WEP: A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall

uietly sneaking in an extra post...

This is my first time participating in a Write...Edit...Publish challenge in four years!

My last posting was on the theme Change of Heart.

I really enjoy writing to prompts, and when I saw this one on Hilary's blog, I really wanted to try it.

This is from the sequel I'm currently drafting for Christianne and Rory's story.
Here they are preparing for the funeral of Mairi, Rory (and his brother Angus)'s grandmother.
I could maybe tell you who's who, but I guess all the connections aren't too important in such a short snip.

The morning was nothing but endless scurrying and phoning and calling out to each other from opposite ends of the house. A fair amount of ironing seemed to be required. He hadn't even known they had an iron, much less how to use one. He left mother and daughter at the house and brought his kit over to the inn, where Spencer was getting underfoot.
He and Angus distracted him with kilting up, to leave Amelie to get on with the final preparations for opening up after [two weeks away].
Plaid, shirt, hose, sgian dubh, sporran, each had its proper adjustment and angle. When they'd finally gotten themselves sorted, they looked up to find the womenfolk huddled in the doorway, casting equal glances of dismay at the state of the room and appreciation at the state of them. Amelie took a couple of quick photos before the mantel, as Christianne and Steph gathered discarded clothes and other bits of mess and hid them away in one of the upstairs rooms.
The scents from the kitchen, as [cook] began preparations, followed them out to the yard.
"A hard rain's gonna fall," Angus muttered, as they piled into the car.
"Happy the corpse," he said in return.
"Aye."
He'd helped choose the music, the flowers, all the sundry trappings that went into the service. Aye, most of it was for them, the mourners, to give them something to look at, a bit of music that might help them be at peace. Was any of it for the one who was gone?
He wasn't the first or last to think about a soul lingering after death, casting judgement on their own memorial. Nor to shift through the patterns of recent death, now recalling childhood memories, now tiring of all memory and shoving it aside.
He half-turned, glancing back at the crowd behind them – and spotted Donald and Carol by the doors.
Now that was a break in the pattern. He gathered his notes and went up to speak the eulogy, trying, at the back of his mind, to figure out how to find out for certain whether Mairi had been murdered. By the two who'd shown up last for her funeral.

Yes, Donald and Carol are the villains!

Feedback is appreciated, but not necessary, as I may not be able to read the other WEP snips before the weekend, due to travel. I'd love to know if the tone of the piece (it's 368 words) worked for you!

And here's the Bob Dylan song!

Do you enjoy writing to prompts?
Please give me a few in the comments!