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  WINTER’S MOURNING

  A Spencer Funeral Home Niagara Cozy Mystery

  Book 2

  CANADA

  WINTER’S MOURNING

  ISBN 978-0-4952395-2-4

  E-ISBN 978-0-9952395-3-1

  Copyright © 2016 Janice J. Richardson

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover design by Jennifer Gruhl (www.facebook.com/art4everbyjennifer)

  & MJ Moores (http://www.infinite-pathways.org)

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, names, events, incidents, organizations and events in this novel are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My characters Jennifer and Marcia, Peter, Ryan, and Elaine moved in with me months ago. Travis lurks just outside, while Grimsby sleeps on the back of the couch. My friends got to know them; my family became sick of them; everyone but me was tired of hearing about them. And so, to my family and my friends, thank you for sharing your space with them.

  To Jennifer G. and MJ Moores, I love your cover design.

  And to you, dear reader, thank you for taking the journey with us.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  About the Author

  1

  Marcia and Jennifer didn’t see it coming. The casket slipped from the hands of the two elderly pallbearers who were bringing up the rear and crash-landed on the edge of the grave with a sickening thump.

  The flower spray slid off, landing face down.

  Peter did his best to stop the casket from smashing onto the lowering device. He lunged forward to grab it ... and missed. The heavy unit crashed on his foot.

  The widow fainted, folding gracefully into the moist grass. Peter nearly passed out too, from pain. A strangled groan escaped his lips.

  Both funeral directors stood rooted to the spot, it was like watching a slow-motion clip from a comedy scene, except it wasn’t a comedy show, it wasn’t funny, it was a funeral. Their funeral.

  Jennifer reacted first. She went straight to the widow, whose eyelids fluttered like a goose’s wings as it takes flight from the water.

  Marcia reacted next, heading straight to Peter whose breath came in short gasps. “The pallbearers,” he managed to say as he collapsed onto the wet grass.

  Marcia turned to look at the pallbearers. One of the men held a hand on his chest. He didn’t look good. She got to the elderly man quickly, took him firmly by the shoulders and led him to the closest gravestone, easing him down gently.

  “Do you have a heart condition?”

  He nodded.

  “Nitro?” she asked. He patted his pocket. Marcia wasted no time digging out the bottle of little pills and getting one under his tongue.

  Fortunately, one of the family members snapped out of it and came over to help. “I’m a nurse,” she said.

  You are an angel, thought Marcia as she turned the poor man over to the nurse’s expert care, and went back to Peter.

  The widow had recovered enough to attempt to sit up. A couple of family members tried to yank her to her feet.

  “No!” said Jennifer firmly. “Not yet.” She wondered if the woman should lie down again so Jennifer could place her into the recovery position, but decided against it. The muddy ground had the widow’s suit wet and dirty as it was.

  Jennifer looked around for the limo driver. He stood staring at the scenario unfolding in front of him, frozen to the spot.

  “Jeff—may I speak to you please?” He didn’t move. At least he looked at her when he heard his name. “Now, please.” He sprang into action, slipping twice on the moist grass. “In the trunk of the lead car is an oxygen tank and mask. Here are my keys,” Jennifer instructed quietly. “Don’t run.”

  “Oh my, oh my,” came from a family member who fluttered her gloves in the widow’s face. Jennifer wanted to swat them and yell at her to stop it.

  “It’s OK ma’am, Mrs. Werther will be alright,” she opted for instead.

  Jennifer pulled her cellphone from her pocket and dialed 911. Peter, fully supine now, writhed in pain.

  “Police, fire or ambulance ...”

  “Ambulance. The cemetery. Second Street entrance, section 4, grave 13. We have a pallbearer with a heart condition and a funeral employee with a fracture. The widow fainted and we are administering oxygen.”

  For a few seconds the 911 operator didn’t respond. She probably thinks it’s a crank call, thought Jennifer as Jeff approached from behind and handed her the oxygen.

  “Pull the wrapper off the mask—don’t touch the mask. Here, let me take it from the wrapper,” said Jennifer to Jeff, who complied. She put her phone down, placed the mask on the widow and slipped the elastic over the woman’s head to hold it in place. The valve on the oxygen tank stuck and Jennifer struggled with it. Jeff reached over and helped turn it on. Jennifer heard the satisfying whoosh as the oxygen went to work. She picked up her phone. The dispatcher would have heard the conversation. “Hello?” asked Jennifer.

  “The ambulances will be there shortly. We dispatched two.”

  “Thank you.” Jennifer disconnected.

  The minister moved up beside her. “I’ll take over here if you want to check on your employee.” Jennifer rose and thanked him, then went over to Peter. Marcia was still with the pale, unhappy Peter.

  Jennifer stooped down. “I’m so sorry. The ambulance is on its way. I’ll let Angel know.” He groaned. Angel was Peter’s pregnant wife.

  “What do you suggest we do now?” she whispered into Marcia’s ear.

  “Run?”

  Jennifer did her best not to smile. Marcia had a point.

  “Let’s see if we can proceed with the committal and let the cemetery staff take care of placing the casket on the grave. One of us will check for damages to the casket, which means we may have to make a trip back to the funeral home to replace it, with the deceased in it of course.”

  Marcia had a knack for being quite witty when confronted with difficult situations. Jennifer remembered her response the night the funeral home had been broken into. Marcia made her laugh then, and she was close to making her laugh now.

  “I’ll check with the minister.” Jennifer made her way over to the widow. The colour in Mrs. Werther’s face started returning to normal. “Rev. Stone,” she said. “There are two ambulances on the way. Perhaps we should proceed with the committal?”

  “Excellent idea,” he stated as he moved purposefully to the head of the grave. The casket was at the foot of the grave with the flowers still upside down on the grass. Seeing the minister step up to begin the graveside service, one of the pallbearers quickly picked up the spray and placed it back onto the casket. As Jennifer walked by on her way to join the minister she touched the pallbearers arm and quietly thanked him for his consideration. In his booming voice, the minister ran through the committal service in record time, the sirens in the background getting louder and louder.

  At the final amen, which could barely be heard above the shriek of the sirens, Jennifer watched the lights of
the ambulances closing in. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she calculated it would take about two minutes for the cemetery manager to show up.

  Calmly, she met the first ambulance crew. “The gentleman lying in the grass has a fracture, the gentleman sitting on the gravestone has a heart condition, he has had one sublingual nitro, a nurse is with him. The widow is sitting on the ground with the oxygen mask on.”

  “Geez Louise, what the heck happened here?” one of the paramedics asked.

  “A series of unfortunate events,” said Jennifer, her shoulders slumping. Gone was the urge to laugh, now she wanted to cry.

  It didn’t take long for the ambulances to load up. Peter went first, followed by the pallbearer and the widow, who shared the second ambulance. Jennifer could feel and sense the discomfort of some of the family and friends of the Werthers. She had already willed the ground to open up and swallow her. Short of falling into the grave, that wasn’t going to happen. She had no idea how to ease their discomfort over the fiasco. Heads shaking, unhappy faces casting looks at Jennifer and Marcia, the mourners headed for their cars. Jeff took the remaining family members to the limo. Jennifer followed and apologized to the family, quietly backing away when they responded with silence. She returned to the graveside wanting to change careers—her heart wrung with a lingering tightness. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and she shivered.

  Marcia bent down, inspected the casket carefully and stood up. “It’s broken,” she announced to no one in particular.

  She pulled back the fake grass covering the edge of the grave. “Ah ha.” She flipped it back farther. “Do you see what I see?”

  Jennifer could only nod.

  The cemetery manager had been standing on the periphery waiting for everyone to leave. As the family limo pulled away, he hurried across the grass.

  “Ms. Spencer,” he said in his annoying whiny voice. “What happened here?”

  “Pallbearer mishap.”

  “Well, perhaps you should screen your pallbearer’s better.”

  Jennifer looked at him. At that moment he was the most hated person in her life. “Perhaps, Mr. Whitney, your staff could do a better grave set-up.”

  “Precisely,” said Marcia. “Look.” She pulled back the fake grass again exposing the grave hardware and pointed at the lowering device.

  With the ground wet and soft after the recent rain, the cemetery staff had placed lumber under it. The boards helped keep the sides of the grave from caving under the weight of the casket. The foot of the grave had two boards, the head had none. When the pallbearers tried to place the casket on the lowering device it started a chain reaction: The lowering device tilted forward from the weight of the casket; Peter had tried to get the men to lift the casket and move it back; It was too much for the elderly pallbearers and as they struggled to lift and move to the foot of the grave, one of them tripped over the lumber and let go of the handle. A domino effect resulted as one by one they let go.

  “It’s been my experience,” continued Jennifer in an icy tone that did not disguise her anger, “four boards are used when the ground is soft.” She didn’t mention it was also her responsibility to check the grave setup ahead of time. She was hoping he would forget that part.

  Jennifer heard a car pull up. Glancing over she saw a familiar face. Marcia saw it too. Mr. Whitney had his back to the road, he didn’t see Detective Sergeant Ryan Gillespie get out and walk quickly to the graveside.

  “Well,” said Mr. Whitney. “If you women would stop playing funeral director and stay at home where you belong, then the male directors who should have been here would have had the strength to stop the casket’s fall.”

  “Marcia, Jennifer, are you alright?” asked the Detective Sergeant.

  Marcia wasn’t alright. She was livid. “We’re fine, thank you Ryan,” she said sweetly. “Mr. Whitney was just suggesting we women should stay home and stop playing funeral director.”

  “Let’s get you out of here,” said the Detective Sergeant after a quick look at Marcia’s face. “Good day Mr. Whitney.”

  Jennifer turned and walked to the lead car, the minister in tow. She was shaking with rage and shock from the day’s fiasco. Ryan walked Marcia to the funeral coach. Jennifer nearly made it to the lead car when she realized she’d forgotten something—something important. She asked the minister to wait at the car and turned and met the other two at the coach.

  “The casket,” Jennifer said, opening the back of the coach and pulling out the church truck. “We. Forgot. The casket.”

  “That’s a first,” said Marcia sarcastically. “Let’s take it out of the grave and back to the funeral home why don’t we? This was supposed to be an interment, not a disinterment.”

  She looked at Jennifer, her sarcasm gone. “I can’t believe we nearly forgot the casket. Really? Can this day get any worse?”

  “I’ll help,” said Ryan politely, knowing it was best to keep his conversational input to a minimum. Between the three of them they placed the broken casket, with Mr. Werther inside, onto the church truck and pushed it to the coach. It was heavy and awkward, but they managed to maintain some small level of decorum. The minister, the only other person left other than Mr. Whitney, watched the three of them wheeling the casket to the coach and stepped in to assist.

  Mr. Whitney made no attempt to help; he turned on his heels and marched back to his car, driving over the posted cemetery speed limit back to his office.

  “I’ll meet you at the funeral home,” Jennifer said as she walked to the lead car, followed by the minister. She reached into her pocket for the keys. They were not there. It took a few seconds for her to clue in.

  Jeff had them.

  He was long gone. His job was to get the family to the post-funeral reception.

  “No keys?” asked the minister.

  “One key,” Jennifer sighed, stooping down and reaching into the wheel well. She pulled out a little magnetized box, opened it, and presented the spare.

  “Oh,” laughed Rev. Stone. “Brilliant.”

  On the way back to the church Jennifer asked Rev. Stone to let her know how the pallbearer and Mrs. Werther were doing. He promised to call.

  “That was quite the funeral,” he said cheerfully. “All’s well that ends well my mother used to say.”

  As soon as the Rev. Stone disappeared into the church, Jennifer hit the Bluetooth button on the console. “Peter’s Home please,” she asked the device, oblivious to the fact she’d said please to her Bluetooth device.

  2

  As Jennifer pulled up to Peter’s house, she saw an older woman emerging from a cab. She pulled up behind the taxi, paid the fare for Angel’s mother then waited on the sidewalk for Angel, who came down the walk less than a minute later.

  On their short ride to the hospital Jennifer did her best to keep the conversation flowing by asking Angel about her pregnancy. Angel happily chatted on about how excited she and Peter were about the new baby. Pulling up the Emergency Room entrance, Jennifer said, “Please let me know about Peter as soon as you can.”

  “Thank you, I will.” With a little wave, Angel disappeared through the automatic doors and into the hospital.

  Jennifer drove straight to Williams Funeral Home, worrying about the widow and the pallbearer which made her wonder again if she really should consider a career change. Am I cut out for this, she wondered. Owning my own funeral home?

  She pulled into the parking lot just in time to see Althea, the owner’s wife, emerge from her vehicle. Jennifer’s heart sank. When she had agreed to cover the funeral home for Althea’s ailing husband, Dimitri, she’d assumed it would be business as usual. The interment today did not go well. What would Althea think of her now?

  Putting on a brave face, she greeted Althea, “How is Dimitri?”

  Althea beamed. “Dimitri, he is doing well thank you. He is going home with nurse soon.” Jennifer smiled at her. Althea was clearly happy about the positive turn of events. She was thinking in Gre
ek and speaking English which always caused her to jumble her words slightly.

  “I’m so glad to hear that,” Jennifer said warmly as she opened the funeral home door for her. Althea dropped her coat and bag in the front office.

  “I will meet you downstairs,” she said.

  “OK.” Jennifer walked went down as she heard Althea opening desk drawers, her dread of having to tell Althea about the day’s events made her stomach clench. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, light headed.

  Detective Sergeant Gillespie sat next to Marcia in the lounge. The two of them were deep in conversation when Jennifer entered.

  “Pull up a chair,” said Marcia. “We must debrief.”

  Detective Sergeant Gillespie couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

  “When the dispatch office called me I thought you two were involved in some kind of attack,” he said. “A two-ambulance response at a graveside service?”

  “Stop,” groaned Marcia. “It’s not funny.”

  “It’s very funny,” said Ryan. “Only the two of you could get yourselves into so much trouble. You should have heard the chatter on the ambulance band.”

  Jennifer knew the ambulance and police were not being disrespectful, it was part of a day’s work. It must have been a strange call to respond to, three down in a graveyard.

  “Someday we will laugh about this,” said Jennifer. “Just not today.”

  “Or tomorrow,” said Marcia glumly. She got down to the debriefing. “I ordered another casket for Mr. Werther,” said Marcia. A chuckle emanated from Detective Sergeant. It threatened to erupt into a full-blown laugh. Marcia poked him. It didn’t help. She soldiered on. “I’ll make sure the bill covers the cost of the casket and I’ll remove the charges for the graveside service.”

  Little snorts of laughter kept escaping Ryan. “I believe you meant caskets,” he responded. Marcia did her best to ignore him.

  “It’s my fault,” said Jennifer unhappily. “I was in the lead car. I should have checked the grave set-up.”

  Marcia looked at Jennifer bleakly.