The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(29)

Ilka was about to shut the engine off when a young, light-haired woman came prancing out of the house; her hair was a mess, and her jacket sat crooked, as if it were a bathrobe. She waved at Ilka energetically, a sign that she was satisfied now, that it was okay with her for Artie to go to work.

Who the hell does he think he is? Ilka slammed the door of the hearse extra hard. He ordered her around to give himself time to finish screwing. Before she reached the path, Artie came walking toward her. He looked like he was about to invite her in for a tour, and she promptly turned on her heel and strode back to the car. “We’d better get going.”

“It’s probably best that you drive,” he said, and headed for the passenger side.

She was about to protest, but then she dropped it. It would be asking too much of him to be on standby 24/7 for pickups. On the other hand, she felt it was tactless of him to get drunk and screw someone while she was going through her father’s will.

“I was in the middle of an important telephone call,” she said, after they were inside the hearse. “You maybe don’t know this, but I have a business to run in Denmark and I can’t just drop everything because you want a night off.”

He ignored her complaint. “Isn’t it nighttime in Denmark? There’s seven hours’ time difference, if I remember right.”

“We have early meetings. I thought you put off the pickup until tomorrow.”

He nodded. “This is a new one. An older man. He’s been dead quite a while, maybe a week, maybe longer. He lived alone with his dog. The police think the dog tried to wake him up; it nearly licked his cheek off. The people in the apartment below found him. The dog’s dead too; we’ll take it along, now that the police are finished.”

The hearse swayed and the shocks creaked when Ilka sped up on the steep gravel road. She liked the personality of the hearse, a bit grouchy but with a strong will. The lake looked like an enormous gray river in the broad side mirror, a river that disappeared when she cautiously turned onto the highway.

“We’re taking a dog along?” she said, suspicious now. “Can’t the people living below bury it?”

“The dog was all he had. It’s part of the deal.” Artie leaned his head against the window while she drove. “We’ll put it in a coffin before we go to the crematorium; they won’t even know it’s there. It’s only right that the two of them leave this world together.”

She turned to him “Are you drunk, or what?”

He shook his head. “I’m fine, I just need to…”

She shook her head too; then she turned on the radio and twisted the worn, leather-covered button. She found a station playing an old Paul Simon song.



The police car pulled out just as they arrived. A light on the top floor was still on, and from the side window she saw a couple walk out on the front steps as she turned into the driveway. Artie had told her to back into the parking space so they wouldn’t have to carry the deceased so far. Meanwhile he’d dozed off, and she elbowed him after she had parked in front of the main building. “We’re here.” She stared at him in annoyance.

Darkness shielded them, allowing them to work without interference from neighbors and passersby. Ilka was fine with that; she wasn’t sure what she’d see up on the second floor, and she didn’t know how she would react. There was that business about the cheek, too.

The couple standing in the doorway shook their hands. “We’ve been gone all week; that’s why we didn’t notice Ed hadn’t been down with his dog,” the woman explained apologetically as they walked up the steps. Her husband opened the door to the small hallway and told them Ed was in the living room.

The police had been thoughtful enough to leave several windows open, but the stink was nauseating anyway. Ilka discreetly pulled the hood on her jacket around and covered her mouth and nose.

“We’ve always looked out for each other; we’d never have let him lie here like this,” the woman continued. “You hear so much about lonely people dying alone. But we got along really well. And we kept an eye on each other.”

Her voice was wispy and anguished, as if she expected someone would blame her for not discovering the man living above them had been dead so long.

“But you’re the ones who found him,” Ilka said. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Lots of people don’t have good neighbors who look out for each other. Of course you should be able to travel. No one could know this would happen.”

Ilka had no idea where all these words were coming from. Just as she didn’t know if she was trying to comfort them or if she was stalling to avoid going into the living room.

She felt a cold wind blowing from in there, and she remembered to breathe in through her mouth, as Artie had recommended. He’d already brought the stretcher in, and now he handed her a pair of gloves.

“What about a mask?” she whispered before entering the room.

He shook his head and explained that masks were necessary only when there was a threat of infection. And when dealing with the homeless, because you could never know what they might have.

“This guy here is okay. It’s not a pretty sight, but there’s no danger of catching something.”

Ilka pulled on her gloves and followed him. She noticed the bulky furniture and heavy picture frames, big pillows on the sofa, wide armchairs. Everything was nice, attractive. Ed McKenna was on the floor by the open bedroom door, lying on his side with his arms folded. His dog lay curled up beside him.