Importance of Being Urnest

by Sandra Balzo

  ‘Geez, will you relax? I had a few pills left over from last time so I took one. And you say I’m a pain in the ass.’

  ‘Because you are.’ I tapped a discreet card next to a doorway that read: Celeste Bouchard. I stuck my head into the room and saw a photo display at the back, the urn from Clare’s the focal point in front. And, permeating everything, Celeste’s floral scent.

  I put my hand over my mouth. ‘This is the place, though I don’t see—’

  ‘Maggy.’ Hannah was approaching, arms wide, and enveloped me. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said, my face crushed up against the shoulder of her tailored navy dress. ‘You remember my partner, Sarah.’

  Hannah turned on Sarah, who is not a hugger under the best of circumstances.

  ‘You may not want to get too close,’ I started to warn, but it was already too late.

  ‘It’s so kind of you to come,’ Hannah said. ‘You barely know us.’

  ‘And yet you’re hugging me,’ came the strangled reply.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Hannah said, stepping back. ‘To be honest it’s not my nature, but my first husband came from a big Italian family so I got into the habit of going into the clinch first to get it over with.’

  ‘Preemptive hugging,’ I said.

  Sarah blew her nose.

  ‘Are you sick?’ Hannah seemed to notice my partner’s red nose and watery eyes for the first time.

  ‘No,’ Sarah said, stashing the tissue. ‘I always cry at funerals.’

  ‘That’s so sweet,’ Hannah said, her own eyes filling.

  Sheesh. ‘We knew that you were new to town, so we didn’t know how many—’

  The door to the mortuary opened and two men came in, hefting large sprays of flowers. Vickie LaTour and Jack Andersen were behind them.

  ‘Oh, how lovely,’ Hannah said. ‘Who are these from?’

  Vickie linked her arm through the crook of Jack’s arm. The happy couple had apparently decided to come out. At a funeral. ‘The roses are from us.’

  A speculative ‘hmmmm’ came from Sarah.

  Vickie threw an uncertain glance my partner’s way as she continued, ‘And the lilies are from Brookhills Manor. We couldn’t let your mother go out without a proper send-off.’

  Hannah’s eyes overflowed and she started to sob.

  Jack Andersen took a neatly folded handkerchief out of his pocket and shook it out before handing it to Hannah. ‘We’re so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Hannah, I don’t think you’ve met my beau, Jack Andersen?’

  The bereaved woman tried to pull herself together. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  Jack gestured toward the photo display – an album flat on the table with framed photos surrounding it. ‘Your mother was a beautiful woman. Was she a model?’

  ‘At one time, yes.’

  ‘That was before she opened the boutiques?’ Vickie picked up a photograph of a well-endowed brunette in a bikini on the beach, arms flung wide.

  ‘Yes, but that picture you’re holding was taken less than twenty years ago. She was nearly sixty, if you can believe it.’

  ‘Good genes,’ Jack said appreciatively, taking the picture and studying it. ‘An enduring beauty and successful businesswoman. Vickie has told me what a good mind for numbers she had. It was kind of her to help the church.’

  ‘Oh, no, dear,’ Vickie said, putting her hand on his arm. ‘That’s Nancy. Celeste’s friend.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Jack said, looking around. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘Nancy is resting in one of the anterooms. I … umm,’ the tip of Hannah’s nose tinged pink, ‘thought I’d bring her in when the service starts.’

  ‘Worried about another “accident,” no doubt,’ Sarah whispered to me.

  I was impressed that she had the restraint to whisper rather than shout it, until I realized she was losing her voice.

  ‘… A terrible loss for her,’ Jack was saying as he set down one photo and picked up another to study.

  There was something about the way the guy was studying a dead woman’s glamour shots from long ago that gave me the heebie-jeebies. Hannah must have felt the same way because she took the photo. ‘Oh, let me take that. I didn’t mean for it to be out here with the others.’

  As she tucked the snapshot away, I got a glimpse of two young women smiling and carefree, their arms linked. Probably Celeste and Nancy.

  ‘Oh, there are Sophie and Henry,’ Vickie said, waving.

  ‘I thought you didn’t want Sophie to know about …’ I hiked my head toward Jack.

  ‘Now that Jack’s planning to make an honest woman of me, she can say all she wants,’ the redhead said. ‘I sure don’t see Henry proposing anytime soon.’

  ‘Jack proposed?’ Because, of course, what else does one do when your escapee brother is on the lam after shooting his way out of your house?

  I mean, if that didn’t scream romance, I didn’t know what did.

  ‘There are quite a few people from the manor on their way,’ Henry said as the two joined us.

  ‘It’ll take ’em a while,’ Sophie said grumpily. ‘All those walkers and canes.’

  ‘We certainly can wait for them. Thank you so much for this.’ Hannah gave Henry a kiss on the cheek and the man turned crimson.

  ‘Sophie, Henry,’ Vickie said, pulling the former convict over. ‘You know Jack Andersen?’

  ‘Know him?’ Sophie spouted. ‘His brother put a bullet through our wall and shot the sheriff. And the deputy. What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Jack is here as my guest.’ She took his hand.

  Sophie’s eyes went wide. ‘You,’ her index finger was tick-tocking back and forth between the two of them, like it, too, was trying to figure this out, ‘are a couple?’

  ‘We wanted to keep it quiet. You know how people gossip at the manor. But now that we’re getting married—’ Vickie shrugged.

  ‘But, but … what about all the women in—’ Sophie put her hand up to her mouth. ‘That was you?’

  Vickie simpered. ‘I’ve always been a bit … noisy.’

  ‘I’d say responsive, like a race car.’ Jack draped his arm over her shoulder and they both laughed.

  ‘But, but …’

  I thought Sophie was going to explode all over us. ‘Maybe we should take our seats,’ I suggested. ‘Henry and Sophie, why don’t you sit with us?’

  Sophie hesitated but Henry said, ‘Come along, Sophie.’

  Sophie relented and followed Sarah and me into the pew. ‘This is just sick. The man is a felon. What can Vickie be thinking?’

  ‘About what?’ Christy was in the pew behind us, leaning on the back of ours.

  ‘Just … umm, that particular shade of hair dye,’ I said quickly. ‘Sophie isn’t a fan.’

  ‘What I’m not a fan of,’ Sophie said, ‘is lonely women dating criminals.’

  ‘I’m not lonely,’ Christy said defensively.

  ‘Well then, I must not be talking about you,’ Sophie snapped.

  ‘Oh, I guess not.’ Christy sat back. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Achoo!’ came from Sarah on the other side of me.

  ‘Why did you lie to Hannah about having a cold?’ I asked, handing her a tissue.

  ‘You’re sick?’ Sophie nudged Henry to move so she could slide away from me.

  ‘Sarah’s the one who’s Typhoid Mary,’ I told her as Sarah sneezed again. ‘Not me.’

  ‘Give it a day. You’re probably already a carrier.’ Sophie pulled a little bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse, squirting the goo into her palm before offering it to me.

  I shook my head. The stuff smelled like rubbing alcohol crossed with the pink sawdust the janitor sprinkled on vomit in my elementary school.

  ‘And you ask why I didn’t advertise the fact I’m sick.’ Sarah was searching through her pocket. ‘Do you have another Kleenex? I blew through that one.’

  ‘No. And I just think that warning people is the least you
can do.’

  ‘Or better yet, stay home.’ Sophie sent a purse-sized pack of tissues sailing over my head.

  Sarah caught it. ‘I told you, I’m on antibiotics. Besides, the woman hugged me without permission.’

  ‘And she apologized.’ For hugging, for God’s sake. ‘Besides, her mother just died. Can’t you cut her some slack?’

  ‘Mine died, too, and you don’t see me whining.’

  I slid my butt back an inch into the space Sophie had vacated so I could turn to make better eye contact with Sarah. ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea. When?’

  ‘Last month.’ Sarah sniffled, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or grief.

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  ‘She lives – or lived – with my sister.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a sister.’ Hadn’t Sarah given me no end of grief last year because I’d never mentioned my reclusive brother? And she’d never mentioned her sister or her mother. ‘Does she live in Brookhills?’

  Sarah shrugged me off. ‘In Milwaukee. And I don’t get on with my mother or my sister, so don’t make a big deal of it. Haven’t seen them for years.’

  Milwaukee was fifteen miles away. This went far beyond forgetting to call mom on Sundays.

  ‘Is that why you don’t like Hannah?’ I asked, lowering my voice. ‘She reminds you of your sister?’

  Sarah turned on me. ‘You’re a psychiatrist now? Or is our omniscient, Christy, having visions?’

  ‘Omnist,’ Christy corrected from behind us. ‘And I didn’t know you don’t like Hannah.’

  Apparently I hadn’t kept my voice down low enough.

  ‘So I don’t like martyrs,’ Sarah snapped. ‘Slay me.’

  Two seats away, Henry chuckled.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘Why isn’t her own daughter her trustee?’ Sarah hissed in my ear. And, yes, her voice was raspy, just as I’d imagined it earlier. ‘Why this Nancy person?’

  ‘Nancy was her partner,’ I said. ‘It’s not so unusual. Would your mother have made you her trustee?’

  ‘Low blow.’ Sarah snorted. ‘But a good one. And no, she wouldn’t have. My sister – that’s another thing. And Ruth is the very last person my mother should have trusted.’

  Lots of bad blood there and I wasn’t about to wade in.

  Luckily I didn’t have to, because Sarah was still talking. ‘I’m just saying that Celeste had better instincts. Remember? She gave the lawyer her power of attorney for the sale—’

  ‘Shh!’ Christy said from behind us.

  I glanced to the front of the room to see Hannah guiding Nancy, dressed in a somber black maxi-dress and oversized vest today, to a seat in the front row. The older woman’s face was drawn and tear-streaked, her gray hair limp.

  ‘I feel sorry for her,’ I said as Vickie and Jack made their way forward to pay their respects.

  ‘Because of Celeste’s death? Or because she’s going to have to talk to those two?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Now Sophie,’ Henry said. ‘Vickie is your best friend.’

  ‘That was before she lost her mind. And we had to listen to her doing it every night.’ She turned to me. ‘Did she tell you how long this has been going on?’

  ‘Not really. But she went on that cruise you mentioned with him. When was that?’

  ‘Maybe two weeks ago? He must have been the one who filled her with all these ideas about retiring on a ship. And now she’s going to marry the man, just like that?’

  ‘Maybe Vickie and Maggy can have a double wedding.’

  I kicked Sarah but it was Sophie who gasped. ‘You’re marrying the sheriff?’

  I glared at my partner before turning back to Sophie. ‘No, I’m not. Or at least I haven’t decided.’

  ‘Oh, I love weddings,’ Christy said from behind us. ‘Why don’t you and Henry tie the knot, Sophie? We can make it a triple.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Sarah said. ‘Add you and Ronny, too, and we have a movie title.’

  I looked at her.

  ‘“Four Weddings and a Funeral”?’ Sarah wiggled an eyebrow at me. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t get that. It’s one of your favorite movies.’

  I do love me some Hugh Grant. But that was beside the point.

  ‘People ask why Henry and I don’t get married,’ Sophie was saying, ‘and I ask them why we should.’

  ‘Not like you’re going to have kids, I suppose,’ Sarah said.

  ‘That’s what I say,’ Sophie said. ‘Shuts ’em right up. Though that probably won’t work for you, Maggy. You’re in your forties, right? These days women your age are still popping them out.’

  ‘Not this woman. Eric, my one and only child, is twenty.’

  I felt someone’s breath on the back of my neck. ‘Did you see the urn, Maggy?’ Christy said into my ear. ‘It was my idea to soak the doily underneath it with Celeste’s favorite perfume. Mort seemed truly impressed with my suggestion. And did I tell you they let me sweep Celeste’s ashes? Mort doesn’t know, so keep it a secret.’

  With pleasure.

  ‘What about the sheriff?’ Sophie was saying loudly into my other ear. ‘Does he want children?’

  Glad to turn my attention back to the living, even if they were haranguing me, I said, ‘Pavlik already has a daughter. She’s twelve.’

  ‘Has he said he doesn’t want more?’ Sarah was being a huge help.

  ‘No,’ I said, letting them take that answer any way they wished. The truth was that Pavlik and I had never talked about having kids. Then again, we hadn’t talked about marriage either, until he proposed. But having a baby at my age was so outside my—

  Happily, Sophie had lost interest in my relationship and was digging into her purse. Coming up with an airplane-sized bottle of vodka, she held it up to Sarah. ‘Kill a cold?’

  Sarah ruefully shook her head. ‘I can’t drink on my meds.’

  Or at least she didn’t when I was around. Outside my orbit, I wasn’t so sure.

  ‘There’s Clare,’ I said, watching the little shop owner make her way to a seat halfway down. ‘And Mort.’

  The mortician had stopped at Clare’s pew. As the two spoke, Hannah pulled Vickie and Jack away from Nancy to join them.

  Sophie shook her head. ‘I’m not surprised those two found each other. They’re perfectly suited. He’s obviously a player and Vickie is on men like white on rye.’

  ‘I think it’s white on rice,’ I said.

  Sophie sat back. ‘Now what sense does that make?’

  ‘I think it just means that rice is white, so you can’t separate the white from the rice. It refers to two things being as close as they can be.’

  ‘What about brown rice?’ Sarah asked. ‘Or wild?

  ‘And what does that have to do with bread?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘It’s not white bread—’ I stopped myself and said, ‘Google it.’

  Sarah took out her phone but Sophie was still pouting. ‘Guess she’s part of the family now.’

  There was a hurt tone to her voice, and I turned to see Vickie and Jack joining Hannah in the front pew. Mort was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Are you still thinking of moving from the manor?’ I asked to change the subject.

  ‘Henry won’t agree to go. Though I’m starting to think just getting away from a round-the-clock version of Night of the Living Dead,’ she nodded toward the procession of walkers, wheelchairs and portable oxygen tanks now making their way down the aisle to seats, ‘might make the sacrifice worth it.’

  ‘The sacrifice of Henry? Come on. That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Sophie said grudgingly as Henry slipped his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I am here, you know,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘And I’m not deaf like your last suitor.’

  ‘Well, not as deaf,’ Sophie admitted.

  ‘You know what?’ Sarah interrupted, raising her head from her phone. ‘This rice thing makes no sense at all.’

&nbs
p; ‘I told you,’ Sophie said, sliding closer to see the small screen across my body. ‘Does it say what white they’re talking about, though? Is it bread?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ Sarah said, holding it up.

  ‘White is the absence of color,’ Henry contributed.

  ‘I think that’s black.’ Christy was leaning forward again, elbows on the back of the pew. ‘Or is black the absence of light?’

  ‘It depends whether we’re talking paint color or—’ I stopped myself as all four sets of eyes focused on me. This had all the trappings of a lose/lose, lose/lose argument.

  So I just shrugged. ‘Got me.’

  It was almost as effective as telling them to Google it. Sarah went back to her phone and Sophie went back to her discussion with Henry. Christy just went back.

  The service itself was short, but coffee and cookies had appeared in the foyer while we were in the chapel.

  ‘I really couldn’t have people at the house,’ Hannah said, one hand at Nancy’s elbow to steady her as they stood accepting condolences. ‘And besides,’ she lowered her voice, ‘I had no idea so many would show up. Luckily Mort had boxes of cookies from the last funeral stashed in his storeroom and brought them out.’

  ‘How many of these folks do you actually know?’

  ‘Honestly, just you and Sarah, and Christy and Vickie, of course.’

  ‘Had you met Jack before today?’ I was keeping my voice down, too, since he and Vickie were just one mourner behind me in line.

  ‘No.’

  I read something in her expression. ‘What?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s just kind of pushy. Vickie is my friend, yet …’

  ‘He acts like he’s running the show,’ I completed for her. ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t like him either.’

  She put her hand on my arm. ‘Vickie told me your fiancé was shot. I’m so sorry.’

  Then it was official. When I got home I’d ask to see the ring.

  The person behind me let hunger outweigh speaking with the bereaved and stepped out of line to get a cookie. Jack stepped in.

  ‘Again, very sorry for your loss.’ Jack pumped her hand and then turned to the older woman. ‘Nancy, is it?’

  She squinted. ‘Are you a doctor?’