Read Online Grave Concern by Judith Millar - Free Book Online

the town’s bereaved suddenly mourned their dead all at once. Moreover, Kate noticed a distinct uptick in out-of-town clients — not so much far-flung city folk whom she’d habitually envisioned as her major market, but those who resided only just out of town. Up the highway as far as Sturgeon Falls. Down the highway to Valleyview — and beyond. Kate was getting the distinct impression some people, at least, were burying their loved ones here in Pine Rapids, expressly because of Grave Concern. It may have had something to do with Kate’s offering a midwinter introductory discount (50 percent off for the first six months), posted on Grave Concern’s website and inserted in strategic print-media classifieds across the land.
    Or not. In the year and a half since her not-so-grand opening, Kate had found little logical reason why business flourished or faltered at any particular time. The ebbs and flows made little sense. Far be it from Kate to complain. She loved her little hubbub: the ordering of flowers, the rushing back and forth to the communal town cemetery that welcomed any religion or none, the invoicing of her now grand total of thirty-one clients, the keeping of accounts, the making up and placement of ads, the taking and sending of photographs, the reading of bad but heartfelt poetry to a patently docile underground crowd, the surrogate delivery of secrets and longings through the earth from living to dead. To say nothing of her underpaid and less appreciated toil for Flower Power. By the end of the month, Kate was averaging eleven-hour days — exhausting, but not killing. Commuting to the office was a non-issue; she could walk from the house in ten minutes or drive in three. She often walked home for lunch.
    On just such a post-lunch jaunt, Kate stepped into the decidedly down-market Giant Lion department store, known to locals as the “Pussy Cat Palace.” She was looking over a bolt of ribbon for possible business use when she noticed Hille, her Christmas party hostess, quickly bury her face in a free-standing rack of sports jerseys. The rack rolled a bit, and Hille shuffled with it, trying to sponge her leaky eyes on a Maple Leafs sweater, apparently with little success. Kate, feeling a twinge of genuine sympathy for her old schoolmate, waited for Hille to collect herself. Finally, Hille made a move toward the cash — and the automatic door.
    Kate sauntered over and faked surprise. “Oh! Hi, Hille, how’s it goin’?”
    â€œGreat, thanks!” Hille faked back. “How are you, Kate?”
    Hille’s plummy peepers made it impossible for Kate to carry on the ruse. “Uh, something wrong?” she said. “You look upset.”
    At this, Hille burst into tears, and the teen cashier glanced up groggily from a violent bout of texting. Kate put her arm around Hille’s shoulders and steered her through the Palace’s door, which had been wildly flapping since, mid-outburst, Hille had stood on the floor sensor.
    Kate’s office was just a hop, step, and jump from Giant Lion. Kate settled Hille in one of her two cheap client chairs, and rustled up a cup of coffee in the ex-darkroom turned back office.
    â€œIt’s funny,” said Hille. “I’ve been curious about your business ever since you came back. ’Cause you know I just came back to town not that much before you. ’Course I never went so far away, either!” Hille looked around as though she’d just dropped into Wonderland. “I thought we might have stuff in common, y’know? But I was too shy to come in.”
    Hille? Shy? That was new.
    â€œWhy’s that?” said Kate, setting down Hille’s coffee, to which she’d discreetly added a shot or two of Tia Maria, a client’s Christmas gift.
    â€œI don’t know. Dead people. Graveyards. You know. I thought it might be like a funeral home, I guess.” Hille took a gulp from the