The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(64)
The sister nodded, friendly now, as if the little episode they’d just gone through had never happened. “I have an errand to do in town around noon. I should be back around two.”
Ilka thanked her, but before she could leave, the nun added, “Would you please consider how much we can give to the fall church bazaar next month? Your father was known to be very generous with donations.”
Ilka squelched her anger and studied Sister Eileen for a moment, wondering if she even realized that the business was almost completely underwater, gasping for air, that she should count herself lucky if she ended up keeping her job and room. Then Ilka reminded herself that even factoring in the generous donations, the sister probably was the least drain on the budget, given that she wasn’t paid for her work. And besides, tongues in the community would start wagging if they were less generous to the church. Not a good signal to send if they wanted to give the impression that the business was stable and under control.
“We’ll give the same as last year,” Ilka decided, even though there wasn’t much left in her private accounts. She asked how the sister wanted the money to be donated.
“Cash would be best. Two thousand dollars. It will be greatly appreciated. Shall I order the zinc coffin?”
Ilka was sitting at her father’s desk with the mail when Artie knocked on the doorframe. “You want to come by for a beer tonight?”
Beer was the last thing he was interested in; she could hear that. She shook her head as she sorted out the advertisements and threw them in the wastebasket. He stared at her for a moment, then nodded and walked out.
It didn’t take her long to go through the letters. She opened a yellow envelope from the local racetrack and pulled out a bill. It was time to renew her father’s weekly racetrack ticket. Occasionally back home she bought a ticket herself; once she had even had a subscription. She could handle that if she stayed away from the racetrack and the smell of horses, the excitement as they neared the finish line. Ilka was about to wad the renewal up, but instead she stuck it in her pocket. She was almost finished going through the bills when Artie showed up in the doorway again. “You have a visitor,” he said, his voice muffled by his mask. He was wearing his white coat, and he smelled of formaldehyde.
“If it’s that man who wants to hold the business meeting, tell him no, he’ll just have to leave.”
“It’s not him. It’s some guy who wants to talk to you. You want me to send him in?”
She eyed him for a moment, unused to him playing the secretary and unsure who wanted to see her. But she nodded, and a moment later the guy from the bar appeared at the door. She ignored Artie’s look. “Thanks,” she said, and she gestured for him to leave.
“Hi,” Larry said, a bit hesitantly. He glanced over his shoulder when Artie left. “You have a moment?”
“Not really,” Ilka said, quickly covering up how flustered she was by his suddenly stopping by. Before she could find a way to get rid of him, he was standing by the desk.
“I was just thinking that maybe you’d like to go out to eat some evening? Or for a drink?”
Ilka was standing behind her chair now, as if that would stop Larry from reaching her. The rain had plastered his dark hair to his skull, and his blue Windbreaker clung to his chest, but there was a sparkle in his eye, something she couldn’t totally resist. She had to stop herself. Immediately. That was the whole idea with casual relationships.
“I’m sorry.” She started for the door to follow him out. “I’m just way too busy.”
She could hear how lame that sounded, and she was being mean, too. But damn it, it was a one-night stand, with no obligations, nothing that committed her to having seconds.
He followed her reluctantly. “Can I call you?”
She shook her head. Out in the hallway she noticed Artie ducking back into the preparation room. Presumably he had been at the door, listening.
“How did you find me?” she asked as she opened the door to the parking lot.
“People are talking about you.” She was relieved he didn’t say anything about her rejection. “There aren’t that many supertall foreign Viking women in town right now. And not so many of them who came to take over a funeral home.”
She smiled at him. So, people in town knew who she was and what she was doing here.
The door to the preparation room was closed, and Ilka assumed Artie was at work inside. Out in the foyer, Sister Eileen was stuffing brochures in the holders beside the glass case displaying charms. The brochures contained information about the funeral home’s services and gave the dates for the next senior citizen fair, where Jensen Funeral Home would be explaining about their offers and the advantages of making payments on a preordered funeral. Ilka would have to learn about all this, too, if she was going to try to lure more customers in.
Though she’d never done anything remotely like selling funeral home services, she already knew she was going to hate it. That and going around holding home parties, like Golden Slumbers did. The question was if she could afford not doing these things; the only way to turn the business around was to increase revenues.
Her mother and Hanne would be perfect for something like this. They would come off as trustworthy, and they were both good at talking to people. And her mother would throw herself into it body and soul, like when she started her online yarn business and the knitting courses she taught.