After due consideration, she held up a silk tie with slim gray, blue, and white stripes. “We have a winner.”
Dolores opened still another drawer and pulled out a pair of dark socks. Then she began to look through the shoe racks that lined the floor. After what turned out to be a futile search, she picked up a pair of black oxfords.
“I can’t find the patent leather dress shoes I want him to wear. I’ll have to settle for second best. No one will see his feet anyway.” She handed me the shoes. “Could you put these on the floor by the bed? I’ll bring his clothes and we can make sure we have all we need.”
As I stepped up to the bed, my foot hit something. I looked, and it was the side of a shoe. I bent down and found a pair of black patent leather shoes half-hidden by the edge of the bedspread, right where Willis had sat and left it wrinkled.
Dolores came into the bedroom with an armful of clothes.While she was laying everything on the bed, I held up the patent leather shoes. “By any chance are these the dress shoes you couldn’t find?”
“Yes. Willis loved wearing those. When he was a boy his parents used to dance at night to the radio. Songs by Tammy Wynette and Buck Owens, country music. His father wasn’t a churchgoing man, and when Willis’s mama used to ask how he planned on getting into heaven, Daddy would grab her in his arms, swing her around, and say he was going to dance his way right past Saint Peter. Willis said these patent leather shoes made him feel like he could dance his way into heaven, too.”
Dolores smiled at the memory, then went back into the dressing room and came out with a garment bag.
As I watched her pack everything carefully, I remembered when Frank died and I had to do these same chores. The worst of times began when the chores were done and the emptiness crowded around. Dolores would face that very soon. And through it all she would have to contend with Sheriff Halvorson.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Elton placed the garment bag and the shoe carrier in the rear of the Escalade with great reverence. Dolores and I took our usual seats, and I noticed Elton had his dark gray jacket folded neatly on the front seat.
We were quiet during the car ride, which I guess befitted the solemnity of the occasion. Elton eased the Escalade into the mortuary parking lot and stopped near the main entrance. He put on his jacket and then came around to open our doors. As he helped Dolores from the car, he offered to carry the garment and shoe bags inside for her.
A dark-haired young woman dressed in an unadorned black suit and white blouse with a Peter Pan collar greeted us. “I am Carolyn Harrold. Welcome to the Harrold Brothers Funeral Home.” She looked from me to Dolores and back again. “Mrs. Nickens?”
“I’m Dolores Nickens. These are my friends Jessica Fletcher and Elton Anderson. They have been invaluable to me during this terrible time. I’m grateful to have them with me.”
I stole a glance at Elton and was surprised to see a lone tear sliding out from under his eyeglasses, even as he said a polite hello.
Carolyn led us to the same conference table where Dolores and I had met with Mr. Harrold on our last visit. “Please make yourselves comfortable. Uncle Jonah will be right with you.”
Then as if noticing for the first time that Elton was carrying bags that certainly contained the deceased’s final outfit, she said, “Mr. Anderson, may I take those?”
Elton looked at Dolores, who nodded and said, “Thank you, Ms. Harrold. Then Elton can comfortably join us at the table.”
Elton handed off the bags and instantly moved to the table to pull out a chair first for Dolores, then for me. He sat down and we all waited in silence until Jonah Harrold joined us. He offered his condolences politely, and then gently began explaining the process and the schedule that he and Pastor Forde had put together.
Dolores asked a question or two and suggested very minor changes. She also added a rendition of “On Eagle’s Wings” during the service, and requested that it be sung by a soprano.
Mr. Harrold took careful notes and promised that once the adjustments were confirmed with Pastor Forde he would e-mail the final program to Dolores, later in the day.
As we stood to leave Mr. Harrold said, “I am truly sorry for the delay, Mrs. Nickens, but with this kind of death we are at the mercy of the coroner and the sheriff. I suppose you, of all people, understand that.”
Dolores’s expression might have been unfathomable to him, but I could see she took his words as a reminder of her status as both widow and person of interest. Her face crumpled and she began to cry. I pulled some tissues from a box on the table and handed them to her. She said a soft good-bye to Jonah Harrold and walked quickly from the room.
Dolores was still crying quietly when Elton pulled out of Harrold Brothers’ driveway and turned toward home. “I knew it would be hard, Jess, but I never imagined it would be this hard. Tell me now. Is it going to be worse during the actual wake and funeral?”
Such a difficult question. How could I answer?
“Dolores, grief ebbs and flows. One minute you feel as though it’s manageable, and the next minute you are overwhelmed, immobilized. With the passage of time the grief becomes more manageable, but in the first few weeks and months your grief can become unwieldy at the oddest moments. It is so difficult to predict.”
“Who could think
