Ilka kept knocking on the door of the preparation room until Artie finally came out. “I can’t let anyone view Mike right now,” he said. “He hasn’t been embalmed, so he’s in no shape for her to see.”
“Then you’ll have to go out and tell her. You had an agreement.” Ilka wheeled and walked away, but she heard Artie follow. “She has the photos you asked for. How do you think she feels about going in there to look at him? She’s pulled herself together to do it, and after what happened last night it’s probably not easier for her.”
“Okay, but—”
“If you want to send her home again, it’s you who has to tell her.”
“Give me a second here.” He walked over and washed his hands; then he took off his apron.
Ilka’s eyes widened. “Do you plan on talking to her wearing that?” She pointed at his Hawaiian shirt, the blazing colors, the parrots.
Artie ignored her and walked out, leaving her speechless.
Ilka stayed in the background as he gave Shelby a hug. “I’m so sorry about what happened last night,” he said, his arm still around her shoulder. “Believe me, it hurts to see you put through this; it was totally disgusting. And I’m sorry that someone could break into our building. We’ve had some problems with our alarm system, but of course this kind of thing shouldn’t be possible.”
He apologized again. Ilka had the feeling it wasn’t all about Paul’s daughter screwing up by opening the window so the cat could come in. Something else was going on. Maybe he was afraid Shelby might sue them for not taking better care of her deceased son; if she did begin thinking that way, it could turn out to be horribly expensive for them. Ilka let Artie keep talking. But then she heard Shelby wave off his apologies.
“The person who dishonored Mike’s body would have broken in even if you had bars on all the windows and doors. This happened because someone in this town still wants revenge.”
“I know what I promised you,” Artie said. He explained carefully that he couldn’t let her see her son after all. “Everything’s been delayed; we had to call the police after what happened last night.”
“You can at least let me see his feet,” she said. “That’s enough. He has two toes on his left foot grown together. I know you all say it’s my son in there, but I need to see it with my own eyes. I hope you understand.”
Artie nodded. “Of course. Just give me a minute. If you two would just step in there, I’ll bring him in.”
He pointed at the large chapel used for funeral services. It looked like a lecture hall, with rows of chairs filling the room, though the first row was filled with plush sofas. The entire room was in beige, even the ceiling and the soft carpet. Muted and austere in a way that couldn’t offend anyone or clash with any style or religious belief. The acoustics were good, thanks to a carpet so thick that you sank into it as you walked.
Ilka followed Mike’s mother inside and turned on the light. The vases were empty, and the pleated floor-length curtains were closed behind the catafalque that supported the coffins. A lectern stood to the right of the catafalque, and loudspeakers on stands were spread around the room so everyone could hear relatives talk about the person they had lost.
Jensen Funeral Home went along with any kind of funeral service the relatives wanted, so long as it didn’t involve alcohol or anything unseemly. According to Artie, one time there had been karaoke at the lectern, because it had been the great passion of the deceased. It had been nearly impossible to stop once it got going, because there was always one more person who wanted the microphone.
The door opened behind them, and Artie rolled the stretcher in. Mike was covered with a white sheet. The stretcher’s wheels left tracks in the carpet. Ilka couldn’t help but notice Shelby’s expression tighten as he approached the catafalque. She stepped forward and laid a hand on the woman’s back, then asked her if she was okay.
Shelby nodded. Her face was like stone, her fists clenched, but her eyes followed Artie as he parked the stretcher between the sofas and the catafalque.
He nodded and told her to take her time.
“I’m ready,” she said, and she walked over and stood at the end where her son’s feet stuck up.
Artie took hold of the sheet; then he waited until she gave him a small nod. He lifted the sheet, and Mike’s feet and lower legs appeared.
It took her only a moment to confirm what she already knew. She turned and collapsed into Artie’s arms.
Ilka had kept in the background, but now she stepped forward and pulled the sheet back over Mike’s feet. She thought about pushing the stretcher out again, but she decided that Shelby should be allowed to leave the room before her son. When and only when she was ready to leave.
She went out into the hallway to give the mother time. Ilka needed time herself, to gather her thoughts. Though she tried not to worry too much about the problems with coffin suppliers, she wasn’t used to giving in and letting herself be patronized. She took it personally that no one was willing to be helpful. On the other hand, she did have the coffin for tomorrow; she didn’t need to worry about that. But it exasperated her that they had simply shut her off.
Stop it, she told herself. Artie and Shelby came out, and Artie asked if there was anything she wanted her son to have with him in the coffin.
“Think it over,” he said as they stood in the doorway. “Don’t go out and buy something. It’s more like if there’s anything at home that you know meant something to him. Or to you.”
Shelby promised to think about it and let them know. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw anything of his away after he left; it’s all up in the attic, but I haven’t looked at it since then. I’ll come over tomorrow if I find anything.”
“And if you don’t have any clothes for him, we’ll take care of it,” Artie added quickly. He hugged her one last time.
She nodded and thanked them; then she glanced again at the open door to the room where the stretcher still stood before walking out.