Bury Me When I'm Dead by Cheryl A Head

the meal, Charlie pulled out her notebook and Don followed suit.
    â€œHaldeman’s definitely has a file on Stringer. I saw the receptionist pull it up on her computer, then when I was with the office manager she looked at something on her screen, too.”
    â€œThey probably have a client database. We should probably use one, but I don’t know what Judy would do if she couldn’t color code the paper files.”
    â€œDid you talk to her while I was at Haldeman’s?”
    â€œNo. But I spoke to Gil. He found out Joyce owns the Detroit house, the cousin’s house and a third home that’s here in Birmingham somewhere in the ‘burbs. I’ve got the address and I’d like to take a look at it before you drop me off at the motel so you can make your hot date with Elsbeth.” Charlie pronounced the woman’s name witha snooty tone. “Who names their kid Elsbeth? Her mother must have watched too much Masterpiece Theatre.”
    â€œWhat’s Masterpiece Theatre ?” Don asked, gulping down the last piece of ham steak and reaching for his pie.
    â€œA show that’s on PBS when you’re watching the hockey game.”
    â€œWhatever,” Don said. “Damn, this pie is delicious. What say we get a couple of meals to go for tonight’s dinner? We can put them in your fridge.”
    â€œBest idea you’ve had all day, partner,” Charlie said between mouthfuls of cobbler.

Chapter 9
    Grant was able to sell the Anderson widow a $20,000 full service funeral. That included flowers, a private visitation room with a flute and harp, three limos, and the latest thing in the funeral business: a 3-minute video made up of photos of the loved one. Grant made notes on a small pad. He would get a kickback on the flowers, music, the third limo, and the video.
    He used the intercom on his desk to summon his sister. The door opened slowly and Grace sidled into the room. “Have the Andersons left?”
    â€œI saw them drive away on the camera,” Grace said.
    â€œWhat were the policemen talking to you about?”
    Grace looked confused, then her eyes sharpened. She looked at Grant and then at the folders on his desk. “The pretty lady and the white man. Right Grant?” she asked, nodding.
    â€œYes, Grace.”
    â€œThey said they will find out who killed Paulie.”
    â€œDid they ask you any questions?”
    â€œThe lady asked me if I saw Paulie.” Grace crossed her arms closely against her chest as if shielding herself.
    â€œBut you told her no, right?”
    â€œRight, Grant.”
    â€œDid they ask about Daddy?”
    â€œNo, Grant. Did Daddy call?”
    â€œNo. We’ll see Daddy and Mama tonight. We’re all going out for supper.”
    â€œOh good. I’m going to have chicken fingers, hash browns and broccoli.”
    â€œThat sounds good. One more thing, Grace. Did the lady ask you about Miss Joyce?”
    Grant knew Grace was thinking about supper at the restaurant with their parents.
    â€œDid you hear what I asked, Grace? Did the policewoman ask about Miss Joyce?”
    â€œNo, Grant. Do you want me to file that folder?”
    Grant stared at Grace. She looked at him for a second, then away. He loved his sister but resented being saddled with her at the mortuary. “You can start a file for the Andersons. I’ll give you the paperwork to file, tomorrow.”
    â€œOkay, Grant. Okay, I’ll go to my desk.” Grace edged out of the office in the same shy way she’d entered.
    Grant spun his chair to face the window and put his feet on top of the bookcase. Today was perfect weather for a funeral, cloudy with no rain nor bright sun. Many people equated drab, wet weather with a funeral but rain made it difficult to hear the words spoken at graveside and grievers streaked mud into the parlor and onto the limousine carpets. They also lost a half-dozen umbrellas each time they presided over a