Especially in Wartime
The small reception area for the Wesley & Son’s Funeral Home began to close in on Leslie. He’d been waiting some minutes and already he was starting to sweat heavily. He longed for fresh air. He was about to pop outside for a moment when a bald-headed, rather portly old man came whistling through the door. Whistling. Wasn’t that a bad omen? But that was about graves, not undertakers.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Atwater.” The senior Mr. Wesley sat down next to Leslie and waited for him to begin.
“It’s good of you to take the time,” Leslie said. “I only have a few questions.”
“About Mr. Bridger?
“Yes.”
“How may I help you?”
“I wanted to ask about the state of my…friend’s body. I wasn’t able at the time to—“
“Of course. Yes. I remember. Terrible accident. And he
