The Body Snatchers Affair by Marcia Muller Page B

provided for, even though they didn’t get on well together.”
    â€œI really couldn’t say, Mrs. Carpenter. I hardly know the man.”
    *   *   *
    A modest sign on the rectangle of lawn in front of Joshua Trilby’s Evergreen Chapel gave its name and the slogan HONORING YOUR FAMILY’S MEMORIES. The mortuary itself, a whitewashed wooden structure with a pair of large yew trees flanking the front entrance, was as unprepossessing as Thomas Moody’s description.
    On impulse, Sabina followed a cobbled path to the door and stepped into a spacious foyer. A strong floral scent greeted her, but it was more than that that set her nostrils twitching. She had always had a sensitive sense of smell and mingled with the flowery sweetness she detected the odors of dust and, faintly and unpleasantly, formaldehyde. An open doorway to her left led into a viewing room where a rather plain coffin, its lid raised, rested on a bier surrounded by several bouquets of flowers. None of a grouping of chairs facing the coffin was occupied.
    Two other doors, both closed, opened off the foyer. Almost immediately one of them opened and a small, pink-faced man appeared. He wore a black cutaway coat and striped trousers and a smile that struck Sabina as both grave and unctuous. As he approached her, he held his hands close together in front of him as if he might start wringing them at any second.
    â€œAh, good afternoon, madam,” he said in a low voice that matched his smile. “How may I be of service?”
    â€œAre you Mr. Trilby? Joshua Trilby?”
    â€œI am. Yes, indeed.” He bowed slightly. “Pray tell, is it a recent bereavement that brings you to the Evergreen Chapel?”
    The thinly concealed eagerness in Trilby’s voice was off-putting. So was his manner. Morticians by trade were a fawning lot, but this one oozed greed as well as obsequiousness.
    â€œNot exactly,” she said. “At least … not yet.”
    â€œAh. I understand. And you would like to make arrangements in advance of the, ah, unfortunate passage.”
    â€œYes, but I haven’t made up my mind as to where the services will be held. Your fees are competitive, I trust?”
    â€œOh, indeed. Yes, indeed. Quite competitive. We offer a wide array of services designed to accommodate every pocketbook. May I ask what type of ceremony you had in mind, large or small?”
    â€œLarge enough. I understand you held the service for the recently deceased financier Ruben Blanchford.”
    Trilby beamed at her. “Yes, we did. A beautiful service, if I do say so myself. Really quite beautiful.”
    â€œAnd expensive, no doubt.”
    â€œWell … Mr. Blanchford was an important man in this life. Naturally his passage into the next demanded nothing less than the very best.”
    â€œNaturally. Was it his widow who made the arrangements with you?”
    â€œWhy, yes, certainly. The casket she chose was our finest model, bronze with silver fittings and duchesse satin interior.” Trilby’s greed oozed through again. “Is that the sort you had in mind for your loved one, Mrs., ah, Mrs.—”
    â€œDalrymple,” Sabina said. “Lucrezia Dalrymple. How much would such a casket cost?”
    â€œOne thousand dollars. Yes, and a bargain at the price, I assure you. We have one in our showroom, if you’d like to see it.”
    â€œThat won’t be necessary.”
    â€œOf course we also have other, less elegant models,” Trilby said quickly. “Several, in fact, priced to fit any pocketbook.”
    â€œI’m sure you do.”
    â€œOur entire selection is available for viewing. I also have a complete list of all-inclusive fees for our services which I will gladly—”
    â€œPerhaps another time. I really must be going now.”
    Trilby’s smile flickered. “But Mrs. Dalrymple—”
    â€œGood-bye for now, Mr.