Marie laughed. “If only that weren’t true. I’ll see you guys later.”
She headed out the front door and we trailed into the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and stared. Marie hadn’t been joking. The countertops and kitchen table were covered with dishes, plates, and pans, all filled with yummy food. At least, all the scents hitting my nose smelled yummy.
“Wow,” I said. “Is this normal?”
“Of course,” Gertie said. “You never want grieving people to worry about things like food. And if it’s all sitting here in front of them, they’ll remember to eat and have plenty of choices.”
“How long does this go on?” I asked.
“Everyone usually makes sure the family has a weeks’ worth of food,” Ida Belle said. “In Nolan’s case, people will probably drop stuff by for a bit longer.”
“Because he’s disabled?” I asked.
Gertie shook her head. “Because he’s a man.”
“That’s a disability,” Ida Belle pointed out.
I grinned. “Well, I think it’s a very nice thing for people to do. So how do we arrange it?”
“First,” Gertie said, “we need to sort it by refrigeration required and not. Then we can group by entrées versus sides and desserts. You take the kitchen table and Ida Belle and I will start on each end of the cabinets. Set anything that goes in the refrigerator to one side.”
I stepped over to the kitchen table and started lifting lids and foil, dividing the offerings up. My mouth began watering about two dishes into the task. The food was way better-looking than any buffet I’d ever seen, and every time I opened something up, the rich aroma of Southern cooking wafted up. At least we didn’t have to worry about Nolan getting in enough calories. A couple bites of any of this should get him a meal count’s worth easily.
We were shifting the last of the desserts to the far end of the counter when Nolan wheeled into the kitchen. His color looked a little better than the day before but the dark circles under his eyes hadn’t diminished. He gave us a weak hello and we all said good morning.
“Would you like anything to eat?” Gertie asked.
“No, thanks,” Nolan said. “Marie made me breakfast.”
“What about something to drink?” Gertie said. “There’s a container of fresh-squeezed pineapple juice in the refrigerator.”
“That sounds nice,” he said. “Thank you for coming to check on me. I’m worried that Marie is wearing herself out.”
“We told her to take as long as she needs,” Ida Belle said.
“Good,” Nolan said. “I don’t want her to collapse before she gets that mayor position.” He forced a small smile and Gertie placed a glass of pineapple juice in front of him on the now-cleared table.
As he picked up the glass, the doorbell rang and he started a bit, sloshing some of the juice onto his hand. Ida Belle reached for a paper towel and I headed for the front door, hoping it was the insurance lady and not someone else bearing food that required refrigeration. The fridge was overflowing a bit. I opened the door and gave the woman a once-over.
Forty-ish. Five foot six. A hundred thirty pounds. Good general muscle tone. Corrective vision and boring suit. No threat and definitely the insurance lady.
“Please come in,” I said and stepped back so that she could come inside. I pointed to the hallway. “Nolan is in the kitchen.”
“Thank you,” she said and repositioned a folder under her arm as she headed down the hallway for the kitchen. I trailed behind her.
“I’m Francesca Rossi with Southern Life and Property,” she said and extended her hand to Nolan. He shook it, all the time giving her a curious look. I checked her out again, thinking maybe I’d missed something, but didn’t see anything odd the second time around either.
“Let’s give them some privacy,” Ida Belle said.
“Actually,” Nolan said, “I’d like for you to stay, if you don’t mind. My concentration isn’t what it used to be, so it would help having someone else to remember things.”
Francesca nodded. “It’s always a good idea, when things are…difficult, to have someone you trust assist you with things. That being said, what I’m here to tell you is very straightforward and shouldn’t take much of your time. Shall we get started?”
Nolan nodded and waved his hand at the table. We all took seats and Francesca pulled a set of papers out of the folder she’d been carrying.
“This is a copy of the life insurance policy Gail had with our company, and here is my business card. All I need from you is a copy of the death certificate, when you receive it, and I can process the claim.”
Nolan picked up the papers and frowned. “I don’t understand. I never signed anything for life insurance.”
“Gail took out the policy on herself,” Francesca explained, “and your signature wasn’t necessary as the beneficiary.” She pursed her lips, then continued, “I’d hoped Gail would tell you about the policy, but I guess that’s not the case.”