Read Online Dangerous Undertaking by Mark de Castrique - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark de Castrique
Tags: Fiction - Mystery
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touched the man’s wrist and interrupted him. “I know, Odell, but Mr. Clayton and the sheriff are just doing their best to pursue every possibility. All of us hope the poor demented man is found alive. The loss of the…the…”
He faltered for a second, and Odell Taylor said, “Colemans’ son.”
“Yes, the loss of the Colemans’ son is enough tragedy to deal with. We’d better go pay our respects.”
Pryor eyed the visitation room as if studying the fairway before a golf shot. Then he and his “caddie” walked into the crowd. Susan took Pryor’s coat from me and whispered, “Who’s Mr. Personality and the Big Shot?”
“The Big Shot is Fred Pryor, the guy Tommy Lee and I met at Broad Creek. Mr. Personality is his foreman. He’s helping his boss keep faces and names together. I’d just as soon he forget mine.”
Susan and I stood at the doorway where we could be of assistance in case someone needed a restroom. Uncle Wayne stayed close to the young mother. She sat in her chair blankly staring ahead. People made short statements of condolence and then moved on to small circles of conversation.
Fred Pryor spent about ten minutes making small talk with folks he recognized from the construction site, but whose jobs kept them nameless. As I expected, Taylor positioned himself beside Pryor and cued each first name so that the boss could say hello and agree how terrible a tragedy it was and what good friends they were to come.
Then I saw Pryor look around the room and decide it was time for him to get to the purpose of his visit. He cleared his throat just loud enough to halt conversation around him. The silence rippled through the room as he walked over to the Colemans. He pulled a brown envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Luke.
“We hope this can help in your hour of need.”
Everyone watched intently, recognizing the standard pay envelope of Ridgemont Power and Electric. Luke opened the unsealed flap. He studied the enclosure without removing it, and then passed it to his wife. “Thank you, Mr. Pryor,” he muttered, never lifting his eyes.
Harriet removed the check and held it between her splintered fingernails. She looked over its edge to the body of her son. Tears flushed her eyes and the check shook uncontrollably.
“A hundred dollars. A hundred dollars for the life of my Jimmy.” Her face twisted, and the check fluttered to the floor.
The color rose in Fred Pryor’s cheeks. Those were not the words of gratitude he expected. The woman had humiliated him. I knew he wanted to snatch up the check and storm out.
“It’s an hour of need. Need and understanding,” said Wayne. “We thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mr. Pryor.” My uncle stood behind the sobbing woman and turned his gentle smile on the whole room, diffusing the tension. Wayne’s sensitivity, like that of my father, was something you don’t learn in embalming school. It was something I found difficult to express.
Fred Pryor pushed the bile back in his throat and managed to nod an acceptance of the compliment. Leroy Jackson knelt and picked up the check. As he raised it past Harriet Coleman, she reached out with the swiftness of a serpent, snared it from his hand and clutched it to her breast.
I felt a body bump against me, and I slid aside as Fats McCauley squeezed between me and the doorjamb. He made no apology as he stood staring into the room, his heavy face moving side to side as he searched for someone.
“Brenda,” he said. “I want to tell the mother about my Brenda.”
Only the rustle of clothing broke the silence as people turned to see who had spoken. Odell Taylor stepped forward as if challenging Fats to intrude farther.
A hand grabbed Fats firmly by the shoulder and pulled him back into the foyer. With strength beyond his physical appearance, Reverend Pace spun the obese man around.
“Not tonight, Travis.” Pace put his face only inches away from the other man. “This is not the time. Right
He faltered for a second, and Odell Taylor said, “Colemans’ son.”
“Yes, the loss of the Colemans’ son is enough tragedy to deal with. We’d better go pay our respects.”
Pryor eyed the visitation room as if studying the fairway before a golf shot. Then he and his “caddie” walked into the crowd. Susan took Pryor’s coat from me and whispered, “Who’s Mr. Personality and the Big Shot?”
“The Big Shot is Fred Pryor, the guy Tommy Lee and I met at Broad Creek. Mr. Personality is his foreman. He’s helping his boss keep faces and names together. I’d just as soon he forget mine.”
Susan and I stood at the doorway where we could be of assistance in case someone needed a restroom. Uncle Wayne stayed close to the young mother. She sat in her chair blankly staring ahead. People made short statements of condolence and then moved on to small circles of conversation.
Fred Pryor spent about ten minutes making small talk with folks he recognized from the construction site, but whose jobs kept them nameless. As I expected, Taylor positioned himself beside Pryor and cued each first name so that the boss could say hello and agree how terrible a tragedy it was and what good friends they were to come.
Then I saw Pryor look around the room and decide it was time for him to get to the purpose of his visit. He cleared his throat just loud enough to halt conversation around him. The silence rippled through the room as he walked over to the Colemans. He pulled a brown envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to Luke.
“We hope this can help in your hour of need.”
Everyone watched intently, recognizing the standard pay envelope of Ridgemont Power and Electric. Luke opened the unsealed flap. He studied the enclosure without removing it, and then passed it to his wife. “Thank you, Mr. Pryor,” he muttered, never lifting his eyes.
Harriet removed the check and held it between her splintered fingernails. She looked over its edge to the body of her son. Tears flushed her eyes and the check shook uncontrollably.
“A hundred dollars. A hundred dollars for the life of my Jimmy.” Her face twisted, and the check fluttered to the floor.
The color rose in Fred Pryor’s cheeks. Those were not the words of gratitude he expected. The woman had humiliated him. I knew he wanted to snatch up the check and storm out.
“It’s an hour of need. Need and understanding,” said Wayne. “We thank you for your thoughtfulness, Mr. Pryor.” My uncle stood behind the sobbing woman and turned his gentle smile on the whole room, diffusing the tension. Wayne’s sensitivity, like that of my father, was something you don’t learn in embalming school. It was something I found difficult to express.
Fred Pryor pushed the bile back in his throat and managed to nod an acceptance of the compliment. Leroy Jackson knelt and picked up the check. As he raised it past Harriet Coleman, she reached out with the swiftness of a serpent, snared it from his hand and clutched it to her breast.
I felt a body bump against me, and I slid aside as Fats McCauley squeezed between me and the doorjamb. He made no apology as he stood staring into the room, his heavy face moving side to side as he searched for someone.
“Brenda,” he said. “I want to tell the mother about my Brenda.”
Only the rustle of clothing broke the silence as people turned to see who had spoken. Odell Taylor stepped forward as if challenging Fats to intrude farther.
A hand grabbed Fats firmly by the shoulder and pulled him back into the foyer. With strength beyond his physical appearance, Reverend Pace spun the obese man around.
“Not tonight, Travis.” Pace put his face only inches away from the other man. “This is not the time. Right
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