A Truth for a Truth Read Online Free PDF Page B

there’s been a change of plans. Instead of a service at the cemetery, we’ll all go next door for the reception. You may call the church office next week to find out when the graveside service will be scheduled.”
    The buzzing got louder, but not loud enough to drown out the shriek from Hildy’s row. Hildy leapt to her feet.
    “Of course there will be a service today,” she said in a voice that probably carried as far as the bandstand at the Oval. “There is no change of plans.”
    I hadn’t had time to reckon with Hildy. I turned in her direction. “I’m sorry. I can explain the situation later, but for now—”
    “There will be no changes! This has been carefully planned.”
    Only the truth would shut down this conversation. Hildy’s daughters were trying to pull her back to her seat, but they had no hope of success. As if we were all involved in some sort of bizarre tug-of-war, now Ed had taken my arm, as if he thought I was the one who needed to sit. I shook him off, not a difficult task under the circumstances, although I was afraid I might send him sprawling.
    I leaned closer to the mic. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Dorchester, but I’m afraid we have to let the funeral director take Reverend Dorchester’s body to the coroner’s facility.”
    “That’s ridiculous! We already have a death certificate. Everything is all arranged.” When she pulled away from her daughters and started toward me, I realized Hildy was not going to let this go. She was heading for the microphone to give directions to the cemetery herself, and she wasn’t above arm wrestling.
    I looked up and saw Roussos, arms folded, watching with interest. Roussos is not a fan of churches.
    I had no choice. I was forced to add a final phrase.
    “For an autopsy.” I cleared my throat. “Autopsy. They’ve decided to do an autopsy. And that’s why Reverend Dorchester won’t be buried today.”
    There wasn’t a person in the sanctuary, except perhaps Teddy, who didn’t understand what that meant. Win wasn’t going to be allowed to go to his final resting place in dignity. Somebody might well have propelled Win Dorchester into that garbage can portal to eternity.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, just one moment before the buzz in the sanctuary turned into a roar.

3
    Since there wasn’t the usual rush to congratulate my husband on the excellence of his eulogy, I found Ed alone in his office after the final hymn had been sung and mourners had moved to the parish house. Ed was propped against his bookcase, arms folded over his midriff, sound asleep. Had he toppled like a tree in the forest, I doubt the crash would have awakened him.
    I propped myself against his desk, several feet away, and held out my arms, prepared for him to fall into them.
    “Ed!” Nearly a shout. When it didn’t rouse him, I tried again, a few decibels louder.
    “Ed!”
    His eyelids parted. He shook his head in a courageous attempt to wake himself.
    “You have to leave!”
    He seemed to consider. I wondered which word he had not understood.
    “You’re in no shape to go to the reception,” I continued. “You were asleep on your feet.”
    “Just need . . . coffee.”
    “I’m not sure the entire urn would do it. I’ll help you get home.”
    “People . . . will wonder.”
    “I’ll come back and tell them what’s up.”
    There was a gentle knock on the door, and January Godfrey, our aging hippy sexton, poked his head inside. He had been present in the sanctuary, having worked at the church during Win’s years. January’s an insightful, funny guy, with a personal cupboard of stories about Ed’s predecessors, and I’d heard my share of Win anecdotes. “Need help?” he asked.
    I motioned, and once he was all the way in, I explained.
    He was nodding before I finished the grisly details. “Yep, a regular lily forest in there today. And you know what? Reverend Dorchester had a lily allergy, too. Always dreaded Easter, but he dreaded telling Mrs. Dorchester