” I watched through the window until everyone finished and it looked like Brandie had a minute and walked back in.

  “I told you no dogs in here.” She glared at me.

  “But this is Orion. Violet’s dog.” If she was Violet’s friend, then certainly she would know Orion. If nothing else, she would have seen photos of him on Violet’s Facebook page. Violet was clearly crazy about him—who wouldn’t be?—so her friend must have liked him, too.

  “I know whose it is. No dogs.” She gestured out the window. “You can tie him to the bike rack out there. You can still see him, but he’s not in here.”

  Orion let out a sigh as if he knew what was coming. I did what Brandie suggested and left him on the sidewalk with a treat. I made sure that he could see me and I could see him once I was back inside. “Hi, Brandie. I’m …”

  She didn’t let me finish. “Desiree Turner. I’m aware.”

  “Oh. Okay.” That brought me up short. “I understand you were close with Violet.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “We were friends.”

  “Did she seem okay to you in those last few days?” I asked. “Happy?”

  Brandie’s eyebrows went up. “As happy as any of us ever are. Is that all you wanted to know? If she was happy when she died?”

  “Well, no. Her cousin doesn’t really know her very well, and I was hoping to get some insight into who she was as a person and what you think her wishes might have been.” I pulled out a little notebook that I used to keep track of things.

  “I imagine she wishes she hadn’t driven her car into an embankment.” Brandie cackled. It was the first time I’d seen her smile.

  People deal with grief in all kinds of ways. I’d heard plenty of families make inappropriate jokes and laugh at things that really weren’t funny. It was a coping mechanism. Some people laughed instead of crying. This didn’t exactly sound like that, though. Those laughs tend to have a bit of a hysterical squeal at the end. This laugh sounded kind of mean, like she’d seen someone trip and fall and was pointing at them rather than helping them get up. “Oh, well. Yes. I’m sure she would wish that. I was thinking more about some kind of service locally or what she might want to do with any of her clothes or furniture.” I took a deep breath, not wanting an answer for this last item. “Or her dog.”

  Brandie shook her head. “I have no idea why she wanted that d
amn dog. I mean, look at him.”

  I turned and looked out the window. Orion had crossed his paws in front of himself and was using them as a pillow. I almost ran back out to snap a photo of him. Too adorable. I didn’t think that was what Brandie meant, though. “He’s just sitting,” I said.

  “Sitting and smelling and probably having fleas.” She shivered with disgust. The sour look was back.

  Okay, then. I wasn’t going to have to battle Brandie for Orion. “What about services? Do you have an idea of what she might have wanted?” I realized that not everyone has the “here’s what I want at my funeral” discussion on a regular basis like some of us do.

  Brandie screwed up her face. “She didn’t really know that many people. She hadn’t lived here all that long.”

  I hadn’t realized that. “When did she move here?”

  “About six months ago.”

  “What brought her here?” I asked.

  Brandie shrugged. “She wanted a change of pace.”

  I thought about the blanks on our obituary form. “Did she have any hobbies or favorite charities?”

  Brandie settled back onto the high stool she sat in behind the counter. “Why?”

  “For the obituary.”

  She tapped her fingers on the counter. “She liked photography.” She snorted a bit.

  “Why’s that funny?” I looked up from the pad where I was noting that down. I didn’t see anything inherently funny about photography. Violet had been a member of a photography Facebook group.

  She waved her hand. “No reason. No reason.” Then she stopped still for a moment. “Have you found any of her photos or anything?”

  “I haven’t really gone through the place yet,” I said.

  “Oh, so you haven’t gone through any of her files or anything.” She cocked her head to one side.