Dime Store Magic (Otherworld 3)

"Huh?" She looked over at me. "You think he poisoned me? Nah. He didn't touch my drink. Besides, potions aren't like that. If someone gives you one, you get sick all at once. This comes and goes. Oh, wait ... there, it's gone. See?" She twisted to look over her shoulder. "Isn't the funeral home on Elm?"

"Yes--damn!"

I swung the car into the nearest laneway and turned around. As I'd said, the funeral home was next to the local hospital. Actually, the two buildings were attached, maybe for ease of transporting those who didn't respond favorably to treatment. The hospital also affords an excellent view of the adjacent local cemetery, which the patients must find most heartening.

The lot beside the funeral home was full, so I had to park behind the hospital. With Savannah trailing along behind me, I fairly scampered around to the mortuary, so worried about being seen that I wiggled through a tall hedge rather than walk along the road. Once in the funeral home parking lot, I checked to make sure no one was coming or going, then dashed across to the side door and knocked.

"I think a branch scratched my back," Savannah said. "Who cares if someone sees us? You didn't kill the guy."

"I know, but it would be disrespectful. I don't want to cause any more trouble."

Before she could answer, the door swung open. A woman in her mid-forties peered out, her doughy face fixed in a scowl that seemed more habit than intent.

"Yes?" Before I could answer, she nodded. "Ms. Winterbourne. Good. Come in."

I would rather have stayed outdoors, but she released the door and vanished into the room before I could protest. I ushered Savannah inside, then stepped through into a storeroom. Amidst the piles of boxes was a folding chair and a table covered with files.

Shaw wore a linen dress, smartly fashionable and tailor-made--my mother ran her own dressmaking business, so I can tell a good piece from a Wal-Mart bargain. Though the dress was top-of-the-line, the expense was wasted. Like too many large women, Shaw made the mistake of choosing oversized clothing, turning an expensive dress into a shapeless piece of sackcloth that fell in folds around her.

As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit storeroom, Shaw settled into her chair and busied herself with her papers. I waited a few minutes, then cleared my throat.

"I'd--uh--like to get going," I said. "I'm not comfortable being here."

"Wait."

I did. For another two minutes. Then, before I could comment again, Savannah sighed. Loudly.

"We don't have all day, you know," Savannah said.

Shaw glared, not at Savannah, but at me, as if Savannah's rudeness could be no one's fault but my own.

"I'm sorry," I said. "She's not feeling well. If you're not ready, we could grab lunch, then come back."

"Here," she said, thrusting a file folder at me. "The bill is on top. We require a certified check, which you can courier to the address shown. Under no circumstances are you to contact the Carys regarding payment or anything else related to your case. If you have questions--"

"Call you. I get the idea."

I walked to the door, yanked on the handle, and stumbled backward when it failed to open. How's that for a gracious exit? Regaining my balance and my dignity, I grasped the handle again, turned, and pushed. Still nothing.

"Is there a lock?" I said, peering down at the handle.

"Just turn and pull, as with any exterior door."

Bitch. I almost said it aloud. Unlike Savannah, though, my upbringing did not permit me to do any such thing. I tried the door again. Nothing happened.

"It's jammed," I said.

Shaw sighed and heaved herself from the chair. Crossing the room, she waved me out of the way, took hold of the handle, and yanked. The door remained closed. From the other side, I heard voices.

"Someone's out there," I said. "Maybe they can open the door from the outside--"

"No. I will not have you bothering the mourner

s. I'll call the custodian."

"There's a front door, isn't there?" Savannah said.

Again, Shaw glared at me. This time, I didn't apologize for Savannah.