Free Last Seen Alive by Carlene Thompson Page B

car out of the garage, she rolled down her window. Complete silence. If Gage had felt like singing earlier, he didn’t anymore. He was probably up on his ladder pondering what could be wrong with the notorious Black Willow “seer.”
    Driving toward town, Chyna called Ned on her cell phone. “I’m going to the undertaker’s to pick out an urn for Mom. Do you want to meet me there?”
    “To pick out an
urn?
God, no,” Ned burst out.
    “Well, don’t sound so horrified. It has to be done.”
    “I know. I hate to push this off on you, but… well, you know Mom’s taste better than I do.”
    Chyna rolled her eyes. “That’s about the weakest excuse I’ve ever heard.” Ned was silent. “Oh well, I understand. I’m not exactly looking forward to this particular type of shopping myself.”
    “No one would be.” Chyna could tell Ned was walking outside the showroom of the Greer Lincoln-Mercury Agency and on to the car lot, his business that had been doing well for the last five years.
    “Ned, I still can’t believe Mom didn’t want to be buried next to Dad or to not even have a funeral service. Was she acting weird lately?”
    His voice grew louder as he talked to someone out on the lot looking at a car. “That’s a fine model there. Got every bell and whistle a person could want. We could probably work you out a good deal on that one.” His voice lowered to normal. “What do you mean, was Mom acting weird? Sick? Or crazy?”
    “Not crazy. Unusual. Strange. I mean, I’m still floored by her insisting on not having a funeral service and wanting me to take her ashes back to New Mexico with me. It feels all wrong—”
    Chyna slammed on the brakes at a red light. The old man in the crosswalk gave her the finger. I deserved that, she thought, her face growing warm. She hadn’t been paying enough attention to her driving.

    “I know her final request seems out of character for her, but she gave that envelope to Bev months ago and never asked to have it returned. She wasn’t acting on impulse, Sis.” Ned yelled something unintelligible to another potential customer, then lowered his voice as he spoke into the phone. “Did you read the letter we gave you last night?”
    “Yes. It seemed purely businesslike. Maybe I missed something peculiar about it, though. I was still fairly shaken by that call from Anita Simms.”
    “It wasn’t Anita Simms,” Ned said flatly. “It was a hideous joke someone was playing on you and I want you to put it out of your mind, although I know that’s easier said than done.” He took a deep breath. “Chyna, I’m sorry to give you the dirty work at the funeral home this afternoon, but we’re having a big day. I’ve really got to go. I’ll talk to you this evening. And you’re a sugarplum for doing this.”
    “Thank you. I’ve always wanted to be a sugarplum,” Chyna said drolly, but Ned had already hung up.
    Chyna pulled into the parking lot of Burtram and Hodges Funeral Home. She remembered coming here with her mother when Edward had “passed away,” as the funeral directors kept saying. Edward Greer had died as he’d lived— quietly and with dignity. Vivian had simply awakened one morning and found Edward lying beside her, dead of a stroke. He had not made one sound loud enough to wake her.
    Rex Greer, his younger brother, had been in France at the time, and for some reason Vivian had asked Chyna to help with the arrangements because Ned refused. Ned once shamefacedly confided to her that death terrified him. His actions seemed to prove his truthfulness. When people carried on conversations about the dead or dying, he quietly left the room. If he went to a wake, he signed the guest register but never looked at the body if the coffin was open, and left as soon as possible. When he attended a funeral, he stood far away from the proceedings and usually focused his gaze at a tree or flower arrangement near the funeral tent. Once Chyna had followed his line of sight