The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(42)

“Fine,” Ilka had said. That’s when Frank came into the picture. He refused outright to sell her a damaged coffin. He wasn’t going to risk her complaining afterward and him ending up with having to supply her with a replacement.

“That won’t happen,” she said, but he wouldn’t budge. She persisted. He kept saying no. But finally, Ilka talked him into checking to see if there even was a black coffin in return storage.

“I’ll pay you right now; I’ll give up my right to return the product,” she said.

“You can’t get a truck to deliver it today anyway,” he said.

“I can take it with me,” she replied quickly, and before he could say more, she added, “This is my last chance, and I will be so very grateful to you. My father is dead, and I’ve come all the way from Denmark to bury him. Yes, Denmark. Yes, like kringles. I never have, no, not with cranberries. We don’t have nearly as many kinds in Denmark; we just sprinkle them with powdered sugar and hazelnut flakes. No, at least I don’t think they taste plain.”

He kept on about the kringles for a while, but finally he asked why she didn’t just wait until Monday, when a new coffin could be delivered.

“I have to leave Sunday. Monday morning my mother is having some very important tests taken at the hospital. She’s a terminal cancer patient, and her medicine is making her dizzy and confused. I have to be there for her.

“The thing is,” she added, again before he could butt in, “she’s too sick to come over here and be at my father’s funeral. It’s so terribly sad; none of us could bear the thought that there wouldn’t be any services for him because I couldn’t get hold of a coffin.”

At last, he gave in. But only if she could arrange for the transportation of the damaged coffin to wherever she wanted it dropped off.

“That’s no problem,” she said.

He looked at her quizzically for a moment, but then he nodded and checked his watch.

“Well then, let’s go get this taken care of.” He ushered her over toward customer service. Two of the employees Ilka had spoken with were standing by some tall shelving, eyeing them as Ilka strode along behind Frank. She already had a credit card out by the time they reached customer service. Frank gave a number to a coworker at the desk; then he handed Ilka two forms to fill out and sign: her membership application and the other acknowledging that she couldn’t return the item she was buying.

She signed and stood for an ID photo for her membership card. Frank hadn’t told the man behind the counter what he had sold her, she was sure of that, so she didn’t say anything either, just took the receipt and her new card and then nodded when the man told her to have a nice day.

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll go back in and get it ready for you to pick up,” Frank said, adding that he would help her load it in her vehicle.

Ilka thanked him without commenting on what he said about helping. She walked back to the hearse. The parking lot was much fuller now, but according to her watch, she’d been in the warehouse for almost two hours.

There wasn’t much room between two trucks unloading at the docks. She backed in, and just as she got out of the hearse, she saw Frank bringing the coffin over on a forklift. Ilka waved at him and asked if she should drive forward for better access to the rear door.

“Where the hell did that come from?” he said when he spotted the hearse.

“It’s my father’s; he was an undertaker. He went bankrupt just before he died.”

She could hear how suspicious that sounded, so she opened the door at once, then tried to distract him. “I want you to know how incredibly grateful I am for your help and your understanding of my difficult situation. And I know my mother will be, too, knowing that my father got a dignified burial.” She unlocked the wheels of the rollers to push it over to the coffin.

“Wait just a second here,” Frank said, rubbing his full gray beard. “You’re not thinking about using this coffin in a funeral home business, are you? And I end up getting complaints and demands for replacement because it’s damaged?”

“No, this is for my personal use. My father will be driven to the crematorium in it tomorrow.”

Frank helped her get the coffin on the rollers and shove it in the back of the hearse. She slammed the rear door shut.

“Which crematorium did you book?” he asked.

Ilka pulled a hundred-dollar bill out of her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you so much for your help. I can’t tell you how important this is to me.” She meant every word she said, but then he startled her when he stepped back abruptly.

“I can’t take that sort of money,” he whispered, as if he suddenly was afraid someone was listening.

“It’s okay,” Ilka quickly assured him. “It’s a donation to the church you support.”

“What the hell makes you think I support a church?” It was his turn to look startled.

“People with a heart like yours always support a church.” She left it at that and thanked him again before he could say another word. He took the bill and watched her drive away.





18



Ilka had just parked the hearse in the garage when Sister Eileen came out to tell her that Shelby Gilbert was there with photos of her son.

“Can you give them to Artie?” Ilka asked, as she was about to unload the coffin.