Waters' Funeral Home--Find Eternal Rest With Us.
"Don't you think this is a bad omen?" Calla asked as we drove into the funeral home's parking lot.
"This whole THING is a bad omen," I replied.
"An omen?" Grace asked. "Oops. How does this thing shift again?"
"Radar O'Reilly could drive better than this," Margaret muttered to me.
"The fish in our pond could drive better than this," Hawkeye said. "Uh, Grace, it doesn't shift gears. This is an automatic," he called.
We, needless to say, were not in Grace's pickup. Instead, we took Hawkeye's dad's old car. Calla was in the front seat, only becasue she, Margaret, and I had drawn straws to see who would get that experience.
As the car lurched to a stop, Calla flung the door open and leaped out of the vehicle. "I am riding in the back next time," she told Hawkeye. "Or strap me to the roof. ANYWHERE but up there."
Grace sexily swung one leg out of the car, and then the other. She sexily stood up, and not-so-sexily fell flat on her face.
"How old is she again?" Margaret asked me.
"Twenty-nine," I said.
"How do you know?"
"Calla was snooping in her purse last night."
"Hawkie, this is so sad," said Grace. "Do you think I look somber enough?" She adjusted her black silk shirt that had the top four buttons left undone.
"Oh, definitely," Hawkeye said sarcastically. "Add a leather miniskirt and you'll be ready for Las Vegas."
"Hawkie, baby, you're such a flirt."
"I'm going to be sick," Margaret told me.
The inside of the funeral home was decorated in maplewood, with large burgundy chairs. A woman with straight blonde hair was sitting by a man in a brown suit.
"Hello," the woman said. "I'm Melinda Carmichael, and I'll be your funeral director. This is my assistant, Bob Nixser."
Mr. Nixser nodded. "Let me extend my sympathies to you in this time ofsorrow." He shook hands with Hawkeye and Grace, whom he probably assumed was Hawk's wife becauseshe was hanging all over him.
"Thank you." Grace let out a loud (obviously fake) sob. "It was just...so quick. No one expected it."
"Will someone get her off of me?" Hawkeye pleaded.
Margaret took ahold of Grace. "Do you need sedation?"
Grace glared at Margaret. "Let me go," she ordered.
"If you'll stop sticking to him like lint."
"Mr. Pierce," Ms. Carmichaelsaid. "Your father left some instructions on how he wanted his funeral to be carried out, but there was no mention of flowers or a coffin. Perhaps you have some ideas?"
"What sort of coffins do you have?" Hawkeye sat down next to Ms. Carmichael, who handed him a brochure.
"This model is very popular," she said, pointing one out on the page. "We have it in either oak or silver, and as you can see, it has a tree imprinted on the top."
As the two continued to talk, I sat down and looked at a booklet called Grieving for a Lost Spouse. Grace was absently flipping through a Time magazine, pausing atthe few clothing ads. Calla and Margaret werelookingat books with famous paintings in them.
"Do you think Da Vinci ever painted anything normal?" Calla asked.
"Not likely." I turned a page.
"Would you like to see our flower selection?" Ms. Carmichael asked.
"Yeah, sure." Hawkeye stood up and followed her out of the room, with Mr. Nixser running after them.
Grace looked from Calla to me, and back again. "You aren't going to turn into Russians again, are you?"
XXX
"No, Grace," Hawkeye said. "We're fine...yes, the stove works...yes...no, there hasn't any trouble with the guests...right. Yeah."
He hung up the phone. "She leaves for twenty minutes to get groceries and calls me before she goes into the store!"
"Benny, what are you going to do with these?" A plump brown-haired woman held up a box of medical books.
"I'll keep them, Agnes," Hawkeye said, sitting down at the kitchen table.
"Why is Grace staying here?" demanded Calla.
"She thinks I need moral support," answered Hawkeye. "I swear, she's stuck to me every second! I was surprised she didn't drag me along to the grocery store."
"You'd be too big to fit in the child's seat," Margaret pointed out. She took a drink of coffee. "Have you been up in your father's room yet to clean?"
"No one has. I specifically instructed everyone not to even go near that room."
"I wouldn't let anyone in the house," Calla said. "People rooting around through your stuff? Creepy. Mom, don't let anyone do that in our house."
There was a crash, and a group of women collectively shrieked. We leaped up and ran into the hallway.
"Mildred, how many times have I told you not to stack the boxes up so high?" cried a white-haired woman who looked like she would tip over if you breathed on her.
"I'm sorry," a woman with a brown braid meekly apologized. "Can I help you with anything else?"
"Yes--LEAVE."
"I didn't mean to!"
"You also didn't mean to put the tabasco sauce in Diana's wedding cake," Hawkeye interjected. "Why don't you go outside and sweep the porch?"
"I just did that."
"Some dirt blew on it."
Mildred left, and I shook my head.
Small towns don't vary that much, no matter which region you're in.