Bull Running For Girlsl (29 page)

Mary Taylor had been a very rich woman and some naïve folks said that they couldn’t understand why Vince had married plain Mary, while others said they would have married her for the money too. Whatever the truth of the matter was, it didn’t matter now. All that
mattered
was that she had stipulated in her will, that for seven days and seven nights she was to lie in an open casket in the front parlour. She was to be surrounded by four ivory pillar candles which must never go out, and four bouquets of white roses which must never die before her funeral—or Vince would be out on his elbow without a penny.

Vince considered himself to be a smart guy, ten years younger than Mary. He had gotten to know Mary when he delivered meat from Naylor’s shop to her house once a week. She had fallen for his long brown hair and lost-boy looks. That was over two years ago when he first came to Madison County. She had just turned thirty-eight when she disappeared on a Tuesday afternoon in December and was found dead on a Wednesday morning in the Crown Hill Cemetery Creek by the graveside of her friend Miriam Newbury. Why would someone stay so long at a graveside that they froze to death?

The coroner, Geoff Newbury, examined her body that same day.

“No evidence of anything unusual. The condition of the body is consistent with what you would expect in finding it out in the cold. She died of exposure.”

“Why would anyone visit a grave in that weather
—
crazy?”

The coroner peeled off his gloves. “Now that, Sheriff, is for you to find out.”

“And I’m sure I will. This town is too small for unanswered questions. There
will
be a reason, I tell you. There always is. Anyway, we finished here? Can her husband take her home?”

“Home?”

“Got a phone call from him this morning, said that if it was all right with you and me, then the undertaker would do what she had to do to bring Mary over to him, as per the instructions in the will.”

“Her will?”

“The one Mary wrote that stipulated she was to be taken home for seven days until her burial?”

“That’s
—
er
—
a little unusual wouldn’t you say?” asked Geoff.

“Geoff, I’ve been the sheriff here for thirty-two years. There is nothing under the sun and moon that is unusual to me. If you think that being taken home before burial these days is unusual, they used to do it all the time in the old days. You know that. Finding a body all bricked up in a cellar, now that is unusual, or dead and sitting up for seven years in a rocking chair
—
now
that
is unusual.”

“But this is 2008.”

“Wow, beejesus, we’re modern and the dearly departed aren’t allowed home before they’re shoved in the ground or burnt to buggery
—
”

“Easy, Jake, I was only saying
—
”

Geoff stared at the wedding ring on Mary’s hand, wondering if there was any point trying to get it off for her husband.

Perhaps the undertaker would do that.

At that moment Jake remembered that Geoff had lost his wife only a year earlier, and at the same time of year too.

“Sorry, Geoff. I’d plain forgotten about Miriam.”

“That’s okay, Jake.”

Feeling embarrassed, the sheriff zipped up his jacket, put on his hat and left.

Vince wrung his hands and wondered what condition his wife’s body was in. Dead and buried she should be, not unburied and coming home to him. He was not a man to be messed around with and he had waited two whole years for his freedom; Vince was eager to do what the hell he wanted with her money.

There was a knock at the door and he opened it. Two individuals of equal height, a man and a woman, stood before him. The woman looked slightly younger than the man but they could have been related, they looked so alike with pale, grey eyes and blonde hair.

“Mr. Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Frances St. Germaine and this is my brother, Gerald.”

The three shook hands and Vince couldn’t help but notice that Frances St. Germaine looked far too good looking and young to be a funeral director. He was a little disturbed by seeing her in a black suit, white shirt and black tie. She didn’t look right and yet,
somehow
, she did.

“Mrs. Taylor is ready for you now.”

That shook him. Vince felt his hands turn clammy and he rubbed them on his trousers in an attempt to remove his anxiety.

“Shall we bring her in?”

“Er
—
yes.” There was no way of avoiding it
—
if he wanted that money.

There were four funeral directors altogether who brought the casket containing his deceased wife into the parlour. It was the ugliest coffin he had ever seen, gold and white.

She never did have any taste,
thought Vince. Once the coffin was settled on the trestle, Vince spoke out:

“Is that what Mary chose?” he pointed at the casket.

“Oh yes, it is exactly what Mrs. Taylor stipulated.” Frances brought a catalogue out of her briefcase, opened it and pointed to the page. His eyes followed her finger.

Devotion

20 gauge steel, hermetically sealed. White enamel finish with gold shading. Cream Madeira crepe interior, with church window/praying hands lid panel.

Swing bar handles and adjustable bed.

$4692
including traditional funeral.

He saw the dollar sign before the hideous picture of the casket.

“Jesus, how much?”

“Your wife was very particular. She wanted that casket and was very insistent upon it.”

“Do people usually plan their funeral down to the last detail before they die? Isn’t that what the relatives are for?” He flipped the pages of the catalogue, astounded at the funereal detail.

“A lot of people plan their own funerals as they don’t trust the choices their relatives might make when they are grieving.” Frances smiled at Vince and he couldn’t help noticing her peach perfume as she bent closer to him.

“I see, well, I suppose that sort of wraps that up then.” Vince gave her back the catalogue.

“Not quite, Mr. Taylor. We have the candles and the roses to bring in and then we will be back in seven days for the funeral.” Frances gestured to the nameless funeral directors and they all left the room.

Vince shuffled around uncomfortably and thought how much he hated the William Morris wallpaper on the parlour wall and the matching William Morris curtains. The Brother Rabbit pattern was inspired, according to his wife and May Morris, by the ‘Uncle Remus’ stories. Vince hated the green patterned, rabbit filled wallpaper and Mary had insisted that the curtains be made of the same pattern; it seemed to Vince that his wife had never heard of the word contrast. And, they had cost a
fortune
. She knew how to spend her inheritance and Vince was always worried that she was going to spend it all. But apart from a few favourite furnishings, and now a bloody awful casket and the roses (he didn’t know how he was going to keep them alive for seven days), she had been reasonably frugal. Still, she knew that he never kept anything alive; his dog Doody had pegged it, along with a cat, two gerbils, and a baby croc that had gotten into the plumbing somehow.

It did not take long to arrange the white roses and light the four candles. Two of the four funeral directors left, leaving Frances and Gerald. Vince swallowed and almost wished that Frances would stick around a little longer. He was not looking forward to spending seven days with a corpse, even if it was mild mannered Mary.

Gerald stepped forwards and took a screwdriver from his pocket. Puzzled, Vince looked across at Frances. She simply shrugged. Gerald started unscrewing the casket lid.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?”

“Another little stipulation, Mr. Taylor,” she replied.

“What stipulation?”

“An open casket for the next seven days.”

“Christ, you have to be kidding, right?”

Gerald spoke for the first time. “We don’t usually joke about these things, sir.”

Well, not in front of the customer,
thought Vince.
Lord knows what they get up to behind closed doors.

It didn’t take long to get the lid off. Vince crept closer; after all he was an educated man and knew they put make-up on bodies
—
right?

Wrong.

Mary looked terrible. He saw her face briefly as the casket lid was removed but then a froth of white burst forth, like an airbag in a very bad accident. Mary was wearing the horrible wedding dress that she wore on their wedding day, the one that meringued and then settled into a stiff bell shape. Now, it threatened to show all underneath. She looked
very
undignified.

It was the undertakers turn to look uncomfortable. Gerald glowered at his sister. “I thought you had sorted that?”

Frances stifled a giggle. “I have some tape in the hearse. I’ll have it sorted in a jiffy.” She ran out of the room and Vince thought he could hear her suppressed laughter in the hall and all the way down the icy path. She returned in a few moments with some white tape, having managed to composed herself. Gerald held the stiff taffeta down whist Frances went to work with the tape. Vince looked on in disbelief as they tried to tape the dress around Mary’s ankles, with very little success.

Astounded at what he saw Vince shook his head. “Just a suggestion, but wouldn’t be an idea to remove the hoop underskirt?”

“Ah, well
—
I think we might have to.” Both of the funeral directors were growing more flustered as the dress kept bouncing up and slapping them in the face. Frances finally removed the hoop underskirt as Gerald held up Mary’s grey legs. Vince tried not to notice the creaking of limbs. With the aplomb of a magician’s assistant Frances presented the hoop skirt.

“Right, now we can go.”

“Just like that?” Vince stared at the body of his dead wife. Mary looked like she had been dead for several weeks and the cold weather hadn’t done her any favours either.

“I have to spend
seven days and seven nights
in the house with
—
with that?”

No answer.

“I need a drink.”

Vince helped himself to the bourbon as Frances moved to the front door.

“Mr. Taylor, I’ll leave you with my phone number in case the flowers die. See you in a week.”

“Is
—
is she going to be all right like, like that? For a week?”

Frances smiled. “Keep the heating turned off in that room and she’ll be just fine. It’s going to be five-below tonight.”

Vince was anything but
fi
ne. He was exhausted and found himself wandering around with a full glass all afternoon. He turned the heating down in the parlour and lowered the temperature in the rest of the house as well. It grew dark early and as darkness descended he grew more and more uncomfortable. He couldn’t eat…but what he could do was drink
—
and he did
—
until he collapsed in a heap on the bed.

At precisely 3 a.m. Vince awakened with a start and his head felt as though it was going to crack open like an egg into a frying pan. He stumbled downstairs to check on Mary; the candles had gone out.

“Aw, what the fuck,” he mumbled as he lit them again.

“They w-went out w-whilst you were a-a-sleep.”

Vince froze. It was Mary’s voice.

“Sweet Jesus, I’m going mad,” he said.

He crept up to the casket and peered at his wife.

“I s-said you
—
”

Vince jumped at the sight of her mouth creaking open and nearly shat himself.

“You let th-th-them go out,” she said, obviously having great difficulty speaking (he supposed, crazily, what with her being dead and all).

It took a few seconds for Vince to register what was happening.

“You bitch. You’re not going to get the better of me. You’re supposed to be dead!”

“D-dead?” said Mary. Her filmed eyes tried to focus upon him.

“Yes, dead. Dead so you don’t embarrass me anymore, dead so I don’t have to go to bed with a fucking corpse.”

Mary’s tight grin became wider and Vince fled the room.

“I’ll teach you to mock me. You just watch, I’ll get through this week and I’ll get your money.”

Vince knew exactly where to look. He fumbled through her dresser until he found Mary’s sewing basket. He needed a stout needle and thick cotton thread; his hands were shaking as he threaded the needle.

“Right. I’ll soon sort
this
out,” he said as she tried to speak again.

He was clumsy with the first few stitches but the rest went in just fine. Vince took a swig from the bourbon bottle, stood back and admired his handiwork. The horror of what he had done struck him at that moment. He had used black cotton. Mary now looked like some patchwork doll that had misbehaved and then some peevish child had put some gigantic oversized stitches on her. Vince then ran back to her dresser and found a piece of cloth left over from the Brother Rabbit curtains. He rushed back and placed it over her face, like some naughty child covering up his trouble, and then threw himself into an armchair. It was at this point that Vince got very, very drunk and became oblivious to everything until the morning.