The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(38)

He leaned forward with his hands folded. “Of course you’re the one who decides what will happen, now that you’ve inherited the business. But if that money isn’t paid before the deadline, I’m out of work and the sister has no place to live. Shouldn’t we try to work together and see what we can come up with? And you know what? It wouldn’t be like Paul to throw Sister Eileen out with two hours’ warning.”

“Just like it wouldn’t be like my father to sell the business, and you knew that. But you let me believe it was something he started.”

The slow anger building inside her was about to explode again, and she did nothing to hold it back. She glared at him. “I’ve had enough of being a na?ve fool. You could have fucking explained how things were. We could have talked about it, but instead I’m running around picking up dead people and talking to other people who just lost a relative. What the hell are you two thinking? You didn’t tell me anything, to make me feel we could solve everything together. Honestly, I think you’d rather have done it all without me. And that’s okay, but then don’t fucking get me involved.”

Sweat ran down her back, a stream of rage. “Everything just roars along over my head. And I won’t be part of it. When I’m packed, I’m going to call my father’s lawyer. He’ll have to take over from now on.”

“I have the sixty thousand dollars we need,” Artie said, without a word about the shelling he’d just taken. “You can have the money as a down payment on the house.”

Ilka shook her head. “Stick that money right up your ass. I’m going home to Denmark.”

Artie stood up. “So what do you plan on doing with Mike Gilbert, Ed McKenna, Mrs. Norton? You want to cancel the old lady’s funeral service tomorrow? Who’s going to take care of Mike and Ed? What about all the relatives counting on us? And all the people we have deals with? Do we just say the hell with them? This doesn’t just affect you, us. But if that’s how you want it, great.”

He walked out and slammed the door.

Ilka stared at the door, speechless. She hadn’t given a single thought to the 150 people who had cared about old Mrs. Norton and were coming tomorrow to say good-bye to her. She recalled the grandchild crying as he stood up and accused them of being cold and unfeeling.

She felt dizzy when she closed her eyes for a moment. It was as if she’d been ambushed, as if the ground beneath her kept shifting; she couldn’t find her feet. She looked all around at the terrible mess she’d made of the small room; then she decided to go down and find Artie.



He was sitting on the steps near the carport with a cigarette and a Red Bull. He didn’t even look up when she sat down beside him.

“What do we need for the funeral service tomorrow?” She took the cigarette he shook out of his pack.

“So you want the money after all?”

She nodded. “I don’t think Sister Eileen can pack in such a short time.” It was a quarter past eleven.

He crushed his cigarette with the heel of his shoe. “If we do this, it’ll be a new situation. Do we need to sit down and talk this through before we decide if it’s the right thing to do?” Ilka didn’t hear even the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice. She shook her head.

“I need a time-out to get a good picture of the situation and to find out how much money my father owes.”

She told him about the call from the funeral home chain. “Golden Slumbers isn’t the only one interested.”

Artie set his beer down. “When did they call?”

“This morning.”

“Did you promise them anything? Did you set up a meeting?”

Ilka shook her head. “I told them we already had a deal. But we could contact them and hear their offer. I don’t know who it was, but surely we can find them.”

She could tell he wasn’t happy about that, but he let it go. “I’d better get to the bank so we don’t miss the deadline.” He started over to his car.

“Okay, and I’ll let the sister know she doesn’t need to pack anyway.”

Ilka watched him go. His reaction to the call from the funeral home chain puzzled her. Again, she had the feeling he was trying to steer things to his advantage instead of following the path her father had laid out. Or at least selling the business the way her father would have.



Ilka had just stood up when a police car turned in and parked. She glanced at her watch; Artie had left for the bank no more than ten minutes ago; they still had time, so it couldn’t be someone telling her to leave. Then she recognized the two officers, Thomas and Doonan. She walked over to them.

“We need to talk,” Officer Thomas said.

Ilka nodded and asked them to follow her, but he pointed across the street and explained that the school had a surveillance camera. “We’ve just checked the recording.”

Ilka looked over at the school, right across from the entrance to the funeral home parking lot. The bench on which the mysterious woman had sat was beside the entrance. She spoke hesitantly, unsure of where they were going with this. “Okay.”

“Last night at three twenty-two, Howard Oldham walked across the street to the back of your house,” Officer Doonan said, as if he were reading from a report. “The recording doesn’t show him leaving the property.”