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Chapter Nineteen
“This is more difficult than I thought it would be,” Reverend Thomas said half an hour later.
David Oglesby—Daniel’s father—had given permission for the church to handle all the minutia of burying his son, since he could never be sure what his mind was going to be from one day to the next because of the Alzheimer’s. So Reverend Thomas and Lorna had come in directly after Sunday services to get things settled. I’d already told them I’d do the service at cost, and that seemed to be satisfactory to the Reverend, even though Lorna’s mouth pinched in a disapproving line at my apparent lack of charity.
“Daniel had become like a son to me,” the Reverend continued, his voice papery thin. “It’s a comfort to know he’s in a better place now, but that doesn’t make our earthly wants go away. It’s selfish to want him here when I know he’s in heaven.”
Lorna scowled, but she kept her mouth shut in respect of the Reverend. I wondered then if he knew Daniel Oglesby was gay.
Reverend Thomas cleared his throat and picked a piece of lint off his black trousers. “I think I might need a moment to myself. Lorna can make the final decisions on the casket and flowers. Thank you for taking care of this, J.J. I’ll see you tomorrow evening at the viewing.”
I watched with sympathy as Reverend Thomas hoisted his creaky bones out of the little chair in front of my desk. He shuffled out of my office, and I heard the front door of the funeral home click softly behind him.
Unfortunately, I was left all alone with Lorna. She still wore her church clothes—a dark navy dress that would have been in style forty years ago, with an eyelet lace collar and matching Mary Jane heels that were a tasteful one-inch in height. Her stockings didn’t have runs in them, and her mousy hair was pulled back severely from her face and fastened in a tight bun at the base of her neck so it looked like she had a bagel attached to the back of her head.
I knew I’d be meeting clients today, so I’d at least thought to put on something besides my old jeans and a ratty t-shirt. I felt fairly presentable in gray slacks and a dark red silk shirt, but women who wore pants were no better than prostitutes by Lorna’s way of thinking. I’d also gotten a little blood on the sleeve of my shirt at Doc Randall’s house, and her gaze kept straying to the darkened stain, but I hadn’t had time to change to protect her delicate sensibilities. I’d even bothered with makeup, though that might have had more to do with the fact that sex tended to make a person stupid, and I wanted to look nice for Jack. Just in case he decided this morning wasn’t a fluke and wanted to do it again.
I pushed the pamphlets across the desk to Lorna, but she just stared at me, her hands pressed together primly in her lap.
“These are the casket selections in your budget,” I said. “I have most of them in stock. I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Grainger at the florist, and she said to tell you she has a lovely selection of white roses and greenery she thought you’d find acceptable.”
Lorna nodded stiffly and looked briefly at the pamphlet. “Mrs. Grainger has excellent taste, so of course, I’ll go with her recommendation. These caskets are all overpriced,” she said. “But I’ve come to expect that you’d try to swindle good Christian folk in their greatest time of need. I suppose if I have no other choice, we’ll take the mahogany.”
She shoved the pamphlet back at me and stared at my neck until I felt heat washing over my skin. I fought the urge to close my collar tighter, but that would only tell her I felt guilty I’d been caught with beard burn on my neck.
“Is there a problem?” I asked instead.
“Other than the fact you’ve brought another good man down in the gutter with you?” Her pale blue eyes spat fire at me and I was taken aback by the vehemence I saw there. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I beg your pardon?” I asked, raising a brow. I was surprisingly calm considering the insult, but maybe something of what Jack had said yesterday was starting to get through. I didn’t share my parents’ blood. I wasn’t guilty of their sins. Sure, I was guilty of plenty of my own, but my burden had eased some since I’d stopped lumping the sins of my family on top of mine.
“You killed that nice writer with your whorish ways, and now you’ll do the same with Jack.”
“Technically, I didn’t kill the writer with my whorish ways. Jeremy Mooney shot him, in case you’ve forgotten. Now as far as Jack goes, we haven’t killed each other with sex yet, but we’re giving it our best shot.”
Lorna sputtered and her eyes bulged out. I think I offended her, and I knew what I’d said was petty, but I was tired of taking cheap shots and being the “nice guy” just because I felt like I had to make up for the rest of my family.
“He’ll see you for what you are eventually,” she spat, “And God will forgive him for straying and provide him with the right woman.”
“But God won’t forgive me?” I asked, wondering the same thing myself. “That’s not very Christian of you, Lorna. Jealousy is an unattractive trait. You should probably ask your own forgiveness and mend your wicked ways.”
Lorna squeaked once, and two spots of furious color dotted her cheeks before she tucked her handbag beneath her arm and stormed out of my office. I wish I could’ve said I felt better after our exchange, but I didn’t. Maybe revenge wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
***
I’m not sure how long I sat behind my desk, doing mindless paperwork, and making the necessary calls for Reverend Oglesby’s funeral on Tuesday morning. Mrs. Perry’s funeral was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, and both were supposed to have their viewings on Monday night at the same time. When it rained it poured.
In all honesty, I was dreading it. The funeral home would be packed, and I would be on display as much as the bodies—though Reverend Oglesby would be having a closed casket. Murder had a tendency to bring in a combination of true mourners, the curious, and the morbid, and considering how the Reverend was killed, there would be plenty of all three in attendance.
I had a crew digging the graves over at the cemetery, and I knew it would be awful, muddy work because of the rain we’d had. And according to the weatherman, there’d be more rain overnight. I wondered briefly if I should go ahead and have them dig George’s grave while they were there to save a little money, but his body hadn’t been released for burial yet, so I held off.
I made a final call to Martha Phelps—owner of Martha’s Diner—and occasional caterer for Graves’ Funeral Homes. I needed to make sure we were set to feed the masses when they showed up the following night. Mourners werealwayshungry. I made another call to the florist, and then I went downstairs to make sure the bodies were as good as they were going to get before we placed them in their coffins.
The families would want to say goodbye, and the most important thing I could do for them was make sure their family member looked as close to their live self as possible. I’d made the mistake once of parting a woman’s hair on the opposite side from how she normally wore it, and by the reaction the family had you’d have thought I’d chopped off the tip of her nose.
Getting the bodies maneuvered into the caskets would be the hard part. Reverend Oglesby was a big man, and I tried to think of the best way to bribe Jack into helping me. I needed to get a couple of more interns from the college as soon as possible. It was hell trying to get everything accomplished and make sure the bodies still looked good with only one person doing all the work.
I went back upstairs and into my office, and I thought about stretching out on the blue couch against the wall to rest my eyes, but I shrugged off the idea. First of all, it was a really uncomfortable couch, and I made a mental note to buy a new one with the money I made from selling my house. Secondly, the thought of going to sleep without Jack beside me wasn’t all that appealing.
