The Undertaker's Daughter (Ilka #1)(79)

“We don’t suspect Howard Oldham,” Artie said, none too politely. “We’re just asking you to help us find Mike Gilbert’s body. It’s been stolen, and we’re just trying to file a report about it.”

Officer Thomas looked away and nodded. “Agreed. Let’s keep our focus here.” He wiped his forehead and straightened up again. “When was the last time you saw him in the coffin?”

“Right before we drove to the crematorium. Just before noon. And we were back around two.”

“So it’s within that time frame?”

“Yes. At the same time that Sister Eileen was locked in the cold room.”

“But that’s where the coffin was, too. Is that correct?”

Artie and Ilka both nodded. Ilka knew it was going to be a long evening if everything had to be spelled out. Artie seemed to realize that, too, along with the policeman, who stuck the notepad back in his pocket and stared blankly for a moment before wiping his forehead again.

“Two people died in that accident.” He sounded distant. “They’d been at the swimming pool. They rammed into the back of the truck that collided with Oldham.”

Ilka shifted in her chair. She wasn’t sure he’d even been listening closely to them; he might have been too much in his own world. She slumped when he started in again.

“Howard drove into the opposite lane on purpose. I’m sure of that. It was a straight stretch of road, no dangerous curves. Nothing blocking his sight. Witnesses said he’d been driving at a steady speed, and nobody noticed him swerving, or anything that might have meant he was feeling bad. Suddenly he just pulled into the other lane, and that was that.”

No one said anything for a moment. Then Officer Thomas pushed his chair back. “It was my neighbor in the car behind the truck. A father and his five-year-old son. I’m sorry. It’s just that some days on this job are better than others. How’s Shelby taking it? Was her daughter there when you discovered Mike’s body was missing?”

Suddenly the mood was personal, close. As if it had helped him to get that off his chest.

Ilka nodded. “And the daughter-in-law and Mike’s two children. The only person not there was his father.”

The policeman looked puzzled. “What? Mike had a family?”

“Yes, and I think it will help Shelby get through this. And, of course, knowing that Phyllis Oldham is going to pay all the bills for Emma’s treatments.”

Now it was Artie’s turn to be startled. There simply hadn’t been time to tell him before now.

“I’ll get some men together and we’ll get a search started immediately,” he said, adding that he would keep them informed.





35



Artie left for Dorothy’s old crematorium. Ilka hadn’t noticed if he had brought a bottle of wine, but she didn’t really care. She was up to her neck in shit, as she had put it earlier that evening, when she called home for moral support.

“Come home, then,” her mother had said. She brushed aside what Ilka had told her about having to sell off the business first. “Why do you feel it’s your responsibility? You’d be better off coming back and focusing on your own business before it goes down the drain. Honestly, these school secretaries aren’t all that easy to please.” Several times she had emphasized that Ilka didn’t owe anything to anyone. Not to Artie or Sister Eileen or, especially, her father.

“If this Artie Sorvino guy is interested in the house, sell it to him. Let the business go. It sounds like that town has plenty of funeral homes. Surely people will find another place to go to.”

She was right, of course. They would; no doubt about that.

“And then it’s Sorvino who decides if the nun will stay or not. You don’t have to get involved in that. And under no circumstances should you let anyone threaten you into doing anything.”

This was Karin Jensen in a nutshell. Black or white. Ilka didn’t care to explain that her staying to fight for her father’s business had nothing to do with the American Funeral Group. Or with the business, not really. It was him, her father. She still had almost no idea of why he had abandoned them. Walking around the funeral home, she sometimes imagined she could feel his presence, but no more than that. She hadn’t found out more about the life he’d led in Racine. Occasionally small fragments of his working life came out, but there was so very much she didn’t know. All the things still in darkness, things that appeared only in short, unpleasant glimpses. The unpaid bills, what people talked about indirectly. They knew things about her father that Ilka didn’t. Things he had done or messes he had gotten himself into. As if he had a shady side to him. Things they hinted at but never elaborated on.

She’s right, Ilka told herself after she shut the door and started down the steps. Through the dormer window she had noticed Sister Eileen’s light was out. Which wasn’t so strange. She’d just gone through a terrible experience. Ilka had bought sandwiches for herself and Artie, and she’d taken one over, but the sister didn’t want it. She lay in bed under a thick blanket, pale, still unable to remember what had happened, even right before the attack.

She hadn’t seen anything; she hadn’t heard anything; she hadn’t noticed any smells, sounds, voices. Nothing. She didn’t remember if there had been someone in the cold room with her, either. Suddenly the door had slammed behind her. She didn’t answer when they asked if she had gone in there under her own power.