Grant would never understand it, even though he’d lived in the South his whole life. Over the years, he’d attended his share of funerals. He’d watched his mother fret over what she was going to wear (Hint: the answer was something black) and what she was going to take to the family. It wasn’t just a simple matter of ordering a floral spray and dusting off the “marry and bury” suit in the back of your closet. Well, it might be for the men. For the women, it was a major event that started the minute the body was rolled out of the house.
Grant could just imagine the chaos going on in the kitchen of the mansion he grew up in. Cookie would be spun up, not only to make a dish for the family, but because his mother would’ve pushed her way in to make something when she normally stayed far, far from the kitchen.
Grant had no doubt that Robin Townsend was already the recipient of more casseroles and buckets of fried chicken than she could ever eat. It was southern tradition to feed the grieving, and feed they did. When Grant’s grandfather died, Cookie and Winston, the butler, tag-teamed the door as every family in town came by to bring food and pay their respects. There wasn’t a square inch of space in the freezer or refrigerator. Every available spot on the counters were covered in platters with cakes, cookies, chess squares, lemon bars . . .
Grant didn’t know much about Estelle’s daughter, but he thought bringing her baked goods was probably a bad idea considering her mother owned the bakery. Nothing like rubbing her dead mother’s memory in her face.
When he arrived at Hancock’s Funeral Home for the visitation, the place was buzzing with activity. The parking lot was filled with cars and the traffic had actually spilled out into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot next door. Grant opted to park there so he could make an easier getaway when the time came.
As he rounded the building, Grant noticed the Petal Pushers’ van parked out back. Miss Francine was directing the unloading of floral arrangements that would decorate the room with the body and blanket the casket.
Grant hated the visitation, but everyone had to attend, especially since he wouldn’t be going to the funeral. There were no excuses unless you were on the verge of having your own visitation. The guys at the firehouse would even take turns going down and watching the station so everyone could pay their respects. If given the choice, Grant would volunteer to watch it alone so everyone could go, but no dice. He was directed to go, then come back so Mack could go.
Stepping inside the funeral home, Grant signed the condolence register and queued up with everyone else. The doors to the visitation room were still closed, which meant the family was in with the body getting their first glimpse of the deceased. If there was going to be wailing and bodies thrown across the casket, now was the most appropriate time.
Fortunately, the room remained blessedly silent. It wasn’t long until the doors opened and people slowly started filing inside. Grant stuffed tissues in his pockets to distribute to the ladies, as needed, and moved forward.
He prayed for a closed casket, but he knew he wouldn’t get it. Open caskets made him uncomfortable as a child and it hadn’t changed much now that he was an adult. Part of him always expected the body to sit up and lunge for him like in some old horror movie. It didn’t matter how good a job Mr. Hancock did on makeup for the body, or how lifelike everyone declared her to be, to him it still looked like a coat of spray paint on a corpse. Traditionally, the line to pay your respects to the family went right by the casket, so there was no avoiding it.
“Did you hear how she passed?”
Grant looked up to see two older ladies standing in front of him. Both were wearing large-brimmed hats, blocking their faces. He quickly turned to study his shoes, not wanting to get drawn into the conversation, but it was very difficult not to overhear it. The lady in the dark blue pantsuit was whispering very loudly.
“No, I hadn’t,” the woman in the black dress replied. “How?”
He knew the rumors would fly fast and furious. No one on the Fire and Rescue squad would breathe a word about what they saw, but it would get out anyway. The driver at the funeral home would see something when he picked up the body, like a giant pink dildo, and tell someone in strict confidence. The neighbors across the street would see Estelle’s body rolled out of Bert’s house in the early-morning hours. That’s all it would take for the news to spread like wildfire. Whatever details they didn’t have, gossip would happily fill in.
“I heard Bert killed her with sex.”
Like that.
“Dotty! You can’t be serious. Admit it, you’re telling me a tall one.”
Ahh. That explained it. That was Miss Dotty standing in front of him. Dollars to doughnuts it was Miss Vera she was talking to: the strong scent of Chanel No. 5, her trademark perfume, and aerosol hair spray hung in the air around him.
The gears of gossip turned quickly in Rosewood, and Dotty and Vera were the conductors of the train. He had no doubt Miss Francine would hop on board as soon as she finished with the flowers.
“No, it’s true,” Miss Dotty insisted. “Her Oldsmobile had been parked in his driveway all night and her son just picked it up this morning. Jasper Daniels saw it. He also saw her body get rolled out of Bert’s house early Monday morning. Rumor is that he gave it to her so good her heart just gave out. Can you im
agine?”
“Sweet Jesus,” Miss Vera muttered, bringing a gloved hand to her mouth. “I certainly could. I remember Margaret complaining when she first got married about what a machine Bert was. She couldn’t finish a sink of dishes without him interrupting her for sex. It sounds like he hasn’t lost his touch over the decades.”
Grant closed his eyes and wished to be struck by temporary nerve deafness.
“I should’ve bid higher at the auction,” Miss Vera complained, “but I knew Estelle would pay any price just to get back at me. I let her waste her money. Turns out she didn’t need it much longer anyway.”
“What was all that between you two?” Miss Dotty asked.
“Well, to be honest, I stole Herman from Estelle during our senior year in high school. I don’t know why she was still so upset over it, it was over forty years ago. Clyde was a much better match for her than Herman, anyway. We’ve never been friendly, but I didn’t realize she still carried so much animosity toward me until that night.”
“Well, she won,” Miss Dotty said. “And lost at the same time.”
“At the very least, I hope she got to work out some of that aggression with Bert before she died. Lord, I hope her daughter hasn’t heard all the rumors. I’d hate for one of my kids to hear that about me, even if it was true.”
“You’re just lucky it wasn’t you, Vera. You could’ve just as easily won the auction.”
“Yes, but my heart is fine. He wouldn’t kill me with pleasure.” Grant heard her make a thoughtful humming sound. “He could sure try, though.”