Authors: Beth Solheim
At Witt's End (13 page)
Paul gently folded Nan's pointed finger back into her hand. “You're angry at the wrong man. I'm not the bad guy.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he guided her around the desk and eased her into one of the visitor's chairs. “Just because Carl is my friend, doesn't mean I agree with what he's doing."
"If he wins the case, the Witt sisters will lose their resort. Sadie said he's not going to honor my land lease and I'll have to find another location for the mortuary.” Nan sank lower into the chair. “I can't afford to do that. I'll have to take that job in Minneapolis."
Paul took Nan's hand and gently kissed her fingertips. “Let's wait and see what happens. I still don't think you've got anything to worry about."
"But it's my dream, Paul. You know how much I want to keep my family's business alive."
"I know,” Paul said. He ran his finger down her cheek and over her lips.
The warmth of Paul's hand felt reassuring. He nodded in understanding. “I need to leave something of worth for my son. Something he can be proud of. That's another reason I need to keep this alive.” Nan moved to the edge of her seat. “Aanders wants to become a funeral director. I know he's young to plan his future, but he's the one who brought it up. If he follows in my footsteps, then he can continue Dad's dream."
"Does Aanders know I've asked you to marry me?"
"I told him a couple weeks ago."
Laughter once again echoed from the apartment followed by screeching tires and a cheering crowd.
"And?"
"He didn't seem to have a problem with it. He wanted to know if he could have his own bedroom if we moved into your house. He also wants a dog. He has his priorities, you know."
Paul laughed and leaned forward to kiss her. “Now I've got an ally. I bet Aanders and I can talk you into marrying me in one week."
"Don't you dare make any promises. Aanders’ father made promises all the time, but he never kept them. Let's see what happens with the lawsuit before we make any decisions.” The phone's ring interrupted their conversation. Nan leaned across her desk to answer the call.
Paul watched her jot directions on a piece of paper.
Nan tore the sheet from the pad. Grabbing her purse from the desk drawer, she said, “That was Lon. I've got a retrieval. The coroner's not available so I need to sign off on the body and take care of the paperwork."
Paul accompanied Nan to the hearse bay and held the door while she climbed into the Suburban.
"Did you know Lon's investigating the Fossums’ car accident? Apparently Carl refused.” Nan dug for her keys and placed them in the ignition. “Lon's trying to prove Richard had enemies."
"That's ridiculous,” Paul said. “Richard didn't have a mean bone in his body. Besides, Carl told me he put an end to Lon's investigation."
"Well he didn't do a good job, because Lon's still investigating. I would think you'd want to know if Richard was involved in something. After all, he was your partner. It could reflect badly on you if he was doing something illegal."
Paul stood outside the hearse bay and waited until Nan backed the Suburban out of the garage. “I'll see you later. Like I told you before, I don't think you have to worry about the Witt sisters."
Before Nan's vehicle rounded the corner, Paul dialed Carl's cell phone.
When Nan finished at the scene, she removed her latex gloves and dropped them into a bin at the rear of the Suburban. In rural areas and small towns, funeral directors were often called upon to act as deputy coroners when the county coroner was unavailable. Nan filled out the required paperwork and closed her briefcase.
Lon assisted Nan with the gurney by pressing a hinged mechanism allowing the legs to fold. Together they slid the body bag into the compartment.
"Any progress in your investigation?"
Lon stepped away from the other deputy who had also assisted at the construction accident scene. “I have a few ideas, but can't talk about them yet. I'm sure you understand."
Nan nodded. “If it wasn't an accident, I hope you get the person who did it. Let me know if I can help.” She waited until Lon unhooked a section of the yellow tape surrounding the scene before she backed up and edged her vehicle out onto the highway.
Nan had a history with Lon and there were times it was uncomfortable being near him. The past twenty minutes had been one of those times. She had loved Lon before leaving for college and making the mistake of her life by marrying Clay Harren. That didn't stop Lon from keeping the passion alive. He promised he'd always be there. It was obvious he still cared.
Nan backed the hearse into the hearse bay. She knew the family of the man who died and didn't envy Lon telling them about the accident.
She recognized Aanders’ voice as she ascended the stairs and strode into the lobby. Mrs. Fading Sun sat across the desk from Aanders and listened in earnest as Aanders told her about the accident that had taken his friend's life.
"I'm sorry I'm late, Mrs. Fading Sun. I had business to attend to."
"Don't worry about it. Your son was telling me about his friend. What a sad situation.” Mrs. Fading Sun shook her head in disbelief. “The whole family gone in an instant. Makes me wonder what the good Lord was thinking."
"It's tragic,” Nan said. “We can't believe it, either."
"And to think that poor man was impaled on a fence post. What an awful way to go. At least my husband's death wasn't quite that violent. God rest his soul,” she said, as she unfolded a tissue and dabbed at a tear.
Nan frowned in Aanders’ direction. He averted his gaze and left the office. Nan took a seat across from the woman.
"I'm so sorry I had to pay in installments. I would have preferred to pay in full right after the funeral.” Mrs. Fading Sun's lower lip trembled. “It's embarrassing to be in a financial bind. I value the fact you didn't tell anyone."
"I'm always willing to make arrangements. Some people can't afford to pay all at once,” Nan said. “Please don't be embarrassed."
Mrs. Fading Sun signed the check and tore it from her checkbook. She slid it across the desk and waited for Nan to mark the invoice ‘paid-in-full'. “This is a relief. I hate owing money. We always paid our bills on time."
The widow watched Nan pull her husband's funeral folder from the drawer and make a notation in the corner. “I took care of our finances. If I'd have let my husband have the checkbook, he'd have spent every penny we owned. But you already knew that. I think everyone in the county knew that. Gambling should be outlawed."
"People have nothing but high regards for you, Mrs. Fading Sun. You've done wonders promoting diversity. There aren't many white women who have the fortitude to crusade as hard as you have,” Nan said. “You've even won awards for what you've done. Bringing those inner-city kids from Minneapolis to experience the Native American culture was an excellent idea."
The woman smiled. “My husband was proud of me. He had his problems, but I always knew he loved me. We had a good life together.” She dabbed at a tear with her finger. “I miss him so much."
"We can consider this file closed.” Nan smiled at Mrs. Fading Sun. She paged through the alphabet and inserted the folder in the file cabinet.
"I still can't believe his life insurance policy was for $10,000 instead of $100,000."
Nan watched the woman's shoulders sag. “You were expecting $100,000 and received a death benefit of $10,000? Did you check your policy to see if there were any typos? Maybe the numbers said ten thousand, but the words spelled out one hundred thousand.” Nan reached across her desk and patted the woman's hand. “Insurance policies are confusing. Too many fancy words. I've processed some after funerals where I can barely understand them."
"It's the oddest thing. I was sure we had received a copy of the original policy. But after my husband died, I couldn't put my hands on it. When I called the insurance company, the man said he'd send a copy when he sent the check."
"Did you ask if the amount on the policy was ten thousand?” Nan gazed with concern, waiting for an answer.
"That's what he said,” Mrs. Fading Sun answered. “I suppose I shouldn't have taken out that policy without meeting face to face with an agent. I did it on line. But I guess it worked out because I got the ten thousand."
"I seem to remember another client having the same problem,” Nan said. “He thought his wife's policy was for more than he actually received. He was sure he'd paid premiums for a larger death benefit.” Uneasiness gnawed at Nan as she recalled her conversation with the man. “He couldn't find any copies of the papers he'd signed, either."
"I thought my payments were awfully high for the small death benefit I got,” Mrs. Fading Sun admitted. “Rather than make a fuss, I let it drop. I didn't want people thinking I was greedy. And I certainly didn't want them knowing I was cash poor."
Mrs. Fading Sun folded the paid invoice and tucked it in her purse. “Let me give you a hug,” she said. “I couldn't have made it through this without your guidance."
Nan ushered her to the door. “What was the name of the life insurance company?"
Pausing, Mrs. Fading Sun said, “If I remember right, it was called Gessal Life Insurance. I sent the premium checks to an address in Minneapolis."
As Nan closed the lobby door and secured the lock, Aanders came up behind her.
"I'm going over to Sadie's for a while."
"Okay. But I'm disappointed you told Mrs. Fading Sun about the accident. You know that's private information and isn't supposed to be released to the public. You could get me in trouble. You know you're not supposed to read my files."
"I didn't, Mom,” Aanders said.
"The fact that Lon thinks it might have been murder isn't common knowledge. You must have taken a peek at that folder."
"No. I didn't. I know I'm not supposed to do that.” Seeing his mother's skepticism, he repeated, “I swear I didn't look at it, Mom. I must have heard it somewhere."
Angry, yet bewildered at the look on Aanders’ face, Nan decided to let it go. The finality of easing her son through his friend's death was more important.
Sadie removed a new lipstick tube from its wrapper and twisted the stick into view. “What about this one? Do you like this color?” She dabbed the tip on the back of her hand and held it out for Jane to see.
"That's nice,” Jane said.
"What do you mean, that's nice? You didn't even take your eyes off the ironing board long enough to see it. I could have had poop on my hand and you'd say ‘that's nice'."
"It's too hot to look at lipstick.” Jane turned the cotton dish towel over and ironed the back side. She matched the corners before folding the fabric and running the iron across the top of the last fold.
"I would think looking at lipstick is a lot cooler than ironing.” Sadie balled her fists and placed them on her hips. “Any nitwit would know that."
"How would you know? You never iron.” Jane cocked her head and glared at her sister.
The intense humidity and the intestinal cramping from Jane's latest culinary experiment taxed Sadie's patience. “Your clothes are too big. If they were smaller, I might help."
"My clothes are bigger because I am bigger. Any nitwit would know that.” Jane's smirk signaled satisfaction.
Sadie stood in front of the mirror and applied her new purchase to her lips. Smacking them together and wiping away the excess with her fingernail, she turned to Jane. “Don't you think this makes me look younger?"
"No,” Jane answered. “You know who you remind me of in that lipstick? You remind me of Hollywood Johnson. Remember her?"
"What a terrible thing to say,” Sadie said. “She looked like a walking skeleton with that pasty makeup and those huge purple lips."
"E-x-a-c-t-l-y,” Jane said. “Now you know what I think about your lipstick.” She collapsed the ironing board frame and leaned it against the sink.
Sadie used a tissue to remove the color from her lips. She pulled a second tube from her purse and applied it to her pursed lips. “What about this one? This deep violet goes better with my outfit."
"That's even worse. Now you look like Hollywood's mother."
"Mr. Bakke, take Jane down to the lake and throw her in. Maybe that will change her mood.” Sadie grabbed her neckline and fanned the fabric, forcing air to flow under her shirt.
"Do you actually know someone called Hollywood Johnson?” Theo said as he pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. “Observing you is like watching a sleazy ‘B’ movie.” He looked at Sadie's hair and then considered the length of her purple and lime mini dress. “Since you've got the staring role in this comedy, I recommend you take that new push-up bra back to the store. Something must be wrong with it. Nobody has breasts that lopsided."
Sadie turned to hurl an insult back at Theo.
Mr. Bakke said, “It's the weather. The sultry air makes Jane testy."
"If Jane wore shorts like the rest of us, she might be more comfortable."
"I wouldn't be caught dead in shorts at my age. And neither should you,” Jane said. “Look at yourself. When you bend over I can see your butt. It looks like you don't have any underwear on."
"I don't,” Sadie said. “Too hot."
"Oh, good Lord,” Theo said with a rasp.
A knock at the screen door interrupted the bickering.
"Are you ready to leave yet?” Aanders said. He crossed the span from the door to the cookie jar in three long strides, allowing the screen door to slam behind him.
Sadie knocked on the door to the inner room and shouted to the crossers. “It's time to go. Get in the van.” She pointed a finger at Aanders. “I'm counting on you to help Tim. He's getting weak. It's your responsibility to see he finds someone on the brink. If he doesn't, he might not find his parents."
"I know,” Aanders answered. “We'll try. When we get back, we need to talk to you. Tim knows why he was held back. He wants me to help him prove it, but I can't do it unless you help, too."
"I'll keep an eye on them,” Lora said as she climbed into the shuttle. “Maybe if they think I'll tattle, they'll try harder."