Importance of Being Urnest

by Sandra Balzo

  As for Clare, she threw me a grateful look before offering her hand to Mort. ‘Clare Twohig. I must say that I’m fascinated by your idea of celebrating life, not mourning death.’

  ‘I don’t claim that it’s a new thought,’ Mort said. ‘So-called celebrations of life are a dime a dozen in the funeral industry. The video presentations of a life well-lived, etc., etc. We try to go beyond that and – for cremations, at least – have the departed in a lasting reminder of that life. Now this shop of yours—’

  A cell phone interrupted. Since I recognized the opening strains of ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life,’ I assumed it was Mort’s.

  As he went to answer it, Sarah said, ‘I find myself disappointed his ring isn’t “Another one Bites the Dust.” You?’

  ‘A little,’ I admitted. ‘But the man can’t afford to be too obvious. He has a business to run.’

  ‘It might come off as heartless.’

  ‘You think?’

  On the other side of the counter, Clare was looking on as Mort spoke into the phone. ‘I’m so sorry. What a terrible waste. Yes, I’m sure there’ll have to be autopsies, under the circumstances. I—’ He listened some more. ‘Yes, right now.’

  My heart was thudding as he went to slip his phone in his pocket. Reaching across the counter, I stopped him. ‘Autopsies, plural?’

  Pete Hartsfield was in a critical condition. But a second? Could Pavlik’s condition have deteriorated during night?

  There was a missed call on the cell phone in my apron pocket. The hospital? Or Hallonquist with even worse news than he’d already given me? I knew I should pull out my own phone and see, but I was afraid.

  Mort seemed agitated by his call, especially for somebody who dealt with death on an everyday basis. ‘I’m sorry, but Peter Hartsfield has died. And this morning—’

  My fingers tightened on his. Inside I was screaming, but I could barely whisper, ‘Pavlik?’

  I felt Sarah’s hand on my shoulder as Mort’s expression changed. ‘Pavlik? Oh, no. I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. The second deceased is not the sheriff.’

  ‘Oh, thank God.’ The relief that swept over me made me light-headed as I let Mort’s hand go. Sarah’s hand back-stopped me.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. That was unkind of me, given Pete’s death. And another family lost someone, too.’

  Mort shook his head. ‘I think you can be excused, under the circumstances.’

  ‘Can we get you something to take with you, Mort?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Maybe just a black coffee?’

  Sarah poured our brew of the day into a cup and fit the top on it.

  As Mort fumbled for his wallet, I said, ‘On us, please. You go do what you have to do.’ ’Cause you couldn’t pay me enough to do it. Be with people at the worst times in their lives? Over and over again.

  As Clare followed Mort out the door, I turned to Sarah. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What for?’ She was wiping the counter.

  ‘You know what. Having my back again, literally. I thought I was going to pass out.’

  She turned, dishrag in hand. ‘Doesn’t that tell you something?’

  ‘That you’re a good friend?’

  ‘And you’re an idiot. I mean doesn’t that tell you something about how you feel about Pavlik? Your world ended when you thought he’d died. I saw it in your eyes.’

  ‘You couldn’t see my eyes.’

  Sarah’s own warning glance was enough.

  ‘OK, you’re right. I … Well, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t even bring myself to look at my phone because I was afraid that call I’d missed was …’ I let it go at that.

  ‘So, tell him.’ Sarah tossed the rag into the sink. ‘Or I will.’

  ‘Duly noted.’ I stepped out onto the porch and punched up the missed call. It was from Pavlik. In fact, there were three from him, all seemingly in quick succession.

  ‘I heard about Pete,’ I said when he answered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  There were voices behind him in the room. ‘Hang on a second.’

  Then, ‘I wanted to get into the corridor.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked. ‘When Mort said there had been two deaths, I was so afraid—’

  ‘Mort?’

  ‘Mort Ashbury, the mortician. He was here at the coffeehouse when he got the call about Pete and somebody else. I was afraid …’ I was afraid to put what I’d thought into words.

  ‘That it was me? No, I’m fine.’ Pavlik’s voice was flat. He’d lost a man, and there was no getting past that.

  ‘Then who was the other—’ I had a thought. ‘Did you find Pauly Andersen?’ Not that I necessarily wanted the escapee dead, especially if it had been in a shoot-out with law enforcement. But if somebody had to die, Pauly was definitely the lesser of two evils. Or maybe, in this case, the greater.

  ‘No, but we found a stolen car abandoned at the bus station in Milwaukee.’

  ‘You think it’s Pauly’s?’

  ‘We’re working with the Milwaukee County Sheriff’s Department to see if we can track him from there, but the timing works. The car was reported stolen from Brookhills Manor on Monday—’

  I interrupted. ‘Nobody was hurt when it was taken?’

  ‘No, it was stolen from the back parking lot and turned up at the bus station fifteen miles away.’

  ‘Then that’s how Pauly got away.’

  ‘It seems likely that it was during the confusion of the shooting.’ Shot or not, Pavlik still wasn’t happy about confusion on his watch.

  ‘So if the second death wasn’t Andersen,’ I said, ‘then it must be unrelated.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ I think I looked at the phone.

  ‘They took Pete Hartsfield off life support at eight forty-three this morning.’

  ‘I know. And it’s awful, but you did everything you could for—’

  ‘At nine-oh-three, Al Taylor shot himself in the head.’

  ELEVEN

  ‘One way or another, I’m bringing him home tonight,’ I told Sarah, who’d come out to sit with me on the porch as we waited for the last commuter train to arrive from Milwaukee so we could close.

  I’d been to visit Pavlik and then come back to help Sarah. ‘He needs to be away from that hospital and the media and even his own deputies. He’s just so sad. It’s all just so … sad.’

  ‘Taylor blamed himself for Hartsfield’s death?’

  I nodded. ‘I know Hallonquist was worried about him. First, his gun is stolen by a convict. A humiliation. Then not only does the guy escape but he uses the gun to shoot two of your fellow officers.’

  ‘And one dies.’ She sneezed. ‘Sorry, I think I must be coming down with what that Nancy woman has.’

  ‘Bless you.’ I rubbed my face. ‘Pete Hartsfield has a wife and brand-new baby girl. Apparently Taylor left a note and one of those Internet wills bequeathing everything to Hartsfield’s family.’

  ‘Hope it stands up in court.’

  ‘I hope so, too, but I doubt that’s anybody’s priority right now. Pete Hartsfield is dead. Al Taylor is dead.’

  ‘And Taylor wanted to make amends as best he could. You don’t have to give me that “how can you be so insensitive” look.’

  ‘And I’m not. OK, maybe I was, but this is such a tragedy all around.’

  ‘And Pavlik feels responsible?’

  ‘Of course.’ I ran my finger along a line in the table. ‘His department. His officers. His responsibility.’

  Sarah pushed out her chair and stood up. ‘I’ll close for you. Go break your man out of the hospital.’

  As it turned out, it was easier said than done.

  By the time I got there, there was no doctor on duty to sign Pavlik out.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the petite nurse on duty said, ‘but Doctor Goode won’t be in until rounds tomorrow morning. I’ll be happy to ask her to stop by first thing, though.’

  ‘Fine, but
I won’t be here,’ Pavlik said flatly.

  Once I’d floated the idea of bringing him home, he was totally on board. So much so that, under the circumstances, I wished I’d spoken to the doc first.

  On the other hand, his eyes were verging toward blue again rather than the stormy gray they turned when he was upset. And I wanted to keep them that way.

  ‘Couldn’t you just call Doctor Goode?’ I asked. ‘Maybe she could just run by.’

  ‘Out of town.’

  ‘Well, what about the surgeon then? What was his name?’

  ‘Doctor Warren’s daughter is having a first birthday party tonight. You wouldn’t want me to interrupt that, would you?’

  The one-year-old probably wouldn’t notice.

  Pavlik was pulling on jeans. ‘There must be an ER doc on. Maybe he or she would be willing to sign the release.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the nurse said. ‘They’ve been awfully busy down there today.’

  Pavlik was buttoning his shirt.

  ‘Why don’t we give it a try,’ I suggested to the nurse.

  In the end, we all came to an agreement. We got hold of Dr Goode, who agreed to call the ER doc, who agreed Pavlik probably wouldn’t bleed out if he left. Pavlik agreed he’d sign a waiver just in case he did, and Frank and I agreed that peperoni pizza two nights in a row wouldn’t kill us.

  We were sitting in the bedroom, Pavlik propped up in my bed, a plate with a slice of pizza on his lap. Frank was on the floor, chewing. I was sitting next to Pavlik, cross-legged, doing likewise.

  And sipping red wine. It had been quite a day.

  ‘Thanks for getting me out of there,’ he said.

  ‘My pleasure. You’re going to have to break it to Frank, though, that he needs to split his pizza with both of us for a while.’

  ‘He’ll be OK with that,’ Pavlik said. ‘We’re buds, right, Frank?’

  The sheepdog grunted and went back to chewing.

  ‘See? You’re not company anymore so you don’t get the royal treatment.’ I rubbed his right shoulder. The position of the bullet wound and resulting broken rib made doing anything with his left arm difficult and painful. The rib was wrapped and the wound was bandaged, but I was still worried that either Frank or I would jostle him during the night.

  ‘You have to promise me you’ll take it easy. I’m going to have to run into work tomorrow for a while and I don’t want to find you on the floor “bleeding out” as that doctor so charmingly put it.’

  ‘I’ll make sure that if I do bleed out, I do it in the bed.’ He put his good arm around me and kissed the top of my head. ‘Easier to clean up.’

  ‘But not so good for the bed. I’ll go by your place and pack some things. Any special requests?’

  His eyes danced. ‘Yes, but I think that would make me bleed out.’

  ‘I meant so you won’t have to wear Eric’s clothes.’

  ‘What? You think they don’t look good on me? He held out his arms so I could see the skin-tight Gap T-shirt in all its glory.

  ‘It looks excellent on you,’ I said. ‘But he’s going to kill both of us if you stretch out his clothes.’

  ‘Fine. Just bring me some jeans and a couple of dress shirts and T-shirts. You know the drill. Oh, and a toothbrush and razor. Shorts.’

  ‘I should probably stop at the grocery store, too. As you’ve no doubt noticed, I don’t keep much food here.’

  ‘Pretty much nothing that doesn’t have caffeine, cheese or fermented grape juice in it. Unless it’s for Frank.’

  ‘I know I spoil him,’ I said, snuggling back in. ‘But he completes me.’

  ‘And what about me?’

  I froze, then felt myself relax. ‘You complete me, too.’

  TWELVE

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Amy said the next morning.

  ‘I know,’ I said, pouring cream from the quart carton into our server. ‘I have to say, she seemed fine yesterday, except for her attitude, of course.’

  ‘And now she’s gone.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s for the best. Put an end to the suffering.’

  Amy cocked her head. ‘Hers?’

  ‘Hell, no, mine. And yours. And anybody else who’s around Sarah when she’s not feeling well.’

  My partner’s sneeze of yesterday had turned into a scratchy throat and sniffles. In her mind, that meant she was getting sick. In my mind, it meant I was getting a week of grumpy partner, followed by a week of being sick myself. Not to mention all the customers we’d potentially infect, as well as my new housemate. Pavlik didn’t need to add that particular insult on his immune system to his current injury.

  ‘I couldn’t take it any longer and told her she should go home,’ I continued. ‘Thanks for coming in on such short notice.’

  ‘I got the impression that you’d have gone it alone if I hadn’t.’ Amy screwed the top onto the cream pitcher and walked it over to the condiment cart.

  ‘The sniffling was getting on my last nerve. And, every once in a while, she’d make this little whimpering noise.’ I shuddered.

  ‘Maybe she wanted you to send her home,’ Amy said, circling back behind the counter.

  ‘Believe me, I tried. Over and over again. Begged her for the sake of me and everybody else she was going to infect.’

  ‘She hates being around people who are sick herself.’

  Sarah routinely disappeared into the back to leave one of us to serve anybody visibly ill – or what she referred to as ‘Patient Zero.’ ‘Yet she’s happy to expose us when she’s sick. The paradox that is Sarah.’

  ‘She knows you have Pavlik to think about.’

  ‘I did run out and take him lunch before you came. He and Frank were happily ensconced watching TV.’ In fact, I’d been amazed at how relaxed Pavlik had been. And not a computer, notebook or phone in sight.

  ‘Well, that’s good. I’m sure Sarah didn’t want to leave you in the lurch.’

  Or herself without a sympathetic audience. On Amy’s arrival, my partner had gone into the office, presumably to get her coat and go home. But now … ‘Was that a whimper?’

  Amy lowered her voice to match mine. ‘A whimper?’

  ‘From the office.’ I stuck my head around the corner. ‘Damn. The door is closed. She must still be in there.’

  Amy’s lips twisted in a smile. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Nothing. Apparently containment is all we can hope for.’

  ‘Well, you fought the good fight.’ Her expression changed. ‘I haven’t seen you since Sunday, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about the sheriff and especially the two deputies who died. What an awful thing.’

  ‘It’s been a tough few days. Did you hear that Hannah’s mother died, too? Last Sunday morning, when we were all here.’

  ‘Christy told me when she was in. She says the mother’s friend – Nancy, I think? – is not in good shape. Nearly beside herself with grief.’

  ‘I guess they were very close,’ I said. ‘And had been for years.’

  ‘“Two peas in a pod” – isn’t that a great old-timey expression? Christy is just so cool and retro.’

  In my mind, coolly retro and frozen in time were two different things. But who was I to judge? I was usually so late hopping on the bandwagon that I most often ended up chasing it. You’ve heard about Christy’s new job?’

  ‘At the mortuary?’ Amy’s eyes were big. ‘Yes. Who knew she was such a …’

  ‘Freak?’ I said. Then added hastily when Amy’s eyes widened, ‘I mean that only in the nicest way.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ Amy said, waving it off. ‘Christy has a different way of going about things but she’s very kind – have you noticed? Look at everything she’s done for Sarah’s cousin, his being in jail and all.’

  ‘I think she’s in love with him.’ I got that icky feeling in my stomach at the thought.

  ‘True, though I think that kind of developed, don’t you?’ Amy leaned on the counter. ‘She started to visit him out of kindnes
s and a need to do good and then fell in love. In a way, working at the funeral home is also providing a service to people in need.’

  ‘Since the next step in her career path is sweeping out the cremators,’ I said, ‘let’s hope she doesn’t fall in love with somebody there.’

  Amy stood up straight. ‘Maggy, that’s awful.’

  ‘I know, but with Sarah in the office it seems up to me to make the inappropriate jokes.’

  Amy cocked her head. ‘Maybe next time it’d be better to just skip it.’

  I’d take that under consideration. ‘Well, anyway, I like Christy and I hope her new job makes her happy.’

  As I said it, I spied Mort Ashbury taking the front porch steps to the door. He pulled open the door and let Hannah Bouchard enter ahead of him. It was obvious she’d been crying.

  As Amy turned to greet them, I heard the office door creak open and saw Sarah tiptoe out. Snagging a coffee mug from the counter, she filled it with hot water from the spigot on the brewer and snagged a salt shaker, all without acknowledging me. Then she disappeared again.

  With a mental shrug, I poured milk into a pitcher to froth for Hannah’s latte. Since Amy was handling the front of the house, it was the least I could do. ‘I’ll get your latte started, Hannah. And what about you, Mort?’

  ‘… So sorry for your loss,’ our barista was saying to Hannah.

  ‘Double espresso,’ Mort said, approaching the window. ‘It’s going to be a long day.’

  It sure was. ‘Three deaths in as many days. Unusual for a place the size of Brookhills.’

  ‘Unprecedented in my memory.’ Mort was rubbing his forehead. ‘I’m sorry to have given you such a shock yesterday.’

  ‘Detective Taylor and Deputy Hartsfield’s deaths were a shock for everybody,’ I said.

  ‘Both relatively young and with full lives in front of them,’ the mortician said.

  ‘How do you do it?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘How do you deal with death and grieving all day, every day? Psychologically, I mean.’