The Icing on the Corpse Read Online Free PDF

operations back in the 1700s.
    The small red colonial on the green known as the War Office served as the area’s “command center” during the war. Today it was a historical building that drew local visitors and tourists more often than one would expect in such a small town. Volunteers manned the office and offered tours three days a week from May through October and on special occasions. Most days during those months, if you drove by the green, you’d see two of the volunteers sitting in rocking chairs in the driveway, dressed in their period costumes and waving to people. They were the heart of the War Office—the ones who kept it running and made sure no one ever forgot an important date in town. The volunteers organized activities and made sure the costumes were up to snuff. They coerced enough people to be in each show they put on. Helga Oliver was instrumental in these activities.
    Stan remembered Helga’s role vividly in that first reenactment she’d attended. Dressed in a man’s costume, a general’s hat pressed tightly over her white hair, she stood out more than any other actor or actress. The suit worn to battle had been way too big on her five foot two frame, but she rocked it. Stan remembered Helga clumping around in heavy boots, leaning on her glittery purple cane as she made her way around the green barking orders at the “troops” like a real general. Stan thought Helga was probably the most noticeable character on the battlefield, mainly because of her sass. For an eighty-seven-year-old, she’d led the way and stolen the show.
    Today, the memory made her sad. Even from that one day on the “battlefield,” Helga’s feisty personality and energy had shone through. Like Stan’s own grandmother. Stan had so many memories of her dad’s mother. Frannie Connor taught her to cook “real” food for animals. Her favorite was of Gram serving dishes of turkey on her front porch to stray cats, ignoring and inevitably laughing off her neighbors’ scorn. A free spirit. Helga had the same vibe.
    Stan perched on the edge of an uncomfortable chair in the hospital waiting room, watching Jake and Helga’s boyfriend, Gerry, speak with the doctor who confirmed Helga’s death. Gerry had arrived right after they did. No sign of Don or Sarah. Would they bother to come, knowing she was already gone?
    She felt incredibly out of place. Not having known Helga well or her family at all, she didn’t want to overstep. So she sat and watched, trying to pretend she wasn’t. Jake looked terrible, but he was too much of a gentleman to be selfish about his own grief. He was going to have his hands full for awhile. Stan’s phone beeped. She fished it out of her jacket pocket to see a text from Char: I’m at hospital with Betty. Where are u?
    Stan texted back: Here too w Jake. U in ER? What room? I’ll come over .
    Char returned: 202 .
    Stan rose and caught Jake’s eye, signaled that she’d be back in a few minutes, then ducked into the hallway. She paused, taking a few deep breaths, trying to bring her own Zen back. This was certainly not how she—or anyone else—had expected this day to turn out. She thought briefly of Lilypad, her abandoned gift. It should’ve been a day filled with fun, community, and a glimpse of spring. Instead, it had turned darker than any winter’s day.
    Scanning the corridors for directions to the emergency room, she followed a maze of lefts and rights, past the chapel, the cafeteria, and three different elevator banks until she landed in front of the check-in desk.
    â€œBetty Meany, room 202,” she said through the glass.
    The nurse buzzed her in and immediately went back to her phone call, not bothering to offer directions. Stan entered the U-shaped wing, averting her eyes from the rooms with open curtains where people were sick or injured. She hoped she was heading in the right