The Final Arrangement (6 page)

I drove to the mortuary directly from Danny’s shop.  Rather than use the front door, I parked in the back and used the floral delivery entrance.  It really bothered certain morticians to have florists inside the rest of the mortuary.  In fact we were always treated pretty much as second class citizens by the Hansen morticians, especially now that they didn’t rely on us to make them look better.  So I was going to make sure and do things just the way they wanted, no matter how ridiculous it might be. 

There were only two “civilian” vehicles parked.  The first; a black Lexus I recognized as belonging to Linda Schneider, the secretary.  The other was a sunflower yellow Hummer H2 that I had never seen parked there before.  I made my way into the flower room, being careful not to let the door slam behind me so as not to tick-off any noise-sensitive mortician.  As I walked through the room toward the rear corridor of the mortuary, noises spilled from the hall.  I stopped walking and listened.

“Oh Doug…we can’t do that here…you’re so bad,” a female voice said in a halting, breathy tone and then giggled.

“C’mon, babe no one else is here.  We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

“But what about the security cameras?” 

I recognized the voice now that she wasn’t panting.  It was Linda.

The male voice replied, “I turned them off when I got here.  I planned it all in my head while I drove.  First I turn off the cameras, and then I come in and find out if you’re wearing a certain present that I gave you.”

“Why do you think I sent those two new grave-diggers to pick up that headstone down in Filmore?” Linda said.  “I knew you’d have to come pick up Mr. Clark if they weren’t here to do it.”

“So the answer is yes?” he asked impatiently.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” she teased.

The muffled sound of a screaming rock band came from the same direction as the two lovebirds.  The sound grew louder and repeated itself.  A specialized ring tone on a cell phone.

“Hello,” the male voice answered abruptly.  “What?” He let out a huge sigh.  “Why do I have to go?”  He paused to listen.  “What about Gaylen?"  Another pause.   "Fine.  I’ll be there soon.”  The volume of his voice changed.  “That was Greg, he says I’ve got to go out on a call.”

“Well, what about Gaylen?  He’s supposed to be on call.”  Linda's voice dripped with desperate disappointment.  I knew as secretary, she did all of the scheduling of employees, check writing to vendors, appointment setting for Greg Schilling and pretty much managing the place for the guy who was called the general manager.  She would know who was supposed to be where and when.

“He was out doing that rural funeral and one of the hearses broke down," said the man.  "I’ve got to cover for him until he gets back.  Sorry babe.  I’ll call you when I’m done.  Maybe I can come back before the creepy twins get done in Fillmore.”

Linda sighed.  “You better go now.  We can’t get found out.  If you don’t get going, they’re gonna  wonder where you are.”    

“Okay,” was the boyish reply, “but can’t I get a little sample before I go?”

I had probably already started to blush, but now it felt like I had walked into an X-rated movie, waiting in the lobby for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.  I heard a sound like flesh being spanked and then a squeal of delight; from Linda I hoped.  Then I heard some pitiful good-byes in baby talk.  As I fought to keep down my breakfast, another sickening thought struck me.  I stood in the middle of the path to the nearest exit. 

I fled through the door to my left, which put me in the garage of the mortuary where they kept two hearses and a backhoe.  Today they also kept a gurney with a thick, black plastic bag with all of its space completely occupied by
something
. 

Dress shoes clacked on the linoleum floor of the flower room.  The mystery man was coming toward me. 

I looked for the nearest thing to hide behind.  I spun to my right and tried to make it to the nose of the nearest hearse. 

The footsteps were getting loud enough to be just outside the door.  I was out of time.  I wouldn’t be able to explain why I was where I was, when I was, and it would look like I had been doing nothing but listening in.  Okay maybe I
had
just been listening in, but come on, who wouldn’t have been a little curious?  Linda couldn’t find out what I had overheard.  She would be embarrassed, and I would lose my golden gossip contact within the otherwise impenetrable fortress of silence of the Hansen mortuary.

The only thing close enough to provide some cover was the gurney and black body bag.  I took the turn a little too sharply and my pivot foot slipped on the concrete floor.  I fell forward with arms locked straight out in front of me.  Both hands landed dead center on the bag, the right hand sunk down into a soft area that didn’t give much resistance, the left felt like it landed between two rigid poles. 

I froze in place.  Then I looked to my right to face my discoverer and I noticed the black bag hadn’t quite been zipped up all the way.  I could just make out a mouth and a nose. 
Mr. Clark I presume. 

This was bad.  Looking down at the placement of my hands, I surmised that not only would I be caught—a possible murder suspect lurking in the dark—after listening in on someone’s afternoon tryst, but I would be caught groping the private parts of a formerly eighty year old man, after listening in on said afternoon tryst. 

I heard screaming rock music at the entrance to the garage.

“H’llo.  Yeah I’m still here.  Wuhl it’s a good thing I didn’t leave yet.  Is it in the office?  Okay I’ll bring it.” 

The sound of shoes scuffing the linoleum diminished, and I knew he was headed back into the hallway and toward the opposite end of the building.  I whispered to Mr. Clark, “I don't think this is going to work out. It's not you—it's me." 

I tiptoe-ran into the flower room and out the back door.  The H2 was still there, obviously belonging to lover boy.  If he was headed toward the office, I had just enough time to jump in Allie’s car and drive up to the front of the building as if I were just arriving.  Hopefully, if I timed it right, Lover Boy would be headed back to his Hummer as I arrived at the office to speak with Linda. 

My plan worked.  As I entered the foyer of the mortuary main hall, the Hummer sped through the parking lot toward the road.  I could see Linda making adjustments to her clothes as I approached. 

“Hi, Linda!”

“Oh,” she let out a half shriek.  “Quincy, you startled me.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

“No, no, you didn’t.  I guess I was just distracted. What can I do for you sweetie?”

“Well actually,” I lowered my voice, “I’m just going to get right to the point because I know I can trust you.  I was wondering, with everything that’s happened with poor Derrick, what is the mortuary going to do about flowers?” 

Linda stopped the vigorous hair fluffing and smoothing. 

“Quincy, I am so glad you’re here.  I need to talk to someone.  I know you’ll keep this top secret anyway, but you can not tell anyone what I'm gonna tell ya.”  Her mouth made a straight line, while her eyes seemed to bore holes into mine with her seriousness ray beams.

“Of course.  You know me, Linda.”

“I do.  It’s just that, things are crazy right now.  I mean not just with Derrick and everything, but it’s been that way for at least six months and every day has gotten worse.  There’s something going on around here, and I don’t know what it is.  And that’s what scares me.  I’m usually the only one who knows everything that’s happening in this place, but Greg Schilling’s been keeping something from me and it just feels weird.”

“What do you mean
weird
?”

She turned her head left and right, as if looking for any lurkers.  "Let's go sit down in my office," she whispered.

I followed her lead and we nearly snuck across the lobby to her office, which was in plain view of anyone who might enter the mortuary. 

Linda paused at the entrance and looked from side to side again.  Then she closed the office door, which she had never done before. 

“Well first of all, you’d think they’d feel really bad for Derrick.  I mean they dealt with him every day with his flowers and all.  But it almost seems like they’re kind of relieved more than anything.” 

“Huh,” I thought out loud. 

I wondered why they would be relieved.  He had to have been giving some great incentives like a percentage of sales.  Maybe he had even been giving gifts to the morticians.  Who wouldn’t want the flow of free perks to keep coming? 

“You said it’s been about six months.  What started to be different six months ago?”

“It was gradual at first, but Greg told me we should try to use Derrick’s shop for referrals.  As you know, Quincy, I told him that you are the one I like to recommend because you’ve always done such a nice job for me and my family.”

“Thanks,” I said.  I did know this and appreciated it.

“So for a while, when someone would call from out of state, or if I was here when a family would call and ask for a florist’s name, I would tell them yours.  But Greg started getting kind of grumpy about it.  Then about three months ago, he says that I was not to recommend anyone else but Derrick’s shop or I would lose my job.  It made me so mad.  That flower guy was an idiot and his arrangements were either dead or falling apart half the time.  I didn’t want to give my personal guarantee on his crappy job.  So I says to Greg, I should type up a memo telling everyone that it’s company policy, and that way when someone complains, I can quote the company policy and tell them my hands are tied.”

“Well I know you still call me so he must have changed his mind on the firing part,” I said.

“Oh no.  I could still get fired.  If they found out what we were talking about right now I would be in so much trouble.  But I still tell people to call you when nobody else is around.  Piss on him.  I run this place and he has the nerve to tell me I can’t write a memo?”  Anger smoldered in her eyes.

“Why couldn’t you write a memo?  That seems weird.  A memo would be a good idea.” 

“I don’t know why.  But he went nuts about it.  He said he didn’t ever want me to write any of it down.  That it was important I didn’t.”

“Well since we’re on the subject of Derrick, how much of a discount was he giving?”

She leaned forward nearly jumping out of her seat.  “That’s the thing, Quincy!  He wasn’t giving them anything!  I know, because I’m the one that writes the checks to you guys.”

“What?  No discount?  For all those referrals?"

Generally when a family goes to the mortuary, the mortician recommends a specific florist for whatever reason.  They will say to the family, “I recommend Quincy.  Go there and pick out the flowers and have her send us the bill.”  So, I would then meet with the family, make the flowers and deliver them, then send a bill to the mortuary, minus the ‘discount’ that they get to keep for having advertised my business for me.

"He’s got to be giving them something, Linda.  They don’t just recommend him out of the kindness of their hearts.  Greg Schilling hasn’t paid for a flower arrangement for his wife’s birthday or anniversary since I’ve been in the business.  All those things were always given to him as incentives.  There’s no way he’s
not
getting something.”

“I know!  That’s exactly it, Quincy.  But it’s not a discount.  There’s got to be something else.”

“So you don’t know who’s going to be recommended from now on I suppose?  Not… that I don’t feel very sorry for the horrible death of my colleague.”

“Oh I know what you mean, but no, I don’t know who they’re going to go with.  Maybe you could try asking at his shop.  I think the gal that was working for him is there trying to make sense of the orders they still have.”

“Maybe I will.  Thanks for the info.  And don’t worry; I won’t say a word of this to anyone.  I appreciate you helping me out.”  I stood and made my way to the office door.  “Oh, Linda.  Just curious, but is there a new mortician on staff?”

“No, not that I know of.  Why?”

“I passed a Hummer on my way into the parking lot and I just wondered who it was.  I didn’t recognize the car and it seemed to be coming out of the employee parking lot.”  I may have fudged the actual timeline of who was where and when, but that was neither here nor there. “So I just thought that it must be a mortician because of the expensive car.”

Linda turned red from the top of her forehead to the very lowest point of her plunging, very ample décolletage, which happened to be framed by a button-down shirt where the top button had been fastened into the second from the top buttonhole and likewise the entire way down. 

“Um—oh, that was Doug.  He’s from another office,” she stammered.  Her hand went straight to her neck and pulled the collar of her shirt closed.  He’s just…one of our on-call people.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding my head nonchalantly.

“He’s one of the guys on call in case they need to go pick up a body.  He has to be ready night or day,” she offered without my coaxing. 

Yeah I’m sure he’s ready night or day.  He’s on call all right.  For a booty call,
I thought to myself, trying not to giggle.

“That’s probably a nice job for a young person,” I said.  “Like a college student or someone just married.”  Now I was just being mean. 

“Oh, he’s not married,” she said far too quickly.  “He’s just out of college.”

Wow Linda
.  She was middle-aged with at least two kids that age.

“I’d best be going.  Thanks again, Linda.  Oh, by the way, I noticed your shirt is buttoned wrong.  I would want someone to say so if it were me, so I thought I would tell you.  Bye.”  She turned almost purple; I turned on my heels and made it to the exit as quickly as possible, just making it into the car before the laughter bested me and exploded into the air. 

CHAPTER SIX

A trip to Derrick's shop was next on my list.  The half hour drive gave me time to reflect on things I had just learned at the mortuary.  It didn’t make sense for someone to undertake this drive every day unless they were really making a profit on the flowers.  From what Linda said, I knew he hadn’t been giving any piece of the profits to the mortuary, which was absolutely baffling, but might explain his willingness to make the drive.