The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(11)

He turned to Ilka. “Like it’s all about money, and just getting it over with.” He jumped up so fast he knocked his chair over; then he ran out the door.

His mother sent her brothers an apologetic look; they both shook their heads. She turned to Ilka and asked if it were possible for them to return tomorrow. “By then we’ll have this business about the coffin sorted out. We also have to order a life board. I brought along some photos of Mom.”

Standing now, Ilka told them it was of course fine to come back tomorrow. She knew one thing for certain: Artie was going to meet with them, whether he liked it or not. She grabbed the photos Helen was holding out.

“They’re from when she was born, when she graduated from school, when she married Dad, and from their anniversary the year before he died.”

“Super,” Ilka said. She had no idea what these photos would be used for.

The three siblings stood up and headed for the door. “When would you like to meet?” Ilka asked. They agreed on noon.

Joe stopped and looked up at her. “But can the memorial service be held on Friday?”

“We can talk about that later,” Ilka replied at once. She needed time to find out what to do with 150 people and a place for the dogs close to the coffin.

After they left, Ilka walked back to the desk and sank down in the chair. She hadn’t even offered them coffee, she realized.

She buried her face in her hands and sat for a moment. She had inherited a funeral home in Racine. And if she were to believe the nun in the reception area laminating death notices, she had accepted the inheritance.

She heard a knock on the doorframe. Sister Eileen stuck her head in the room. Ilka nodded, and the nun walked over and laid a slip of paper on the table. On it was an address.

“We have a pickup.”

Ilka stared at the paper. How was this possible? It wasn’t just charms, life boards, and a forty-five-hundred-dollar coffin. Now they wanted her to pick up a body, too. She exhaled and stood up.





4



Ilka walked out into the high-ceilinged hall and glanced around. The two glass showcases against the wall looked like they came from a jewelry store. One of them held small, elaborately carved wooden boxes and something that resembled the mantel clock over the fireplace at her grandmother’s place in Bagsv?rd. She walked out to the reception area to find Sister Eileen and talk her way out of the pickup.

“No one else can drive,” Sister Eileen said without looking up. She was sorting through the day’s mail, slitting envelopes open and laying them on a pile without looking inside. “But maybe you don’t have a driver’s license?”

“I have one, yes,” Ilka said, before realizing she should have said no.

“Good. The keys are in the car. Here’s the morgue’s address. You need to make sure you bring along gloves and masks. It sounds like he’s been mangled badly.” She pointed at a door at the end of the hall. “You have to walk by the preparation room to get to the garage. Gloves, masks, and body bags are on the top shelf. And take a look at the coffins in storage; see if there are any unvarnished coffins. Apparently, the deceased was a homeless person; it’s possible that no one will cover the expenses. But you’ll have to take that up with Artie.”

Ilka had stopped listening. She had to call Artie and talk him into coming. She lifted her phone out of her pocket and noted a backlog of messages from her mother; the phone had been on mute.

“Niels will do jobs tomorrow and Friday, but can’t next week. You have four jobs Monday when you get home.”

“The code to get into the garage is six-seven-eight-nine,” the nun said, adding that Ilka would need help to pick up the deceased. “It takes two.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Ilka said, looking for Artie’s phone number in her address book.

“By the way, someone sent you a bouquet,” Sister Eileen said as Ilka walked out. “I put it in Mr. Jensen’s office.”

Ilka turned in surprise. “Who’s it from?”

“There’s a card.” The nun looked up suddenly now, as if she’d finally noticed Ilka. “You look like your father. You have the same nose. And chin.” She smiled. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

Something in the sister’s voice gave Ilka the impression she had been close to her father: her familiar tone. Ilka was puzzled for a moment; then she smiled and thanked the nun.

She returned to the room to change into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The wrapped bouquet stood on the small coffee table beside the bed. Written on the card: “We look forward to closing the deal with you.” It was signed by Golden Slumbers Funeral Home.

She stared at the card for a moment before sticking it back in the flamboyant purple and white flowers. She went upstairs and grabbed her fleece jacket from the pile of clothes on the bed. She would have to ask Artie what the hell this was all about.

It was one thing to put her to the test. See what she was made of. Have a little laugh at her expense. Fine. And if they were going to get involved with another business in town, honestly, she was more than fine with that. She might even avoid having to figure out how to dismantle her father’s business. But she was getting annoyed at how it was happening drip by drip. Why couldn’t they just sit down and talk about things? Hatch a plan and divvy up what needed to be done. She punched in the code to the garage. Then it hit her: She was the one who had yelled no, every time Artie had knocked on the door trying to talk with her. She was also the one who had signed the IRS document without reading it.