That Fateful Buzz
From her coffin
Alexander Besterhussel, tycoon in milk bottle tops ignored the buzz coming from his wife’s open casket.
The minister paused his benediction and glanced with bulging eyes at Alexander. Whispers and murmurs rose like escaping gas from the larger than expected congregation.
It was just like her, Alexander thought. He could get someone else to bring his coffee and toast in the morning, but she was always trying to get a word in.
With a snort through his flabby lips that sprayed spit on her shiny coffin surface, he turned toward her lying in her favourite floral church dress. Her best friend, Margorie Williams had insisted that Ethel wanted to be buried in her favourite Wellington boots.
Which was where the buzzing was coming from.
The minister edged closer, glancing at Ethel’s boots. “Sounds like a cell phone,” he whispered.
The congregation murmured louder. Margorie gasped and shoved people in her pew out of her way.
Alexander reached with sausage-like fingers around his bulky middle into the casket and rummaged between the coffin’s pale pink silk lining and the suede of the boot. He felt the vibration of a rectangular object and investigated between the boot’s rubber lining and Ethel’s stockinged leg.
Margorie reached the end of the pew and advanced on Alexander.
He pulled out the vibrating cell phone he had never seen, never even knew Ethel had one, and stared at the buzzing screen. Harper Collins Publishing Agent Mill Ross.
Margorie halted half way between motioning him not to answer and horror.
Without compunction, Alexander answered. “What do you want?”
The congregation hushed to hear the cell phone speaker.
“May I speak with Ethel Besterhussel, please?”
“No. This is her husband. What do you want?”
“We’re just checking up. She missed her deadline and the bonus on her advance. Is she ok?”
“Ethel Besterhussel is dead. You’ll get a notice from her lawyer.” Without farewell, Alexander punched the red icon to close the call. “Margorie Williams!” His voice boomed to the back of the church where Ethel’s best friend was sneaking out. “What do you know about this?”
“Mr. Besterhussel …” The minister reached to lay his hand on Alexander’s forearm.
Alexander shook him off. “Margorie Williams, you get back here. What is this cell phone doing in my wife’s boot?”
“Mr. Besterhussel,” the minister shook his open service book. “This is not the best time for this.”
Alexander turned on the minister. “You’re kidding, right? When is the best time for a cell phone your wife kept hidden from you to ring in her coffin with a call from an agent you didn’t know she was talking to about a book you didn’t know she was writing? Tell me that, hot shot and Margorie Williams, if you take another …”
“Alexander Besterhussel,” Margorie blasted from halfway back to the front of the church. “I’ll tell you what your pea brain, cuttle shell intellect has missed all these years. Ethel’s been writing everything she goes through with you into abused woman rescue romances and the latest one is #4 on the New York Times Best Seller List. She was writing a tell-all follow-up and all the money is going to an abused women’s shelter and she has kept that cell phone in her boot all these years and if that stupid agent hadn’t called she would have got her wish to be buried with it so you would never know.” Margorie spat her last few words into Alexander’s face, swiped the cell phone out of his hand and stormed back down the church aisle.
Alexander waddled aggressively after her but the minister and several parishioners restrained him.
“You’ll get a call from my lawyer!” he bellowed at Margorie’s back.
She turned at the exit. “The whole world knows what a stinking, lazy polecat you are. Ethel suffered and wouldn’t hear of leaving you, but I figure she’s come out on top this time.”
Better late than never, right? I’m not a deadline person. Art happens when it pleases and I just try to be ready to catch it in the act.
