Page 38 of Ghost

Ellen and Mason arrived at the funeral home, and Mason took an instant dislike to the funeral director.

Smarmy was the only word that came to mind as the man spoke to Ellen.

As he held her hand and gave his sincere condolences , Mason could sense that the man had dollar signs in his eyes, like a cartoon character.

Only this cartoon character was wearing a very expensive suit, two diamond rings and way too much cologne.

When the man left to go and get some literature on the different “packages” they offered, Mason quietly told Ellen that he felt very uncomfortable with this man and that he didn’t want to deal with him.

“I hate to admit it, but I don’t like him either,” Ellen responded. “Why don’t we take the brochures and then tell him we will have to think about what it is we want and leave?”

“Good idea. Surely there is another funeral home to go to.”

Ellen patted Mason’s arm. “I’m sure there is.”

When the man reappeared, he handed Ellen the material and started his spiel. Ellen quickly cut him off.

“Mr. Wells, we will take this,” she said, holding up the glossy packet he’d just handed her, “and discuss what it is we want for our dear Francis. Thank you so much for your time. We’ll get back to you.”

The man seemed flustered. “But don’t you want to take care of matters quickly?”

Without batting an eye, Ellen responded, “He’s been dead for almost a hundred years. I don’t think a few more days are going to matter to him. Good day.”

Ellen took Mason’s arm and with perfect posture, walked out the double doors to the car waiting outside. Once inside, she said, “He reminds me of a sleazy mafioso.”

“You nailed that one on the head,” was Mason’s response. “Where are Francis’ remains now?”

“Oh dear.” Ellen looked flustered suddenly. “I’ve made arrangements for him to be brought to this place. I need to find a phone and fast.”

The driver turned. “Ma’am, there is a phone in the center console if you would like to use it. There is a charge for it, however.”

“Excellent!” Ellen tried to open the console and failed. Mason opened it and handed her the phone. She opened her purse, pulled out a small address book and made the call.

“Just in the nick of time.” Ellen sat back. “That could have been a disaster in the making.”

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked. The elderly Black man was smiling.

“We need to find a funeral home that’s a little more no frills,” Mason said. “That guy really gave me the creeps.”

“If I may suggest, there’s Byrnes-Royale funeral home over on West Hall Street, just on the other side of the park. It’s one of the oldest in the city.”

“Of course.” Ellen leaned back against the seat. “Why didn’t I think of them? Can you take us there, please?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll even call ahead for you. My cousin works there.” The driver, whose name was Fred, picked up a mobile phone that was lying on the seat next to him and made the call.

“Francis said I needed to get one of those and a computer,” Mason whispered.

Ellen smiled. “Then I would do what he says. The one thing I can assure you about Francis is that he was always on the cutting edge when it came to business. He had the knack for making money, as did his father.”

Mason chuckled. “Maybe I should keep him around then, so he can advise me.”

Ellen looked at Mason. “That’s not even funny, Mason.”

When they arrived at Byrnes-Royale Funeral Parlour, a man came out to greet them. He looked more like Fred’s brother than his cousin.

“Welcome, welcome,” he said, smiling and extending his hand to help Ellen from the car. “How’s ya’ll doin’ today?”

Ellen smiled back. “We are very well, thank you. How about yourself?”

The man extended his hand to Mason. “I’m doing about as well as an old fat man can be,” he laughed. “I’m Martin Royale.” He turned to Fred and pulled him into a big bear hug. “How’s it goin’, cousin?”

Fred smiled. “Doin’ good, cousin.”

“Thanks for the referral.”

Fred only nodded. “They were over at Clinton’s and decided against ‘em.”

Martin only nodded. “Why don’t we go inside where it’s a bit cooler,” he suggested. “Then we can talk about what it is you’ll be needin’.”

“Thank you,” Ellen said.

When they were seated, Martin asked if they wanted anything.

“I got some coffee, tea and soft drinks. I’ve also got some champagne, but I don’t recommend it.

My brother-in-law bought it and it’s cheap, cheap, cheap.

” He chuckled softly. “I’ve been slipping it out and givin’ it to those homeless men down by the river whenever I can. ”

When they both declined, the man leaned back into his leather office chair. “What can I do for you fine folk?”

Mason instantly liked the man. He spoke in a way that reminded him of an older black woman from his childhood.

She had a particular way of speaking that only black American people spoke.

She claimed it was because of being brought up in the Low Country and part of the Gullah clans.

This man had the same tone, cadence and accent.

“We need to make arrangements for my cousin,” Ellen said. “We will need him to be picked up from the county morgue and then transported up state a bit to the old family home. I think he should be taken to the house here in town first for a day or two.”

Martin pulled a note pad towards him. “Name of the deceased?”

“Francis Watson,” Ellen answered.

Martin looked up, cocked his head to one side. “As in Imogene Watson’s son?”

Both Ellen and Mason looked surprised. “Yes, that would be the one,” Mason answered for them both.

Martin leaned back in his chair again. “I’ll be swann-deened. I ain’t heard those names in a coon’s age.” He leaned forward again. “Did she do it?” he asked, whispering.

Ellen and Mason knew exactly what he was asking. “I am afraid so,” Ellen said.

Martin made a clucking sound and shaking his head. “I can’t even imagine your own momma killin’ you.” He looked down at the notepad and then back up. “My daddy always said that woman was just pure evil. I guess he was right.”

When neither Ellen nor Mason said anything, he picked up his pen again and started writing. “I’m gonna assume that y’all will be takin’ him back up to Hobonny Plantation for burial?”

“Why, yes.” Ellen glanced at Mason and then back to Martin. “How did you know that?”

He smiled. “Well now, that’s a story that’s been awaitin’ to be told, I guess.” Martin laid the pen down. “Truth be told, Mrs. Trudeau, we’s kin.”

“We’re what?” Ellen paled, and she clutched at the string of pearls at her neck.

“You see, my great-great-grandmother worked for your family or was owned by your family, up at Hobonny.”

Ellen glanced at Mason, her mouth slightly agape.

“My great-grandmother was given to Mr. Francis’s grandfather, who fell in love with the girl. Now, she was practically white. Quadroon as they said back in the day. They had a passel of children too.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Ellen looked shocked. “I feel as if I should apologize.”

Martin laughed. “There ain’t no need to.

It’s all old history, and to be honest, your family did right by my family.

More than anyone could have asked for back then.

After the war, when all the slaves were freed, almost all of my kin stayed with your family.

They were treated well. The only one who did leave was one of his children, my grandfather, who started this business with the help of the Watsons.

Hell, it was old man Watson himself that gave us the family name of Royale.

Said we should carry the name of kings and queens. ” He chuckled.

“How did your father know Imogene Watson?” Mason asked, his curiosity piqued.

Martin frowned. “She was somethin’ else. She came around here wanting money. Said if it hadn’t been for the Watsons, none of us wouldn’t be anything more than maids and field workers.”

“That sounds like her,” Ellen said. “I hope that he didn’t give in to her.”

“No, ma’am. He sent her packin’ right quick, or so he said.” Martin shook his head again. “He was sure she killed her husband and her child. Swore he’d rather walk under a hundred ladders than cross paths with that woman.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Ellen settled herself once again, her back ramrod straight.

“Now then, let’s do it up right for Mr. Francis. I’ll give y’all the family discount too.”

“No sir,” Ellen was quick to respond. “We’ll be doing this like any other of your customers.”

Martin leaned forward. “I’ll charge you what I want to charge you and that’s all there is to it.” He smiled. “We’re family after all.”

Once Martin had a few details down on paper he showed them to the “showroom” to pick out a casket. Ellen walked over to a light blue metal one, while Mason looked around the room. He walked over to one and laid his hand on it.

“This one.” He turned to look at Ellen, who looked over at him from across the room.

She approached him. “Why this one?”

“It’s mahogany. Same wood as his bed,” Mason answered.

Martin stood beside him. “Well, young man, you sure do have good taste.” He scratched his head. “It’s also the most expensive one I have.”

Ellen ran her hand over the smooth top. “It is exquisite. Simple, yet elegant. Understated even.” She looked at Mason and smiled. “You never cease to amaze me, Mason. You only saw that bed for a brief moment, yet you remembered it.”

Mason smiled back. “I know wood.”

“Yes, I see you do.” Ellen looked at Martin. “We’ll take it. And at full price.”

Martin rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Trudeau, your reputation proceeds you and as I already said, I’ll charge you what I want, and you won’t know no different.”

“It’s Ellen, and I’ll pay what I want, so there.” Ellen stuck out her tongue at the man.

Mason and Martin both laughed.