tonguelike porte-cochere that jutted out above the circular asphalt driveway.
Kathryn hesitated at the tall black door. “Do me a favor—let me do the talking.”
Nick shrugged. “It’s your money.”
As Kathryn stepped through the doorway, a wave of frigid air engulfed her. As sweltering as her morning had been, the air felt much too cold. She shivered—not simply because of the abrupt change in temperature but because of the total change of environment. Everything around her was suddenly dark, cold, heavy, and silent. She had the eerie sensation that she had just stepped on an unmarked grave.
The ancient red oak flooring creaked and groaned as they stepped into the center of the high, arching atrium. The walls were lined with dark cherry paneling that disappeared into the darkness above. Directly ahead, a wide doorway opened into a small chapel lined with short pews. On the far wall a Gothic stained-glass window sent streams of multicolored light to meet them. To their left, a smaller doorway opened into an office.
“Remarkable.” Nick’s voice shattered the silence. “It’s amazing the trappings that your species attaches to a simple biological function like death.”
A moment later the figure of Mr. Schroeder appeared in the office doorway. His hands were folded in front of him as he walked, and the floor made no sound, as if he had somehow learned to become a part of the stillness around him. He wore a dark suit with a black-and-silver tie, and a white carnation glowed from his left lapel. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his face seemed to be frozen in an expression of permanent compassion, deep sorrow, and profound concern.
“Kathryn, Kathryn, Kathryn!” he said in a half-whisper, taking both of her hands in his. “How good it is to see you again. I don’t believe we’ve had a visit from you since … why, since we had the privilege of caring for your mother.”
“I assume you mean since her mother died,” Nick said, running his hand admiringly over the cherry paneling.
Mr. Schroeder cringed slightly at the sound of the forbidden word, taking note for the first time of the bizarrely clad stranger beside Kathryn. Whatever his thoughts, his expression never faltered; Mr. Schroeder had long ago learned that constant politeness, tolerance, and patience were vital assets in his profession. After all, in a town the size of Rayford, almost everyone was an eventual customer.
“And who might this be?” he smiled warmly to Kathryn.
“Mr. Schroeder, I’d very much like you to meet Dr. Nicholas Polchak.”
Nick smiled broadly, folded his hands in front of him, and cocked his head slightly to one side. Mr. Schroeder didn’t seem to notice, but the mimicry didn’t escape Kathryn. She shot him an angry glare.
“It is an honor, Doctor,” Mr. Schroeder said warmly and then turned to Kathryn again. “Tell me, does your visit today concern Andrew? Has there finally been some resolution to the situation? I do hope so, for your sake.”
Kathryn winced slightly and looked at the floor. “No, Mr. Schroeder. Nothing has changed. His body has never been recovered. This is not about Andy.”
“Ah,” he said, sighing deeply, “perhaps one day.” There was an appropriate moment of silence—Mr. Schroeder’s stock-in-trade—and then he smiled at both of them again. “Well then, how can we be of service to you today?”
“Mr. Schroeder, I understand that you are receiving the body of Jimmy McAllister.”
Mr. Schroeder looked suddenly overwhelmed with sorrow. “Oh yes, a very sad affair, very sad. We were happy to make our facility available to the sheriff’s department until the immediate family can make their wishes known regarding the final disposition.”
“Mr. Schroeder, please—may I see him?”
At this, Mr. Schroeder uttered a deep moan and closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head slowly from side to side. Kathryn thought he looked exactly like the ghost of Jacob Marley; she
Kathryn hesitated at the tall black door. “Do me a favor—let me do the talking.”
Nick shrugged. “It’s your money.”
As Kathryn stepped through the doorway, a wave of frigid air engulfed her. As sweltering as her morning had been, the air felt much too cold. She shivered—not simply because of the abrupt change in temperature but because of the total change of environment. Everything around her was suddenly dark, cold, heavy, and silent. She had the eerie sensation that she had just stepped on an unmarked grave.
The ancient red oak flooring creaked and groaned as they stepped into the center of the high, arching atrium. The walls were lined with dark cherry paneling that disappeared into the darkness above. Directly ahead, a wide doorway opened into a small chapel lined with short pews. On the far wall a Gothic stained-glass window sent streams of multicolored light to meet them. To their left, a smaller doorway opened into an office.
“Remarkable.” Nick’s voice shattered the silence. “It’s amazing the trappings that your species attaches to a simple biological function like death.”
A moment later the figure of Mr. Schroeder appeared in the office doorway. His hands were folded in front of him as he walked, and the floor made no sound, as if he had somehow learned to become a part of the stillness around him. He wore a dark suit with a black-and-silver tie, and a white carnation glowed from his left lapel. His silver hair was combed neatly back, and his face seemed to be frozen in an expression of permanent compassion, deep sorrow, and profound concern.
“Kathryn, Kathryn, Kathryn!” he said in a half-whisper, taking both of her hands in his. “How good it is to see you again. I don’t believe we’ve had a visit from you since … why, since we had the privilege of caring for your mother.”
“I assume you mean since her mother died,” Nick said, running his hand admiringly over the cherry paneling.
Mr. Schroeder cringed slightly at the sound of the forbidden word, taking note for the first time of the bizarrely clad stranger beside Kathryn. Whatever his thoughts, his expression never faltered; Mr. Schroeder had long ago learned that constant politeness, tolerance, and patience were vital assets in his profession. After all, in a town the size of Rayford, almost everyone was an eventual customer.
“And who might this be?” he smiled warmly to Kathryn.
“Mr. Schroeder, I’d very much like you to meet Dr. Nicholas Polchak.”
Nick smiled broadly, folded his hands in front of him, and cocked his head slightly to one side. Mr. Schroeder didn’t seem to notice, but the mimicry didn’t escape Kathryn. She shot him an angry glare.
“It is an honor, Doctor,” Mr. Schroeder said warmly and then turned to Kathryn again. “Tell me, does your visit today concern Andrew? Has there finally been some resolution to the situation? I do hope so, for your sake.”
Kathryn winced slightly and looked at the floor. “No, Mr. Schroeder. Nothing has changed. His body has never been recovered. This is not about Andy.”
“Ah,” he said, sighing deeply, “perhaps one day.” There was an appropriate moment of silence—Mr. Schroeder’s stock-in-trade—and then he smiled at both of them again. “Well then, how can we be of service to you today?”
“Mr. Schroeder, I understand that you are receiving the body of Jimmy McAllister.”
Mr. Schroeder looked suddenly overwhelmed with sorrow. “Oh yes, a very sad affair, very sad. We were happy to make our facility available to the sheriff’s department until the immediate family can make their wishes known regarding the final disposition.”
“Mr. Schroeder, please—may I see him?”
At this, Mr. Schroeder uttered a deep moan and closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head slowly from side to side. Kathryn thought he looked exactly like the ghost of Jacob Marley; she
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