The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(35)

“We didn’t really believe it was random, either,” the young officer continued. “Something like this seldom is.” He explained that they were looking at the case again, rereading the witness statements. “But we’re not so far along yet.”

Ilka stood up. The policemen asked Artie again about the surveillance cameras and alarms. And how many garage entrances there were. She herded the cat into the house and was about to lure it out into the kitchen, when Sister Eileen appeared in the doorway and said there was a telephone call for her. “We usually don’t allow pets inside the funeral home,” she said as Ilka walked into her father’s office.





14



A small click made Ilka think the call was from a foreign country, and instinctively she thought of her mother. But then a dark voice introduced himself in a broad American accent. She didn’t catch his name, only that he was associated with another funeral home.

The largest funeral home chain in the country, she learned, after listening for a few moments to the words flowing into her ears like melted chocolate, warm and creamy. It took her a while, though, to get what had actually been said.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m Paul Jensen’s daughter, and I’m the owner of the business.”

The stream of words continued, and she grew impatient; she felt she should get back to the policemen in the garage. And they might need her fingerprints. After all, she’d touched the stretcher.

“No, unfortunately,” she answered, in an overly polite tone of voice, which she was getting sick and tired of using to keep things civilized. “I already have a plan for the future.”

She listened again. “No, I’m not planning to keep it. I’m about to sell to another funeral home in town.”

Now there was an unpleasant insistence to his voice, like when a telephone salesperson won’t accept you’re in the middle of a meal. Erik had come up with a way of ending a call from a telephone company or someone else who had gotten hold of his number. “I’m screwing someone right now,” he would say, and usually that worked. But it was way too late now for that trick.

“Fine,” she said, breaking him off. “Thank you very much. I understand you are quite interested in buying my father’s business. But like I said, the deal is almost done, so unfortunately I’m not interested. But thank you for calling.”

She said good-bye and hung up before his next gusher of words erupted.

She held the phone for a moment. She hadn’t caught the name of the funeral home chain. Or maybe it was an organization of funeral home businesses? She wasn’t sure. But they were big and they were national, the man had emphasized several times.

She went out to join the others in the garage. The cat was gone, the door to the garage was open, and the two policemen were walking around the refrigerator. The stretcher she had used the previous night lay in the middle of the floor, and the big garage door was also open. Ilka noticed the woman on the bench by the parking lot entrance again, looking down at her hands. Ilka couldn’t see her face, but her hair was unmistakable.

Ilka studied her for a moment; then she heard Artie’s voice. “Could you come inside?” He stepped out from the house; he must have gone in while she was in the office with the door closed. “Phyllis Oldham is here with the papers. They’re ready for your signature.”

Ilka nodded and followed him. She thought about telling him about the phone call, but then Artie might think she’d begun calling around, putting feelers out. The truth was, she didn’t know if she could get an offer from another funeral home better than the one she had.

“Dear!” Mrs. Oldham chirped, when Ilka stepped into the arrangement room. Papers had been spread out in front of an empty chair, and beside them lay a large fountain pen with the Golden Slumbers logo. “Howard and I thought it would be appropriate to celebrate by inviting you out this evening. We have a fine Italian restaurant here in town. What do you say?”

Ilka smiled at the irresistible cheerfulness radiating from the well-tailored suit. Being back in Denmark before Monday had just come a step closer.

“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” She sat down in front of the papers.

“I would suggest we begin with champagne and hors d’oeuvres at our home,” the woman said. “And then we’ll drive from there.”

Ilka grabbed the pen and began scanning the pages in front of her. It was the same as what she’d read before. What her lawyer had approved.

She was about to sign, when Mrs. Oldham said, “It’s so nice we can do business with you. It was more difficult with your father; he couldn’t see this is to everyone’s advantage.”

Ilka looked up.

“Or perhaps he didn’t want to see,” she continued.

Suddenly Ilka felt cold, all over. She stared at the woman without seeing her. What is she saying? Ilka wondered. He didn’t want to sell?

She noticed Artie looking away deliberately, though he tried to be casual about it. He didn’t say a word.

“Please excuse me,” Ilka said. She laid the pen down slowly. “Take a cup of coffee. I’m sure we have some out in the kitchen; otherwise, Sister Eileen can quickly make some. This will only take a moment.”

She stood and turned to Artie. “Would you please come with me?” She practically spoke through her teeth.