Fools of Fortune

by CJ Love

Delia waved her hand at them. She couldn’t concentrate when they kept talking about cartoon characters. “Just because he knows Daniel doesn’t mean he knows Mate. I didn’t know Daniel and Mate were brothers.”

  Becca leaned in. “But it’s quite the coincidence.”

  “It is!” She pulled her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “I tried the other night to find out who bailed Mate out of jail. I thought it might’ve been Chu Hua. Now, I think it could’ve been Daniel. But, what if Eddie bailed him out?” She gazed at the phone display and pulled up 411.com. “Detective Montague said I could get the information from the desk sergeant at the police station.”

  Away from the table, she paced the room. The desk sergeant came on, and Delia made her request. Then, she walked the room some more. She’d never been a nail biter, but she was today.

  If it’s Eddie who bailed him out … that’d mean I’ve been right all along about Mr. Chester, Gloucester, or whoever you are. If he knew Mate, then he was a part of the bigger stuff that Mate talked about at the end. You have no idea, Delia, Mate had said. You have no idea…

  A woman came onto the phone and asked, “Are you the one asking who bailed Matthew Oswald out of jail?”

  “Yes,” Delia said, half expecting the woman to tell her to forget it, that it was police information.

  But, the sergeant gave it over quick enough. She said, “Jeanette Loring.”

  Delia nearly dropped the phone. “Who?”

  “Jeanette Loring.”

  “Okay,” she said, going stiff all over. “Thank you.” Spinning around, she faced the Murder Club. “You’re never going to believe this.”

  Both Becca and Bogart moved around the metal table.

  “What is it?”

  “Who was it?”

  “Jeanette,” she said, pressing the phone icon to hang up.

  Both of them stared at her.

  She nodded. “Right?”

  “Wait,” Bogart said, crossing his arms and leaning on the table. “She bailed him out, and then he killed her?”

  Delia’s head started to hurt, maybe because she couldn’t seem to think straight. How did any of this make sense? She turned to her friends. “Are you two as confused as I am?”

  “Probably more,” Bogart admitted. “I’m just here for the rainbow t-shirt.”

  * * *

  The East Shore Funeral Home sat on a hill overlooking the interstate. Lake Erie was on the other side of the highway and was only visible through breaks in the tree line. The front of the brick building was grand with white pillars and a double-door entry. It reminded Delia of a carriage house one might see in Williamsburg. A blacktop parking lot sat behind the building, and already there was the funeral car waiting at the door. It was the mourn and go special.

  Delia had driven, taking Becca and Bogart along with her. All of them chose to wear black instead of the rainbow t-shirts that came from Amazon on Friday. Before reaching for the handle, she turned to Becca in the front seat and shot a glance toward Bogart in the back. “Okay, remember, we’re here to grieve with the loved ones, but let’s see what we can find out, too. I’ve told you what Mate looks like, so be on the lookout for him.”

  Both of them nodded, and Becca added, “I think we should pay attention to Sam Loring. We’ve never seen his reaction to Jeanette’s death, and they were divorcing. I think he should be at the top of our suspect list.”

  “Right, I agree,” Delia said. “And Eddie will sit right up front with Jeanette’s husband and Sanya, her sister.”

  Bogart leaned forward. “Have you been eating tacos in here?”

  “Pay attention,” Delia told him, her eyes drifting toward the back entrance. A man in a suit and a woman dressed in a deep purple dress made their way past the hearse. “Family and friends will be here, so watch everyone.”

  After getting out of the SUV, they made their way up the sidewalk and then into the front room. Usually, there was a scent of flowers and powder she associated with entering a funeral home, but not today. Delia smelled wood oil and oriental carpet. Benches and couches filled the niches, but everyone had already moved through another set of double doors into a chapel filled with upholstered chairs.

  There were maybe ten people in attendance, and everyone was scattered to one or two per row. Up front was the pinewood casket with one rose in a vase on the table in front of it.

  Will I have more than ten people at my funeral? I want more than ten.

  They took seats in the middle of the audience —where no one else sat —and waited for the funeral to begin. Organ music played overhead.

  What is that, Greensleeves? Is that even a funeral song?

  Suddenly Delia remembered Shakespeare: “Let the sky rain potatoes! Let it thunder to the tune of ‘Greensleeves’!”

  Delia pinched her wrist. Concentrate.

  Her eyes drifted to the front seats. There was the back of Eddie’s head. He’d draped his arm across one of the chairs next to his —Thomi’s.

  How weird is it that Eddie doesn’t kiss her? And how strange that Thomi is okay with that. She once dumped a guy for having a Great Gazoo tattoo.

  Sanya Ashbury sat four chairs away from Eddie. It looked as though they hadn’t made up after Eddie’s outburst the other evening. Hadn’t he apologized to her as he had to Thomi and Delia? His bony butt comment must’ve really stung.

  Gazing at the back of Sanya’s head brought to mind … yarn. What was going on there? The woman was always so well put together. Today it didn’t seem as though she’d bothered to brush those ombre strands. Maybe she really was depressed. Reg only died two months ago, and now Jeanette was gone.

  Come on, we’re talking about Sanya here.

  People named Sanya don’t get depressed —Delia’s opinion —Sanya is a way of mind. They are angry, over-dramatic, and entitled, not glum.

  Jeanette’s husband, Sam Loring, was on the other side of the aisle from Eddie and Sanya. Delia had only seen the man a couple of times. He wasn’t much taller than Jeanette had been, and he was probably in his late fifties. She couldn’t see his face right then, but remembered he was a baby-face-type with overly chubby cheeks and eyes so wide that he probably ought to have his thyroid checked. Sam had nice hair, though, even as gray as it was. His hair had to be the reason Jeanette married him. Not everyone’s tendrils fell so naturally in layered perfection —like, like a mousse torte.

  I’d marry a man for that —no, that’s not true. But I would marry a man who owned an ice cream truck.

  Delia pinched her wrist to stop the thoughts.

  Suddenly the music ended, and a man in a black suit moved to the front of the room. He was the funeral director. He’d been at Alfie’s memorial service, too, and he resembled Lurch from the Addams Family. He wasn’t as tall, but he was sad-faced and baggy-eyed. Apparently, he was a chaplain because he began in prayer and with a Bible verse. Five minutes later, he opened the microphone to anyone who wished to say a kind word.

  No one moved.

  It always took a while for people to find their courage to speak in front of a crowd, Delia realized, be it a minimal crowd. She gazed at the back of Sam Loring’s head. He seemed to have no intention of getting up. He looked pretty comfortable, as a matter of fact, with his arm draped on the seat next to his.

  Hmm.

  Well, what about grieving Eddie? Would he care to offer a word … no? Eddie stared straight ahead as motionless as Jeanette in the coffin.

  Delia shifted in her seat and re-crossed her legs.

  The tension in the room thickened.

  Sanya? Come on, Sanya. She had to have one charitable word to say.

  Delia gazed at Lurch. He’d taken a seat by the door and kept his head down. Was he watching his phone’s clock, giving people enough time to respond?

  He looks like he dozed off.

  Neighbors; any of them willing, no?

  Well, I’m not saying anything!

  Movement on her right caused Delia to turn her he
ad.

  Bogart was out of his seat and, shuffling past Becca’s knees, was now bumping his legs against Delia’s.

  She twisted sideways to allow him space to step into the aisle. Did he need to use the bathroom that badly?

  Nope, Bogart went toward the podium.

  What the…?

  Delia turned to Becca.

  Becca turned to Delia.

  Then they both stared at the front of the room.

  Turning toward the scant group of mourners, Bogart put his hands on either side of the wooden piece.

  Chapter 11

  “And worse I may be yet: the worst is not so long as we can say 'This is the worst.”

  Leaning forward to speaking into the microphone, Bogart said: “For what is a woman, what has she got? If not herself, then she has naught…”

  Delia winced. I’ve heard those words. What is that? Is that a poem?

  Bogart continued, “Not to say the things she truly feels and not the words of someone who kneels…”

  He’s quoting Frank Sinatra!

  “The record shows, Jeanette took the blows and did it…”

  Delia mouthed the words along with him: “her way!”

  A snort escaped Becca.

  Delia pressed her lips together hard and elbowed the girl.

  But there was Bogart again, knocking Delia’s knees with his, and then he shuffled beyond Becca to take his seat again.

  The director stood behind the podium. “Refreshments will be served in the room on the right, just outside the door.” He waved them toward the back of the chapel.

  Delia and Becca left the room fast and made it to the ladies’ lounge before snorting like piglets. Delia tried her best to keep quiet, but the tile had a high-echo factor. Taking a big breath, she squared her shoulders. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m ready.” Then she snorted again. No, I can do this! She took another big breath.

  The refreshment room was long and narrow and had two tables set up along one wall. There were no windows and no sunshine to brighten this funeral reception. The bereaved stood in groups of two and three. Thomi held onto Eddie’s arm and kept her eyes on the maroon carpet.

  Sam Loring stood by himself with his hands in his pant pockets.

  This is the worst funeral ever.

  Delia approached Sam and touched his arm. “Hi … I’m Delia. I worked with Jeanette at King Lears.”

  For an awful second, she feared Sam might have the same opinion as Sanya and wonder how Jeanette was poisoned at the bakery.

  Relaxing his shoulders, Sam held her eyes with his bulgy ones. “Yes, Delia, hello.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  He stiffened again. “Thank you,” he said, glancing away.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say all of a sudden. I’m so bad at this.

  I’m fantastic at this! Well, maybe not fantastic. This is a funeral after all.

  “How long were you and Jeanette married?”

  His eyes shot toward the ceiling in thought. “Twenty-one, no, twenty-two years.” His dark blue eyes came back to Delia. “I’ve always been bad at keeping track of our anniversary. I actually missed a couple of years. Jeanette never said anything.”

  Okay, wow.

  Delia nodded and smiled. “It happens.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Can I get you some punch? Would you like a cookie?”

  Sam’s eyes flickered toward Eddie and Thomi. “No, thank you.”

  “Well, I hope you are taking time to eat and sleep. Is anyone staying with you… children?”

  “We didn’t have any. Jeanette didn’t want them. She didn’t think she’d make a good mother. I didn’t either.”

  “You didn’t think she’d make a good mother, or you didn’t want children?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted children a long time ago … but, all dreams die,” he told her, meeting her eyes again. “Slowly and painfully.”

  If Sam wasn’t standing in front of her, Delia might’ve let out a whistle of wonderment. Instead, she nodded, keeping the conversation going. “When was the last time you saw Jeanette?”

  Delia realized that was a loaded question as soon as it came out of her mouth.

  “When I dropped her off at the bakery.”

  In the walk-in refrigerator?

  “Did you look for her when she didn’t come home?”

  His attention drifted to Eddie and Thomi again. “I didn’t know whether she was home or not. I … we’d argued. I drove around all night. At one point, I thought to confront her lover, but I chickened out.” Sam ran a hand through his gorgeous hair. “Sorry, you probably didn’t need to know that.” After another moment, he said, “I didn’t go home until the next morning. Jeanette wasn’t there. The police woke me up around eleven banging on the front door.”

  Suddenly, Lurch was beside Delia. He’d snuck up on her silently. Without looking at her, he nodded to Sam. “We’re ready.”

  Sam nodded and then said to Delia, “They’re ready to take her to the cemetery.”

  “Oh, of course … wait,” she said, taking his arm briefly. “How did you and Jeanette know Matthew Oswald?”

  He’d started to move away but came to a quick stop —making his chubby cheeks jiggle. “Who’s Matthew Oswald?”

  “You don’t know him?”

  “Should I?”

  “I guess not,” Delia said, waving her hand and dismissing the subject. “He and I used to work together.” She hoped Sam thought they’d worked at the bakery.

  He shook his head. “No, sorry,” he said and stepped around her.

  Back inside Sweaty Freddy, Delia turned on the engine and let it idle. Out the windshield, she watched the hearse pull away from the curb. Four cars followed it with their lights on. She told Becca and Bogart, “I spoke to Sam. He said he didn’t go home the night Jeanette died.”

  “That’s interesting,” Becca said. She sat in the passenger seat. “His neighbors said he did.”

  Delia sat back in her seat. “You asked?”

  “No.” It was Bogart who answered —from the back seat. He leaned forward. “We lingered near the cookie plate. Some of the Lorings’ neighbors gossiped about it.

  “Sam said he drove around all night.”

  “And he didn’t get tired?” Becca asked, scrunching her forehead. “I couldn’t drive all night without a nap.”

  Bogart said, “You could if you’d just dropped off a body. That’d make you higher than Tube Shot energy drink.” He popped an entire cookie into his mouth and chewed with vigor.

  Becca watched him for a minute and then turned her eyes to Delia. “You know, I’ve been wondering why anyone would drop Jeanette at the bakery. They must’ve killed her there.”

  “They’d move her to get the body away from them, I guess. If they went through Jeanette’s bag, they’d have found the key to the bakery. Or,” Delia said, gazing out the windshield again and toward the service road where the hearse turned. “Or, they wanted the bakery to take the blame for some reason.” She turned back to Bogart. “What exactly did you overhear?”

  “The lady in the purple outfit saw Sam and Jeanette at home around nine that night. She saw their car and Jeanette get into it with an overnight bag.”

  “An overnight bag … that means she was leaving. The neighbors saw Sam?”

  Becca shook her head. She’d left her hair down, and it fell to the shoulders of her black long-sleeved dress. “We didn’t ask anyone any questions, but they acted pretty gossipy about it. The other lady said a detective came to their house and asked if they were positive it was Sam and Jeanette’s car. She said that it was definitely their car.”

  Delia put Freddy into reverse and backed out of the space. She drove toward the service road and then to the highway, thinking through her conversation at the afterglow. “Sam said he didn’t know Mate. How did Jeanette bail Mate out of jail without Sam knowing him?” Merging onto the interstate, she pressed the gas pedal. “That had to be a ton of money to bail h
im out of jail. Jeanette and Sam don’t seem that wealthy to me.” She glanced at Becca.

  The girl shook her head. “I don’t think they were.”

  “The last I spoke to Jeanette, she said they still owed money on their house and car and that she’d get no money out of Sam in a divorce.” Delia gazed into the rearview mirror and caught Bogart’s eyes. “How much would it cost to bail Mate out of jail? A hundred thousand?”

  Bogart said, “Someone must’ve given her the money.”

  “Right.”

  Would Eddie give her the money —but why would he? Mate stabbed Eddie. How about Chu Hua; did she have a spare hundred thousand lying around? Did Daniel?

  Delia gazed at Bogart again. “You work with Daniel. Is he wealthy?”

  He nodded his dark red hair. “Oh yeah. The Stove and Keg isn’t his only restaurant.”

  “Really?”

  Becca shifted in her seat. “What does all of this have to do with Jeanette’s murder?”

  Delia shrugged and focused on the road. “I just think there are a lot of people dying around Eddie and Sanya and Jeanette. First, Alfie died, then Sanya’s husband. Mate stabbed Isaac, his best friend, and Thomi’s dad was beaten and blinded.”

  Bogart leaned forward and said to Becca, “Maybe we ought to rethink our friendship with Delia.”

  Becca looked a bit paler than she had earlier. “You think it’s a gang?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I do.”

  “Who’s involved?”

  “Eddie, Jeanette, or she was; Sanya maybe, and the Kents. Mate, Chu Hua, and now I think Daniel Curran is involved.”

  “What kind of gang?” Bogart wanted to know. “Arms, drugs, human trafficking?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You think Eddie’s the head of it?” he asked, his head between the front seat headrests.

  “I don’t know,” Delia said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I just know people are dying around him, or … the people in my apartment building. Maybe it has something to do with the Tipsy Louie.”

  Becca asked, “Why would they hurt Thomi’s father? Is he a part of the gang? Is Thomi?”