The Funeral Planner (44 page)

At that moment, Aidelman’s intercom buzzes. “Mr. Darwen and Ms. Hadley are both on the line,” says the voice of his secretary.

“I’ll take them both,” he says, staring at me with raised eyebrows. “Darwen, Hadley, welcome to the meeting. Ms. Banks here apparently has something very important for us to know about. Ms. Banks?”

“Thank you for your attention. Mr. Aidelman, Ms. Hadley and Mr. Darwen, the truth is that Derek Rogers of Tribute in a Box stole the pamphlet from our pay-per-view blog to sell you his so-called handbook. You all have copies of the files I dropped off, which contain the trademark, copyright, digital rights watermark and encryption code for the pamphlet. It all proves that the DNA of Derek’s handbook was plagiarized from our pamphlet and is hence highly illegal. If you want further proof, compare the business plan of Lights Out Enterprises dated and launched six months prior to Tribute in a Box—also a case of plagiarism. But more importantly with respect to this publication, I can prove it right now with my do-it-yourself backup encryption code.”

Aidelman’s assistant slips in and out of the office with a cup of hot tea for me.

“Thanks,” I say, and I promptly forget about it as I flip open my computer for a PowerPoint presentation. I jump to a slide with two alphabets, one on top of the other. “I used the Roman cipher to protect my intellectual property. In this case, I shifted the bottom alphabet over by three letters, so
A
equals
C, B
equals
D, C
equals
E
and so forth. Just in case anyone was to try anything. Now compare Derek’s handbook on pages 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16 and 18 with our pamphlet on pages 7, 9, 11, 13, 15 and 17.” I point out the code, which spells “Derek Rogers has black dye under his fingernails.” “Everyone see?”

Aidelman lets out a long sigh. “Adam Berman wasn’t kidding when he said I should take you seriously. Darwen, Hadley, please get on this right away, and in the meantime, stop all distribution of Mr. Rogers’s handbook immediately.”

I freeze, having a moment of victory. I finally release a breath. One battle won, or at least one move gained that will keep Derek behind the scrimmage line, but for how much longer? That’s one question I’d like to put to rest forever.

Aidelman stares at me. “Madison Banks. Do you have a few minutes to stay and talk about your pamphlet?”

It was a question loaded with a first-and-ten position for me. “Yes, I do,” I say, sliding into quarterback mentality.

Approximately twenty-nine hours later, I’m behind the bar at the Eagle’s Nest cleaning shot glasses and recounting my New York adventure to Richard, Rocky and Mrs. Jones. Mrs. Jones strokes Siddhartha’s head while she listens.

“And then he asked me,‘How many copies of your pamphlet have you sold?’ I told him ‘fourteen thousand at 2.99 apiece.’ He said, ‘That’s approximately…’ and I beat him to it, saying ‘$41,860.’”

“Damn,” says Rocky. “That’s awesome!”

“Wait, there’s more. Then he says,‘How would you like a book deal with Panda House?’ And I told him as long as my co-author and I retain worldwide e-publication rights, I’m open.” I turn to Richard. “So, Richard, are you open to a publishing deal?”

“I think I could handle that.” He smiles.

“Think you can handle a sequel, too?”

“No kidding.”

Just then the door to the bar opens and Arthur Pintock, dressed in casual clothing, saunters toward the bar. It’s so out of context for me that it takes me a minute to realize it’s him. “Mr. Pintock! Hi! What brings you to Clark Lake?”

“You,” he says, as he reaches the bar. “How are you, Maddy?”

“I’m good. This is Richard, and Rocky, and Lillian. Oh, and that’s Siddhartha. Everyone, this is Arthur Pintock.”

“Of Pintock International?” asks Lillian. “Your company helped my husband and me buy our first home twenty-one years ago. Thank you so much.”

Arthur nods. “You’re welcome. Nice to meet you all.” He looks at Richard. “Richard Wright?”

“That’s me.”

“You both did a nice job on that pamphlet of yours. Without it, I don’t think I would have been able to go through Tara’s closet—at least half of it, for starters.”

“I’m glad you found it helpful, and I’m sorry for your loss. Can I get you a drink? It’s on the house,” says Richard.

Arthur scans the specials on the chalkboard and grins. “I’ll have Tara’s Song. By the way, what’s in it?”

“It’s on the sweet side. Little Kahlúa, little vodka, little crushed ice, topped with whipped cream,” replies Richard.

“Sounds great,” says Arthur, who then trains his eyes on me. “Can we talk? In private?”

“Sure, let’s go sit by the fire. Come on, Sid.” Siddhartha follows us. Arthur and I pull two chairs up to the fire in the main room attached to the bar.

Arthur quietly begins,“While I was going through Tara’s things I found her box of songs. One song in particular caught my attention. It prompted me to do some digging…as far back as Black Tuesdays. Why didn’t you warn me about Derek Rogers’s character?”

“I didn’t know you were doing business with him. You told me he didn’t need you and that you thought
he
and
I
should meet.”

“Yes, well, he came back and worked his charm on me, but he never mentioned tributes, only acquisitions of mortuaries in terms of real-estate holdings.”

Richard brings Arthur his drink. “Here ya go, Tara’s Song.”

Arthur takes a sip. “Excellent, thank you.” Richard leaves, and Arthur focuses on our conversation. “What happened to Lights Out Enterprises? And don’t hold back, Maddy.”

“Basically, the FTC revised the Funeral Rule and adopted a new accreditation program devised by Derek Rogers, also to be officiated by Derek Rogers, with major penalties attached. Under the new rule, Lights Out got shut out.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“One would think,” I say.

Arthur swirls his drink, thinking. “I’ve instructed my associate to hold off on mortgage lending for his expansion plans until I get to the bottom of his business practices. However, as the lender go-between, I know all the terms of the deal and if you want to see Lights Out get a long-overdue fair shake, I suggest you contact this particular list of funeral homes in Michigan, Ohio, New York and half a dozen other states and see if you can work out a mutually conducive arrangement with them.” He pulls a sealed envelope from his pocket. “I can’t make any guarantees, Maddy, but it might be worth a try.”

“But I don’t have the proper accreditation,” I say.

“That can change, under different circumstances,” replies Arthur as he hands me the envelope. “And I have a feeling it will, soon enough.”

This time I hold the envelope in my hand along with the weight of Arthur’s actions behind it. This was serious business, and for the first time in my life, I felt equal to the giants. But was the acceptance of this envelope an ethical move? I flashed back to the theme of
The Brothers Karamazov—
that anything is lawful, because everything is not lawful. Victor had been right all along: the game was far from over. But without Victor, I didn’t know if I had the strength and wits to carry out this mission on my own. We had been a good team together. And it wasn’t Richard’s forte to fill Victor’s role, nor did I have any intention of calling Victor to discuss it. Even though seeing him in New York had brought to the surface all the feelings I had fought so hard to bury, I would pay him back on his original investment from my share of the proceeds of the pamphlets and be done with him.

As if reading my mind, Arthur says, “You can do this on your own, Maddy, but if you need help, I’ll be there. And it’s not wrong—it’s your turn for a fair opportunity.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.”

“What about you? I thought you wanted to leave Pintock International.”

“When I find the right opportunity, I will,” he says. “I’ve got to get back now.”

We stand up and as I walk Arthur toward the door, Grace Pintock enters. She and Arthur are surprised and shocked to see each other. It’s a stiff, awkward moment. I see the love connection between them and then shut down, likely from memories and grief gone awry.

“Hello, Arthur. What are you doing here?” Grace asks innocently.

“I wanted to thank Maddy and Richard for writing that pamphlet. And thank you for sending it to me. It was, uh, most helpful, Grace.”

“I’m glad. Well, um, Maddy, if you’re busy, I can come back another time.”

“You two have business to discuss?” inquires Arthur somewhat curiously.

“Maddy’s helping me plan a life celebration for Tara,” says Grace. “I want to complete what we didn’t have a chance to do before.”

“I see,” says Arthur. There’s an uncomfortable pause. I can feel the brief sting of Arthur’s exclusion from his wife’s new plan for closure and redemption—redemption to memorialize Tara’s life and redemption to honor her own.

“Well, I was just leaving. It was nice…seeing you, Grace.” And he walks out the door.

Grace watches him go. “You know, Maddy, I think maybe I should go over this with you at another time.”

“Are you sure? You just got here.”

Siddhartha nuzzles up to Grace and whimpers. Grace looks down and pets her. “No, I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t we make a start and then you can come back next week and we’ll finish then. And by the way, Grace, you were right. He didn’t know.”

Grace nods. We sit down by the fire. Siddhartha curls up next to us as we go over Grace’s plans.

* * *

The next day, I take Siddhartha for a long walk along a dirt path through the forest. The day is full of contrasts; large white puffy clouds drift in and out of a bright, crisp blue sky. An exceptionally warm breeze drifts through near-empty tree branches, as colored leaves slip to the ground, announcing the birth of fall.

I pull the sealed envelope out of my pocket and stare at it. I hold it in my hand, thinking as we walk the path. Siddhartha finds an acorn and proudly carries it in her mouth, looking for someone to show it to. We pass a farm where an old thoroughbred named Romeo roams the field. Siddhartha runs up to Romeo and drops the acorn for him and barks as if to make her gift known to him. Then she runs up to me and sits right down at my feet. I pull a carrot from my pocket and give it to Sid. Sid gently takes it in her mouth, carries it over to Romeo and plops it down next to the acorn, then backs up and barks at Romeo again. Romeo bends down and eats the carrot. Satisfied, Siddhartha rejoins me on our walk, taking the lead once again, happy that all is well with her assorted flock.

All the while, I ponder my options. What are the risks, what are the rewards and what does my gut have to say about it? Sid and I reach a small knoll in the woods. Siddhartha leaps on top of the knoll and with a glance, offers me an invitation to join her.

I climb to the top, pet her and look around. “Sid, think Uncle Sam is here?” I ask. Siddhartha barks and a ray of Sunshine peeks through drifting clouds to land near my feet and Siddhartha’s paws. I smile. “Just checking.”

I hold the sealed envelope in the light. “What do you think?” The ray of light disappears for a long moment, and then just as suddenly it reappears even brighter than before. “Hmm. Interesting.” I re-pocket the envelope in my jacket. “Come on, Sid. Let’s keep moving.” And then I look up at the sun and add, “Thanks, Uncle Sam. That’s what I thought.”

Richard serves drinks at the Eagle’s Nest while I stand engrossed at the computer next to the register, checking the blog for updates and responses. “Hey, Richard, someone from Louisville wants to know about outer burial containers and grave liners. Can you take this one and I’ll cover for you?”

“Sure,” he says, adding,“fellow at the end of the bar wants a mug of hot tea. Can you take this to him?” Richard hands me the mug.

“Got it,” I say as we switch places. I carefully carry the tea to the end of the bar, only to discover Victor Winston quietly sitting there. I nearly drop the mug.

“Hi, Maddy,” he says, smiling smugly. “How are you doing?”

“Victor. What…are you doing here?”

“I thought we should talk.”

“Well, I can’t talk. I’m working.”

“I’ll wait until you get off.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because I have to work after I finish…working,” I blurt out.

“Okay, well, when you have some time, let me know. Maybe during your break or something. I’ll be right here.”

“That’s not a good idea, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because, I’m not going to have time for a really long time,” I sputter, exasperated, trying not to make a scene. “And I’m sure you have more important things to do than hang out in a bar on Clark Lake,” I whisper fervently.

“No. I have nowhere to go, so whenever…because, you know, the dead don’t have agendas. Or do they?” Victor turns to Wally sitting next to him. “What do you think? Do the dead have agendas?”

“Hell, yes,” says Wally. “You think they just stop being ’n doing cuz their bodies dropped out on ’em? Nah, I think they’re comin’ and goin’ all around us. Not a day goes by I don’t feel ’em in the air. Fact is, I think Guy’s here right now.”