Dearly Departed

by Tristi Pinkston

  “How are we going to explain this to Mr. Cooper?” she asked as they walked out to her car. “I mean, we told him we’d both be out for the afternoon, but we’re going to miss the rest of the work day altogether.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kevin answered confidently. “I took care of it.”

  “You did? How?”

  “I told him I was working on a piece, and you needed to do some research,” Kevin said.

  “When did you do all that?”

  “This morning, before we left.”

  “Did you know we were going to get held up?”

  “No, but I hoped to take you out to eat afterwards. So my plans have changed a little bit, but not much.”

  Eden blinked, wondering if the earth had just tilted on its axis. Months and months with no men in sight, and all of a sudden, here’s Kevin, acting like she’s the greatest thing since American Idol. She wasn’t complaining, but a little heads-up would have gone a long way.

  “So, why do you get away with so much? I mean, with Mr. Cooper.”

  Kevin pursed his lips. “I’m not sure. I guess he likes me, but I don’t know why.”

  “Well, it could come in handy.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot to be said for someone liking you.”

  Again, with the smile and the dimples! Snap out of it, girl!

  They pulled into the parking lot at the restaurant and walked inside. Eden immediately picked out the scent of garlic in the air and her mouth started to water. Peggy came in a moment later and they were seated.

  “Thank you so much for meeting me here,” she said, then took a long sip from her glass of ice water. “I didn’t want to talk to you at the funeral—you know, upset people.”

  Eden wasn’t sure how having a conversation at a funeral was controversial, but she nodded like she had some idea what this woman was talking about.

  “I just wanted to ask—how did you know?”

  “How did I know what?”

  “You know, about my mother?”

  “I’m sorry, Peggy, I don’t know what you mean.”

  Peggy reached into her shabby black purse and pulled out a clipping. “You said my mother died before her time. How did you know she’d been murdered?”

  Kevin choked on his cola. Eden would have choked if she’d been drinking anything, but she wasn’t, and she was grateful for that.

  “It’s just an expression, Peggy. I didn’t know it, or even think it. But tell me, why do you think she was murdered?”

  “Because she was.”

  The simple statement was punctuated at that moment by the waiter, who brought salad and breadsticks. Wanting to keep her hands busy, Eden picked up a breadstick, but as good as it smelled, she couldn’t take a bite yet. She placed her order for some sort of pasta—she wasn’t really paying attention—and resumed her questioning as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

  “She was murdered?”

  “Yes. But no one will believe me.”

  Peggy busied herself with her salad, looking as comfortable as if she’d told this story a hundred times. Maybe she had. But Eden felt extremely uncomfortable, and a glance at Kevin told her he was in the same boat.

  “Tell me about it,” Eden said at last, her journalistic inclinations far outweighing the fear that she was having lunch with a crazy woman.

  “Mother was living in a care center. You know—that nice one near the center of town, Shady Aspens? She’d been there for about five years and was doing really well. I went in to see her on Friday, and she looked wonderful. She had a touch of Alzheimer’s—that’s why she was in there—and she’d sometimes forget this and that. But on Friday, she seemed really with it—you know, talkative. Then just before I left, she told me someone was out to get her. She seemed really afraid and didn’t want me to leave—like I could protect her. But by the time I left, she was calm again. And then the next day, I got the call that she’d died.”

  Eden tore up her breadstick while she tried to think of a way to respond. Kevin broke his silence to add to the conversation.

  “Is paranoia a symptom of Alzheimer’s?”

  “Well, I don’t know. But she’d had Alzheimer’s for years, and this is the first time she’d said she was afraid, in all those years, so I think she really did have a reason to be scared.”

  Eden glanced at Kevin while Peggy took a bite of salad. He rolled his eyes, and Eden had to agree with his unspoken evaluation. She just couldn’t see that anything was amiss.

  “But if it wasn’t for the money, I don’t know if I would have believed her.”

  Eden looked up quickly. “What money?”

  “Mother left a lot of money to Shady Aspens in her will, but then she changed it not too long ago.”

  Now Kevin’s eyebrow was quirked. Expressive things, those eyebrows of his.

  “I see,” Eden said. “That does complicate matters.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? I mean, money always does—complicate things, I mean—and I think it’s probably as good a reason for murder as any.”

  “But why do you think she was murdered, exactly?” Eden asked. “If she was in a care center, she obviously wasn’t in the best of health. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be there.”

  “She was there mostly for the Alzheimer’s. I had her in my home for a while but I have chronic fatigue syndrome—you know, where you’re tired almost constantly—and I couldn’t keep up with her care. Physically, she was fit as a fiddle.”

  Eden had always wondered about that expression. Just what exactly did “fit as a fiddle” mean? Were fiddles in particularly good health?

  Peggy went on. “So when they called and said she’d passed away, I was shocked.” Her voice choked up a little, and she paused to take a sip of water. “I was shocked,” she repeated.

  “I didn’t know,” Eden said, feeling helpless and wondering just what it was Peggy expected of her. She didn’t have to wonder for long.

  “Would you look into it for me?”

  “Excuse me?” Eden knew she’d spoken too loudly when diners at tables all around them turned to look at her. She lowered her voice. “I can’t do that! I’m not a police officer.”

  “But you’re a reporter,” Peggy said.

  “I’m an obituary writer! Actually, I’m an obituary editor—I hardly ever write them myself.” She jabbed toward Kevin with her thumb. “He’s the crime reporter. You should be talking to him.”

  Kevin held up a hand. “Hold on a minute. Just what are we discussing here? Investigating a murder when there’s no real evidence? Peggy, you said no one believed you. I assume that means the police?”

  She nodded. “I told them everything and they didn’t listen to me.”

  Eden thought back to her previous experience with law enforcement. It all sounded so familiar, having evidence and yet nothing concrete. Her resolve began to crumble. She knew what it was like to be doubted. Peggy must be going crazy . . . if she wasn’t already crazy, that is.

  “I guess I could ask some questions,” she began, and Peggy beamed.

  “Eden, what are you saying?” Kevin asked her in a whisper. “You can’t investigate this.”

  “I’m not going to investigate anything,” she said in a normal tone of voice. She didn’t see the need to make Peggy feel unwelcome in their conversation. “I’m just going to ask some questions and help Peggy figure out what happened to her mother.”

  Kevin shook his head.

  “Really, nothing is going to happen,” Eden insisted. “Now, Peggy, what was the result of the autopsy?”

  “There wasn’t an autopsy,” Peggy said. “Her primary-care physician said there wasn’t a need. He figured it was her heart, because of her age. She’d never had heart problems before, but my brother Bruce, the executor, didn’t want to push it.”

  “Who’s the beneficiary of her will?”

  “We haven’t read it yet, and Mother didn’t say—just that she was no longer leaving her money to Shady Aspens.”

/>   The waiter arrived, his tray balanced on one hand, and Eden was suddenly starving. She tucked into her plate with good appetite, pleased to see she’d ordered something she liked after all.

  When the check came, Peggy tried to pay, but Kevin pulled out his credit card. “My treat,” he said. “It’s not every day I get to have lunch with two beautiful ladies.”

  From the way Peggy reacted, you’d think she was twenty instead of whatever forty- or fifty-ish age she was. Eden wondered if she looked like that when Kevin complimented her, like a puppy eager for approval. Yeah, she was pretty sure she did.

  They separated at the door of the restaurant, Peggy to her car and Eden and Kevin in the other direction.

  “Are you really going to look into this?” Kevin asked as they climbed into Eden’s VW.

  “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but do you have to?”

  “I don’t see any harm in it. It’s not like I’m going to break the law or anything.”

  Kevin fastened his seatbelt, then readjusted it across his chest. “I just think you’re wasting your time.”

  “Maybe so, but Peggy is a sweet lady, and she looked so happy when I said I’d do something.”

  “But isn’t that giving her false hope?”

  “Is hope ever really false, Kevin? Isn’t it the stuff that keeps us going from day to day the stuff that really matters?” She flung one hand in a melodramatic gesture.

  He pressed his lips together and didn’t reply. Eden put the key in the ignition and soon they were cruising back up the road.

  “I’m sorry to be so cranky,” he said after a moment. “I just don’t want to see you get mixed up in something you shouldn’t.”

  “Ah, so you do think there was a murder?”

  “No, I most certainly do not. I think you’d be stirring up trouble where there’s nothing to be stirred. It’s a rest home, Eden. Taking care of people is their business. They wouldn’t let a murder take place under their roof.”

  “Does anyone really let murder happen?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not totally sure I do, but I’ll give you the benefit of a doubt.” She smiled, trying to lighten the contentious tone that had crept into the conversation, and he responded with a white-toothed smile of his own. There, that was better.

  They kept the conversation neutral all the way back to the newspaper office and up to their respective cubicles. Eden thought Kevin had forgotten all about their conversation until he stuck his head around the divider wall and asked, “So, can I come?”

  “You should take up knitting,” Arlette said, settling into the oversized chair in Ida Mae’s living room.

  “And why would I do that?” Ida Mae felt as grumpy as she sounded. It had only been six days since her fall, but she wasn’t used to sitting still. She was the type of person who had to be up and about, serving others or in some other way being productive, in order to feel complete. This forced inactivity was driving her insane.

  “It would give you something to do, and take your mind off yourself,” Arlette told her.

  Ida Mae bit back a retort. Although being selfish wasn’t in her nature, it was true that since she’d fallen, she’d spent a lot of time feeling sorry for herself. The pain wasn’t unbearable and she was being waited on hand and foot—she was just inconvenienced, that was all. She hated having to ask for help for the silliest things, like reaching the remote control or keeping her balance while she positioned her crutches. She had to have someone with her at all times, which the Relief Society had provided, but she hated feeling like a burden. Still, at her age, being alone wouldn’t be wise. All she’d have to do was lose her balance, fall and break a hip, and there would be the end of that bright idea.

  “I think I will take a knitting needle,” she told Arlette, who fished around in her bag and handed her one with a curious look on her face.

  “Just one?”

  “Just one.” Ida Mae held on to the end of the needle and stuck the tip down into her cast, where she was able to scratch the itch at the top of her ankle that had been bothering her all day. “You’re right. Knitting is a good thing.”

  Arlette waved her hand. “Keep the needle. Looks like you need it. I’ve actually taken up crochet, anyway.”

  “Crochet?” The thought of Arlette without her knitting was almost more than Ida Mae could process, but at least she wouldn’t be completely yarnless. “Why crochet?”

  “I got tired of socks. Setting all those heels . . .” Arlette shuddered. “And I think I could make quite a few afghans before the cold weather hits. A Relief Society in Draper caught wind of my project and sent me nearly a truckload of yarn they’d cleaned out of the sisters’ closets, so I’ve really got a nice variety to choose from for afghans. Pretty colors, too.”

  Ida Mae was glad to hear that. If she saw one more chartreuse sock, she just might cry.

  “What are you working on now?” she asked.

  Arlette reached into her bag and pulled out a tangle of mauve and gray. “I’m only a few rows in,” she said apologetically. “I just started it today.”

  “I think it’s really pretty.” Ida Mae realized this was the first time she’d expressed an interest in Arlette’s project. She instantly felt guilty.

  “Are you hungry?” Arlette asked. “I could heat up the chicken and rice Sister Giles brought over.”

  Ida Mae suppressed a grimace. She’d seen more chicken-and-rice casseroles come marching through her kitchen than she’d ever thought possible. She had nothing against the dish, but moderation in all things! There were at least four pans of the stuff in her fridge. Soon there would be four pans of the stuff in her freezer.

  “I wonder if any of Tansy’s soup in still in there,” she said. “That was quite tasty.”

  “I’ll go see.” Arlette rose from her chair.

  “Be sure to warm some for yourself, too,” Ida Mae said. “And I might have some bread in the freezer.”

  After a light lunch, Ida Mae sorted through the books she had stacked by the couch. There was nothing new, even though Tansy had made a special trip to the library just for her. Ida Mae liked to read, and the library could hardly keep up with her. She also took a look through the DVDs piled next to the books. Nothing new there, either. She sighed. “I guess maybe I will give crocheting a try.”

  With a smile of victory, Arlette pulled out another hook and a skein of yarn.

  Eden needed to check her private e-mail in the worst way, but she wasn’t supposed to do that unless she was on break. She’d been working a solid forty-five minutes—it was time for a breather, wasn’t it? She slowly stood, barely peering over the top of her cubicle. She didn’t see Mr. Cooper anywhere, so she quickly logged in and entered “gardenofeden” and her password.

  She deleted the spam and ignored all the offerings of plants in her Facebook account, then saw what she’d been looking for—an e-mail from the last publishing company that had requested to see a full manuscript. She clicked on it, then closed her eyes, not wanting to see what it said.

  “You can generally read better if your eyes are open,” Kevin said at her elbow.

  Eden jumped as she spun around in her chair to face him. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that!”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t. Now, what’s got you so actively ignoring your e-mail?”

  She turned back to the screen. “It’s from Gladehill Press.”

  “The publishing house?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Kevin stuck his hands in his pockets, regarding her for a long moment. “So, are you going to read it?”

  “I guess I should, huh?” She focused on the screen. The jolt of disappointment that coursed through her was neither unfamiliar nor unexpected, but it was sharp, nonetheless. “They liked the book, but they can’t fit it into their production schedule for another two years, and it’s against their company policy to hold on to a book that long.”

  �
��I’m sorry,” Kevin said. “Have you gotten a lot of rejections?”

  “This makes the twelfth,” Eden said, hitting reply and shooting off a quick thank you. Kevin slipped into his own cubicle while she typed, but then returned a moment later.

  “A consolation prize,” he said, handing her a candy bar.

  “Thanks,” she told him, tucking it in her drawer for later. If she couldn’t have a book contract, she guessed chocolate was the next best thing.

  “What are you going to do now?” Kevin asked.

  “Well, first I’m going to feel picked on for about half an hour. That’s all I allow myself. Then I’ll shoot a query off to the next publisher on my list.”

  “You don’t let the grass grow under your feet, do you?”

  “Not a chance. The longer you wait to get back on the horse, the longer it’ll take to see your name on a book cover.”

  “I like your attitude,” Kevin said. “I sent an article to a national magazine once, but when they didn’t pick it up, I decided to stop submitting.”

  “But that’s just wrong!” Eden shook her finger at him. “If you want to get anywhere, you have to keep trying.”

  “I know you’re right. It was just kind of disappointing, you know?”

  “Yes, I do know,” she said, clicking out of her account. She’d save Gladehill’s e-mail and go over it again later, trying to find some comfort in the fact that they did like the book. But her half hour of feeling depressed wasn’t over yet, and she planned to revel in it.

  “Kevin, Eden, why are we chatting when we could be working on our articles?” Mr. Cooper, all six feet four inches of him, rounded the corner with amazing agility for someone his size. “Back to work.”

  Eden glanced at her computer, double-checking that she really had shut down her e-mail screen. Just in time.