by Bobbi Holmes
“Now we listen to Agatha’s service, and then we give our condolences to the family.”
CHRIS AND HEATHER didn’t make it to Agatha’s service. Chris had intended to go, but then something came up at the office; and he sent Danielle a text message telling her they would miss it. Since she assumed Joyce and her family barely knew who Chris or Heather were, she didn’t imagine they would be missed.
Glancing over her shoulder, Danielle saw the chief and Brian sitting at the back of the chapel. On the other side of the room, also in the back row, she spied Ian. When Lily had returned from the bathroom earlier, she had told Danielle about her encounter with Ian.
Agatha’s service was longer than Danielle had expected it would be. By the time it ended, everyone in the chapel—those who hadn’t fallen asleep from boredom—knew every detail about Agatha’s life, beginning with her remarkable childhood in Frederickport and her amazing marriage to an amazing man who did amazing things, and how she was an amazing mother.
“Who in the world wrote that?” Lily asked when they stood up to leave.
“It was pretty heavy on Agatha the devoted mother and grandmother. For some reason I can’t believe her family wrote it.”
“No kidding. It’s not like they have to keep kissing up to her,” Lily whispered.
Twenty minutes later, after giving her condolences to the family, Danielle found herself outside, waiting for Lily, who was making one final stop at the restroom.
Leaning against the trunk of a large shade tree, lost in her thoughts, Danielle was startled back to the present when she heard a man say, “Danielle.”
It was Ian.
Danielle stood up straight, no longer leaning against the tree.
“Where’s Lily?” he asked.
“She went to the bathroom,” Danielle said curtly.
“Danielle, maybe you can tell me what’s really going on. I always considered you a good friend.”
Cocking her head slightly, she studied Ian as a slight smile played on her lips.
“Walt explained it all, but you wouldn’t listen to him. Why do I imagine you’ll take my word for it?”
Ian frowned. “Walt? What do you mean?”
“The dream, Ian. The dream you had the other night. Walt Marlow was there. He explained everything.”
Not waiting for a response, Danielle turned from Ian and walked away.
TWENTY-FOUR
There were more than a few people gathered around Agatha’s grave site who found it somehow ironic that a woman with Agatha’s disposition would be buried on a day with such perfect weather. Overhead the crystal blue sky showed only a smattering of pure white clouds, and there was just enough breeze to cool down the late afternoon sun, without threatening to send the women’s hats flying.
A more fitting sky would be gray and drizzling, with the sun hiding behind threatening rain clouds. Fortunately for the mourners, the weather was splendid. However, calling them mourners might be an exaggeration. There wasn’t a single damp eye in the crowd, aside from Ben Smith, and his was due to allergies.
It was a respectable crowd, close to fifty people, joining the Pruitt family at Agatha’s grave site. Some attending were friends of the family, as opposed to friends of the deceased. However, the majority of people in attendance were there out of civic duty or basic morbid curiosity.
Weaving through the crowd, unseen by all but Danielle, was Agatha herself. She was eavesdropping on what her mourners had to say, and she was not happy.
“Agatha must have paid someone to write that memorial,” Marie whispered to her grandson. Not wanting the people next to them to overhear, Adam smiled and looked ahead to the casket, now draped in flowers, as the minister said final words for the departed.
“And what’s wrong with that?” Agatha snapped at Marie. “You’re just jealous because your grandson will probably throw some silly words together when it’s your time.”
Agatha moved to Millie Samson, who stood about six feet from Adam and Marie.
“I was beginning to think I was at someone else’s funeral,” Millie told the woman standing next to her. “No way was that paragon the minister was talking about in the chapel the Agatha I knew!”
The woman nodded in agreement. “It was all I could do not to break out laughing.”
Agatha gasped. “How dare you be so disrespectful! It’s my funeral!”
Leaving Millie’s side, Agatha continued to move through the crowd. Unfortunately for her, the opinions expressed about her did not improve. What was even worse, some in the crowd were not even thinking about her.
“I BET JOYCE IS CELEBRATING.”
“That sermon was a joke.”
“I should have gone to the beach today.”
“You stopping at Joyce’s after we leave here? I bet there will be food.”
“Don’t you think Chief MacDonald is hot?”
“Where do you want to go for dinner?”
“I bet Joyce has already quit her job.”
“That casket must have cost a fortune. What a waste.”
“Look at my forehead, is that a pimple?”
“THESE PEOPLE ARE HORRIBLE, just horrible!” Agatha told Danielle when she sidled up beside her.
Danielle looked askance at Agatha, but did not comment.
“I know you can’t say anything,” Agatha said. “People will think you’re crazy, talking to yourself. But you know what? You shouldn’t care. These people are mean. Mean nasty people!”
Lily leaned close to Danielle and whispered, “You see Agatha anywhere?”
“I swear you’re getting clairvoyant these days.” Danielle nodded to where Agatha stood. “She’s right here.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Agatha stared ahead, looking past her casket. “Well, that settles it. I’m not going to Joyce’s for the wake after this. I refuse to listen to these horrible, horrible people.”
“Maybe you should move on,” Danielle whispered.
“Maybe I will. No one wants me here anyway.”
Agatha vanished.
“She’s gone,” Danielle whispered.
Lily glanced around the cemetery, “I heard you tell her to move on. Do you think she did?”
“She said she wasn’t going to the wake. I’m pretty sure she’s been eavesdropping on what people have been saying about her.”
Lily cringed. “I bet that wasn’t pretty.”
“I kinda feel sorry for her.”
“Are you serious?”
Danielle shrugged. “She is dead. And like I said, you really should be nice to someone on the day of their funeral.”
“I just hope she moved on.”
Danielle cringed. “I hope the chief doesn’t get mad at me if she did.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know he wants her to tell me what happened before she died. But I don’t think she’s going to, and he isn’t the one who has to deal with her if she sticks around indefinitely.”
JOYCE STOOD at the door of the chapel and watched as her sons carried Agatha’s flower arrangements out of the building to the parking lot. There had been so many floral arrangements, it hadn’t been necessary to move the chapel flowers out to the grave site.
“Be careful,” Joyce called out to Shane, who almost dropped an arrangement. “Don’t lose the cards! I need to know who to send thank you cards too.”
Just as Joyce’s last son left the building, Mr. Pierce from the funeral home walked up to Joyce and touched her arm.
“It was a lovely service,” Mr. Pierce told her. “I’m sure your mother would have been pleased.”
Joyce smiled at Mr. Pierce. “You did a wonderful job. I will say I was shocked at how many flowers Mother received! I’m overwhelmed.”
Confusion replaced his smile. “Umm…I thought you knew.”
Joyce frowned. “Knew what?”
“The flowers, your mother ordered them. She picked out each arrangement.”
“I don’t understand. Surel
y she didn’t order all the flowers.”
“Not all of them. I do recall two arrangements that arrived. One was from Danielle Boatman and the other was from Adam Nichols and his grandmother.”
“But the rest, Mother ordered?”
Mr. Pierce nodded. “You have to understand, when you get to be your mother’s age, many of her friends have already passed. She just assumed there wouldn’t be anyone left to send flowers, so she decided to do it.”
“Oh…” Joyce glanced from the chapel to the parking lot, where her sons were now loading flowers into their vehicles.
“By the way, I tried calling you on Monday and Tuesday.”
“I must have missed yesterday’s call. But I did get your call on Monday, when you left a message asking if there were any changes to the funeral arrangements Mom made. I did call back. I left a message saying there were no changes. Didn’t you get it?”
“Yes, I did. I just wanted to touch base with you and make sure you hadn’t changed your mind about anything.” He reached into his vest pocket.
“No.” Joyce shook her head. “Mother was very particular about how she wanted her funeral. I figured since she already made all the arrangements, I wouldn’t change anything. It didn’t seem right.”
“Good,” he said with a smile as he handed Joyce an envelope.
She took the envelope and looked at it. “What’s this?”
“It’s the statement. I was hoping to get it to you sooner than this, but it didn’t quite work out.”
Joyce opened the envelope, removed the statement, and unfolded it. Her eyes widened. “Thirty-five thousand dollars? Mother’s funeral cost thirty-five thousand dollars?”
“Actually, it was a little over forty, but that’s the balance due.”
Joyce looked up to Mr. Pierce, her expression blank. “I don’t understand?”
He frowned. “The balance due for your mother’s funeral. You do know she only paid a deposit. She made arrangements for the balance to come out of her estate.”
Joyce swallowed nervously and glanced down at the statement. “But her estate has to go through probate first.”
“Yes, I understand that. Your mother explained.”
Joyce looked back at the bill and then showed it to Mr. Pierce, pointing to one of the lines. “Surely the casket didn’t cost that much.”
“Top of the line. Your mother loved it.” He grinned.
“But that cost more than my car!”
“The craftsmanship in that casket is superb. It will easily outlast any casket on the market.”
“Maybe, but it’s going in the ground, and no one will ever see it again,” Joyce squeaked. “It doesn’t matter if it lasts a week or a hundred years.”
“Oh, it mattered to your mother.”
“Maybe we should rethink this,” Joyce said as she refolded the statement and slipped it back in the envelope.
“Rethink what?”
“How about we cremate Mother? You can have the casket back. I’m sure you can resell it to someone else. And we’ll sell the funeral plot. After all, she isn’t buried yet.”
“Mrs. Pruitt, it is not our policy to accept a casket back once it has been used.”
“It’s barely used. She’s only been in it a couple of days.”
“I’m sorry, we simply can’t resell a used casket.”
“What does it matter? Whoever buys it will be putting a dead person in it. What does the dead person care? The person won’t even know. It’s just going in the ground.”
“Even if I could make an exception, you forget your mother had your family crest painted on the side of the casket. I don’t believe anyone would be willing to spend that much on a casket that has someone else’s family crest on it.”
“Technically speaking, I don’t really think it was our family crest. It could be anyone’s.”
“Ms. Pruitt, is there some problem with your mother’s estate?”
Joyce let out a weary sigh and shoved the envelope with the statement into her purse. “No. No problem. I see the attorney tomorrow. I’ll give him the statement and tell him to send you a payment out of the estate.”
Mr. Pierce smiled.
“YOU’VE GOT to be kidding? So you’re telling me Gran’s funeral is costing me seven thousand bucks?” Henry fumed.
Joyce had just told her sons what she had learned at the cemetery. They were crammed in her small kitchen while she and Martha hastily removed the casseroles from the refrigerator—dishes friends and neighbors had brought over earlier to serve at today’s wake.
“Not so loud, Henry,” Joyce scolded, glancing to the doorway leading to the hallway. Dennis was the only family member not in the kitchen. He was out in the living room, greeting the guests.
“Seven thousand bucks? That’s a lot of money!” Shane groaned.
“It isn’t costing you guys anything,” Martha told her brothers. “The money is coming out of Gran’s estate.”
“Damn, you’re simple, Martha. If we pay the funeral home thirty-five thousand dollars, that will be seven thousand dollars less we each get. So yeah, it is costing me.”
“How much did you say that casket cost again?” Shane asked. When Joyce told them, both Shane and Henry groaned.
“Gran was worth millions,” Larry reminded them. “At this point, who really cares how much the funeral cost? In the big scheme of things, it’s just peanuts. We should just all be glad she’s dead.”
“Larry!” Joyce hissed, looking quickly to the open doorway to see if anyone overheard.
“You can be such a jerk,” Martha muttered as she removed foil from a Jell-O salad.
“May be peanuts, but thems is a lot of peanuts!” Shane grumbled.
“That sucks that he won’t let us return the damn casket,” Henry grumbled. “If we could get the money back on that, at least it would be something.”
“Maybe they won’t take it back, but we could resell it,” Shane suggested.
“What are you thinking?” Henry asked.
“Mom can call them up and tell them not to bury her. Cremate her. That has to be way cheaper. And then we can sell the plot like Mom wanted.”
“It’s not what I wanted!” Joyce snapped, glancing nervously to the doorway, afraid someone was going to overhear their conversation. “He just surprised me with that bill, and I was thinking off the top of my head.”
“Well, I think it’s a good idea,” Henry said.
Larry began to laugh. “Seriously, Henry? What are you going to do, store Gran’s casket in your garage after you kick her out of it and then try to sell it on eBay?”
Shane grabbed a bag of potato chips and ripped it open. Just before popping a chip in his mouth, he said, “Shipping costs might be a problem.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Her hair looked like cotton candy, pink and frizzy. Ian didn’t think the look suited her. He couldn’t recall what Carla’s natural hair color was. Is she a blonde? For months now it seemed her hair color changed on a regular basis, normally some pastel. He thought the burgundy had looked good on her, but pink wasn’t her color. By the condition of her hair, he suspected the regular bleaching and dying was beginning to take a toll on it.
“Hey, Ian,” Carla greeted him when she came to take his order. She glanced around. “You eating alone tonight?”
Picking up a menu off the counter, he opened it. “Just me.”
Leaning toward Ian, Carla rested her elbows on the counter while revealing a hint of cleavage. “Is it true what I heard? You and Lily broke up?”
Ian looked up from the menu. “Where’d you hear that?”
Carla shrugged. “Around.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you live in a small town,” Ian grumbled under his breath.
Reaching out with one hand, Carla ran her index finger down Ian’s arm.
Startled at her touch, Ian’s gaze flew to Carla’s now smiling face.
“I get off in a couple of hours. Maybe you and I could get toget
her. We could have some fun. You could show me your house. I heard it has a great view of the ocean.”
Ian slammed his menu shut. “I’m kind of busy, Carla.”
Standing up straight, removing her elbows from the counter, Carla shrugged. “Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know. I think we could have a good time.”
“Like I said, I’m kind of busy.”
Carla shrugged again and then opened up her order pad. “You know what you want?”
“The French dip. With a side of horseradish. But don’t bother bringing the au jus, I never use it. It’s a waste.”
“And to drink?”
“Bud Light.”
After writing down the order, Carla looked at Ian. “It’s dead here tonight. I think everyone went to Agatha Pine’s funeral, and I heard her daughter is having some sort of thing at her house with food.”
“I went to the service, but I didn’t go to the wake.”
“I couldn’t stand the woman. I sure wouldn’t waste my time going to her funeral.”
“And I wouldn’t want you there, you tramp!” Agatha spat. She sat at the counter next to Ian. No one could see her.
“I’ll put this order in and then get you that beer,” Carla told Ian before she turned away.
“And you look ridiculous with pink hair!” Agatha called after her.
Without thought, Ian shook his head and rolled his eyes after Carla walked away. Still shaking his head, he picked up his phone and began checking his messages.
“Glad to see you didn’t take her up on her offer,” Agatha said aloud in spite of the fact no one was able to hear her.
HEATHER DONOVAN WAS on her way home from work when she decided to stop by Pier Café and grab a bite to eat. The moment she walked in the door, she spied Ian sitting at the counter, looking at his cellphone. Heather then turned her attention to the older woman sitting next to Ian, who appeared to be chatting away while he ignored her.
After taking a few steps in Ian’s direction, Heather froze. That’s no regular woman! Heather thought. That’s Agatha Pine!
Heather stood there a moment, debating if she should go sit down in one of the booths or take the empty seat next to Ian and see what Agatha was yammering on about. Considering Ian’s recent treatment of Lily, she decided tormenting Ian might be fun.
