Viridian Tears. Rachel Green
“Anyone can slip on a bit of ice, Inspector.”
“I’m not saying they don’t. I’m merely observing a series of unfortunate events which culminated in your client’s demise.”
“My client is alive and well, Inspector. I call her Mrs. Burbridge.” She emphasized the ‘Mrs.’
“Of course. So Mr. Burbridge is?”
“The deceased, or the late Mr. Burbridge, if you prefer.”
There was a knock on the office door and Emily pushed it open far enough to put her head through the gap. “Excuse me, but Michael’s here and the mourners are getting rowdy. Some of them seemed to view a table full of alcohol as a personal challenge.”
“Thank you, Emily. I’ll be there in a moment.” Eden stood. “Right, Inspector. That’s all the time I can spare you. Was there anything else?”
“I don’t think so.” White stood as well. “Oh. One thing, perhaps, but it’s not really related. I noticed you’d put in a tender for the public disposal of bodies.”
“To the council, yes. I wasn’t aware it was a police matter.”
“Well, we do have to look into it. We don’t want to find all our unclaimed dead are being shipped off to research facilities, do we?”
“Of course not, but this is hardly Burke and Hare country, Inspector.” Eden walked to the second door, the one that led to the outside where mourners congregated before the service. “I’d lose my license if I didn’t dispose of bodies cleanly and efficiently.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like a tour of the facility when it’s convenient.”
“As you wish, Inspector. Just not today, eh? I’ve got a funeral to attend to.” She held the door open.
“Of course.” He seemed to take the hint at last and went out.
Eden closed the door and gave a long sigh. She’d have to do a bit of tidying before the inspector inspected. That could be dealt with later. Now she had a funeral to stage-manage.
She straightened her skirt and blouse and set off back to the Eulogy Room. It was, contrary to the usual decorum of the funeral home, as rowdy as a pub full of darts players. Several of the guests were flushed from the provided alcohol and were alternating verses about a brothel with calls of good health for ‘dear old Eddie.’”
“Ladies and gentlemen?” Eden’s voice was lost in the hubbub. “Ladies and gentlemen?”
None of the mourners were taking any notice of her. She worked her way to the front of the room where a large ship’s bell hung from a bracket. It was often used as a counterpoint to eulogies but now it could serve another purpose. She rang it three times and the conversation died. “Ladies and gentleman. If you’d kindly make your way to the chapel, the commemoration of life is about to begin.”
In the silence a small voice rose clearly. “Mum? I thought we was having a funeral?”
Eden turned to cloak her smile and led the way back to the chapel. She nodded to the humanist minister and stood to one side while the mourners filed in. Michael called them celebrants but however much Eden tried, she couldn’t think of the ad-hoc congregation as anything but mourners. Mrs. Burbridge had taken one look at the coffin on the catafalque and burst into tears.
When all the attendees had filed in and found seats, some of them looking quizzically at the leaflets outlining the order of service, Eden closed the doors. Michael raised his hands.
“How do?” He grinned at the mourners. “That’s what Eddie would say if he was here. He loved everything about life, didn’t he? He loved his beautiful wife.” Shirley Burbridge managed a weak smile. “His three children and his first grandchildren, Philip and Bethany.”
“That’s me, mummy.” The same voice as before piped up. It brought a collective chuckle from the mourners.
Michael referred to his notes. “Eddie loved the town here. He became a firm favorite among the locals and was elected to councilor the second year he was here. Another three years later he was the mayor. Everybody loved Eddie, and Eddie loved everybody.” He looked out at the congregation. “Is Robert Beswick here?”
“Aye. That’s me.” A man in a camelhair coat stood up.
“Except you.” Michael waved an index card as if it was evidence. “Eddie says he couldn’t stand you or your stupid statue at the town hall. He left explicit instructions if you had any more questions you could spin on the top of St. Pity’s spire for the answer.”
The room was silent for several seconds, then Robert Beswick guffawed. “What a card, eh? He always had to have the last laugh.”
The rest of the mourners laughed with him. Eden heaved a sigh of relief and couldn’t help catching Michael’s eye. He was relieved, too. Shirley had insisted the slight be in the service. It had been Eddie dying wish, she said.
The rest of the service went smoothly. The two eulogies from his sons brought laughter and tears and even the rendition of Jerusalem Shirley had claimed was Eddie’s favorite hymn was belted out loudly enough to wake him if he’d only been asleep. Eden knew he wasn’t. Not with the great Y-section in his chest and several internal organs missing, courtesy of Laverstone Police Pathology Unit. Eden doubted he’d have woken for the Last Trump. When the final Green and Pleasant Land had faded, Michael pressed a button and the coffin sank out of sight. A few closing words and it was all over. Eden opened the doors again, standing to one side as all the mourners filed out.
“That went well, I thought.” Michael spoke softly.
“You do us proud, Michael. Thank you.” She was aware the family were within hearing range and smiled into his twinkling eyes. “I can always rely on you.”
“You can, Eden. Anything you need. You know that.”
“So you say.”
Chapter 2
When all the mourners had left, the eulogy room had been cleaned and the chapel tidied ready for the following day, Eden dismissed the staff for the night and locked up. She unpinned her hair as she walked through the business side of the funeral parlor, shaking out her shoulder-length curls and catching them into a more comfortable elastic scrunchie. In the scrubbing room she exchanged her black dress for a white lab coat and pulled a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser. There was no one else in the building so she felt comfortable in just her underwear under the lab coat. The only person likely to see her was David, her husband, and he rarely got home from work before six. The only other eyes were those of the dead, and they never voiced an objection to her casual attire.
The room behind the two chapels was a chilled area for temporary storage of caskets as they came off the memorial bier. She rolled Edward Burbridge onto a gurney and pushed him across the floor to the freezer, a bank of six state-of-the-art mortuary drawers able to drop the temperature of a corpse down to minus sixteen degrees. It took about three days, but monitors on the inside of the drawers took readings on the state of the corpse within and displayed the information on a front-mounted panel.
“Sweet dreams, Mr. Burbridge.” She slid him into a drawer and switched on the freezing unit. Shirley Burbridge had paid for the full service, which included the casket. Eden was relieved. It made the whole process a little more tasteful than the disposable cardboard coffins favored by the council’s accounting department. Bodies shipped to her for disposal at public expense were rendered down as cheaply as possible.
Eden checked the readings on the only other drawer currently occupied. Elizabeth Pilgrim was as deep-frozen as she’d ever be in here. Time for stage two of the process. She donned heavy leather gloves of the sort used by blacksmiths and pulled open the door. Minus sixteen was cold enough to rip the skin off the palms with the slightest touch and Eden didn’t believe in taking chances. Not when her hands were the stake, anyway. She