False Impressions (2 page)

Deana said, “I send the bodies out to be cremated. They get returned to me. Usually we have a service and the family takes their loved one home. Sometimes, they don’t.”

“What do you mean, sometimes
they don’t
?”

April took a step away. She remembered what she’d seen inside. Six narrow shelves, two boxes to a shelf. There were at least twelve people in here. Bodies. Cremains.

She shuddered. “Why would people
not
pick up their loved ones remains?”

“It’s complicated, April. Some folks can’t deal.”

“Like how?”

Deana looked at April, as if trying to judge how serious she was. She knew April was not a gossip and was curious about life here in Aldenville, their hometown. She made a decision and slowly opened the door.

Deana pointed to the top shelf to a plain cardboard box. April scrubbed an image of Vanna White from her head. Deana was honoring her request. She fixed her face in an appropriate expression.

“This old guy has no living relatives,” Deana said. She patted the box sadly and moved her hand to the next. “That one, the family moved out of the area. They left me a forwarding address, but it was wrong. They’ve never paid their bill. So I have Grandma.”

April felt a lump grow in her throat. She didn’t know how Deana coped sometimes, dealing with so much pain and anguish. Luckily, she had her husband, Mark, to partner with in the business. That helped.

But April wanted to hear about the fancy one. If that meant hearing a dozen sad tales, so be it.

The box seemed to glow inside the dim cupboard. She saw stamped images on the side, symbols meaningful to the resident that made no sense to her. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to study it.

Deana’s hand was on the shelf above the red box, telling her the story of a fireman whose family was still getting used to the idea that Daddy had died in a neighbor’s bed.

Deana moved down to the last row, began describing the sad tale of two sisters locked in mortal combat over their mother’s remains.

“You skipped this one.” April pointed to the shelf holding the red lacquer box. It was at hip height, so they had a good view of the intricate designs on the lid. Deana had just ignored it. Someone had decorated this box lovingly. How could the ashes get left behind?

Deana shut the door. “If you’re just interested in gossip,” Deana began, letting the sentence die an unnatural death. Her lips were turned down almost in an unnatural shape, almost like a scowl. Deana didn’t scowl.

April’s hand snatched back. She was surprised by the sharpness of Deana’s tone.

“You’re not going to tell me, Dee?”

Deana walked out of the room, into the file room next door. She pulled open a drawer. The screeching noise hurt April’s ears.

“Come on, we’ve got work to do,” Deana called. “As soon as I’m done with the taxes, I’ll want to move 2009 in this drawer here. So clear it out. Any records earlier than 2004 can go into this box and get moved onto the shelves in the other room.”

Coffee break was over. April reluctantly joined her friend. It was mindless work; any drone could do it. But she needed the money Deana was paying her. The plan was to box up old records, rotating the oldest files and moving last year’s files into the top drawer.

Deana came back in, carrying more files. “How are the Stamping Sisters designs coming?” she asked.

April saw her question for what it was—an effort to make up for Deana’s earlier curtness.

April grabbed a handful of folders and checked the names on the files. She moved those that were out of alphabetical order. “Rocky has her own ideas, I’ll tell you that.”

“What do you mean?”

“That means she doesn’t give a hoot about the creative side of things. She just wants me to produce.”

Deana had experience as a Stamping Sisters rep. She’d sold the line of stamps and inks. “You should be glad she’s a businesswoman. Don’t forget she’s been making a living as an artist, selling her own collages, for years. She manages to combine both art and commerce. What’s wrong with that?”

April knelt down and opened the bottom drawer. “Making money would be fine, but I haven’t seen any. I need income.”

Deana set to vigorously dusting the drawers she’d emptied. April knew Deana was giving her space to vent if that’s what she wanted. Since she’d been back in Aldenville, she’d leaned on Deana a lot.

April sighed. “I have to get out of the barn.”

“I thought Charlotte and Grizz living with you at the barn was temporary.”

When she’d escaped from California, her father, Ed, and his partner, Vince, had allowed her to move into their newly renovated barn. A few months after she’d settled in, Vince’s parents, Charlotte and Grizz Campbell, lost their life savings and their home. Out of options, they’d moved in with April.

“It was supposed to be short term, but I don’t see how things are going to change. They’ve lost everything. All they have is their Social Security. Vince has no choice but to keep them in the barn. Besides, I need my own place. Don’t you think?”

Deana sat back on her haunches, her super microfiber cloth in her hand. She had a smudge of dust on her nose. “Your own place? Without Mitch?”

“Mitch and I don’t need to live together. I’ve never lived on my own, you know. Well, barely, if you count the couple of months in the barn before the Campbells arrived.”

“I know.”

April had gone from her mother’s home to college to marriage. Her first four months back in Aldenville had been the first time she’d lived on her own. And she’d been too busy to enjoy it.

“I like the idea of fixing up a house of my own. Just me, no input from anyone.”

“You’d like a bedroom to bring Mitch home to.”

April felt herself blush. She and Mitch had a hard time finding alone time with their busy schedules. With Charlotte and Grizz in her barn, she couldn’t exactly lure Mitch up to her sleeping loft.

“I’m sick of spending the night at his place, or worse, getting up in the middle of the night and driving home. At first, it was kind of fun, but now with the bad weather, I’m only doing it once a week.”

Deana chuckled. “Like an old married couple.”

“We’re busy,” April protested. “If I had my own apartment, I could cook him dinner and he could hang out for as long as he wanted to.”

“Before driving home in the middle of the night,” Deana said. “I thought you were more liberated than that.”

“It’s not a question of liberation. I don’t mind being the one to drive home once in a while, but not every time. Shared responsibility.”

“Have you started looking?”

April nodded. “Mary Lou’s on the case.” Mary Lou Rosen was the top-earning local Realtor. She sold most of the homes that went on the market in Aldenville. “She left me a message, saying she might have one or two for me to look at. She’s bought up a few foreclosures in the last couple of months.”

“I heard about that.”

April sighed again. “Have you noticed this valley shuts down in the winter? No one moves in or out. Everyone’s in a holding pattern until spring. It’s driving me nuts.”

“Well, it’s kind of tough with forty inches of snow on the ground,” Deana said. “I like the slower pace. We take this time to reflect on life and other matters. Like end-of-year cleaning.” Deana smiled at her. “Besides, you’re the one who thought you missed it. Winter.”

It was true. Living in San Francisco, April had often bored her California friends with fabulous winter wonderland scenarios. She’d called Deana once a week for a weather update, and during big weather events, she’d be online following the local TV coverage.

“In those fantasies, I had plenty of thermal underwear.”

“I heard you and Mitch went cross-country on Saturday.” Deana lifted her fingers into air quotes.

“No, we went cross-country
skiing
, no quotes necessary,” April corrected.

“The story I got was that you two were out for about an hour before you gave up and spent the rest of the day in front of the fire at the club.”

April looked up from the pile of files she’d been sorting. “Damn this small town. Who told you that?”

Deana grinned. “Not saying. Just know eyes are everywhere and on you.”

“Why me?”

“Hey, you’re the girl who’s got three fathers and one mother, who just moved here from California. You’re interesting.”

Deana shoved a full box marked with her neat block handwriting onto a metal shelf. The number of files, the dates, the years.

She didn’t need April here. She was just throwing her some work to keep her busy and help her pay her grocery bills. Plus, Deana knew that April would go crazy without something to focus on besides the cold weather.

April unfolded herself from the cross-legged position she’d taken on the floor. She dragged a box closer. A noise from inside the wall startled her and she knocked the box over, spilling files onto the floor.

Deana opened a small metal door that was cut into the wall opposite. The noise got louder. Deana caught April’s eye. “Dumbwaiter. From the kitchen. My father’s father had it installed so he wouldn’t have to stop working. My grandmother sent food down to him. Mark wants company when he eats so he just sends messages.” She plucked a piece of paper off a plate and read it, laughing.

“Come and get it,” she read.

April grabbed a handful of files to put back into the box until after lunch. A familiar name on the tab caught her eye: Rosen, Mary Lou. She opened the file, blocking Deana’s view with her body.

Inside was an order for cremation. A copy of the death certificate for a Joseph Bartholomew Hunsinger.

An invoice for the funeral expenses marked “Paid.” Made out to Mary Lou Rosen.

April stood, her voice squeaking as she spoke. She couldn’t hide her excitement. “I knew it. I knew I recognized that style. That’s Mary Lou’s box.”

Deana’s fingers froze holding the note in midair.

April asked, “Why are there cremains belonging to Mary Lou in your basement?”

Deana’s version of cussing. “I told you to leave it alone. Mark says the panini are ready for lunch.”

April crossed her arms over her chest, casting a loaded glance at the file. “I don’t want panini.”

Someone’s stomach growled.

April covered her belly and said, “Well, I mean, of course I do want lunch, but I want to know why Mary Lou paid for this cremation.”

Deana ignored her question and started up the stairs. Built into the side of a hill, the funeral home had many levels, most of them secret from the public space. This part of the basement was accessible only by these stairs that led straight into the kitchen. As they climbed, April could smell basil and tomato and toasted bread. Her stomach did a flip-flop at the promise of food. Cleaning out basements was hungry work.

Deana was already at the sink and offered April a pump of soap. She squirted some into both their palms and they washed up, elbow to elbow.

“I’ll find out; you know I will,” April said.

Deana dried her hands, remaining mute. Mark, burly and handsome, had dished the sandwiches on plates. He and April exchanged cheek kisses.

Mark was the public face of Hudock Family Funeral Home. He met with the families, sold the services, and talked money with grace and compassion. He left the scientific stuff to Deana. It was a system that worked well for them.

He pulled out a chair for his wife and one for April. She sat down. “Thanks, Mark.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “You’re doing my job. I’d much rather be up here cooking than cleaning out files in the basement.”

Deana said chirpily, every note a false one, “I don’t know what I was thinking, getting him that panini maker for Christmas. I’ve gained ten pounds from all the carbs.”

She avoided April’s eyes. April watched her as she cut her sandwich with a knife and a fork.

April picked hers up with two hands and dug in. She took a big bite and chewed slowly, letting the hot meat and cheese warm up her innards. Mary Lou had paid for a cremation and boxed it up in a fancy container but left it in Deana’s basement. It didn’t make sense.

April waited for Mark to finish his first sandwich. He ate quickly, smacking his lips when he was finished. Deana offered him a napkin, which he took with a smile.

April saw her opportunity. “Mark, what do you know about Mary Lou’s family?”

“I know she has one,” he said.

Deana frowned over a mouthful of salami and cheese. Her eyes widened. She shook her head. Her husband stood up and smiled at her. She didn’t need to tell Mark not to talk. He was well versed in the discretion it took to be a funeral director in a small town.

April persisted. “There are cremains down there . . .”

Mark screwed up his face as though he was thinking hard. “Cremains, huh? Was that the guy who was abducted by aliens? What a mess that was. You try making a face look presentable to the family after it’s been peeled off by tiny little creatures. Not easy. Cremation was the only answer.”