“You must be the Pecks.” She flashed an ingratiating smile.
“Yes. I'm Graham Peck and this is my wife Jackie and our son Matt.”
“Welcome to Cassoday's.” The woman extended her hand in a slightly affected way. “I'm Mrs. Hutchinson.” She pointed toward her office. “Please come back and sit down. Mr. Cassoday and our Services Counselor will be with you shortly.”
Mrs. Hutchinson led the Pecks into a large office situated behind hers. Original oil paints hung on the walls and the furniture looked expensive, but Cassoday's office had the same sterile smell as the foyer.
“I'll close the door while you wait,” Mrs. Hutchinson said. Her professional smile never flickered or shifted.
Graham sat down in a large leather-covered chair and picked up a newspaper. “She's about as warm as yesterday's toast.” He glanced at the headlines and quickly scanned the side columns. “This isn't a good time to talk about the subject, but the morning paper says that Borden Carson and his Royal Arab Petroleum Company are contemplating hitting the USA with an increase in the cost of oil. Just what I suspected!”
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“I don't trust Carson and his company. They're trying to control the world through the price of oil.”
“Yeah, but the Russians have all the oil we can buy,” Matt answered. “In one of my economics classes I read about production at the arctic oil terminal in Varandey where one of Russia's biggest oil companies sent 200,000 barrels of crude oil to Houston in one month. Conoco Oil Company has a big production outlet at the Ardalin Oil Fields as well.”
“Yes,” Graham said. “But Carson's maneuvers are driving the prices up for everyone and who knows what he's trying to work out with the Russians behind closed doors.”
“I thought Mayor Bridges was an ally of Carson? At least that's what I picked up at the University.”
“Bridges and I disagree on that call, son. The mayor trusts him far more than I do.”
Matthew rubbed his chin. “I know this isn't the right time to discuss an issue like international petroleum, but how did Carson get to the position where he controlled so much oil?”
“The problem started several decades ago, Matt. You've probably read about several Middle Eastern wars in Iraq and Iran not long after the turn of the century. Of course, Saudi Arabia got blasted in the backlash of a couple of those nuclear exchanges and their oil fields were seriously disrupted. I've never had anyone tell me exactly where Borden Camber Carson came from, but he started out in business restoring damaged oil wells.”
“you know anything about his nationality?” Matthew said.
Graham shook his head. “His background is something of a mystery. I don't know why the press is sitting on the story, but no one seems to have printed any of the inside details yet.”
“Interesting,” Matt continued, “Carson's position seems to be getting stronger every day.”
“Yeah. He had an uncanny ability to unite oil companies and come out on top in each of those mergers. Before long Royal Arab Petroleum had the capacity to buy out other producers. One thing led to another and Carson emerged as the top dog. He knew how to play his cards.”
“I guess he did,” Matthew said. “Sounds like he's still trying to put his pincers into the Midwest.”
“That's my fear,” Carson said, “and I think that…”
The office door opened and a large heavyset man walked in with a small thin man behind him. The pudgy neck of the first man rolled over his white collar and his puffy cheeks had an unusually bright red tint. “Thank you for coming so promptly, folks.” He flashed a smile that slightly resembled Mrs. Hutchinson's grin. “I'm Joseph Cassoday and I'm pleased to assist you. This is our service counselor, Eric Jackson. We won't have your mother ready until this afternoon, but we are moving right along.” He dropped down in the large desk chair behind his long mahogany desk and pulled out a price list from the righthand drawer. “Do you have any questions before we start?”
“I do,” Matthew said.
“Certainly!” Cassoday beamed.
“Aren't almost all of the churches closed? I mean, where do people have services?”
“Right here!” Cassoday's voice had an enthusiastic sound. “We can take care of any needs that arise here in our building.”
“Oh!” Matthew slumped back in his chair. “I guess I assumed people had funerals in churches. Mr. Jackson handles these issues?”
“Well!” Cassoday kept smiling. “Years and years ago they did use church buildings some, but times have changed. We can get you in and out much faster in our facilities and, if you wish, we have a curtained area you can sit behind where no one will see the family.”
“Not see the family?” Matthew frowned.
“Often folks appreciate the seclusion, the privacy. Of course, that's entirely up to you and the family.”
“Yes,” Matthew said thoughtfully. “Mr. Cassoday, I'd like to ask you a personal question. What happens to people when they die?”
Cassoday's eyes widened in surprise. “Where do they go?” He took a deep breath. “Son, I'm just a funeral director. You'd have to ask a clergyman a question like that. Of course, Mr. Jackson handles the issues of fear or grief.”
“I don't know any clergy,” Matt said, “and I hear that most of them disappeared when all of those people vanished.”
Cassoday pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Those matters are far beyond me. Sorry. I can't give you much of an answer to that question. I'd suggest we get back to planning the funeral services.”
“I'm available to talk later,” Jackson said.
“You know anything about what happens after people die?”
Jackson looked embarrassed, and shook his head.
Jackie looked sternly at Matt. “Mr. Cassoday is here to help us with the planning. Let's stay on that subject, you can set a time to talk to Mr. Jackson if you wish.”
Matt raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
Graham smiled at his son and winked. “I'm sure you've had a number of difficult questions to answer since those people vanished, Mr. Cassoday.”
Cassoday shook his head. “Please call me Joe. Certainly been a tough problem explaining those disappearances, but I'm afraid I don't have any more insight than anyone else. One day they are here and then, boom! Friends and neighbors disappeared.” He leaned across the desk. “Maybe there really are aliens.” He lowered his voice. “Abduction by space creatures makes more sense than anything I've heard to date.” Cassoday straightened up and took another pad out of the desk. “Well, let's get down to business.”
An hour later the Pecks returned home. Once again the family gathered around the kitchen table. Everyone sat down without saying much. Graham quickly outlined what had occurred at the funeral home.
“I don't like the place,” Matthew said, pushing back from the table and crossing his arms over his chest. “Gives me the creeps, particularly that counselor character.”
“I think you're overreacting to the staff,” Jackie answered. “it's a business after all. They were only doing their job and trying to be friendly.”
“Maybe so, but I don't like anybody being friendly about Grandmother's death.” Matthew looked out the window defiantly.
Graham patted his son on the arm. “Cassoday certainly sidestepped your questions, Matt. Frankly, I don't like holding her services in their place either.” Graham rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It's not so cold outside right now. I think Mother would prefer a graveside service.”
“Great idea, Dad!” Matt sounded positive for the first time.
“Hmm.” Jackie sounded thoughtful. “That might be the right approach.”
Mary and the children listened, saying nothing.
“We could have an outdoor service where we share our thoughts and feelings,” Matthew continued. “The atmosphere would be more personal, meaningful.”
Jackie nodded. “I like that idea much better than having a fake preacher co
me in and read some words out of a book.”
“What do you mean?” Mary asked. “A fake preacher?”
“Your mother's saying that there don't seem to be any professional ministers left. At least, Cassoday at the funeral home didn't seem to know any. They bring in some local person to lead the service. The Cassoday Funeral home still uses some of the Prayer Books and Service Manuals left over from former days, but regularly ordained clergy are apparently rare.”
“Gee!” Mary grimaced. “It does sound weird.”
“Yes,” Graham agreed. “I don't like some functionary who comes in only to mark time. That's not my style. Let's call Cassoday's and tell them we'll take care of the graveside ourselves.”
“Sure you don't want to sleep on that decision?” Jackie asked.
“No,” Graham said. “Matthew, you feel strongly about this issue, don't you?”
Matt nodded his head resolutely. “Absolutely.”
“Jackie, why don't you call that lady? I believe her name was Hutchinson. Tell her about our decision?”
“Okay.” Jackie stood up. “At least, we have settled one thing. Graham, you'll have to be in charge of what's said. Not me! You understand?”
Graham took a deep breath. “Heavy decision. Maybe Matthew and I can work out what we actually say and do.”
“I'll help you, Dad.” Matt grinned. “I know we can do it.”
“I think we'll go back in the other room and watch television,” Mary said. “This is your show.”
“Show isn't the right word,” Matt objected.
“As far as I'm concerned this is some kind of production to say goodbye to Grammy,” Marry pushed. “Yes, I'm as brokenhearted as any of you, but I don't like all this religious stuff. No one in my school ever thinks about or talks about religious junk. We consider the subject to be weird. Just leave me out of any religious stuff.”
“Marry,” her mother said sternly, “that'll be enough of that kind of talk.”
“I guess so!” Matthew sounded offended.
“Whatever!” Mary raised an eyebrow and left with the boys following her. Jackie walked toward Graham's home office to use his telephone.
“Thanks, Dad,” Matthew said. “I know this won't be easy, but it's sure better than having one of Cassoday's cronies doing the service only to make a few bucks.”
Graham shrugged. “Yeah.” He ran his hands nervously through his hair. “Son, I'm sorry that I couldn't answer your questions better.” He stopped and blinked several times. “But the truth is that your concerns about death touched a place in me that has raised some old questions I need to answer for myself.”
“What do you mean?”
Graham pushed back from the table. “Your questions make me wonder the same thing. I want to know where your grandmother went, too.”
Matthew looked his father straight in the eye. “Somebody has to know, Dad. There has to be someone who can give us some information we can hang on to.”
“Find them, Matt.” Graham squeezed his arm. “Find them and tell me what you learn.”
CHAPTER 14
SNOW DRIFTED while the cars streamed bumper-to-bumper in a seemingly unending line into the Arlington Heights Public Cemetery. Even a few limousines were interspersed among Fords and Chevrolets that rolled into the cold cemetery. The early November weather had abruptly taken a strange and unpredictable turn, dumping tons of snow across Illinois. The staff from the funeral home kept running up and down the narrow lanes, trying to direct the cars where to park to avoid getting stuck. Few of the mourners actually knew Maria Peck, but as friends of Graham and Jackie or the children, the crowd had come to fulfill their obligations.
“We keep getting these bizarre changes in the weather.” Matt turned up the collar on his overcoat. “First there's this weird business with the moon, and then it's hot before we turn into the North Pole.”
“Yeah,” Graham answered. “Never seen it snow so deep at this time of the year.”
“Can you believe the number of people?” Graham asked Jackie.
“Your mother has been in Arlington Heights such a short time I didn't really expect many people.” Jackie shook her head. “Astonishing.”
“When you're a politician, anything is possible.” Mary's cryptic comment carried a cynical twist.
“I'm not a politician,” Graham corrected her. “I'm an advisor, an assistant.”
“Ha!” Mary laughed. “All depends on your definition of things.”
“Stop it!” Jackie demanded. “This is no time for you to get smart, young lady.”
Mary arched an eyebrow, but didn't apologize.
During the night, the manicured terrain disappeared beneath a sea of white. Stone markers in solemn, precise rows stood like silent sentinels watching over the large graveyard. Flowers from earlier funeral services had long ago dried and now hung in strange patterns from their wire hangers. Snow covered the arrangements with accents of white, giving a touch of purity to the faded brown plants. The wind picked up, scattering the dried leaves down the narrow paths between the rows of graves.
Graham knew it would be difficult for so many people to hear anything above the moan of the wind. He gave Matt a little hug to lend a touch of warmth.
“Certainly are a lot of people,” Matt said.
“Yeah.” Graham shook his head.
Peck looked at the gray tent over the gravesite, standing erect like a three-sided fortress against the biting weather. The sides of the canvas were flapping, but it broke the wind. Flying snow bounced off the sides of the tent and drifted in small piles along the ropes securing the pavilion.
Wearing a scarf tied around his neck, Joseph Cassoday hustled up to Graham. “Certainly is a nasty day. Most unexpected.” As he huffed and puffed trying to catch his breath, white steam rolled out of Cassoday's mouth. “I expected quite a few people, but nothing like this crowd! We did bring a speaker system. I'll have one of my employees set it up right now.”
“Good,” Graham said. “Additional sound will help the people near the back.”
“We can start as soon as everyone gets parked.” Cassoday pointed toward the head of casket. “I presume that's where you'll stand?”
“Sure.” Graham said. “We'll stand at the top of Mother's casket.”
Cassoday nodded and hustled back toward his employees still directing traffic. Mayor Frank Bridges got out of a black limousine along with Jake Pemrose, Al Meacham, Bill Marks, and Jack Stratton. They walked in quick, determined strides, pushing near the front of the crowd. The people stepped to one side to let the celebrities through. Bridges waved at Peck with a quick salute, and then turned around to nod to the people standing around him. Wherever there was a crowd, even at a funeral, Bridges was in his element.
“Folks,” Joe Cassoday said over the public address system microphone, “if I might have your attention. We'd like to start and I know many of you are cold. Please step forward.” He motioned for people to press closer together. “The Peck family is going to conduct the services today. I believe they are ready to begin.” He stepped back and smiled at Graham. “Go ahead.”
Graham took Jackie's hand and led the family toward the head of the casket. The tent cut off the blowing wind.
“Thank you for coming,” Graham began, noticing the public address system had a ringing, distracting quality. “We certainly appreciate the love and affection you've shown us.” Graham clumsily adjusted the tiny microphone even though it really didn't do any good. “Ah-hump.” He tapped on the mike a second time. “I'm not sure how to do this service today, but we wanted it to be our personal tribute to my mother. I've asked my wife Jackie to begin by sharing some of the details of Mom's life.”
Graham watched his wife walk forward. He had always thought Jackie was beautiful, but today she was particularly striking. Her oblong, angular face surrounded by brilliant brunette hair had the features of a model. Even though Graham knew she was terrified, what he saw was a tall women, carrying herself elegant
ly. The black mink coat added another note of dignity to a women showing an air of poise that belied her apprehension.
Jackie stepped up to the microphone and began reading from a sheet of paper. Her voice cracked a couple of times, but she continued to recite the facts of birth, events, and experiences.
Is this how you do a funeral?Graham thought. Maybe we should have opened with a prayer, but… forget it. Now I know why we once had preachers do this sort of thing. I didn't have any idea what we should have put in… Oh, my gosh! somebody should have come prepared to read something out of Bible. Oh, no! I missed finding a reading! Of course, we wouldn't have known where to locate anything.
Jackie added a few personal comments and then stepped back into the family group. Matthew walked up to the microphone.
“Grammy Maria loved us,” Matt said forcefully. “She cared about our family and took care of us. Every morning she started the day by fixing breakfast.” He paused and sniffed. “And now she's gone.”
The word “gone” hit Graham forcefully. Maria had evaporated like summer disappearing in the onset of winter. In a moment anyone of them might simply vanish. Jackie… one of the boys… Mary… himself… they could all fade into the thin air like smoke going up the chimney. Sure. It could happen in the snap of a finger. Gone in an instant.
No one had caught the shooter yet. The police didn't seem to have any firm leads on where the bum had disappeared to. Whoever he was, the man was gone as well.
As his innocent-faced children gave their talks, Graham couldn't help contrast what he saw with what was happening all over America. Moral control on erratic behavior seemed to have gone down the drain. Chicago had no idea how often the police functioned more like an army than cops. The staff at Town Hall feared criminals going wild and shooting up the metroplex. Yeah! The police would completely investigate his mother's death out of nothing more than sheer anxiety that some nut had hit the Peck home as part of a surprise attack on other city personnel. Maybe the killer had actually been after Graham!
Was such a hit really a possibility? Graham didn't really thing so. Maria simply happened to be standing at the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer probably only wanted money. He was nothing but another bum trying to scratch out a living by waving a gun in somebody's face. The nation was filled with these small-time crooks who proved particularly dangerous because they were usually too frightened to pull a riskier job. This idiot failed to recognize that virtually nothing frightened Maria Peck.
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