Chapter 14
The head of Dignity Memorial turned up in the reception room, a dismayed expression on his face. At first, Manon thought he was attempting to look grief-stricken, but she quickly realized this was something else. He wanted to talk to her and her father privately, in his office.
Worried, Mr. Bartel followed with his daughter. Bartel was afraid the man was going to ask for more money and was determined to refuse. He’d signed a quote and wouldn’t pay a penny more.
The other man’s expression grew even more serious as he asked them to sit down. “I don’t know how to say this,” he announced, his voice shaking. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. We’re doing everything we can to find the culprits.”
“What culprits?” asked Mr. Bartel.
“Someone broke the seal on your wife and mother’s urn,” the man said in a disapproving tone.
“I don’t understand,” Manon said.
“One or more individuals tried to open it, but don’t worry—after conducting a detailed inspection, our team has determined that they failed.”
“I’m going to need more details,” Mr. Bartel demanded. “What individuals? And what team?”
“We gave the urn to our head of cremation, who inspected it with a magnifying glass. The wax seal was broken but still in place, proving that the lid was never fully removed. Someone did try to open it. But that’s all they managed to do.”
“Oh, is that all?!” shouted Mr. Bartel. “Who was it?”
“We don’t know yet, but rest assured, we’re investigating quite thoroughly.”
“Maybe one of your employees just dropped it by accident,” Manon suggested with a generous smile.
“That’s impossible!” the manager objected.
“You think it’s more likely that someone tried to open it?”
“Well, even if one of my employees was that incompetent—which is highly unlikely—the seal would be in pieces. And, like I said—”
“It’s broken, but still in place,” Manon finished his sentence.
“Where is my wife now?” Mr. Bartel asked.
“To compensate you for this, we have provided her with one of the best spots in the Columbarium. A beautiful cabinet in the third row from the bottom, across from a window with a view of the park. It’s one of the most expensive locations, but we will cover the difference in cost, of course.”
“You have twenty-four hours to find the miserable bastards who committed this shameful act!” Mr. Bartel shouted.
“Maybe it was just an accident,” Manon insisted. “Who would do something like that? And why? It doesn’t make any sense. Plus, Mom’s ashes weren’t ever left alone, not even for a second.”
“We have one lead,” the manager continued, ignoring Manon. “One of our gardeners noticed a man lurking around.”
“What happened after we left the mausoleum?” Mr. Bartel asked.
“The same thing that happens after every ceremony. As soon as the last guest left, one of our employees came to take Mrs. Bartel to her new home and close the doors. That’s when we realized what had happened.”
“Who was the last guest to leave?”
The manager shrugged. Manon decided not to mention that she was the last to leave with Thomas.
Nor did she reveal that she had found him near her mother’s urn.
The man who had generously agreed to replace the organist, who had played Debussy and Vivaldi’s Gloria with such emotion, and who had agreed to be her wingman all afternoon couldn’t have done such a thing.
Though maybe he wasn’t just awkward. Maybe he was also clumsy, and he had knocked the urn over by accident.
She imagined how scared he must have been afterward, and this put a smile on her face.
Her father noticed her smirk, which only intensified his rage.
“I’m sure it was an accident,” Manon said again as she stood up. “You know what they say: There’s no crime without a motive. And what would the motive be in this case? Who wants to steal ashes? The idea is absurd!”
“Oh, so you’re a detective now?” Mr. Bartel said sarcastically.
“No, but if you hired one, they would come to the same conclusion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pay my respects to what’s left of my mother for the last time today, and then I’m going to get some fresh air.
Don’t get too worked up, Dad. I’ll come over for dinner tonight.
Now, where is this gorgeous space with the park view? ” she said, her tone slightly mocking.
The Dignity Memorial manager called his assistant and asked him to take Ms. Bartel to her mother.
The man led her there in perfect silence and left without a word.
Manon found it soothing to look out her mother’s window.
“Alone at last. It’s strange, Mom, but I feel like you’re still here.
The last few months, you didn’t say much more than you can now.
I really hope you’re finally free. Free to go where you want, maybe even farther, as long as you come back to me every now and again.
I’d give everything I have for you to hear me.
My pianist knocked over your urn. Was that a little sign for me?
Another one of your pranks, to let me know you’re yourself again?
In any case, it looks like it worked out all right for you. This view really is nice.”
Mr. Bartel waited in the manager’s office for the gardener to arrive and explain what he’d seen.
The man’s statement wasn’t particularly helpful.
Early that morning, a man in his thirties, dressed in a black suit, had gone for a walk in the park and sat down on a bench.
The gardener had thought it looked like he was talking to himself.
Nothing too unusual, though, given their location.
A little later, a young woman had come to fetch him.
“What do you mean, ‘fetch him’?” Mr. Bartel asked.
“They headed to the mausoleum together, just before the funeral began,” the gardener said.
“You need to find that man,” Mr. Bartel ordered.
“Sitting on a bench isn’t exactly a crime,” the manager ventured. “And this man seemed to be one of your guests.”
“None of our guests fit that description, but I’ll double-check the list as soon as I get home. I’ll expect answers from you tomorrow at the latest.”
Mr. Bartel left the office without saying goodbye to the manager or his assistant, or to the gardener. But he came back just minutes later with a new request.
Thomas had been unable to resist the urge to return to Davies Symphony Hall.
He stopped for a moment on the steps, daydreaming of someday seeing crowds fight their way in to see him play.
Then he headed toward Union Square, a large plaza bordered by fancy boutiques, art galleries, souvenir shops, and beauty salons—an oasis of luxury located just steps from O’Farrell Street, where homeless people slept on the sidewalk.
Thomas studied the column that stood in the center of the square. A Greek deity, balancing on one foot, pointed a trident toward the sky.
“It’s Nike, the goddess of victory,” Raymond explained, appearing suddenly, without warning.
Thomas jumped and turned toward his father, letting out a sigh.
“Did I scare you?”
“What do you think? How do you do that?”
“Simple enough: She’s easily recognizable, and she was considered quite a looker in her time. Remarkable balance too!”
“I meant your sudden appearances!”
“No idea. Do I ask you how you walk? Everyone has their own way. I come and go as I please,” Raymond said.
“She was erected to commemorate Admiral Dewey’s victory against the Spanish at the Battle of Manila Bay.
One of the tines on the trident represents President McKinley, who was assassinated six months after the monument went up.
When Roosevelt took office, he dedicated the tine to his predecessor.
The irrefutable historical conclusion is that McKinley was considered much sharper after his death than he ever was in life. ”
“I didn’t know you were so familiar with San Francisco,” Thomas said, surprised.
“Everything I just told you is explained at the foot of the monument. Humanity has such strange ideas about how to make sure a person is remembered. A statue. So sad.”
“Not everyone has the chance to come back and see their son.”
“You’re right. I’m lucky. Anyway, now that you’re done playing tourist, let’s sit on those steps over there. We need to talk.”
Thomas followed his father and sat down next to a man playing guitar.
“They confiscated my urn!” he told Thomas.
“The manager of Dignity Memorial was outraged to learn someone had left a loved one like that. Listening to him go on and on, I felt like a small child who’d been abandoned on the steps of a church.
His assistant defended you, suggesting that people of limited means couldn’t afford the kind of resting place their loved ones deserved and were no doubt simply counting on the kindness of Dignity and its employees.
The manager replied that the person in question could hardly have cremated the body in their fireplace!
It was so humiliating. In the meantime, he has me under lock and key in his office.
A surgeon of my stature hidden away in a cabinet! What did I ever do to deserve this?”
“I suppose you’ll have to take that question up with God.”
“I already told you to leave God out of this, and to not go calling him whenever the mood strikes. I said earlier that this was a disaster, but now it’s a full-on catastrophe.”
“The good news is that we’ve found your ashes. I’ll get them back tomorrow. This isn’t anything we can’t fix.”