A steady stream of mourners filed in and out of the viewing of the late James Prescott, a much-admired school principal. The funeral home lot was overflowing, so Jenner parked behind the Dairy Queen next door. He slipped through a gap in the ragged hedge that separated the two establishments, and found himself across from the access bay in back.
Rather than barging into the viewing, he took the shortcut; there’d be someone in the embalming room or preparation area who’d help him. As he made his way past the attendant vehicles—two white Cadillac funeral coaches and a white Lincoln hearse—Jenner wished he’d worn his new jacket.
It was quiet in the lower level. Reggie Jones ran a tight ship—a prosperous one, too, apparently. The two hearses in the garage were also late-model Cadillacs, one white, one black. The walls were a pristine white, the air had only the faintest whiff of formaldehyde.
Jenner rapped on the door frame. “Hello?”
Silence.
He walked inside, and around the corner found a large embalming room. The body of an older black man was on one of the two tables, formalin pumping into the body through a metal cannula in the right side of the neck, waste fluid draining from the left thigh. The embalmer, a young black woman, was massaging the fluid into the left arm, bending it at the elbow, straightening it again, and squeezing the fluid down toward the hand.
Jenner said, “Hi there.”
Holding the arm lifted in front of her, she looked over to him, surprised. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid no one’s allowed down here.”
Jenner said, “I’m the medical examiner—I’m here to sign an out-of-state transport permit letter for Mrs. Rosenblum.”
“Oh, sorry, doctor—I thought you’d wandered down from the viewing.” She smiled, and laid the arm back down. “I don’t know anything about the permit, but Mrs. Rosenblum’s in the prep room across the hall. I just finished making up her face; Mr. Jones embalmed her this morning.”
She led Jenner to the second prep room, but the door was locked. “Huh. This should be open.” She shrugged. “Anyway, that’s her.”
Jenner peered through the viewing window. Mrs. Rosenblum lay on the nearer table, her limbs wrapped in thick plastic bags, her trunk covered in translucent plastic sheeting.
There was something odd about her; Jenner was trying to figure out just what when Reggie Jones appeared. He wore black dress slacks and a white shirt and black tie. He came toward Jenner hastily, rolling his shirtsleeves down; Jenner caught a glimpse of his arms, which had scattered amateur-appearing tattoos. Jailhouse tattoos.
“Doctor! I was expecting you upstairs. Thanks for stopping by.” He shook Jenner’s hand warmly and tugged him toward the hallway. “I have the permit letter just around the corner, in the office.”
The hallway was wide and well-lit, and the basement office bordered on sumptuous, with two large computers and a big plasma TV mounted on the wall. A grid of six black-and-white monitors sat in the corner, CCTV cameras showing views of the funeral home entrances and the embalming and prep areas.
Jenner gestured to the security array. “Problems with body snatchers, Reggie?”
Jones grinned and said, “Ever hear of ‘Wet,’ doc? It’s pot mixed with PCP, but some kids think you can get the same effect with formaldehyde, so they break in to steal it. Some even try to huff the stuff, if you can believe it.”
Jenner made a face. “God, I can’t imagine that.”
Reggie beamed. “So what do you think of my place? How you like my hearses? Brand-new!”
“Impressive. I’ll have to give more thought to Jenner & Rudge.” He glanced over the letter, than scrawled his signature. “There. Where’s she heading—Chicago, was it?”
“Yes. She’ll go out tonight—the viewing’s this afternoon, then she’ll be on her way.”
“And you transport her all the way there?”
“Yes. She’ll be received by a funeral home up there; they’ll take care of the interment.”
Jenner said, “I’m surprised they let you embalm her—was that because of the long journey?”
Jones shook his head. “She’s not embalmed, doc, just wrapped. By the time she reaches Illinois, she won’t be looking quite so fresh. Still, she’ll be fine for her friends and family down in Port Fontaine this afternoon, and that’s what matters.”
“You do a lot of transporting?”
“Plenty. There are so many folks from the Northeast and the Midwest who winter down here with us, not to mention all the retirees. Lots of them have plots up there—last year, we shipped over two hundred. We work very closely with the JBFS.”
“The JBFS?”
“The Jewish Benevolent Funeral Service. It’s a local organization that helps out getting the bodies of Jews back up north. And not just Jews, nowadays.”
“I see.” Jenner felt ill at ease, but couldn’t say why. “Okay, Reggie. Good seeing you—you see Rudge, say hi.”
Reggie gestured to the stairs, but Jenner said, “I’ll just cut through the parking lot here.”
Reggie followed him back down the hall. Jenner stopped by the door of the second embalming room, and peered in at Mrs. Rosenblum.
“What is it, doc?”
“I don’t know. She looks…different.”
“Different light,” Jones mused. “And Tonya’s done her makeup, could be that’s it.”
What was it that was different? Reggie was probably right—the cosmeticians had all kinds of tricks, like using brown eye shadow to add extra depth to the eyes when they were viewed in the casket from above. It was probably something like that.
He turned. Reggie was looking at him—no, not looking at him, watching him. Smiling.
Jenner shook it off. “See you, Reggie.”
“Doc.”
Jenner stepped outside under the awning. The sweltering humidity had melted into a steady drizzle. He ran through the lot and, as he was about to step through the hedge into the Dairy Queen, glanced back at the lower-level entrance; he was surprised to see Reggie standing under the overhang, watching him, unsmiling now, talking into his mobile.