Grave Intent (13 page)

One after the other, men placed money inside
Thalia’s casket. Silver dollars rested against her skirt. Ten,
twenty, fifty-dollar bills lay over her arms, nestled against her
cheek. Michael felt his father tensing up beside him, heard him
breathing faster as each new bill fluttered to rest.

After the last man had deposited his gift,
Lenora left her post and gathered up the jewelry, cloth, and food
offerings she’d weeded through earlier. She placed them at Thalia’s
feet, then turned to the throng clogging the entrance to the room
and raised an index finger.

The anxious crowd parted, and a toothless,
elderly man dressed in an expensive black suit entered. His wan
face looked like old china mapped with age lines, and the sparse,
white hair on his head was slicked back. His hands were cupped
around a crumpled, purple handkerchief, which he carried to
Ephraim.

The transference of the cloth from one man’s
hand to the other seemed to act as a signal that everyone except
Michael and Wilson understood. The men still standing in the center
of the room hustled toward the back wall as though expecting an
explosion.

Michael shifted nervously from foot to foot
while the black-suited man joined the group at the back of the
room.

Silence ensued.

A couple of restless minutes later, Lenora
signaled for Antony, and the two began to peel open the
handkerchief in Ephraim’s palm.

Tension mounted as everyone waited for the
completion of the unveiling. Curious, Michael stood on the balls of
his feet to get a glimpse of what was inside but could only make
out more purple fabric. He dropped back on his heels and glanced at
his father. Sweat lined Wilson’s upper lip, and his eyes sparkled
with anticipation as they darted between Ephraim and the
handkerchief. Suddenly, his mouth dropped open as though his jaw
had disintegrated, and he wheezed.

Puzzled, Michael looked up and saw Ephraim
holding up a large gold ring. Attached to the prongs of the ring
was a bright gold coin or medallion. Ephraim pinched the edges of
the medallion between two fingers and with a loud grunt, twisted it
off the prongs. He handed the naked ring to the elderly man, then
held up the golden medallion like a consecrated host. Its
brilliance appeared to intensify second by passing second until it
shone like a noon sun. The sound of weeping and sniveling traveled
around the room as Ephraim lifted it high over his head.

A tinkling noise soon melded with the
assonance of sorrow, and all eyes flickered toward Anna, who held a
small music box on her lap. The tune coming from it sounded to
Michael like the old lullaby, “Hush, little baby, don’t say a
word—”

Lenora clapped her hands, and everyone’s
attention immediately returned to Ephraim.

“Beware all spirits dark and light,” Ephraim
said fiercely. He circled the coin over his head and repeated the
same cadence, but the words were in another tongue. Perspiration
trickled down the sides of his face as he bowed and concluded in
English. “This child’s passage is paid.”

As Ephraim’s declaration concluded,
voluminous pillows of smoke poured from Lenora’s bowl. It drifted
over Thalia’s body, hovering over her like fog and obscuring the
body from view.

Voices quickly rose in unison. “Mia lona, mia
rhine. Mia lona, mia rhine.”

Ephraim snapped his fingers, and the smoke
vanished as though sucked away by an unseen vacuum. The voices died
when Ephraim pointed to Michael.

“You place this,” Ephraim said.

Michael, still perplexed by what he’d just
witnessed, didn’t move. He saw Ephraim staring at him, but it
didn’t register that he was being addressed.

With the coin clutched between finger and
thumb, Ephraim shook it at Michael. “You place this!”

Michael took an uncertain step forward.
“Place it where?”

Ephraim motioned to his daughter’s hands.

Michael looked around for Antony in hopes of
receiving a clearer translation, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“You want that in the casket?” he asked Ephraim.

Ephraim held out his left hand, palm down,
and laid the coin on top of it. He then placed his right hand over
the coin. “You place this,” he said again.

Nodding, Michael stepped up to Ephraim and
held out his hand for the coin. Ephraim looked at him long and hard
before handing it over.

A chill ran through Michael when he felt the
weight of the medallion, the heat of it. It seemed to carry its own
energy source. He lifted Thalia’s right hand off her left and slid
the coin between them.

“It is done,” Ephraim said. “We are to pray
now.” With that, he walked to the back of the room, where he faced
the wall and lowered his head. The rest of the congregation
followed suit, save for two men, who stopped to turn Anna’s chair
so she faced the wall, as well.

Michael backed away from the casket. Being
more familiar with the Catholics’ solemn kneel and stand orthodoxy,
and even an occasional fundamentalist jump and shout service, he
didn’t have a clue as to what might be expected of him by this
crew.

When in doubt, bow your head.

He did, and just as he closed his eyes, more
from exhaustion than prayerful meditation, someone tapped him
between the shoulder blades.

“Janet’s out back,” Sally whispered behind
him.

It was the best news Michael had heard all
day. He took a step toward the door, then hesitated when he
remembered Wilson’s trigger finger in Antony’s face. “Stay here,
will you, Sal?” he whispered back. “Just keep an eye on things. I
won’t be long.”

“Sure, but your father’s right over there.
Why do you need me?”

“He’s what I need you to keep an eye on.”
Michael peered over at his father, who was pulling on the flap of
one nostril. When he caught his eye, Michael mouthed, “Behave,”
then crept quietly out of the room.

It didn’t dawn on Michael until he was
halfway down the hall that the corridor was nearly empty. From the
trail of debris, which led all the way to the lobby entrance, he
guessed most of the visitors had migrated outside. Drawing in a
deep, filling breath, he sprinted the rest of the way to the
service entrance.

Janet, Ellie, and Heather stood waiting for
him just inside the doorway, their smiles a feast for a starving
man’s eyes.

“Daddy!” Ellie said in a loud whisper. “We’re
being quiet!”

Michael scooped her up in his arms, then bent
over to tousle Heather’s hair. He smiled at Janet. “How are my
girls? Ready for the trip?”

“Yep,” Heather chirped. She gave him a
gap-toothed smile. “Aunt Janet’s gonna let us ride the Ferris wheel
tomorrow, Uncle Michael.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Ellie confirmed. “Two times if
we want to. And you know what? They got all kinds of—” “Cotton
candy!” Heather burbled. “They got all kinds of cotton—”

“Whoa, girls,” Janet said quietly. “We just
came over to say bye, remember?” She tapped Ellie lightly on the
chin. “Daddy’s busy right now, honey, so big hugs, then we
leave.”

Ellie gave Michael a squeeze around the neck
while Heather grabbed hold of his leg and hugged. When they
untangled themselves from him, Michael kissed Janet’s forehead,
then her lips.

“I still don’t like the idea of you driving
all that way by yourself,” he said.

“We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Janet gave him
a nervous smile, her eyes darting occasionally over his shoulder.
“How—how’s the mother doing in there?”

Michael shook his head. “Not great. That poor
lady’s had to put up with a lot of cr . . .,” he threw a glance at
Ellie and Heather. “ . . . junk. But I’ll fill you in later, when
we’ve got more time to talk.”

Janet nodded, her eyes continuing to flick
past him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know—you seem edgy. Are you sure
you’d rather not wait to leave—”

Janet reached up on tiptoe and kissed him.
“I’m positive. Now go. We just wanted to tell you bye before
leaving.”

“I’ll be out there as soon as I can,” he
said.

“I know. Be careful driving up.”

“You, too.” Michael rubbed his brow. “I
checked the tires and oil a couple of days ago, but you never know
what—”

“The car’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.” Janet
gave him another quick kiss. “Now stop worrying and go tend to your
stuff. I’ve got a couple of things left to throw in the car, then
we’ll hit the road. I want to try and make the cabin before
dark.”

With a flurry of waving hands, Janet and the
girls headed out across the parking lot. Michael watched them, his
heart aching to follow. One short, one tall; his loves, his life,
the two reasons he got up every morning. How lucky could a man get?
Reluctantly, he closed the door, and with responsibility weighting
his footsteps like lead shoes, he forced himself back to the
viewing room.

Inside, the congregation had thinned to a
small crowd, which still faced the wall. Anna remained in the same
position he’d seen her in earlier, seated and ten feet away from
everyone else. There was no sign of Lenora or Ephraim, but more
importantly, no sign of Sally or Wilson, either.

Michael stepped back out into the reception
area to see if Sally was at her desk, but found it empty. Restroom
maybe? Where was his father?

Puzzled, Michael returned to the viewing room
and went to the casket.
Just follow procedure and finish the
service,
he thought.
If a crisis is going down somewhere,
I’ll find out about it soon enough.

After tucking the skirting into the coffin,
Michael unlocked the back hinges and closed the lower lid. A
fifty-dollar bill fluttered across Thalia’s arm. He trapped it
between the lining and her shoulder so it wouldn’t fly out, then
went for the portable crankshaft he’d hidden nearby. Inserting it
into a hollow knob at the head of the casket, Michael turned it
slowly and watched Thalia’s head descend. When she was near supine,
he frowned. Something didn’t look right.

Michael straightened the pillow, working his
hands back along the lining. When most of the wrinkles had been
smoothed away, Michael stood back and cast a critical eye.
Something still didn’t look right. Worse, it didn’t
feel
right. But what?

Hair in place—lining straight—pillow
smooth—clothes unwrinkled—hands—hands—

Michael felt his testicles suddenly shrink up
to his navel. He peered nervously over his shoulder to make sure no
one was watching, then turned back and lifted Thalia’s right
hand.

No coin.

He blinked, and his brain not only confirmed
what was missing but reminded him,
“Wilson ain’t here, either,
bud!”

No coin.

No Wilson.

The equation added up to disaster.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Janet stuffed a quart-sized baggie with
sliced apples and placed it into a small cooler along with some
animal crackers and two bottles of water. After snapping the cooler
shut, she tapped a finger against her bottom teeth and ticked
through a mental list to make sure she hadn’t forgotten
anything.

Chicken stew in the fridge for Michael’s
supper tonight—coffee pot turned off—air conditioner’s thermostat
turned up to seventy-five—suitcases and extra pillows loaded in the
van—two little girls.

She heaved a sigh. Nothing left to keep her
busy, which meant open territory for her mind to wander over
thoughts of the funeral home and Anna Stevenson. Janet would have
never admitted it in front of Laura Trahan, but the girl had been
right. Something weird
was
going on at the funeral home.
Janet hadn’t seen anyone in white walking through walls, but she
had felt the oppression. An onerous air of dire expectation much
greater than she’d felt the previous day. The cause may have come
from the sheer volume of grief emanating from so many people. Or
possibly Anna’s strange warning. But whatever the origin, Janet
wanted to leave it behind. Hopefully, when they returned from
Carlton everything would be back to normal.

“Okay, girls,” Janet said. “One last bathroom
visit before we leave.”

Neither Ellie nor Heather replied. They were
sitting knee to knee on the floor next to the kitchen table
engrossed in the contents of Ellie’s fanny pack.

“Earth to girls, hello,” Janet said.

“Uh—hello,” a man’s voice said behind
her.

Janet gasped and whirled about. She saw her
father-in-law standing just inside the kitchen door.

“Christ!” she said. “Why didn’t you
knock?”

“Sorry. The—the door was open. I didn’t mean
to scare you,” Wilson said. He scratched the side of his neck, then
stumbled forward. As he neared her, Janet noticed that his face was
a sickly ash color overlaid with splotches. His eyes were bloodshot
and swollen, like he’d just finished a week-long binge.

Immediately thinking him drunk, Janet placed
herself between him and the girls.

“Can I use your bathroom?” Wilson asked. “I-I
need to wash up.” He scratched his left arm furiously. “I think I
got hold of something at the funeral home I’m allergic to.”

Janet frowned. “Why didn’t you use one of the
restrooms over there?”

“Full up. Way too many people.”

Janet sized him up while fingering the hem of
her blouse. His presence, even without the itchy welts, made her
uneasy.

“Well?” Wilson raked fingernails over the
splotches on his cheeks. “Can I use it?”

Janet nodded reluctantly. He did look
miserable. She pointed toward the hall. “It’s down . . . well, you
know where it is.”

Scratching the back of his head, Wilson
hurried for the bathroom in long, zigzagging steps.

As soon as he disappeared, Heather scrambled
to Janet’s side. “That man looked scary and mean,” she said in a
low voice.