True to his promise, within a surprisingly short time Michael pulled up
to a three-storied white clapboard house wedged between several brick
tenements. It had Greek-style columns holding up the roof of a wide
front porch. A glazed, internally lit sign in the middle of a postage
stamp-sized lawn read: ‘Spoletto Funeral Home, a family business, two
generations of caring.’
The establishment was in full operation. Lights were on in all the
windows. A few cigarette smokers were on the porch. Other people were
visible through the ground-floor windows.
Michael was about to terminate the meter when Laurie spoke up: ‘Would
you mind waiting for me?’ she asked. ‘I’m certain I’ll only be a few
minutes, and I imagine it would be hard catching a cab from here.’
‘Sure, Lady,’ Michael said. ‘No problem.’
‘Would you mind if I left my briefcase?’ Laurie asked. ‘There’s
absolutely nothing of value in it.’
‘It will be safe just the same,’ Michael said.
Laurie got out and started up the front walk, feeling unnerved. She
could remember as if it were yesterday the case Dr. Dick Katzenburg had
presented at the Thursday afternoon conference five years earlier. A man
in his twenties had been essentially embalmed alive in the Spoletto
Funeral Home after having been involved in throwing battery acid in
Pauli Cerino’s face.
Laurie shuddered but forced herself up the front steps. She was never
going to be completely free from the Cerino affair.
The people smoking cigarettes ignored her. Soft organ music could be
heard through the closed front door. Laurie tried the door. It was
unlocked, and she walked in.
Save for the music there was little sound. The floors were heavily
carpeted. Small groups of people were standing around the entrance hall
but they conversed in hushed whispers.
To Laurie’s left was a room full of elaborate coffins and urns on
display. To the right was a viewing room with people seated in folding
chairs. At the far end of the room was a coffin resting on a bed of
flowers.
‘May I help you?’ a soft voice enquired.
A thin man about Laurie’s age with an ascetic face and sad features had
come up to her. He was dressed in black except for his white shirt. He
was obviously part of the staff. To Laurie, he looked like her image of
a puritan preacher.
‘Are you here to pay respects to Jonathan Dibartolo?’ the man asked.
‘No,’ Laurie said. ‘Frank Gleason.’
‘Excuse me?’ the man enquired.
Laurie repeated the name. There was a pause.
‘And your name is?’ the man asked.
‘Dr. Laurie Montgomery.’
‘Just one moment if you will,’ the man said as he literally ducked away.
Laurie looked around at the mourners. This was a side of death that
she’d experienced only once. It was when her brother had died from an
overdose when he was nineteen and Laurie was fifteen. It had been a
traumatic experience for her in all regards, but especially since she’d
been the one who had found him.
‘Dr. Montgomery,’ a soft, unctuous voice intoned. ‘I’m Anthony Spoletto.
I understand you are here to pay respects to Mr. Frank Gleason.’
‘That’s correct,’ Laurie said. She turned to face a man also dressed in
a black suit. He was obese and as oily as his voice. His forehead
glistened in the soft incandescent light.
‘I’m afraid that will be impossible,’ Mr. Spoletto said.
‘I called this afternoon and was told he was on view,’ Laurie said.
‘Yes, of course,’ Mr. Spoletto said. ‘But that was this afternoon. At
the family’s request this afternoon’s four p.m. to six p.m. viewing was
to be the last.’
‘I see,’ Laurie said nonplussed. She’d not had any particular plan in
mind concerning her visit and had intended on viewing the body as a kind
of jumping-off place. Now that the body was not available, she didn’t
know what to do.
‘Perhaps I could just sign the register book anyway,’ Laurie said.
‘I’m afraid that, too, is impossible,’ Mr. Spoletto said. ‘The family
has already taken it.’
‘Well, I guess that’s it,’ Laurie said with a limp gesture of her arms.
‘Unfortunately,’ returned Mr. Spoletto.
‘Would you know when the burial is planned?’ Laurie asked.