Free Death by the Light of the Moon by Joan Hess Page A

the yard. We can all take comfort in knowing she died while having a mighty fine time.”
    Pauline sank to her knees and began to rock back and forth as if she was on the porch in a cane-bottomed chair. Phoebe gave me an enigmatic look as she went to Pauline and bent down to comfort her. Keith came over to the body, his hands in his pockets and his sunglasses once again hiding his eyes.
    â€œWhat do we do now?” he asked.
    Stanford had recovered from his nostalgic mode. “I’ll call the funeral home and have them send some boys to—ah, handle the situation in a discreet fashion. Cousin Pauline, did Miss Justicia ever mention a favorite funeral home?”
    Pauline continued to rock mindlessly in the grass.
    Pencil and notebook readied, Phoebe frowned at her. “You really must pull yourself together, Cousin Pauline. We’re all aware that this tragic accident could have been averted if you’d noticed the wheelchair when you first searched for Miss Justicia, but I’m sure none of us intends to hold you fully responsible. If you can tell us Miss Justicia’s preference in funeral homes, I’ll take it upon myself to contact them. Otherwise, we’ll simply be forced to select names at random from the Yellow Pages and discuss the various package rates.”
    â€œWait a minute,” I said when I could trust myself. “The first thing we have to do is call the police and tell them what happened.”
    â€œI don’t believe that’s necessary,” Stanford said, crossing his arms as he peered down at me.
    â€œOf course it’s necessary. The local authorities have to be informed in the event of a fatal accident.”
    He took the napkin from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “We’re not going to get all carried away with calling in any damn-fool authorities. In these parts, we’re accustomed to dealing with tragedy in a calm and dignified manner befitting our family’s position in the community. I don’t want my dear, departed mother being disturbed by some policeman she never met, much less allowed in the parlor.” He stuffed the napkin back in his pocket and said to Phoebe, “What say we stick a pin in the Yellow Pages, accept the best deal they offer, and get on with it?”
    â€œIt would be the most expedient method,” Phoebe said, looking a bit disappointed as she retired her notebook and pencil.
    â€œAnd cut down on delays,” said Keith. “I can’t hang around this place while the cops poke poles in the bayou and run blood tests to determine how drunk she was. I’ve got things to do.”
    I stood up to stare at them. “You are the strangest people I’ve ever met, and I’ve met some real doozies in my day. Listen very, very carefully: The law says that the police must be called in on an accidental death. It doesn’t matter if it’s expedient or not—it’s the law.”
    Stanford mulled this over for a few seconds. “I’ve got it,” he said brightly. “How about we take her back to the bedroom, dress her in some nice dry pajamas, and put her in bed? The doctor can have a quick look, then fill out a death certificate saying she died peacefully in her sleep.”
    â€œThere have been very few documented cases of drowning in bed,” I said, still battling with myself to stay calm in the midst of this incredible scene. Miss Justicia gazed blindly at the moon while her intimate family debated how best to expedite her interment. I wouldn’t have been overwhelmed with shock if Stanford had ordered Keith to fetch a shovel and Phoebe a prayer book. Pauline was the only one evincing any grief. The others apparently had internalized theirs and moved on to more pressing concerns.
    â€œI suppose not,” Stanford admitted.
    â€œI knew a smack freak who drowned in his water bed,” Keith said. “Nobody knew he was dead until the water started dripping