A Longer Fall (Gunnie Rose #2)(21)

“You’re thinking… what are you thinking?” I said, after the ancient waitress had brought our sodas and glasses full of ice. Eli called her back and asked her if they had pie. They did, banana cream or buttermilk. We got one piece of each. “You reckon Rogelio died? I didn’t think he was hurt bad enough.”

“He’s the kind of man who stands out,” Eli said. “Maybe he had treatment at the hospital but didn’t need a bed, since the place is so full right now.”

“Maybe he had bleeding in his brain? Or he was kidnapped right off the wagon? We could question the nurses in the men’s ward.” I was eating the banana cream pie. I couldn’t put myself into the right frame of mind to enjoy it a lot. But it was much better than going back to the hospital.

Eli made the buttermilk pie vanish. He yawned widely. “I need sleep,” he said, and he sounded utterly tired.

Once Eli had mentioned the word “sleep,” it was all I could think of. I had to make myself sit up in my chair and down my drink. It had chipped ice in it. It felt like heaven going down.

“We have to check the bodies,” Eli said, with great regret.

“Yeah.” We couldn’t wait on that.

We finished our drinks and set out for the funeral homes.





CHAPTER EIGHT


The closest one, Debenham’s, was swamped with the dead. The men who worked there were completely overwhelmed.

One employee, a man about my age, was sitting on the front steps, his head in his hands. When we told him why we were there, he simply pointed to a gravel path leading around the building to the backyard. “They’re in the shed,” he said. “The refrigerator’s full of locals.” He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to think about us anymore, or anything else.

The Debenham’s people had tried to be respectful—but when you place twenty bodies in an area meant for four, it’s not possible to mind your manners. They’d piled the women to the left and the men to the right, which was… well-intentioned, best I could come up with.

There were fewer women. I recognized the old woman who’d been in our carriage when Maddy and I had shot the two young men. Wondered if her husband had survived. I also spotted the woman whose husband had been beating her. She wouldn’t get to enjoy being free of him.

Eli and I began looking through the men.

This was not the most unpleasant half hour I had ever spent, but I was glad I had a strong stomach.

I regretted my nice clothes more than ever. I had to take care not to get anything on my skirt. Eli couldn’t identify Jake, so I had to stay close while he moved the corpses around so I could see each one.

Neither Jake nor Rogelio had been brought to Debenham’s.

We left without talking to any of the staff. Aside from the one young man, I don’t believe anyone noted our presence or departure. There was an old pump in the backyard of the funeral home, and Eli held his hands under the water while I pulled the handle.

Hutchison Funeral Home was larger and fancier-looking than Debenham’s. The yard and the business itself teemed with people, a lot of them weeping. Parking in front had lost all order. Apparently most of the local victims’ bodies had landed here, families had already identified their own, and funeral arrangements had begun.

Hutchison had all hands on deck. Four men and two women in dark suits were moving from group to group being quiet and smooth. I liked that. I hoped the place was so busy our request to see the bodies would be automatically granted. But the man who glided over to us—he introduced himself as Donald Barton—was only persuaded to let me see the bodies after I told him I was the only one who could identify my brother, and my parents were desperate to learn his fate.

Donald Barton did not like my proposal, not one little bit. I thought we were going to have to knock him senseless in a quiet corner. Finally, the oldest woman employee, a white-headed stout lady dressed all in black, stopped by while he was arguing with me. She said, “Donald, if this lady wants to look for her brother, you must let her.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, with a lot of gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

Donald Barton wasn’t going to let us go by ourselves, though. First we toured the large ground-floor room normally used for the preparation of bodies. That room was full to capacity, held no one I recognized.

Like the first funeral home, Hutchison had parked the overflow in a detached building—their garage. Hearses had been pulled out, the bodies moved in.

Still grudgingly, Barton held open one of the wide doors. “If you don’t find your loved one here, we don’t have him,” he said with some satisfaction.

Eli thanked him. I couldn’t open my mouth.

These bodies were laid out in a less jumbled way, which was good. But each body had been covered with a sheet, which was going to make this take even longer. I was sagging on my feet.

I’d been just about praying Barton would leave us alone. Surely he had better things to do? But no. The man had decided it was his duty to draw away the cloth from each face in turn. It made me so aggravated I could hardly stop myself from smacking him. Maybe he hated Eli’s grigori vest. Maybe he thought I deserved to faint right by the bodies.

I could not oblige. I am not that good at pretending.

Rogelio was not among the dead (a relief and a puzzle), but we found Jake, finally. He was still clothed. “Mr. Barton, this is my brother Jake,” I said, and I didn’t have to act being sad. “I need to take the contents of his pockets to my parents.” I looked at him expectantly.