The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(47)

Applause, more music. Several people also said hi to Ilka as they walked by or came up to the bar to order.

“Are you new in town?” someone behind her suddenly asked. She turned and stared straight into the face of a guy at least ten years younger than her. Dark hair, blue eyes. Handsome.

She nodded when he asked if he could sit down, but she said no thanks when he offered to buy her a beer. Though every seat around her was taken, he pulled up another bar stool from somewhere. His name was Larry; he’d moved to town to work at Johnson Wax, whose headquarters were located here. He was born and raised in Chicago, had gone to college there also.

Ilka listened with half an ear, nodding occasionally while trying to place the scent he had on. Masculine and yet light. Nice. She didn’t hear his question, which he repeated when she didn’t answer.

“No, I’m just visiting,” she said. She told him she was from Denmark and would be going back. Soon.

“So have you seen anything while you’ve been here? Sailing is good on Lake Michigan, and there are some beautiful lakes in the area. I’ll show you around this weekend if you like.”

Either he was terribly lonesome or he was trying to score. The latter was preferable. Ilka turned to get a better look at him. His hair hung just over his eyes, but not enough that it seemed deliberate. He just needed a haircut. A point in his favor. Dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, no problems there.

“That sounds nice,” she said, and she ordered a beer for him while looking at her root beer, which she hadn’t touched.

The cowboy singer was on break; they were playing Taylor Swift over the house speakers. The women up front sang along. The bar was full now, every table was taken, and crowds of people were standing behind them. Ilka pulled her chair closer to Larry, their legs slipped in between each other’s.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked. Someone walked by and nudged her leg against his; she kept it there. She leaned forward slightly to hear him better.

“Two years.” His cheek happened to brush against hers.

The singer was back onstage, and the music seemed louder than before.

“Let’s go outside,” she suggested. “I can’t hear a thing in here.”

He hesitated for a moment when they stood up, as if he’d lost his nerve when he saw she was taller than him. Quite a bit taller. But he grabbed his beer and followed her anyway.

While elbowing their way to the door, Ilka couldn’t help wondering if anyone here had something to do with the writing on Shelby’s house. This was a small town; somebody here must at least know something, she thought, though everyone seemed friendly and nice enough.

“Denmark, you said?” Larry asked, as they walked down toward the canal. There were a few small sheds on the wharf; motorboats filled one side. “Have you checked out any of the Danish bakeries here? My boss speaks a little Danish. Helmersen’s his name; his wife runs one of the bakeries with her brothers. I think she works behind the counter; the brothers do the baking.”

His arm was around her as they walked, and when they reached the first shed, Ilka turned and kissed him. She maneuvered him over to the other side of the shed, out of sight, and he put his arms around her.

He mumbled something about the Danish Vikings and how nice she was, but she shushed him. No more talk. He kissed her harder and got rougher with his hands, and before she managed to unbutton his pants, he took over. No more thoughts about the coffin suppliers, debt, the funeral service that still could turn into a nightmare if the family discovered she’d cheated them on the expensive prepaid coffin. No more funeral home business and old murder cases. No more photo shoots and responsibilities. She nipped at his earlobe and held on to him as all thoughts disappeared.

“Thanks,” she said after it was over, as if they’d just wound up some business.

“My pleasure.” He held her face and kissed her on the forehead. “You want to go back and have a beer?”

Ilka smiled and shook her head. “I’ve got to get home.” She said she had to get up early the next morning.

He studied her for a moment. “Would you give me your phone number?” He smiled a bit awkwardly.

She shook her head as she straightened her clothes.

“So will I see you again before you leave?”

“Sorry, I don’t think so,” she said, then added that it had been nice.

She kissed him and laid her cheek against his, breathed in his scent. When they reached the street, she walked away, but she noticed him turning to look back a few times before going into the bar.

Ilka smiled as she drove back home. He couldn’t be a day over thirty, and he had made her evening. For a moment, she wondered if it was dumb of her not to get his number, but no. Once was enough.

As she moved through the deserted town, she realized that for the first time since she’d arrived in Racine, her head wasn’t buzzing in confusion and wrestling with decisions to be made.





22



Ilka woke up to someone knocking on her door. At first she was afraid she’d slept late, but then she saw it was only eight thirty. She’d set her alarm for nine.

“Okay,” she yelled. “Just a second.”

“We have a decision to make,” Sister Eileen said from outside. “We have a problem.”

Why doesn’t that fucking surprise me? Ilka thought. She was pulling her pants on when the sister knocked again.