The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(63)

Ilka finally broke in. “Yes, I would say it was a mistake that I sent our prize-winning portrait photographer out to you. But I’ve heard that for years, parents with children attending your school have been complaining that the individual photos were taken like the students were on an assembly line. If your school administration doesn’t appreciate higher-quality work, you shouldn’t be using us. You should go back to the standard you’re used to. I’m afraid we can’t offer that.” She could almost hear Erik cackling up on his cloud. “I think we should stop here. We don’t serve clients who prefer discount work.”

“But, you’re not…you’re not finished.”

“No. It seems you weren’t well enough prepared. I suggest you contact another school photographer. I will send out photo orders only to those students we photographed. Have a good day.” She hung up.

Okay. One less client to hand over to North Sealand Photography. Her mother of course would want to take good pictures of every single child. She should have realized that. She could see it now: her conscientious mother using far too much time in placing the students properly, getting the light just right, adjusting the height of the chair so everything would be perfect.

She smiled. What a mess.





29



“Shall I order the zinc coffin for Ed McKenna, or will you?” Sister Eileen asked. She looked disapprovingly at Ilka, who was sitting in her chair.

The white band of her wimple sat tight around her forehead, hiding the short dark hair Ilka had noticed the night she roused the nun out of bed to help with Mike. She stood erect, with a closed, dismissive look of professionalism—Get out, it seemed to be saying to Ilka.

“We also need to make reservations on the plane for the coffin. The dog will need its own zinc coffin. It will be embalmed this morning. I can imagine it would fit in a child’s coffin.”

Ilka nodded. If this was how it was going to be between the two of them, then okay. She’d given up on trying to follow the shifts between the warmhearted sister who brought tea and cookies and the person in front of her now, the one trying to freeze Ilka out. But if Sister Eileen wasn’t going to cooperate and accept she had a new boss, she’d have to go. Ilka didn’t have the same devotion to nuns as her father.

“What about putting the dog into the coffin along with him? That way we’d save one coffin.”

Stone-faced, the sister said, “You’ll have to talk to Artie about that.” She laid a pile of envelopes on the desk. “Bills.”

Ilka looked them over; she should start handling the mail, if she was ever going to have a clear understanding of their situation.

Artie stepped into the reception area. “Let Sister Eileen order the zinc coffin so we don’t risk having him stranded here.”

Ilka had the feeling he’d been standing out in the hall, eavesdropping on them. And that the sister knew he was listening.

His long hair was now gathered in a bun on his neck, and the gaudy red shirt with the palms and surfers hung outside his pants. He walked over and set his glass of Red Bull and coffee on the desk; suddenly Ilka felt trapped between the two people who knew the daily routines of the funeral home and her own ignorance. Again, she sensed they had a secret agenda, while pretending to be going down with the ship.

She went into the arrangement room, where her breakfast lay untouched. Her coffee was cold. Artie appeared in the doorway after she sat down.

“What about the dog?” she asked. Without looking at him, she started in on her egg. “Can’t we put it in his coffin?”

“Ed McKenna wasn’t very tall; let’s see if there’s room for it at the foot end.” He asked if she’d like fresh coffee, but he’d already picked up her cup and walked out to fill it. When he returned, he set a bag from the bakery in front of her.

Ilka surrendered and pushed her cold egg aside. She stuck her hand down in the sugary, oily brown paper, brought out a warm glazed doughnut, and laid it on her plate as she told him about the call from the funeral home chain.

“Damn!” Artie said. “Guess they didn’t get the message. I thought I’d made myself clear yesterday.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yeah, they called me and wanted to set up a meeting. I told them we weren’t interested.”

“And then they call again after that? Why didn’t you say something? So I could have been ready for them.”

“I didn’t think they’d be so stubborn. American Funeral Group is always on the lookout for acquisitions. What did you tell them?”

“They definitely heard about the deal with Golden Slumbers failing, but I told them Jensen Funeral Home wasn’t for sale, so there was no reason for a meeting. I think we three should sit down sometime today so I can tell you about my plans for the funeral home. When is a good time for you?”

Artie had been leaning up against the doorframe, his coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. Now he laid everything down and fished out a cigarette, which he lit on the way out the back door. “I’m going to start embalming Mike Gilbert now,” he said over his shoulder. “Then I’m driving Mrs. Norton to the crematorium. But I’ll have time when I get back.”

Clearly he wasn’t happy about it being her plans, not their plans. She walked back into the reception area and asked Sister Eileen if they could all meet that afternoon.