The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(48)
“Jeg gider ikke flere problemer,” she yelled. She didn’t want any more problems. Several messages had come in from her mother, she saw. She tossed her phone onto the bed and opened the door. Sister Eileen was holding a sheet of paper, which she handed to her. “Joanne had agreed to bring the flowers at eight thirty, so I could decorate before the Nortons and the caterers arrive. But she brought this instead.”
She nodded at the sheet of paper. “It’s a final bill. She refuses to work for us anymore. She says she doesn’t think we will pay her what we owe, so now it’s over.”
Ilka glanced at the statement. They owed more than twenty-eight hundred dollars.
“I’ve informed Artie about this, and he has promised to take care of the flowers for today. He’ll bring them with him when he arrives. But we still have a problem.”
“Why is she stopping right now?” Ilka asked after checking the dates. Deliveries had been made up to last weekend; they had begun all the way back in June. They’d been receiving flowers on credit for more than three months, almost four. And it wasn’t even close to the first of the month, so why deliver the bill now? Something must have happened.
The sister shrugged. “We’ve always had a fine working relationship with Joanne, even back when her sister ran the shop. They’ve delivered flowers for us for all the years I’ve been working here. Your father wouldn’t dream of ordering from anywhere else.”
Ilka was angry now, and she decided to go down later to confront them and hash out some sort of installment agreement. “And Artie knows what flowers we need? They’re going to take care of the coffin decorations from her own garden; it’s just the room that needs decorating.”
The nun confirmed that Artie was aware of all this.
“Is there anything else to be delivered for the funeral service today?” Ilka asked. She was counting on the family arriving at eleven, and if there were any more unpleasant surprises in store, she wanted to be prepared.
“The food. But it’s coming. I ordered hors d’oeuvres, and I called yesterday to make sure everything was going according to plan. And it was.”
“And we can count on that?”
“I hope so.” She turned and walked back down the stairs so quietly that Ilka wasn’t sure her feet touched the steps.
Ilka took a quick shower, and when she returned to her room, she opened her father’s closet to look over what was left inside. She hadn’t had time to wash her clothes, and besides, nothing she’d brought was appropriate for the funeral service of an elderly lady.
She slipped a white shirt off a hanger and glanced over at the two dark jackets. One of them looked new. It fit her across the back, but the sleeves were too short. The same was true for the other jacket. Along with the shirt, she tossed one of them over on the bed and tried on the black gabardine pants, complete with pleats and tucked pockets—the uniform of a funeral director. Unlike the jacket, the pants were long enough; her father had been tall. With a belt, they were okay, though she wasn’t going to get a lot of compliments on her great ass when she wore them. Considering the occasion, that was probably the last thing anyone would notice anyway.
Before going downstairs, she shook her head and ran her hands through her straight hair to make it look fuller. She’d forgotten her hair dryer, or rather, she hadn’t even considered taking it along. A quick application of mascara, and that was that.
She turned on the standing lamps in the two rooms that made up the chapel; a folding door had been opened and now the room was twice as big as it had been the day before, when Shelby had been there. There was room for 175 people, but they were expecting between 100 and 150 to show up. The Nortons had ordered food for 160, just to be safe. Ilka was a bit nervous that the caterer might pull the same stunt as Joanne had. She was on her way to the office to call them and double-check when Artie showed up, struggling to get inside.
“Could you give me a hand here?” he asked.
“What the hell is this?” He was carrying a jumble of flowers and wide satin ribbons.
“Time to decorate,” he said, nodding at the closed door to the chapel, where Sister Eileen had brought in more chairs for the service.
Ilka stared for a moment; then slowly she understood where the flowers had come from. This was the moment to decide whether it was better not to ask so later on she could deny any knowledge of it.
She opened the door for him, and Artie managed to get to the table and dump the flowers. He pulled a pair of scissors out of his back pocket and started clipping the silk ribbons tied around the bouquets, tossing the ribbons on the floor one after the other; then he cut the strings holding the flowers together until they were strewn all over the table.
“Nobody’s going to miss them,” he said, even though Ilka hadn’t said a word. “They come from the common grave; there are so many that no one’s going to notice.”
Ilka shook her head and turned around. Sister Eileen walked in with a jug of water and started filling the vases. She didn’t so much as lift an eyebrow, though she glanced at the flower table and announced tersely that she would begin decorating.
“Hello,” a voice called from out in the hallway.
Ilka immediately kicked all the ribbons under the floor-length tablecloth; then she walked to the door, where she was met by a young man in a light blue shirt and black pants. The insignia embroidered onto his shirt pocket looked like a delivery boy holding a dish.