door unlocked.
“Hello,” he called as he entered, called again from her dining room and once again at the base of the staircase. He didn’t get a response and hurried back into the kitchen. He doubled up a couple of trash bags, then placed four plates, four sets of silverware, four glasses and two coffee mugs inside.
He doubled up two more trash bags, stuffed some wash cloths, a pillow and a blanket in there along with some cans of soup and a bag of Doritos, then made his way out the door. He was sitting in the lobby waiting for Ardis when she finished her deposition.
“Aren’t you just the prompt person,” she said coming around the corner.
He glanced toward battle ax Marci and smiled, but didn’t respond.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He walked up to the grocery store a few nights later. He still looked around suspiciously whenever he came out of his building, or any building for that matter, but he never saw anything suggesting he was being watched or followed. Still he’d waited until dark, which meant he had to hurry since the grocery store closed at nine.
He was literally the only person in the checkout lane and he thought he was probably the last customer in the store. As he grabbed his bag and made his way toward the door the checkout girl was already busy closing down her register, probably hurrying to make a hot date. All he knew was she didn’t have time to pay attention to him. He stole a newspaper off the rack. Big deal, they’d be sent back first thing in the morning with tomorrow’s deliveries anyway, so it wasn’t like the grocery store was really losing anything.
He was sitting on the floor, nibbling on some of the Doritos he’d taken from Ardis Dempsey a few days back while he read his stolen copy of the paper. He’d made his way through the news, such as it was, and began working his way through the obituaries.
There it was, “Katherine ‘Kate’ Clarken. Died unexpectedly. Visitation between six and eight. Thursday evening. Private internment.”
That was tomorrow night. It struck him that the visitation service was short, just two hours, with no funeral service or survivors mentioned. Given the few hours of Kate’s life he’d been exposed to, Bobby didn’t find it surprising there wasn’t a throng of people lined up to bid a tearful good-bye. Still, in a way he felt sorry for her.
* * *
He parked on the street about half-past seven hoping to avoid any crowd. He needn’t have worried. The Geo Metro was the only car parked on the street for a block in either direction.
The Capitol City funeral home had been in business for close to a century. When Capitol City first started out, this section of town must have been some kind of neighborhood. Bobby guessed the area had fallen on hard times during the Great Depression and then life just sort of skidded downhill from there. Now, the place was a jumble of nondescript two-story brick warehouses, the odd little ugly frame house, a few small salvage yards and a sleazy bar named Harold’s that advertized Happy Hour All Day Long directly across the street.
He grabbed his four-dollar bouquet of grocery store flowers from the passenger seat and headed inside the Capitol City funeral home. The lobby was small and nondescript. Off to the right was a small office illuminated by the glare coming off an old television sitting on a desk.
“Can I help you?” a man asked from about a foot behind the television and flicked on a light. He was dressed in an out-of-date dark suit, a white shirt yellowed around the collar with age and a dark tie. He didn’t bother to get up. For that matter he didn’t really bother to look at Bobby. He just quickly glanced in the general direction and then returned to the television.
“Katherine Clarken,” Bobby said.
That seemed to get the attendant’s attention. He studied Bobby for a long moment, glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hand. “Straight ahead, second door on the left.”
“Hello,” he called as he entered, called again from her dining room and once again at the base of the staircase. He didn’t get a response and hurried back into the kitchen. He doubled up a couple of trash bags, then placed four plates, four sets of silverware, four glasses and two coffee mugs inside.
He doubled up two more trash bags, stuffed some wash cloths, a pillow and a blanket in there along with some cans of soup and a bag of Doritos, then made his way out the door. He was sitting in the lobby waiting for Ardis when she finished her deposition.
“Aren’t you just the prompt person,” she said coming around the corner.
He glanced toward battle ax Marci and smiled, but didn’t respond.
Chapter Twenty-Three
He walked up to the grocery store a few nights later. He still looked around suspiciously whenever he came out of his building, or any building for that matter, but he never saw anything suggesting he was being watched or followed. Still he’d waited until dark, which meant he had to hurry since the grocery store closed at nine.
He was literally the only person in the checkout lane and he thought he was probably the last customer in the store. As he grabbed his bag and made his way toward the door the checkout girl was already busy closing down her register, probably hurrying to make a hot date. All he knew was she didn’t have time to pay attention to him. He stole a newspaper off the rack. Big deal, they’d be sent back first thing in the morning with tomorrow’s deliveries anyway, so it wasn’t like the grocery store was really losing anything.
He was sitting on the floor, nibbling on some of the Doritos he’d taken from Ardis Dempsey a few days back while he read his stolen copy of the paper. He’d made his way through the news, such as it was, and began working his way through the obituaries.
There it was, “Katherine ‘Kate’ Clarken. Died unexpectedly. Visitation between six and eight. Thursday evening. Private internment.”
That was tomorrow night. It struck him that the visitation service was short, just two hours, with no funeral service or survivors mentioned. Given the few hours of Kate’s life he’d been exposed to, Bobby didn’t find it surprising there wasn’t a throng of people lined up to bid a tearful good-bye. Still, in a way he felt sorry for her.
* * *
He parked on the street about half-past seven hoping to avoid any crowd. He needn’t have worried. The Geo Metro was the only car parked on the street for a block in either direction.
The Capitol City funeral home had been in business for close to a century. When Capitol City first started out, this section of town must have been some kind of neighborhood. Bobby guessed the area had fallen on hard times during the Great Depression and then life just sort of skidded downhill from there. Now, the place was a jumble of nondescript two-story brick warehouses, the odd little ugly frame house, a few small salvage yards and a sleazy bar named Harold’s that advertized Happy Hour All Day Long directly across the street.
He grabbed his four-dollar bouquet of grocery store flowers from the passenger seat and headed inside the Capitol City funeral home. The lobby was small and nondescript. Off to the right was a small office illuminated by the glare coming off an old television sitting on a desk.
“Can I help you?” a man asked from about a foot behind the television and flicked on a light. He was dressed in an out-of-date dark suit, a white shirt yellowed around the collar with age and a dark tie. He didn’t bother to get up. For that matter he didn’t really bother to look at Bobby. He just quickly glanced in the general direction and then returned to the television.
“Katherine Clarken,” Bobby said.
That seemed to get the attendant’s attention. He studied Bobby for a long moment, glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hand. “Straight ahead, second door on the left.”
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