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After sitting for a while with Mrs. Seymour, Karon excused himself and drove home.
The woman was currently in a state of emotional emptiness. The passing of time allowed the anger and hatred triggered by her husband’s betrayal to slowly start fading, only to be replaced with a deep discomfort for her daily life. Returning from a two-person rhythm to a one-person existence felt like a table missing one of its legs.
Karon’s advice to her was simple: move.
A new house and a new environment would help to sever old habits. For most people, this would be unrealistic advice, but it was not any problem at all for Mrs. Seymour, as she was very wealthy.
When Karon returned home, he went into the receiving room, pigment box in hand.
Aunt Winnie was sitting on the sofa, balancing accounts. Aunt Mary sat on the opposite side of the room, her legs crossed as she ate some fruit. Mason was lying within an elegant black coffin that rested atop a mortuary table.
“I think you could add a bit more decoration inside,” Mason said. “Maybe a spot for a radio, or a hidden compartment with a gun.”
“Planning to fend off grave robbers?” Aunt Winnie asked without even looking up. “You’d be better off giving the cemetery caretaker another gun.”
“I’m thinking in case someone wakes up from a fake death inside the coffin,” Mason said seriously. “A gun could be used to signal for help. If it weren’t impossible to run a phone line underground, I’d install a telephone, too. Think about it: the deceased’s...
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