crane27

Buried in New York

Warren Crane

The family was puzzled, how the hell did he end up buried in New York City? Weren’t those graveyards full? After all, he called Los Alamos home, sometimes Santa Fe, sometimes Las Vegas. As far as the kids knew he’d never been east of Denver where he visited his third wife Debbie’s family one Christmas.

His three sons, all in their forties and fifties, didn’t give a shit and refused to join the speculation game. The older girls agreed, it was his last spiteful act. The two younger half-sisters from the second wife suspected foul play by the third ex-wife. The grandkids giggled about the possibility of alien abduction or kidnapping. All agreed the idea of kidnapping was ludicrous, he didn’t even own a car that worked.

“If a bill for the funeral comes floating in, I ain’t paying it” Arnold grumbled. Nobody paid any attention, Arnold was always taking credit for bailing the old man out of trouble and everybody knew Arnold couldn’t raise a hundred bucks until payday. Arnold was the exception to the rule that the oldest was usually the most successful.

Family members wandered off once the Costco pizza and wraps were gone. It wasn’t much of a memorial. No one was disappointed, expectations were low. It could have been better with more beer, but nobody wanted to spring for it. By evening Margaret was left alone with the cleanup. She didn’t mind, her husband was dead, might as well spend a few days and tie up dad’s affairs. As the oldest girl, she was used to being taken for granted.

The following morning she was looking out the front window drinking coffee when an innocuous Chevy sedan stopped out front and two suits stepped out, checked the address on the curb against some papers, stared at her in the window watching them, smiled to be less menacing and approached the house. She didn’t wait for the knock, opening the door before they reached the porch and asked, “Can I help you?” “Howdy Mam, were U. S. Marshalls here about the death of Arnold Blankenship.” The older one announced.

“You must mean my dad, my brother Arnold was just here yesterday.”

“Must be the senior Blankenship, he died, let’s see,” as he glanced at his paperwork, “a week ago today.”

“Just a sec, let me get the letter we got from New York.” As she turned for the table she said “Come on in, shut the door, it’s kind of cold out.” The two officers exchanged gotcha glances. “Mind if we take a look at that letter, Mam?”

Margaret handed over the letter. Both officers read the content remarking on how official the letter appeared commenting, “Buried in New York City, that’s not likely.”

The alarmed expression on Margaret’s face led to the following explanation.

“I know this looks official but it’s total BS. We have copies of your fathers death certificate and details for your if you want.”

As he handed her an envelope he continued, “Your father dies in the VA facility in Albuquerque. He was found on the street, victim of a heart attach. He’s buried in the military cemetery over there.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” Margaret said as she sat down on a kitchen chair.

“Here’s our cards, feel free to call if you have any questions. That’s about it for today but we want your help, expect to receive an official looking letter in a day or two from New York or maybe Washington, when it comes give us a call and we’ll be right over. Don’t open it, we’re going to want to dust the contents for prints and keep it for evidence. Rest assured, it won’t be anything to do with what actually happened to your father, so remember, don’t open the letter.”

“Oh, and we may want your assistances for half a day. If that’s the case, the Department will pay you for your time. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you soon.”

As the Marshalls drove away Margaret read the papers they left for her. If struck her, now they could visit his grave, then made her sad thinking none of them would.

Margaret was looking forward to the mail, but nothing came for two days and she started thinking about heading home. On the third day, bingo, there it was, the same official looking envelope from New York. She gingerly set it on the table and called the Marshalls. They were there within minutes, placed the envelope in a plastic bag and said they might be back later in the day or tomorrow, they’d call first.

They were back in 45 minutes with a copy of the contents for her to see. It was a bill for the funeral costs, $1,325., not exuberant considering, and extensive instructions on how to remit payment via ACH from a checking account or through direct deposit via a wire transfer. Margaret looked at the Marshalls, “I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“Do you have a checking account?”

“Yes, but I don’t have much money in it.”

“No problem, we have cash to deposit into your account. Can you come with us now to your bank and we’ll get this done. It will only take a few minutes and we’re authorized to pay you $250. for your troubles. Let’s go, we’ll explain on the way to the bank.”

A couple of days later Margaret met up with her two sisters and one brother, Arnold said he had to work, unlike some people. She sat her siblings down and said, “You ain’t going to believe this, but here goes. Dad didn’t die in New York, he had a heart attack in Albuquerque and the VA buried him in the veterans section over there.”

This elicited many exclamation and she hurriedly added, “Wait there’s more. These two US Marshalls came to the house, looked at the letter from New York and said it was a big scam the FBI had been working on for years. They told me I would receive another letter and sure enough one came in three days. They had warned I was not to open it because it would be evidence and to call them right away.

They took the letter, got the prints that confirmed the suspects, took me to the bank, put money in my account to send some special way to pay the $1,325. for the funeral. They said it was an inside job, sisters, one who worked for the City of New York and the other for the VA in Maryland. The VA one got the info on who died. They’d send out thousands of these letters and got about a 10% response, they made millions. They paid me $250. for my troubles, lunch is on me.”

“Who said dad never amounted to anything?”

Another sister mused, “now we can visit him anytime we want.” They all fell silent at that prospect.

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