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“We do,” the guy said brushing back his unruly hair and adjusting his glasses.
“Do they have things like local newspapers or town announcements?”
“They should,” he asked confused.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile.
Leaving the camera store and arriving at the library, I asked the woman behind the desk where I would find the local obituaries. She walked us to a rack with the most recent newspaper.
“How would we find information on the funeral for Agatha Armoury?”
The old woman lifted her glasses and straightened her back.
“You could ask me.”
“Were you there?” Lou asked awestruck.
“I was. She was a local author. She meant a lot to the community. It’s a tragedy she’s gone.”
“How was the ceremony?” he asked vulnerably.
“To be honest, surprisingly small. She had millions of fans around the world, yet her whole family wasn’t even there.”
Lou jerked back like she had ripped out his heart.
“If someone wasn’t there, I’m sure there was a good reason,” I quickly replied.
“One would hope,” she said not backing down.
“Anyway, we were hoping to find out what funeral home took care of her body.”
The woman’s posture broke in surprise.
“Well, that’s a morbid thing to want to know.”
“Please, it’s important. If you happen to know, we’d be grateful if you can tell us.”
Gathering herself, she removed her glasses. Hanging from a chain, she rested them on her chest.
“The funeral home that assisted at the funeral was the same for all funerals in this area, Thompson’s Funeral Home. I hope you’re not asking that to make a Youtubes or a TikkyTokky or something,” she said sternly.
“No, Ma’am. It’s nothing like that,” I reassured her. “And thank you for your help.”
Getting the address to the funeral home, we drove there next. Sitting out front, we came up with a plan. Walking in, a solemn man dressed in black came over. Nothing about him was out of place and he moved with a deliberateness that was sure not to startle anyone.
“Can I help you?” he asked in hushed tones.
“We’re hoping you can,” I told him. “This is Louis Armoury. He is the grandson of Agatha Armoury. I think you conducted the funeral for her a few weeks back.”
“Of course. I’m sorry for your loss,” he told Lou.
“Thank you,” I said, allowing Lou to remain silent. “We’re not sure how to tell you this, but you might have been unknowingly tricked into committing a crime.”
The man froze. “I’m sorry, and who are you?” he asked me.
“Right now, who I am isn’t important. What is important is that you might have, unknowingly, committed a crime that could shut down your business and put you in prison for the rest of your life.”
“I’m really going to have to ask you who you are,” he asked me nervously.
