The Queen of Sleepy Eye by Patti Hill Read Free Book Online Page A

daughter. She knows better than to discuss odors.” Mom looked at me with pleading eyes. “Amy, listen to Mrs. Clancy. We want to do a good job for her, so she won’t have a worry in her head.”
    Mrs. Clancy’s eyebrows arched over the rims of her glasses. “In the course of your daily living, the chapel is completely off limits—excepting, of course, when you’re attending to chores or hosting viewings. Do I make myself clear?”
    â€œHosting viewings? Us?” Mom asked.
    â€œYes, I’m done with all of that,” said Mrs. Clancy, and her shoulders sagged. “I’ve done everything myself for years. Too many of my friends are coming through here now. It’s terribly difficult.” A shadow darkened her eyes and then quickly lifted. “But someone has to be here to stand with the family, manage the guest book, and set up the flowers. That will be you. There’s a list of your duties by the back door. The families are as lost as kittens in their grief.” With a hanky from her belt, Mrs. Clancy buffed her fingerprints out of the organ’s lacquered finish.
    She looked Mom up and down. Dressed in fuchsia slacks, a broad white belt, and a polka-dot blouse, Mom dressed as if auditioning for a chewing-gum commercial. I relaxed. No one in their right minds would hire Mom to host anything as solemn as a viewing. Entertaining for Mom meant shaking martinis and pouring peanuts into a bowl.
    Mrs. Clancy said, “You will wear a black dress hemmed below your knees during viewings out of respect for the deceased and the living. It’s traditional. People expect it. I won’t tolerate anything else.”
    The blood drained from Mom’s olive skin. Wearing black wasbad luck. At that moment, considering the spiders and the wearing of black, the deal was doomed. I turned toward the door.
    â€œAmy looks beautiful in black,” Mom said.
    I stopped, pivoted.
    â€œAnyone greeting grievers will be expected to dress appropriately,” Mrs. Clancy said, lowering her glasses to meet Mom’s gaze with leaden eyes.
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Clancy, I understand, and you mustn’t worry a bit that we won’t follow your instructions to the smallest detail.”
    â€œHere’s the bottom line,” Mrs. Clancy said. “If you do a good job keeping the place clean and working with the families, I’ll be happy and you’ll have free rent. The minute I’m not happy is the minute you pack your bags. It’s up to you.”
    â€œPerfect! We’ll do it.” Mom grasped her hand. Mrs. Clancy’s chin folded like an accordion as she leaned away from Mom.
    â€œThere’s something else.” Mrs. Clancy hefted two large suitcases. “There’s a pad by the kitchen phone. If I leave to run errands, and let’s see, during my lunch break, and, of course, any time I’m not here, you’ll be taking the death calls.”
    Mom’s mouth dropped open.
    â€œEspecially at night. I’m an old woman. I need my sleep. Get the name of the deceased and who will take financial responsibility for preparing the body. And for goodness’ sake, don’t forget to ask for their address and phone number. Then call the mortician before you call my nephew, H. He’ll pick up the body and get the deceased to the preparation room in the basement. Don’t call me until the next morning, not one minute earlier than eight.”
    Mrs. Clancy pushed the screen door open with her foot. “Making ends meet must be difficult as a single woman raising a daughter. I pay H twenty-five dollars to pick up a body. If you want to earn thattwenty-five dollars for yourself, you’re free to use the hearse. H won’t mind. He’s an industrious boy. He reminds me of my own William. If there’s work to be done, H will find it. And you don’t have to worry about loading the body into the hearse. There’s always