All These Things I've Done (Birthright #1)(68)

First, we made plans for Nana’s funeral. This was simple, as Nana had left clear written instructions: No open casket, no expensive coffin, no chemical preservation, no fancy marker, though I would like to be next to my son in the family plot in Brooklyn.

‘Do you want there to be an autopsy?’ Simon Green asked me.

‘Simon, I don’t think that’s necessary,’ Mr Kipling disciplined. ‘Galina had been sick for many years.’

‘Yes, well . . .’ Simon Green said. ‘What did lead up to her ultimate passing?’

I described what Imogen had said about the power failure.

‘Why didn’t the backup generator come on?’ Simon Green persisted.

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘You trust this Imogen, right?’ Simon Green asked. ‘No one could have gotten to her. Maybe paid her off or something? Someone who might have had a good reason for wanting Galina Balanchine dead.’

‘Who would have wanted Nana dead?’ Leo asked, his voice a bit quivery.

‘Simon, you’re being absurd and inappropriate.’ Mr Kipling shot Simon Green a warning look. ‘Imogen Goodfellow has worked for this family for years. She is as loyal and fine a worker as there is. As for the circumstances of Galina’s death? There is no mystery here. She was incredibly sick. It’s amazing she endured as long as she did. In the weeks leading up to her death, she and I had had several discussions about the inevitability of her condition and she even confessed to me that she suspected her time would be soon, that she had even begun to hope for such a time.’

‘She told me the same thing,’ I said. I looked at Leo. ‘She did.’

Leo nodded. Then he nodded again. Finally, he said, ‘But it wouldn’t hurt anything to have a . . .’ When Leo was upset, he sometimes lost language. ‘What he said’ – he pointed at Simon – ‘the thing where they find out why she died. Then we would know for sure, right?’

‘An autopsy, you mean?’

‘Yes, an autopsy,’ Leo repeated. ‘Annie always says that it is better to have more information than less.’

I admitted that I had only been chorusing Daddy.

Mr Kipling patted my brother on the hand. I winced, because there had been a time, and not too long ago either, when Leo couldn’t bear to be touched by anyone who wasn’t immediate family. But Leo was fine. He barely seemed to register the touch. ‘Actually, Leo, though usually I couldn’t agree more with your sister and your father about the power of information, in this instance, there are things having an autopsy could hurt. Would you mind if I explained to you what they are?’

Leo nodded, and Mr Kipling laid out his argument. ‘Your grandmother is dead. And nothing is going to change that fact. There is no reason to believe she died of anything but old age and the cumulative effects of her illness. But, if this family authorizes an autopsy, it will seem as if we’ve had reason to believe that there was another possible cause to her death. It will seem as if we believe there is more to this story, and that is the last thing this family needs.’

Leo nodded. ‘Why?’

‘Because you and your sisters cannot afford the exposure. You are certainly aware that, as the only sibling who is over eighteen, you are becoming Natty and Annie’s guardian?’

‘Yes,’ Leo said.

‘If the living arrangements of your family become a matter of public interest, Child Protection Services could try to take Natty and Annie away from you, Leo. You are very young and people are aware of your medical history. The authorities could send Natty and Annie to foster care if, for some reason, you were deemed an unfit parent.’

‘No!’ Leo yelled. ‘No! Never!’

‘Well, don’t worry, Leo. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that never happens,’ Mr Kipling said. ‘And this is why I’m advising you to make no moves that bring any unwanted attention to your immediate family. The folks at social services are entirely overwhelmed. No one will care about your living arrangements unless you give them reason to.’

There was a pause.

‘Yes . . . What you say . . . This makes sense to me,’ Leo said finally.

‘Good,’ said Mr Kipling.

‘Do you think Leo should give up his job?’ I asked.

‘I don’t want to do that!’ Leo roared.

‘He’s still working at the Pool,’ I explained.

Mr Kipling ran his fingers through the invisible hair on his bald head. ‘Ah yes. I never did resolve that situation at the animal clinic, did I? I apologize, Anya. My heart attack – but it’s really inexcusable on my part. Mr Green, would you make a note?’

Simon Green obeyed and said nothing. Indeed, he hadn’t said a word since suggesting the autopsy. His expression reminded me of a basset hound.

‘Do you enjoy your work at the Pool?’ Simon Green asked my brother.

‘Yes,’ said Leo. ‘Very much.’

‘What kind of things do they have you do?’

‘I get lunch for the men. And I get snacks and drinks, too. And I drop off the laundry.’

‘And they treat you well?’

‘Yes.’

‘I absolutely understand your concern, Anya, but I don’t think Leo should quit his job at the Pool,’ Mr Kipling concluded. ‘Even with the taint of organized crime, it is better that he appear to have been consistently employed.’ Mr Kipling looked in my brother’s eyes. ‘You must promise never to do anything dangerous or illegal. You are the protector of Anya and Nataliya now. And you are extremely important.’