by Amber Crewes
Meghan smiled weakly. “I’m doing alright,” she told Valerie. “Is Mrs. Sheridan still here?”
Valerie’s face fell. “She is, that poor dear,” she clucked. “She insisted that she stay in her Auntie’s room. She is so upset. Thank you for being such a rock for her, Meghan. Mrs. Sheridan mentioned that you were one of her dearest friends.”
Meghan’s heart warmed. Mrs. Sheridan was notoriously grumpy and rude, and while Meghan knew Mrs. Sheridan had warmed to her, she had not realized that Mrs. Sheridan considered her a close friend.
“It’s heartbreaking to watch our residents’ families go through their journey of grief as their loved ones pass away,” Valerie continued. “But I love my job. It is so fulfilling to make the last days of these wonderful elderly people as peaceful and luxurious as we can. I feel more like the director of a spa, or a cruise activity director than a nursing home manager. While our residents are old, they sure do have a lot of zest for life, and I love that.”
Meghan smiled. “It sounds like this is the perfect job for you,” she told Valerie.
“It is,” she agreed. “Managing Sevenoaks is what I was meant to do.”
Meghan gestured at the box of muffins she was holding. “That’s how I feel about my bakery,” she explained. “It’s what I was born to do.”
Valerie eyed the muffins leerily. “You made those?” she asked as Meghan nodded. “Here at Sevenoaks, our residents’ meals are prepared by top chefs. We don’t allow gluten, sugar, wheat, dairy, or red meat on the premises. Surely you understand.”
Meghan laughed. “Well, luckily, these aren’t for your residents,” she informed Valerie. “I brought these for Mrs. Sheridan. I know they aren’t allowed here, but perhaps you could make an exception, especially since her Auntie just passed away?”
Valerie paused, but then nodded. “Of course,” she agreed. “Now, let me show you to Mrs. Hudson’s rooms.”
Valerie led Meghan down a long hallway and paused in front of a set of doors. The doors opened to reveal an elevator with a uniformed attendant standing in the corner. “Fifth floor, please,” Valerie instructed as the uniformed woman nodded and pushed the button. Meghan looked up at the mirrored ceiling, and seeing that her long, dark hair looked messy, she pulled it into a messy bun.
The doors opened, and Valerie led Meghan. The hallway was brightly-lit, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling every few feet. The carpet was thick and red, and the walls were painted a soft eggshell color. As they walked, Meghan noticed there were no residents out of their rooms. This seemed odd to her, and she decided to ask Valerie some questions.
“Valerie, can I ask you a question?” Meghan asked. “Where are all of the residents?”
Valerie smiled. “Our residents’ suites are quite spacious,” she explained as she stopped before a tall mahogany door. “Most of our residents prefer to spend time in their rooms.”
“Aren’t there activities or games? What about meals? Do they eat in a dining room?”
Valerie laughed out loud. “Of course not. This is not a high school. There is no cafeteria. The residents are served their meals privately. They are of course welcome to spend time in the common spaces--the movie theater, spa, private art collection, and library are available at all times--but they tend to keep to themselves.”
Meghan raised an eyebrow. “It sounds like a....unique place,” she said.
“It’s very special,” Valerie glowed. “We adore our residents, and we hope the feeling is mutual.”
“Speaking of your residents,” Meghan started. “Mrs. Hudson? What did they determine as the cause of her death?”
Valerie shook her head. “That’s private information,” she said apologetically. “I’m sure you can ask Mrs. Sheridan, though. I believe she has the coroner's report by now.”
Meghan nodded. “Of course. One more question? I’m just concerned about Mrs. Sheridan, and I want to make sure she has the best support during this difficult time.”
Valerie smiled. “You are such a lovely friend to her.”
“I try to be,” she said modestly. “I know that she considers me a dear friend, but what about her family? I’ve heard that Mark Tilley is technically a cousin?”
Valerie’s face darkened. “Mrs. Sheridan wants nothing to do with that man,” she stated firmly. “Nor do I. I remember what he did to those precious dogs all those years ago, and I have never forgiven him. Are you a dog person?”
“I have two,” Meghan told her.
“Then you understand,” she declared. “That monster ran his ring of dog-fights, which is cruel. It also attracted the worst crowds to our town. I hated that he was allowed to visit Sevenoaks, but Mrs. Hudson adored him, for whatever reason...I always thought he still looked shady. He just has this bad look about him. I wanted to ban him from the property; we have swans outside in our pond, and that monster should not be around animals! Mrs. Hudson forbade it, though, and he was allowed to visit her as he pleased.”
“You said you saw him leave her suite the night before she died,” Meghan said. “Did you see anything sinister when he left? Or heard anything?”
“I heard a scream,” she whispered, looking left and right down the empty hallways. “But I didn’t know where it came from. A few minutes later, Mark Tilley emerged from Mrs. Hudson’s rooms.”
“Did he look odd?” she asked.
“No,” Valerie admitted. “But he had a bag of treats with him, and when I checked in on Mrs. Hudson later, she mentioned that he had brought her some snacks to share.”
“That is interesting,” Meghan muttered to herself. “I wonder if the treats had something in them to hurt Mrs. Hudson.”
“What did you say?” Valerie asked. “Are you ready to go in and see Mrs. Sheridan?”
Meghan nodded. “I was just talking to myself,” she replied. “And wondering about Mark Tilley. He sounds like an…. interesting...fellow. I’d certainly like to meet him someday.”
“Oh?”
Meghan jumped, startled as she felt a tap on her shoulder. Valerie gasped. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood before them with an angry look on his weathered face.
“I’m Mark Tilley,” the man growled. “Why do you want to talk to me?”
8
“Mark Tilley,” Meghan stammered as she stared at him. He looked to be about sixty years old, with gray matted hair and a lined face. “First, I am so sorry for your loss.”
“What are you doing here, Mr. Tilley?” Valerie asked in annoyance as Mark glowered at her. “I told you over the telephone that Mrs. Hudson’s belongings from her suite are not yet available to be collected. You will need to wait until her will is read, and then, only then, you can come retrieve what has been assigned to you.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “Then why is my cousin, Sally Sheridan, allowed to be holed up in my late aunt’s suite?”
Valerie frowned. “That is none of your business,” she insisted. “Mrs. Sheridan requested not to see you, and we are honoring her wishes at this time. I am going to go fetch security. Meghan?”
Meghan shook her head. “I’ll wait here,” she told Valerie, who looked at her in shock. “Are you sure?”
Meghan bobbed her head affirmatively. “I’ll be fine. And, if Mrs. Sheridan comes to the door, I don’t want her to be shocked.
“Your choice,” Valerie muttered as she stomped down the hallway.
Meghan stared into Mark’s almond-shaped brown eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said softly.
“What did you say to me?”
“I am so sorry for your loss,” she repeated. “It’s so difficult to lose someone you care about.”
Mark’s face fell. “I didn’t just care about her,” he explained to Meghan. “I loved her. My aunt was the only person who never gave up on me, even after all my troubles. When my own parents, siblings, and cousins turned their backs on me, my Aunt never so much as gave me a harsh word.”
Meghan nodded sympathetically. “I am so sorr
y,” she repeated for a third time. “Now...troubles? What do you mean?”
Mark’s face twisted in anger. “That’s none of your business,” he shouted as Meghan gasped. “Who do you think you are?”
“SHE IS MY FRIEND!” Mrs. Sheridan shouted as she threw open the large, heavy door to the suite. “You trashy loser! What do you think you are doing here?”
Mark bared his teeth at his cousin. “That’s for me to know,” he declared. “You shouldn’t be holed up in there, Sally. I was our aunt’s favorite. Everything in there belongs to me.”
Mrs. Sheridan’s face turned red. “Our aunt is dead, and you are worried about collecting what is yours?” she screamed. “You’ve got some nerve! You filthy, dog-fighting, flea-infested scoundrel! I can’t believe your nerve.” Mrs. Sheridan stepped forward and spat at Mark. The glob of saliva hit his cheek.
Mark crossed his arms across his broad chest. “That was low, Sally, even for you.”
Mrs. Sheridan rolled her eyes. “Boo-hoo, Marky. I bet that hurt your little feelings, didn’t it?” she mocked.
Mark’s eyes filled with tears, and he turned to storm away. As he walked toward the elevator, an elderly man emerged from his suite. He was short, with round glasses and white hair. “Trouble, folks?” he asked.
Mark glared at the old man. “Mind your own business,” he snarled as he pushed past him and banged on the elevator doors. “My auntie never liked you, and she never loved Sally. She never loved anyone like she loved me!”
The elevator doors opened, and Mark dashed inside. As the doors closed, Valerie rounded a corner with three armed security guards. “Is he causing a stir?”
“Yes!” Mrs. Sheridan yelled. “Get him out of here.”
Valerie turned to whisper to the guards. They nodded and took off running down the hallway. “So sorry for the disturbance, Mrs. Sheridan,” Valerie gushed as she led Mrs. Sheridan back into Mrs. Hudson’s suite. Meghan followed, and Valerie turned to wave goodbye to the old man.
“Who was that?” Meghan whispered to Valerie. “Mark yelled at that old man. He said that Mrs. Hudson never liked him.”
Valerie sighed. “That was Wayne Rashford,” she explained under her breath. “Mark was right...Wayne and Mrs. Hudson had an interesting relationship. But that’s not important right now. What is important is getting that monster behind bars! Mark Tilley will never walk into Sevenoaks again, Mrs. Sheridan, I promise!”
9
After the strange afternoon at Sevenoaks, Meghan returned to the bakery. She was hoping for a normal, quiet afternoon, but as she hung up her jacket, Pamela met her at the back door. “Meghan, I have to show you something,” she said grimly.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Pamela retrieved a folder from the bakery’s safe. “I’ve been keeping track of the funeral inquiries, and after getting another Instagram message this afternoon, we are at over one-hundred. I’m getting scared, Meghan.”
“I am done with this,” Meghan grumbled as she took the folder from Pamela and looked through it. “I don’t know if someone out there thinks this is funny, but it isn’t. I am going to get to the bottom of this.”
Just then, Meghan’s phone began to ring. “It’s Mrs. Sheridan,” she said as she answered the call.
“I need to order a coffin,” Mrs. Sheridan said.
“Mrs. Sheridan? It’s Meghan Truman. Why are you calling to ask for a coffin?”
Mrs. Sheridan scoffed. “Meghan Truman? You are selling coffins now? That seems like an odd thing to sell at a bakery.”
Meghan shook her head. “I’m not selling coffins,” she explained. “Why are you calling to ask for one?”
“I found this number online,” Mrs. Sheridan told her. “I need to purchase the best possible coffin for my Auntie, and when I looked up “SANDY BAY COFFIN PURCHASE”, this was the first number that I found.”
“Well, that explains a lot,” Meghan muttered. “Someone must have posted the wrong phone number to a funeral website.”
“I was trying to call Duly Street, the funeral home,” she went on. “I needed to ask them some pricing questions.”
“I don’t have their number,” Meghan said. “But let me look it up.” Meghan whipped out her cell phone and typed in the information for Duly Street. “Well, there it is,” she murmured. “That is my phone number on the funeral home’s website. How did that happen?”
“Do you have their number to give me?” Mrs. Sheridan squawked. “I have a pen and can write it down.”
“Let me call you back,” she told her. “I have a quick errand to run.”
Meghan ran into the dining room to find Trudy and Pamela. “I think I know what the funeral business is all about!” she squealed happily.
“What do you mean?” Trudy asked.
“I’m going to go find out. Ladies, I will be back in a few minutes.”
Meghan grabbed her purse and ran out the door toward the Duly Street Funeral Parlor, following the directions she had written down from Trudy. She had never realized there was a funeral parlor only three blocks from her business, and she was happy that Trudy had known where it was located. She knocked on the front door, and a tall, mustached man answered. “Are we expecting you?” he asked.
Meghan shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I’m Meghan Truman. I own Truly Sweet, the bakery a few streets over.”
The man smiled warmly. “I love your muffins,” he gushed as he stuck out his hand to shake Meghan’s. “I’m Alfredo Cazale, the owner of the funeral home. Can I help you with something today?”
“I’m having some trouble at my business,” she began. “People keep calling to ask for funeral services, and as you know, I run a bakery. We do not offer funeral services. Finally, I realized that the telephone number listed on your website is my telephone number, and that is how people are getting confused.”
As he processed Meghan’s request, Alfredo brushed his mustache with his fingers, beginning beneath his nose and moving outward. “I’m just not sure I can help you,” he shrugged. “I’m not sure what you are really even talking about; you run a bakery. What does that have to do with my funeral parlor?”
Meghan felt her face flush in frustration. “The calls,” she explained as she ran a hand through her dark hair. “My bakery has received almost a hundred calls about funeral services. These calls are coming to me when they should be going to you.”
Alfredo’s mouth dropped open. “Almost a hundred calls?” he repeated as Meghan nodded. “I’ve noticed that we have not been getting our normal number of calls this week,” he groaned.
“I think your customers have been reaching out to us,” she told him. “We thought it was a prank at first, but now, the number of callers and the number of messages we have been receiving has taken up a lot of time and resources. It’s affecting my business, and I really want to get to the bottom of things…”
Alfredo’s face darkened. “I know what happened,” he frowned. “Why don’t you come in?”
He led Meghan into a dark parlor. “We don’t have any funerals today, so no bodies lying around,” he told her as she nervously glanced around. “That elderly woman who passed away at the nursing home is still at the coroner’s office, and we won’t be expecting her until late this week.”
Meghan smiled politely as Alfredo led her to an overstuffed black arm chair. “Have a seat,” he graciously told her.
Meghan sat down. “So, do you know what is going on with my website?”
Alfredo nodded. “Yes, I do,” he affirmed. “Roberto!”
A teenage boy around Pamela’s age came into the room. “Yeah, Dad?”
Alfredo narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Son, remember when I paid you a thousand dollars to reformat our website and to make appropriate updates?”
The boy’s brown eyes widened. “Yes?”
Alfredo crossed his arms across his chest. “And did you?”
Roberto nodded. “Yes, of course I did. I worked really hard on it.”
Alfredo raised an eyebrow. “Let me see it.”
Roberto pulled out his cell phone and gave it to his father. Alfredo handed the phone to Meghan. “Is this your phone number?”
Meghan nodded. “That was what I was talking about! And, now that I’m looking closely, the website looks eerily similar to my website. We just had a designer revamp things, and this almost looks identical to mine.”
Alfredo stared at his son. “Did you copy her entire website, Roberto, phone number and all?”