Street. It’s a downright outrage. All that chicken feed in Mama’s urn. I mean, holy shit.” Billy made the sign of the cross. “Mama
hated
chickens.”
10
W alking out of the trailer where there had been almost no natural light and into the bright blue day was a welcome change. Billy and Brenda kept their space neat and clean, but it was closing in on me.
We eased the car back over the sandy drive past mobile homes in varying condition, some spanking new and some dappled with age spots and mold along the bottom edges.
“That was totally weird,” Neil remarked, as we pulled back onto the pavement.
“Tell me about it.” I looked across the car at him. He had his arms folded over his chest like he was cold. It was at least ninety degrees. “Brenda and Billy have a hunch, and we have a reputable local businessman who explained, apologized, and reimbursed them. Be interesting to find out if there’s really anything here.”
“If she said something about
the dead
one more time, I was going to hurl. Creepy.”
“It’s obviously emotional. It must dredge up all kinds of feelings.” I handed him the business card Brenda Wade had given me for Reuters Funeral Care and Chapel. “You think you can get their client list? I need to find an urn that came out of that crematory around the same time Shelia Wade was cremated. I’m thinking we need a feel forwhat was coming out of Northeast Georgia Crematorium that week. It’s a place to start.”
We headed back to the hotel. I needed to change into something slightly more official. Neil got busy as soon as we arrived, trying to figure out if the funeral home the Wades had used was automated. There were three funeral homes in Creeklaw County. Two of them had websites. One of them was Reuters Funeral Care and Chapel in Big Knob. They had a slick website that advertised a “beautifully landscaped and peaceful memorial garden.” They’d acted as a middleman for hundreds of cremations.
“Score,”
Neil said. This was accompanied by something that looked vaguely like an end-zone dance. “I went in through the admin function on their website. Simple password script. Opened up the whole system.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I told him, then listened while he rattled off some details. What I should have said was I have no
interest
in what that means. I tuned out the rest of the techno-gibberish and changed into navy slacks and a chalk-stripe blazer. Probably wouldn’t get me a lot of leering, but it did have “urn company representative” written all over it.
A few minutes later we left the resort and climbed into the Impala, top up. We had to pass through downtown Big Knob, and I couldn’t take another YouTube party.
Neil had his electronic devices out, and he was balancing a hotel coffee mug. “This is going to be one of those three-hour-tour things, isn’t it? Big Knob’s the
Minnow
and you’re Ginger and I’m the professor and we’re never getting off the island.”
“You see me as Ginger? Really?” I glanced at myself in the rearview.
We passed through Big Knob without incident and headed south on a shady blacktop, passing lots of grazing cattle and painted barns. I turned onto a paved driveway bordered by white-fenced pastures and headed toward a long ranch house with azaleas lined up under the windows. A carport on the left side of the house held two cars. A jeep was parked behind them. I smelled a grill as soon as I opened the car door.
“Hope it works,” Neil said, and climbed into the driver’s seat. We’d learned from experience that having a driver in place is a good idea. “They’re not going to be thrilled. I can tell you that.”
“Thanks for the positive affirmation,” I said, and grabbed my briefcase off the backseat.
“You look nice, by the way.” Neil leaned on the window and smiled at me. “The business-suit thing always makes me want to mess up your hair.”
“Not going to happen.” I gave him a wink,
hated
chickens.”
10
W alking out of the trailer where there had been almost no natural light and into the bright blue day was a welcome change. Billy and Brenda kept their space neat and clean, but it was closing in on me.
We eased the car back over the sandy drive past mobile homes in varying condition, some spanking new and some dappled with age spots and mold along the bottom edges.
“That was totally weird,” Neil remarked, as we pulled back onto the pavement.
“Tell me about it.” I looked across the car at him. He had his arms folded over his chest like he was cold. It was at least ninety degrees. “Brenda and Billy have a hunch, and we have a reputable local businessman who explained, apologized, and reimbursed them. Be interesting to find out if there’s really anything here.”
“If she said something about
the dead
one more time, I was going to hurl. Creepy.”
“It’s obviously emotional. It must dredge up all kinds of feelings.” I handed him the business card Brenda Wade had given me for Reuters Funeral Care and Chapel. “You think you can get their client list? I need to find an urn that came out of that crematory around the same time Shelia Wade was cremated. I’m thinking we need a feel forwhat was coming out of Northeast Georgia Crematorium that week. It’s a place to start.”
We headed back to the hotel. I needed to change into something slightly more official. Neil got busy as soon as we arrived, trying to figure out if the funeral home the Wades had used was automated. There were three funeral homes in Creeklaw County. Two of them had websites. One of them was Reuters Funeral Care and Chapel in Big Knob. They had a slick website that advertised a “beautifully landscaped and peaceful memorial garden.” They’d acted as a middleman for hundreds of cremations.
“Score,”
Neil said. This was accompanied by something that looked vaguely like an end-zone dance. “I went in through the admin function on their website. Simple password script. Opened up the whole system.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I told him, then listened while he rattled off some details. What I should have said was I have no
interest
in what that means. I tuned out the rest of the techno-gibberish and changed into navy slacks and a chalk-stripe blazer. Probably wouldn’t get me a lot of leering, but it did have “urn company representative” written all over it.
A few minutes later we left the resort and climbed into the Impala, top up. We had to pass through downtown Big Knob, and I couldn’t take another YouTube party.
Neil had his electronic devices out, and he was balancing a hotel coffee mug. “This is going to be one of those three-hour-tour things, isn’t it? Big Knob’s the
Minnow
and you’re Ginger and I’m the professor and we’re never getting off the island.”
“You see me as Ginger? Really?” I glanced at myself in the rearview.
We passed through Big Knob without incident and headed south on a shady blacktop, passing lots of grazing cattle and painted barns. I turned onto a paved driveway bordered by white-fenced pastures and headed toward a long ranch house with azaleas lined up under the windows. A carport on the left side of the house held two cars. A jeep was parked behind them. I smelled a grill as soon as I opened the car door.
“Hope it works,” Neil said, and climbed into the driver’s seat. We’d learned from experience that having a driver in place is a good idea. “They’re not going to be thrilled. I can tell you that.”
“Thanks for the positive affirmation,” I said, and grabbed my briefcase off the backseat.
“You look nice, by the way.” Neil leaned on the window and smiled at me. “The business-suit thing always makes me want to mess up your hair.”
“Not going to happen.” I gave him a wink,
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