she’d worn to work when she and the detectives picked me up to go see Helen and was wearing a slightly ridiculous multicolored Versace sheath. Was that because there was blood on the Mara?
Unfortunately, any attempts at luring that information out of Yvonne were going to have to wait. I needed to get down to the precinct and meet Helen and Candy for the identification and all the horrors that might generate. I thought about trying to fake a coma so I didn’t have to go, but then I worried that Yvonne might go in my place and I really didn’t want Yvonne anywhere near Helen until I figured out what was going on.
Yvonne wound down her address to the troops with some trembling proclamation of Teddy’s undying influence on us all, then thumped her chest with her fist like Celine Dion. For a terrifying moment, I thought she was going to launch into song, but she just dropped her head and spun away from the group, a diva move that was amusing by itself but a little pathetic in context. I reached to grab my purse but Yvonne grabbed me first.
“His reception. Has to be magnificent.”
“I’m sure Helen will plan something lovely.”
Her grip on my arm tightened like a falcon clamping down on a perch. Bruises tomorrow weren’t going to surprise me at all. I winced, trying to ease my arm away, but she wasn’t letting go. “I don’t want Helen to worry about such a thing.”
Yeah, and Louis XVI didn’t want Marie Antoinette to worry her pretty little head about such things either and look where that pretty little head wound up. And his own head, for that matter. “What are you suggesting, Yvonne?”
“We’ll pay for the reception.”
I loved Teddy, but I knew my checking account balance. “Define ‘we.’”
“The magazine.” I waited, still suspicious. Yvonne slid her hand down my arm to grasp my hand. At least the blood was flowing in my arm again. “It should be big. As grand as he was. And Helen shouldn’t have to pay.”
What disturbed me was I could understand Yvonne’s logic. If the reception turned into an industry event, which it would unless Helen restricted it to family only or something like that, it was going to get big. And Helen had enough to worry about without footing the bill for that. “I’m sure Helen will appreciate the offer, but—”
“Good. Talk to her.”
Not exactly the point I’d been trying to make, but better me than Yvonne, I supposed. “All right.”
“And your little friend Tricia.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’ll do it.”
“Plan the reception? I don’t know, Yvonne, it’s not exactly her area of expertise.”
“Money’s no object.” Now there’s a powerful phrase. It can make you reconsider just about any decision, at least for a few moments. Funeral receptions weren’t Tricia’s game, but I had no doubt that she could put together a terrific one. And if Yvonne was going to unchoke the money flow, Tricia would be able to give Teddy a great send-off. No losers there.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Both.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go.” Yvonne gestured with an imperial vagueness to somewhere other than where I was standing and retreated to her office. I gathered up my stuff and prepared to look death in the face.
The cab ride over to the morgue wasn’t long enough to prepare myself, but a cruise around the world wouldn’t have been either. The building itself is tough enough—cold, institutional and forbidding. It made me think of an old folk song about mining my dad used to sing on long car drives: “Dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew, where the danger is double and the pleasures are few …” My hat’s off to anyone who feels called to this kind of work.
The identification process was horrific on two levels. Helen and Candy arrived looking pretty pulled together, considering, but Helen left resembling one of the bad guys at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark —everything stripped away but the vibrant pain underneath. On the other level was
Unfortunately, any attempts at luring that information out of Yvonne were going to have to wait. I needed to get down to the precinct and meet Helen and Candy for the identification and all the horrors that might generate. I thought about trying to fake a coma so I didn’t have to go, but then I worried that Yvonne might go in my place and I really didn’t want Yvonne anywhere near Helen until I figured out what was going on.
Yvonne wound down her address to the troops with some trembling proclamation of Teddy’s undying influence on us all, then thumped her chest with her fist like Celine Dion. For a terrifying moment, I thought she was going to launch into song, but she just dropped her head and spun away from the group, a diva move that was amusing by itself but a little pathetic in context. I reached to grab my purse but Yvonne grabbed me first.
“His reception. Has to be magnificent.”
“I’m sure Helen will plan something lovely.”
Her grip on my arm tightened like a falcon clamping down on a perch. Bruises tomorrow weren’t going to surprise me at all. I winced, trying to ease my arm away, but she wasn’t letting go. “I don’t want Helen to worry about such a thing.”
Yeah, and Louis XVI didn’t want Marie Antoinette to worry her pretty little head about such things either and look where that pretty little head wound up. And his own head, for that matter. “What are you suggesting, Yvonne?”
“We’ll pay for the reception.”
I loved Teddy, but I knew my checking account balance. “Define ‘we.’”
“The magazine.” I waited, still suspicious. Yvonne slid her hand down my arm to grasp my hand. At least the blood was flowing in my arm again. “It should be big. As grand as he was. And Helen shouldn’t have to pay.”
What disturbed me was I could understand Yvonne’s logic. If the reception turned into an industry event, which it would unless Helen restricted it to family only or something like that, it was going to get big. And Helen had enough to worry about without footing the bill for that. “I’m sure Helen will appreciate the offer, but—”
“Good. Talk to her.”
Not exactly the point I’d been trying to make, but better me than Yvonne, I supposed. “All right.”
“And your little friend Tricia.”
“Excuse me?”
“She’ll do it.”
“Plan the reception? I don’t know, Yvonne, it’s not exactly her area of expertise.”
“Money’s no object.” Now there’s a powerful phrase. It can make you reconsider just about any decision, at least for a few moments. Funeral receptions weren’t Tricia’s game, but I had no doubt that she could put together a terrific one. And if Yvonne was going to unchoke the money flow, Tricia would be able to give Teddy a great send-off. No losers there.
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Both.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Go.” Yvonne gestured with an imperial vagueness to somewhere other than where I was standing and retreated to her office. I gathered up my stuff and prepared to look death in the face.
The cab ride over to the morgue wasn’t long enough to prepare myself, but a cruise around the world wouldn’t have been either. The building itself is tough enough—cold, institutional and forbidding. It made me think of an old folk song about mining my dad used to sing on long car drives: “Dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew, where the danger is double and the pleasures are few …” My hat’s off to anyone who feels called to this kind of work.
The identification process was horrific on two levels. Helen and Candy arrived looking pretty pulled together, considering, but Helen left resembling one of the bad guys at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark —everything stripped away but the vibrant pain underneath. On the other level was
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