Unbury Carol(10)

John Bowie’s grave still looked fresh. Even in the scant light. And the lumpy earth kept the knowledge in Bowie’s brain silent.

Dwight knew there was no watchman. And yet ghouls were not uncommon in Harrows, or in any town on the Trail. Digging for buried treasure was easier than robbing banks. He also knew Robert Manders would be here. Aside from Sheriff Opal, nobody in Harrows was as married to his job as Manders.

Once he climbed down the black steps of the coach box, his boots connected hard with the gravel drive. Dwight crunched small stones and passed through the lilies before climbing the stone stairs leading to the oak front door.

Manders, Dwight knew, lived a floor above the office, and two floors above the stone cellar where Norm Guster dressed bodies as though painting portraits of rubber kings and queens. In his way Norm was Harrows’s artist-in-residence, and not a funeral passed in which his work was not remarked upon.

There was a break in the sky, a flash, followed by the sound of far-off thunder as Dwight took hold of the brass knocker and sent a different kind of thunder through the funeral home.

Rain came quiet.

The girl. Farrah. What did she hear? What does she know?

But it wasn’t time for that. Not yet.

An immediate shuffling came from within, followed by a flickering light. Dwight saw movement from behind the windows framing the door. Again, Dwight thought of the waste, the shame of such a brilliant edifice being used for such parochial, specific needs. Then the great door opened and Manders pulled his glasses from his sleep-shirt pocket.

“Mister Evers?”

Robert Manders was a small man, his thin hair always flattened to the contours of his head. His round cheeks rendered him eternally childish, despite his mature profession.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Robert. I didn’t see a light in the window, but I have terribly sad news and need your assistance.”

He thought of Lafayette pacing the shack, saying no no no that’s wrong in her creaking voice.

Manders looked beyond Dwight, to the drive, and saw it was raining upon the coach.

“What is it, Mister Evers?”

Dwight breathed deep.

“Carol has died this evening.”

How did it sound? True?

Manders, still able to feel sympathy despite a thousand meetings like this one, placed a soft hand on Dwight’s damp shoulder.

“I’m so sorry. Please, come inside.”

The foyer was black beyond the range of the funeral home director’s lantern. Dwight followed him across the wood-floored foyer to the office. Manders stepped across a large green rug and patted the back of a small chair before rounding the desk and taking his seat behind it.

Rain anxiously fingertipped the windows.

“Was it the Illness?” Manders asked, his bespectacled eyes reflecting the one lantern in the room.

“No, Robert.”

Manders studied the widower’s face. “Has somebody seen her?”

“Seen her, Robert?”

Again, Lafayette saying no. Dwight felt a bump in the rhythm of the conversation.

“A doctor. It’s very important to know what she died of before proceeding. Might’ve been the Illness.”

Dwight reached his hand into his vest pocket and removed a folded piece of paper.

“Here is the determination,” he said. He rose and handed Manders the note.

The funeral director read it slowly and looked up. “Who wrote this?”

He’s gonna ask who wrote it, Lafayette had said many weeks ago.

“A very close friend of mine. A man I went to school with.”

“You went to medical school?”

“No, but we shared some studies. His name is Alexander Wolfe. A magnificent practitioner from Charles. Is something wrong with it?”

Manders glanced at the paper again. “Not wrong, no, but contradictory. It says the cause of death is unknown. Is that right as you know it?”

Dwight nodded. The word contradictory rattled in his mind.

“But it also says she suffered from dizzy spells, bouts of weakness, shortness of breath, and a weak heart…”

Dwight looked to the paper and frowned. “Yes, that’s all true. Where is the contradiction?”

“Well,” Manders said, “I’m no doctor, and I don’t mean to speak ill of your friend, but he clearly lists all the symptoms and signs of a heart attack, yet cites the cause as unknown.”

“She died of a heart attack?”

Not wanting to be responsible for a diagnosis, Manders shook his head no.

“No. I mean…yes. Well, if this is correct, I believe she could have. When was she checked?”

“An hour ago. Possibly a bit more.”

Manders looked at the letter again.

Dwight said, “I felt her pulse myself, Robert. I even held a mirror to her nose. I tell you it was too late when I heard the girl Farrah scream from seeing Carol fall.”

“Carol fell?”

“Collapsed.”

Manders’s face softened. “I apologize if I seem a bit put out, Mister Evers, it’s just that I like to see these things handled as efficiently and professionally as possible. It would surprise you the number of mishandled death certificates, misdiagnosed causes, and just plain fuddled details there are in these matters. I understand you are grieving. I do not mean to put you off.”