THE FUNERAL PLANNER

Chapter 11 Part 1: Risk & Mitigation - The Stakes Keep Rising

Chapter 11 Part 1

Sierra maneuvers her truck through a mixture of mild rain and congested traffic, following the signs to the Detroit air­port. I sit next to her, dressed up in my one really great out­fit, picked out by Eve Gardner and paid for by Uncle Sam.

“Are you ready for this?” asks Sierra.

“I’ve been up all night preparing. But don’t worry, my sec­ond wind never fails to appear when needed.”

Sierra glances at me. “Well, you look great. Very hot for 7:00 a.m. Did you get all the paperwork from your lawyer in L.A.?”

“Yep. I’ve got the copyright from the Writers Guild and the Library of Congress, the trademark paperwork, original Lights Out business plan and DVDs.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No. I’m good to go, thanks. The digital rights manage­ment company is in New York so I’ll pick up that paper­work there. I’ll keep you posted. Oh, there’s my drop-off.”

Sierra pulls over to the curb. “Good luck, Maddy.”

“Thanks, Sierra.” I hop out of her truck with one carry­on bag. Before I board the plane, though, it’s time to rein­state a ritual. I proudly pick up a copy of the Financial Street Journal. I touch it fondly. I bring the headlines to my face and inhale the scent of black ink. I look at the words and proudly announce, “Hello, FSJ. I’m back.”

Back in Tara’s Ann Arbor town house, Arthur Pintock makes his move to open the closet of his deceased daugh­ter. Gripped tightly in his hand is the pamphlet that his estranged wife Grace sent him. Neither Arthur nor Grace had taken steps to empty the town house in order to rent it or sell it. Surrounded now by empty boxes, Arthur stands alone beset by Tara’s clothes, books, computer, notes, jewelry, shoes, photos, linens, electric piano, microphone...all the articles and possessions of his precious daughter’s life.

He stops to sit on the edge of her bed, collect his psychic energy and refer once again to the minichapter on confronting the closet of a loved one. Arthur realizes he should be doing this with Grace. And that she is the only one he could possi­bly do it with. But it’s too late for that now, he thinks.

He takes a deep breath and removes one of Tara’s busi­ness suits, but then a box on the floor of the closet catches his eye: “Original Songs by Tara Pintock.” He opens the box. It’s filled with computer disks in protective cases neatly labeled and dated. He sifts through them, smiling at the humor in some of her titles. Then he sees a CD case labeled “He’s Got Black Dye Under His Fingernails.” Arthur tilts his head. The title is familiar. Didn’t Madison Banks use that phrase the last time they had dinner to­gether? Curious, he pops the disk into Tara’s CD player on her nightstand. The song plays. Arthur listens as Tara sings a detailed tabloidesque tale of a shyster named Derek who swindles his classmates and a college town for a prize he didn’t deserve. The song depicts how the deceiver poured black dye into his competitor’s laundry ser­vice business to win, thereby turning Tuesdays in Ann Arbor black forever. The chorus repeats, “He’s got black dye under his fingernails.”

Arthur listens to the song a second time. Then he pulls his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and hits a number. The automatic dial rings through to one of his associates.

“Jake? Arthur. You know that young man Derek Rogers I told you to help find a lender for. I want you to stall on closing his deal. There maybe some risks involved that we don’t yet know about. Right. I’ll get back to you.” He hangs up and hits another number. “Anita. Get hold of George Toffler at the Financial Street Journal. Tell him I’ll give him an exclusive on my next move if he would do a little digging for me on Derek Rogers and the infamous Black Tuesdays of Ann Arbor. And one more thing, Anita. Find out for me where Madison Banks is these days.”