The Obituary Society Read online

  The Obituary Society

  by

  Jessica L. Randall

  "This book has it all. Mystery, suspense, romance and a touch of paranormal. I was sucked in from page one and couldn't put it down. I highly recommend it!" - Victorine E. Lieske, author of the NYT's best selling eBook Not What She Seems

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Sour Lemonade

  Chapter 2: The Cinnamon Scented Lawyer

  Chapter 3: High Fructose Corn Syrup

  Chapter 4: Aunt Ada's Fridge

  Chapter 5: The Mail Order House

  Chapter 6: Maids of Honor

  Chapter 7: Sold

  Chapter 8: Old Spice

  Chapter 9: Store-Bought

  Chapter 10: Gypsy Blood

  Chapter 11: Rocky Mountain Oysters

  Chapter 12: Better-than-Betty Crocker

  Chapter 13: The Old Hodgers Bluegrass Band

  Chapter 14: Fireworks

  Chapter 15: An Unkindness

  Chapter 16: Goldie's Locks

  Chapter 17: Mantis

  Chapter 18: Outsiders

  Chapter 19: Vintage Snapple

  Chapter 20: The Pact

  Chapter 21: Intruders

  Chapter 22: Jail Biddies

  Chapter 23: Betrayed

  Chapter 24: Deep-Fried Chocolate Milk

  Chapter 25: Heights

  Chapter 26: Finding the Finder

  Chapter 27: Like him

  Chapter 28: Anything for Love

  Chapter 29: Nightmare

  Chapter 30: Raspberry Rumba

  Recipes

  Grandma Katie's Delicious Rolls

  Ada's Maids of Honor

  Great-Grandma Benson's Caramel Pie

  If you'd like to give your imagination a boost and find a few more recipes, visit my

  Obituary Society Pinterest board.

  http://www.pinterest.com/shakalaka/the-obituary-society/

  The Obituary Society

  Copyright © 2014

  Jessica L. Randall

  cover photo ©Agnes Kantaruk/Dreamstime.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author with the exception of brief quotations used in reviews.

  To my people.

  September 1952

  Isaac Moore sat on the porch steps, stuffing the last bit of jam and bread into his mouth. Most days he walked home with his little sister, but today he was hungry, and he had run ahead. Ada should have been home by now.

  He stood, brushing the crumbs from his pants, and walked to the road. He squinted and caught sight of Ada bobbing toward him, a large goose close on her heels. Mrs. Hendricks must have left her gate unlatched again.

  Isaac doubled over laughing as the short, stubby girl swung her arms and lifted her knees as high as she could, trying to outrun the ornery fowl. She squealed as it nipped at her heels, then pulled an apple core out of her lunch pail and tossed it behind her. She looked back and frowned, seeing the goose still in pursuit.

  Isaac jogged down the road, keeping his eyes on his sister to see what she would do next. She tried again, this time pulling out a dried crust of bread and tossing it at the goose's head, but it didn't slow down.

  She turned her head, and her blue eyes lit up at the sight of her brother. Relief washed over her troubled face. Isaac ran between Ada and the goose so she could run safely to the house.

  The goose nipped at Isaac's calf with its huge orange bill. “Ouch! Cut it out!” A new bruise formed at every bite. He scowled at the beast and picked up the pace. The goose followed him the rest of the way home. At last he reached the front door. Ada held it open for him, and he dashed inside, slamming the door triumphantly behind him.

  Isaac bent over, pulling up his pant legs up to assess the damage. Angry purple marks dotted both calves. He looked up to see Ada watching him with tears in her eyes. He fuzzed her head and grinned.

  Chapter 1

  Sour Lemonade

  Lila watched them standing alongside the casket, five women in their Sunday best, forming a wall you couldn't drive a Dodge Ram through. Her aunt Ada stood in the middle, wiping a tear with her hanky, her friends supporting her on either side. Lila's chest ached as she stared at them. They were solemn-eyed, but hard-edged with determination, friends who would sit by your side and drink the lemonade with or without the sugar, all the way to the end. Lila wasn't sure what the determined look meant, but she was certain it wasn't her imagination. It was as if it was them against the world. There was a bond there, and Lila bet the story that formed it would be worth digging for.

  After the service Ada beckoned to Lila, and as soon as she was within reach, her great-aunt wrapped her arms around her. Ada's softness and warmth, and the scent that reminded Lila of things both home-grown and home-baked, made Lila feel steadier on her feet.

  It had been a relief when Lila got to Auburn and Aunt Ada stepped in to help. From the looks of it, Ada must have planned dozens of funerals. There had been so many decisions to make. For example, until a few days ago, Lila wasn't aware casket exteriors had options such as fabric, veneer, and eco-friendly. Veneer brought to mind the fake, slick surfaces of office furniture. She'd even seen one with a Husker Red interior, complete with an embroidered Herbie Husker.

  That wasn't for Grandpa Isaac, although he had dutifully watched his college football games from his easy chair. No veneer, either. The manufactured surface was nothing like Grandpa, who'd been tall and genuine, with a presence like a deep rooted oak tree. You had to get him talking to see the roots. They stretched all the way from Rock Springs, Wyoming, to Auburn, Nebraska where they remained firmly planted. They'd settled on solid oak for his casket. It was the one extravagance. Everything else about the funeral was kept simple, and Grandpa would have approved.

  As far as Lila was concerned, the faster it was all over with the better, never mind that she had no idea what came next.

  The gathering dispersed, and Lila followed Ada and her friend Gladys to a large, angular, gold Cadillac. Lila was somewhat mystified by Gladys. Her lavender-tinged hair looked like a delicate poof on the top of her head, but Lila was certain if she touched it, it wouldn't budge. She had to keep her hands clasped together to resist the urge. The old woman wore thick bifocal glasses that covered a large portion of her face and enlarged her eyes.

  As they neared the Cadillac, Ada was stopped by a friend offering her condolences. Gladys took Lila's arm and they continued on together. The old woman leaned toward her, and Lila noted the unmistakable smell of Aqua Net. She wasn't even sure how she knew this. Did they still sell Aqua Net?

  “Thank you for giving us a ride, Gladys. My rental car got me here all the way from Lincoln with no problems, but it was the strangest thing. As soon as I came to Ada's street, it started making a ticking noise. It rolled to a stop a few feet from her house and hasn't worked since.”

  “Oh it's no trouble at all, dear.” Gladys said. “I drive Ada most of the time anyway. She has trouble with that old Chevy. It's a pity about your car, but it'll work out all right. You know, I don't see anything strange happen in this town anymore without asking why. There's always a reason.”

  Lila raised a brow. “Like fate?”

  “Fate. Interference. Call it what you will. Would you like to drive?”

  Interference? Lila wasn't sure she wanted to ask what that meant. She took the keys and helped Gladys into the car, then slid into the drivers seat.

  Chapter 2

  The Cinnamon Scented Lawyer

  Lila tugged the door of the vintage truck open and settled into the springy seat. In this case, vintage was a n
ice way to describe a seafoam green Chevy that had somehow retained the ability to operate since 1950. She put her hand out of the open window and ran it along the rust-pocked paint. The truck was in poor shape, but to her artist's eye there was something beautiful about the way the years had worn down the layers of paint, the deep rust orange of the exposed metal, and the interesting curves and angles that hardly existed anymore in auto manufacturing.

  “Put it in neutral,” she mumbled. “Push the brake and the clutch. Turn the key.” The truck rumbled. Her palms were sweaty. Her stomach clenched; It had been a long time since she last drove a stick shift. For that matter, it had been a long time since she’d driven at all. Grandpa Isaac's apartment was walking distance from most of what they needed, and they took the bus for everything else.

  Lila put the truck in gear and concentrated on releasing the clutch, which didn't go as smoothly as she'd hoped. She backed out of the driveway. The gas pedal resisted when she pressed it, so the truck jolted every time she tried. She'd get the hang of it. She just had to get a feel for the old beast.

  She had come to an agreement with Ada. She would do the shopping and other errands, as well as help with odd jobs around the house, and Ada would allow her to use the truck and stay in her attic bedroom her until she got things sorted out. Ada said it would be nice to have some company, and that she really hated driving anymore. Lila hadn’t mentioned her unease about the monstrous truck.

  After a couple of minutes of rumbling along at twenty-five miles per hour, she came to Auburn's small city center. She loved Main Street's neatly lined trees and charming shops. Baskets dripping with pink petunias hung from old-fashioned light posts, and kids rode their bikes down the sidewalks. If she ignored the SUVs she could almost believe she'd entered a time warp.

  In her distraction, Lila noticed the four-way stop sign a moment too late. Rubber screeched against concrete as the truck to her right stopped suddenly to avoid hitting her. She quickly shoved her foot on the brake. The Chevy jerked to a halt, throwing her forward. She'd killed the engine.

  Lila tipped her head back and exhaled as the adrenaline race through her system. Her cheeks burning, she glanced at the faded blue pick-up. She wished she could melt into the seat. The scowling driver adjusted his thick-rimmed glasses and waved her on. Lila took a deep breath, noticing several cars pulling up to wait for their turn as she restarted the truck. Luckily the engine hadn't flooded. She pushed the gas a little too enthusiastically and roared through the intersection.

  Two blocks along she found the sign that read Edwards and Whiting Law Offices. Luckily, there were several empty parking spaces, so she swung the truck in a wide, awkward arc into one, or perhaps two, of the slots.

  Dropping her keys into her purse, she climbed out of the truck and pushed her shoulder into the heavy old door until it latched.

  Lila ducked her head, still embarrassed about her driving mishap, and hurried to the building. She turned the brass handle and stepped inside. It looked like it had been built in the early 1900’s. The trim was thick and painted white, the fixtures were patinaed brass, and that unmistakable musty-old-building scent permeated the air.

  The front desk sat empty, so she wandered around the office, hoping to find someone who had not yet left for lunch. She heard a man's voice and followed it down a hallway lined with office windows. One was lit up. She peeked through it and saw a man talking on the phone, his feet resting on his desk as he spoke.

  Perhaps it was the old building, or the fact that he was actually using a landline, but he brought to mind an actor from an old black-and-white movie; the dark, wavy hair, one lock flopping forward in rebellion, the strong jaw and commanding aura. She quickly looked away when his eyes met hers, hoping he hadn’t noticed her close inspection.

  “I’m going to have to let you go now, Stephen. I have an important meeting.” His voice was deep and smooth, and she detected a slight southern drawl. “But I’ll be in touch soon.” He clanked the receiver onto the cradle and rose, walking toward Lila and extending his hand. His gaze was direct and his handshake firm.

  “Asher Whiting. What can I help you with today, Miss . . .”

  “Lila Moore. I just came to see you about my Grandfather’s will, but if you have a meeting, I can—”

  He chuckled and leaned toward her. His breath smelled like cinnamon. “Let’s just say it was time for that phone conversation to come to an end. I do have a meeting, with a lovely young woman. You have perfect timing. Won’t you come sit down in my office?”

  She checked a girlish grin as his hand brushed the small of her back when he ushered her into his office. Asher motioned to a large leather chair opposite his. She took it, then pulled her hair behind her shoulders and straightened her dress. The formality of the office, and the oversized chair, made her feel small and shabby.

  Her toes wiggled her flip flops back and forth on the yellow varnished-wood floor as she studied the bookshelves behind his desk. There were old leather-bound volumes, countless law books, and framed certificates. Her eyes scoured the shelves for photographs that might give a glimpse into Mr. Whiting’s life, maybe something featuring a smiling wife or girlfriend. There were none. In fact, there was no clutter and no personal effects at all. Well, as far as Lila was concerned, there was something to be said for tidiness.

  Asher sat down. The elegant and expensive leather chair looked like it was made for him. “So you're Isaac Moore’s granddaughter?”

  “Yes. Did you know him?”

  “No.” He folded his hands together on the desk. “He left long before I came here. Mr. Edwards and he grew up together though, as I understand it. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Lila swallowed. She knew the intentions were good, but she hated empty platitudes.

  Asher seemed to read her mind. “I know it doesn’t mean much coming from a stranger. But I do understand what you’re going through.” He leaned forward, and a scent that was sharp with a hint of deep ocean wafted across the mahogany desk. He looked at her with solemn blue eyes.

  “I know my grandfather trusted Mr. Edwards,” Lila began. “I thought he should get somebody in Wyoming to take over his affairs, but he wouldn’t have it.”

  “Yes, everyone in town feels the same way about him. However, Mr. Edwards isn’t able to work as many cases as he used to. I hope you won’t mind if I assist you.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem.” Her eyes rested on the dimple in his chin.

  “Did Mr. Moore give you much information about what his will contained?”

  “Not much. He mentioned once he would be leaving the old house to me, and said to contact Mr. Edwards when the time came.”

  “Those old farming types.” Mr. Whiting chuckled. “Not much for sharing financial information, are they?”

  “Not much for sharing information in general,” Lila agreed, smiling.

  “Miss Moore, your grandfather had some savings, as well as a small amount in investments. I’d like to go over those with you today. Did your aunt want to be here for that?”

  “She said she'd rather not.”

  The next half hour was spent with the official reading of the will and going through paperwork. Lila tried to pay attention, and she felt she could do a great deal of listening to Mr. Whiting’s voice, but all the technical terminology made it easy for her mind to wander to other things.

  The savings amounted to about eleven thousand dollars, a portion of which went to Ada. A pang of guilt went through Lila when she thought of her grandpa working so hard to save that money over the years, and living as frugally as he did, just to leave most of it to her.

  “As you know, he left you the house.” Asher opened a desk drawer and produced a brass key. “It's been empty all this time. Go and take a look inside when you get a chance.” He knotted his brows together in concern. “I think you’ll see the house needs a considerable amount of work, Miss Moore.” His lip twitched and he stifled a laugh. “I'm not just talking about the
exterior paint.”

  Lila smiled. “Can't say I didn't notice it, but what can I say? The women in my family know what they like, and they don't hold back.”

  “Glad to hear that.” There was a glint in his eye, and he hesitated, as if he was about to say something. Then he regained his composure and cleared his throat. “We here at the firm pride ourselves on taking good care of our long-time clients and their families. We realize you are dealing with a lot with the passing of your grandfather, and Mr. Edwards really wants to be of assistance for his old friend's sake. If you’d like, I can personally oversee whatever repairs you choose to have done and the sale of the house. It’s the least I can do.” His smile was gentle and grave at the same time.

  “I’ll consider that,” Lila answered. “Thank you.” She couldn’t help but wonder if this kind of attentiveness was standard. Asher placed the key in her hand. Her stomach flitted as his hand lingered on hers a moment longer than necessary.

  “Do you have any additional questions?”

  Lila stood and stretched. “No, not for now.”

  “If you think of any, don’t hesitate to call.” After adding his personal number at the bottom, he handed her his card.

  “Thank you again, Mr. Whiting. It means so much to have someone walk me through all of this. It's overwhelming at times.”

  “Please call me Asher.” He smiled and shook her hand, the other hand pressing her lower back again as he led her out of his office.

  As she walked toward the front door, a man with unruly red hair and freckles burst through it. He looked gangly, but as he came closer she could see firm muscles in his arms.

  Lila jumped out of his way. “Where is he? Where is Clint?” His voice echoed through the building. “What did he do?”

  Lila turned to see Asher standing with his arms crossed. He looked calm, but there was a firm edge to his expression. “Mr. Snyder, please come into my office. Whatever the problem is, we'll talk it over and work it out.”