“Not just in Boston anymore. They’re branching out, literally, to take over all the independents they can. I told you they made an offer to O’Neal’s last month. They’re working their way to Revere.”
“How could they get into your prep room? Also, it’s hard to imagine a big business like that stooping to a childish prank like switching clothing.”
“They’ll do anything, Gloria. Ralphie over at O’Neal’s told me they had a similar screw-up a couple of weeks ago, right after they refused to sell.” She took a breath. I knew the extent of Rose’s agitation when she didn’t bother to apologize for using an expression that her grandson and everyone else in Revere might use, but not her. “Screw-up” was not in Rose’s normal working vocabulary. “O’Neal’s van went to the wrong hospital for the Myers girl’s removal, and now this? All of a sudden we’re all getting sloppy? I don’t think so.”
I knew Rose’s worries were real, and well founded. Like most other small businesses, family mortuaries were fast becoming a thing of the past. Chains were able to get bigger discounts on caskets, flower stands, votive lights, and all the fragrant chemicals that were necessary for business. Thus, they could offer better prices to clients. However, I decided to give Rose the upside of the issue.
“Cost isn’t everything, Rose. Galigani’s has a reputation for the kind of attention people want in a time of trial. The personal touch, run by a family, using local businesses for supporting services like florists and printers and—”
Rose’s laughter came over the lines, as clear as if we’d been eating biscotti on her front porch. “You sound like our brochure.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I miss you, Gloria. But I hope you’re having a good time. Don’t worry about your newspapers and your mail. I’m picking everything up, and I’ll let you know if anything looks urgent. Or interesting.” Another laugh, because we were both aware that Rose’s curiosity knew no bounds.
“Thanks, Rose. Bye for now.”
“Oh, wait—I haven’t even asked you what Elaine’s fiance is like.”
“We’ll go into that next time, okay?”
“Hmmm. I’ll call you.”
“Or you can e-mail me again,” I said, with a wink in my voice.
We hung up. I felt lucky my friends tolerated my impertinence.
CHAPTER SIX
Dana checked her wardrobe for something suitable for a day of interviews. First she’d have to report to Julia Strega, the owner of the company, then she’d be seeing a counselor, then the Berkeley police.
Not a fun day, but Elaine had arranged for her to have a massage this evening. A classy lady, always doing thoughtful little things. She’d even checked to be sure Dana was okay going ahead with the wedding plans. Totally, Dana had told her, but she was glad she’d been asked.
She’d have to move on the wedding shower, too, which was only about ten days away. She’d offered to host a party for the bride and groom at her house, forgetting that it would mean housecleaning and food planning. But a party might do everyone some good, Dana thought.
She clicked through the hangers in her half of the closet she shared with Jen. Crop-top tees and mohair scarves; a swishy, too-short black velvet skirt from the thrift shop; a wraparound top with beaded fringe everywhere. A pathetic selection except when she was dressing for a rave. The EMT uniform had spoiled her. She hadn’t needed to invest in anything vaguely adult or professional in more than a year.
The laundry basket in the back hall gave up only a bad smell. So much for Plan B. Plan C would have to be called up—borrow from her roommates.
Jen’s clothes were way too small, but she could manage with Robin’s longish, straight black skirt and her own Moulin Rouge shirt.
She hadn’t seen Robin since Saturday morning. Overnight with Jeff again, Dana figured. She might as well move in with him and save on rent. Robin was studying for a certificate in international business at some online university. She was in the intern phase at a San Francisco financial institution. Robin loved to call herself a consultant. Though it didn’t pay much, she constantly reminded them that one day it would all pay off. Big time.
Her roommates couldn’t be more different, Dana thought. Jen was Wisconsin fresh, blonde, and wholesome, from the kind of family that baked cookies together on Saturday afternoons and held hands walking to church on Sunday morning. Jen wanted to be a history teacher. Robin didn’t talk much about her family, which had fallen apart when her father, a Vietnam vet who never recovered, had committed suicide. Robin had been only nine years old. Poor kid.