Winter's Mourning

by Janice J. Richardson

  Jennifer laughed. “I have a better idea, let’s have tea, then work. I’ll make it.” The words were barely out of her mouth before Jeff walked in the front door.

  “I don’t know how to get into the garage,” he said. “I got the body parked back there.”

  “You mean, Mr. Gordon?” said Elaine pleasantly.

  Jeff looked a bit chagrined. “I mean, Mr. Gordon.”

  Jennifer looked at Elaine and winked. “Come on through Jeff.”

  They walked through the lounge and selection room. Jennifer unlocked the prep room door and took Jeff down the little hallway to the garage. She still felt a tiny stab of fear every time she entered the back hall, it reminded her of her encounter with Travis when she was trying to get away from Jorge. She watched Jeff unload the stretcher from the van, wheel it into the prep room, and place and position Mr. Gordon on the prep table. Jeff remembered everything Marcia had taught him, except for one small step.

  “Good work. One more little thing left to do.”

  Jeff looked at her, puzzled.

  “The medical certificate?”

  “Oh, right.” He pulled the document from his inside pocket and placed it on the counter.

  “Well done. You’re a quick study too.”

  Jeff blushed, looking slightly confused not having been apart of the earlier conversation. “Thank you. Marcia’s a stickler for details. She doesn’t miss a thing.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” laughed Jennifer. “I remember my first few months working with her. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right.”

  “Look at you now.”

  “I still have much to learn. Thanks for doing the transfer. With Peter out of commission you’ll be running back and forth for a while.”

  “I don’t mind. See you later Ms. Spencer.”

  “Bye.”

  Ms. Spencer, she thought. That feels strange. I won’t be part of a team; I’ll be the team leader. If I’m running two funeral homes, it’ll change how people view me. I’m used to being an employee, not a boss. Even coaching Jeff through the transfer was awkward, how will it be when if I have a major situation to deal with? I have to learn to talk and act like a boss, even if I don’t feel it internally.

  The phone rang again, and again, and started ringing and jumping to the second line. Call after call about Mr. Gordon’s funeral. Jennifer checked the time, it was close to 4:30. The day had gotten away from her. She and Elaine had not had time for tea, she hadn’t started prep and she had her conference call. She dialed the answering service and gave them all the visitation and service details, asked them to take the line. She went to the front office.

  “I have a conference call Elaine,” Jennifer said. “I put the phone on answering service.”

  “Mr. Gordon was a former mayor and councilman, and a successful businessman in the area,” said Elaine. “We may have to bring in extra staff. It’ll be a big visitation.”

  “Or we could enlist a few pallbearers to help direct the traffic flow in and out. People are always asking families how they can help. I can call and see if they have anyone who might be interested. I’ll work on that later, after I’m finished here. The death notice will be in the paper tomorrow, the call volume should drop once it is published.”

  “I’ll finish the contract. I’ve barely looked at it. Then I’ll go see Peter.”

  “Tell him we all said hi,” Jennifer said, as she headed to her office and closed the door. She was still feeling a little nervous; taking over Spencer Funeral Home had been life-changing. If she purchased Williams it could make or break her. And it was all on her shoulders.

  She dialed the conference call with a confidence she didn’t quite feel then took a few deep breaths, determined not to let her anxiety and insecurity show. She knew Anne would be all business, she could and would emulate that attitude.

  Mr. Duncan got right to work laying out the details of the offer. Jennifer scribbled notes as he talked, chewing on her lower lip from time to time as she attempted to follow what he was saying. He suggested it was well within the expected guidelines, it was in fact rather generous. He told Anne and Jennifer financing would not be difficult, Spencer Funeral Home was free and clear. William’s Funeral Home had consistently maintained a healthy profit for many years. Both Jennifer and Anne asked about incorporation, liability, what to do about the name, how to keep the two business separate.

  Jennifer was surprised at her sister’s knowledge. It was Anne’s style; she’d probably spent every spare minute researching and learning over the past twenty-four hours. Picked up on things fast and retained information well. The fact that Anne had taken the time to fully engaged in the process helped alleviate some of Jennifer’s insecurity.

  Anne’s next statement confirmed Jennifer’s sense of Anne’s involvement.

  “I called a friend who happens to be a lawyer,” said Anne. “She didn’t see the offer but we discussed some of the details. Mr. Duncan is right. Bottom line, it’s a very generous offer. Now, Jen, are you up to the challenge? You know I can’t help you. I’m too far away.”

  Anne approves, thought Jennifer. I’m not alone in this.

  “I guess I’ll find out soon enough,” Jennifer responded.

  Mr. Duncan spoke up, “Then I’ll prepare the Offer to Purchase. The only clause that might need major tweaking is the twenty-five-year commitment to the limousine/coach service he’s selling to his employee. It’s not reasonable to be in a twenty-five-year commitment, too many variables. In the final analysis, it makes sense to use a service, they take care of the maintenance, cleaning, leasing, buying etc. With two funeral homes to run, using such a service is a major time saver and it means less staff and salaries. I suggest a clause stating that as long as the service meets your standards, you’ll stay with them. If the father and son are both committed to the business, there should be no problem. I just don’t want to see you locked in. I’ll work on it. Anything else?

  “No,” said both girls simultaneously.

  “Anne, do you wish to conference call when we meet with Dimitri?” asked Mr. Duncan.

  “Can’t. I’m on a major assignment and I have a tight deadline. I agree with what is offered. I’ll sign the necessary documents.”

  “Alright,” said Mr. Duncan. “Goodnight. I’ll be in touch Jennifer.”

  Jennifer hung up and sat back in her chair. She took a few slow breaths in and out. The decision was made. Her life, once again, had taken a major turn. I should feel elated, she told herself. Maybe that will come later. Right now, I have to think about work.

  She locked up the funeral home for the night and went to the prep room to get Mr. Gordon ready for his final visit with family and friends. Jennifer turned on her favourite tenor quartet and let the music wash over her while she worked, singing along.

  She saw the lights on the phone flash constantly as the hours flew. By eight o’clock she was satisfied with her efforts. She shut off the lights and went upstairs for a late supper.

  Jennifer was washing Grimsby’s water bowl when Gwen texted her to see if she wanted a visitor and a chai latte. Jennifer happily accepted and the two of them spent an hour together before Gwen went to work at the Casino. Gwen regaled her with stories of her daughter’s dance recital. It was a pleasant ending to a busy day.

  ***

  Getting an early start the next day, Jennifer went downstairs and reviewed the Gordon obituary, checking for errors and typos. It was clean.

  She unlocked the garage door for the flower deliveries, checked the suites, vacuumed the hallway and front lobby, ran the duster quickly over the furniture before making sure the washrooms were well stocked.

  Putting the register book out, she double checked the front page information and added another fifteen pages to the book before setting out extra pens. The donations could be done online, although most visitors to the funeral home liked to leave donation cards, so she made sure the front office had more than enough. As Jennifer puttered around taking care o
f details her phone rang.

  It was Marcia calling to see if she needed anything.

  “Yes, please. Lots of cream and milk and about six cases of ginger ale. Should we pick up cookies?”

  “Can’t hurt,” said Marcia. “It’ll be a good-sized visitation, so I’ll buy bulk. See you in a while.”

  Jennifer watched through the window as several flower vans pulled up to the garage door. She felt a tiny twinge of excitement. Setting up for a big funeral was a challenge, and if there was any fun in her job, that would be it.

  Flowers brought colour and fragrance to a sad situation. Jennifer loved placing the flowers, it brought out her creative side, and she liked watching the faces of the families as the colour and scent lifted their spirits a little bit. She cringed recalling the casket spray upside down in the grass at the Werther funeral.

  As she worked she kept running over the details of the funeral and decided to get Marcia to drive the lead car. She just wasn’t ready to deal with the anxiety of driving lead for such a massive funeral and preferred to drive the coach. Jennifer chuckled at little to herself. I’m about to own two funeral homes and I still haven’t overcome some of my nerves with the day-to-day stuff.

  The more Jennifer thought about the funeral, the more frequently the image of the young woman in the rain intruded into her consciousness. She closed her eyes and visualized the young woman crying in the downpour. A siren in the distance brought her back to reality.

  “Shoot,” she said out loud. “I forgot to arrange for a police escort for the procession.” She went into the front office and made the call. Heading to the garage, she started bringing flowers into the suite, placing them at the back away from the bier. She and Marcia still had to casket Mr. Gordon, it would be the first order of business when Marcia arrived.

  Jennifer called the Gordon family, discussed the options of utilizing family and friends or asking a couple of the pallbearers to assist with parking and crowd flow. The family was delighted with either idea and promised to get back to her mid-morning. Glancing at the hour, Jennifer realized it was time to open the funeral home for the day. Elaine would be in shortly.

  As she unlocked the front door she saw someone waiting. She let them in; they were inquiring about Mr. Gordon’s funeral details. When they left, Jennifer typed up the information in a decorative font, put it in a picture frame and hung it on a small hook outside the front door under the portico. She stood back to survey her work and saw another flower van pull in. She chose to walk around the outside of the building, enjoying the fresh air. Greeting the driver, she propped open the door and helped with the delivery.

  “Thank you,” said the driver. “I heard this place was under new management. Who’s the new owner?”

  “That would be me, Jennifer Spencer.” She extended her hand.

  “Oh, uh—sorry.” The driver tried to hide his embarrassment behind a bouquet.

  “These flowers are beautifully arranged,” said Jennifer, deflecting his embarrassment. She was used to being mistaken for a student or receptionist. Marcia had presence; she was tall. Jennifer’s short stature sometimes belayed the fact she was competent.

  “Thank you. I’m John, the owner of Blooms. I have four more orders for this funeral waiting to get done at the shop, it is going to be a big one. Mr. Gordon knew everyone it seems.”

  “Then we both have a lot of work to do,” said Jennifer with a smile. “See you later John.”

  As he got into the van another flower delivery vehicle pulled into the lot, followed by Marcia. Jennifer greeted the delivery person and went to help inside.

  “It’s going to be a busy day,” said Marcia. “Vacuum, dust, stock up, casket Mr. Gordon, set up the flowers, check on Peter ...” she paused.

  “How would you like to check on Peter after we casket Mr. Gordon?” Jennifer asked. “Then we can have coffee and discuss the flower set-up, which may have to wait until we’ve interviewed Brent Vaughn at Williams. Should we get Jeff to come over here and work with Elaine while we do that?

  “Good idea. We won’t even have time for coffee.”

  “Of course we will. Everything else is done.”

  “Good grief woman. What time did you start?”

  “6:30 this morning. It’s amazing what one can do when one doesn’t know what one can’t do. I even surprised myself.”

  “Elaine can take the phones when she gets in, let’s discuss the war of the roses.” Marcia referred to the flower set up. Jennifer knew from her past experience that if she placed an arrangement in the suite, chances were one of the other staff would change it. No director was immune. In Toronto, at the large funeral home where she used to work, flowers mysteriously moved around in the suites all the time. One didn’t have to have a funeral director’s licence to have an eye for symmetry and colour, and Jennifer would often defer to another staff member whose skills were superior.

  Marcia laughed. “We can both try to do it together and see who is the last funeral director standing.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” chuckled Jennifer. “Though, with such a large volume of arrangements the room will be jammed packed and it won’t make much difference. We have the family flowers around the casket, the family will probably decide the hierarchy of placement once they see it.”

  “Yep, some of the arrangements will be at the bottom of the pecking order.”

  Once the supplies were put away both women hung up their jackets and went into the prep room. Having worked together for years, they understood each others quirks and preferences, and the casketing went well. In no time Mr. Gordon was in place in the suite, surrounded by flowers and was, as Marcia put it, lying in state.

  Elaine entered as they retrieved their jackets. “Hi Elaine!” they said in unison.

  “Boy, I can tell you two have worked together for a long time,” laughed Elaine.

  “Coffee’s on,” said Marcia. “I’m going to call Peter, we can all chat with him.”

  Once they had settled into their favourite chairs, Marcia dialed him up. Peter answered on the first ring.

  “Peter,” said Marcia. “How the heck are you?”

  “Hey Marcia, I’m doing well. Going home tomorrow. I miss you guys.”

  “We miss you too,” said Jennifer.

  “Second that,” said Elaine.

  “It just isn’t the same without you,” said Jennifer. “Do you have an idea what’s ahead in your recovery?”

  “The usual. Rest, elevation for a few more days, then cautious weight-bearing and eventually weeks of physio. If I have any say in the matter and you can use me, I’ll be able to work again soon. Can Elaine use some help to digitalize records? That’s a good desk job.”

  “That could be arranged. You can pick your own schedule, work when you feel like it or when the physiotherapist says it’s OK.”

  Jennifer knew that should the sale of William’s funeral home go through, bringing the record-keeping into the twenty-first century could keep a person busy for weeks. Chances were Peter would be starting Funeral Service at college soon; he was on a cancellation list. Once he was able to work a few hours at a time, Jennifer would utilize him to get Spencer’s records completed first.

  “I see you have the Gordon funeral,” said Peter. “Wish I was there. It’ll be big.”

  “Having you out of commission has been challenging,” said Marcia. “We’re looking forward to the day when you’re back on your feet.”

  “Me too. Best of luck over the next few days.”

  “Thanks Peter.” Marcia tapped off the call and sat back in her chair, a little smile of contentment on her face. She’d been worried about Peter, the call alleviated her concern.

  Elaine decided to take her coffee to the front office to get organized for the visitations, Marcia chose to do the flower placement, so Jennifer excused herself and went to get the burial permit at City Hall.

  Jennifer chatted with the deputy registrar for a few minutes. The deputy wanted to discuss Mr. Gordon, who
’d spent many years in and out of City Hall.

  She kept an eye on the time, as she had only forty-five minutes before Brent’s interview. Walking back to her car she didn’t see a stranger approach her until he stood right in front of her.

  “Jennifer Spencer?”

  “Yes.” Something about the man made her feel uncomfortable.

  “This is for you.” He handed her an envelope. As she accepted the envelope he turned, walked to a car with the motor running a few parking spots away, and drove off.

  Jennifer put the envelope on the seat of the car and drove back to Spencer’s. It didn’t make sense someone approaching her in a parking lot, unless it was a summons, she thought. Do they do that? Don’t you have to sign for a summons? And why would I be getting a summons? It’s too early for court. The last time she checked with Detective Sergeant Gillespie, Travis hadn’t yet been arrested or charged over the money she found in the casket or with killing Jorge. Jennifer still believed he’d narrowly missed his opportunity to harm her, and she’d done her best to prove it to the provincial police.

  Pulling into the funeral home lot she parked, picked up the envelope and studied it. It was sealed. There was no writing on the outside. It didn’t have a lot of papers in it ... She opened it tentatively.

  It contained a single sheet of paper. The note was written in black ink with block letters.

  Pale Death beats equally at the poor man’s gate and at the palaces of kings.

  Your death is close.

  The paper fell from her hands and slid to the floor. Panic and fear threatened to take over her entire body. Shaking, she got out of the car and stood beside it, trying to regain her equilibrium. When she felt ready she picked up the paper by it’s edge, put it on the seat, and looked at it.

  The words attacked her again.

  Jennifer put her hands on the roof of the car, fighting the nausea she often suffered with her anxiety attacks. Gradually her breathing slowed and once again she regained control of her shaking body.