“I could also ask. That might be easier.”
“For youandfor them. That way, when you break into her cabinet to take the urn, they won’t have to wonder who did it.”
Thomas silently made his way up the steps to the mausoleum.
A police officer standing guard at the door kept him from going in. They chatted for a moment, then Raymond saw his son turn around and come back without the bag.
“What now?”
Thomas explained what he had learned. Someone close to the mayor was being buried that afternoon. And while they were readying the venue, some Dignity Memorial employees had discovered a suspicious package at the foot of the altar. The bomb squad was verifying its contents.
“Well this is definitely the first time I’ve ever been mistaken for a bomb.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll explain everything.”
Raymond raised his hand to stop his son. “Don’t try to explain anything as long as the police are crawling all over this place. Those uniformed cowboys would probably arrest you on the spot and put you on the first plane back to France.”
“For what? Leaving a cloth bag behind?”
“For bringing your father’s remains to the United States. I don’t think that’s exactly legal.”
“You’re just bringing this up now?”
“Better late than never. Isn’t that what they say?”
“Do you have a Plan C?”
“Not yet. But we’ll think of something. Go into town and enjoy yourself. I’ll stay here until I know more.”
“How exactly do you move around, anyway?”
“Now is not the time!”
“All right, fine,” Thomas said. “We’ll meet back at the apartment tonight.”
14
The head of Dignity Memorial turned up in the reception room, a dismayed expression on his face. At first, Manon thought he was attempting to look grief-stricken, but she quickly realized this was something else. He wanted to talk to her and her father privately, in his office.
Worried, Mr. Bartel followed with his daughter. Bartel was afraid the man was going to ask for more money and was determined to refuse. He’d signed a quote and wouldn’t pay a penny more.
The other man’s expression grew even more serious as he asked them to sit down. “I don’t know how to say this,” he announced, his voice shaking. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. We’re doing everything we can to find the culprits.”
“What culprits?” asked Mr. Bartel.
“Someone broke the seal on your wife and mother’s urn,” the man said in a disapproving tone.
“I don’t understand,” Manon said.
“One or more individuals tried to open it, but don’t worry—after conducting a detailed inspection, our team has determined that they failed.”
“I’m going to need more details,” Mr. Bartel demanded. “What individuals? And what team?”
“We gave the urn to our head of cremation, who inspected it with a magnifying glass. The wax seal was broken but still in place, provingthat the lid was never fully removed. Someone did try to open it. But that’s all they managed to do.”
“Oh, is that all?!” shouted Mr. Bartel. “Who was it?”
“We don’t know yet, but rest assured, we’re investigating quite thoroughly.”
