Icing on the Casket

by Catherine Bruns

  I put a finger to my lips. "She's sleeping, Mom. A rare commodity these days." Then again, maybe I should let my mother wake her. If Cookie stayed awake now, she'd have to sleep through the night, or at least I hoped so.

  My mother bussed my cheek and filled a mug with coffee while I watched in envy. "Oh, she'll come around. Maybe she's teething. What does her pediatrician say?"

  I leaned my head on my arms. "I think her doctor is starting to hate me. I call him all the time. He must think I'm the neediest mother alive."

  "Baby girl? Is that you?" My father's footsteps pounded loudly on the stairs, but Cookie didn't stir. She must have been exhausted from partying all night.

  I rose and put the empty glass in the sink. "Hi, Dad. I'm late and need to run."

  "Come for dinner tonight," my grandmother urged. "Leave work an hour early, and then take a nap in your old room upstairs. You need it, my dear. The hags under your eyes look terrible."

  Again, her choice of words made me wince, but sadly, she wasn't far off. I did feel like a hag these days, and her offer was tempting. "I'll see how the day goes. Thanks for the juice."

  "Wait a second, baby girl. I need to talk to you." My father's round and usually jovial face wore a concerned expression that caught my attention. Domenic Muccio was in his late sixties, with a head that sprouted less hair each year while his middle continued to expand. He'd retired from the railroad a few years back and since then had shifted around from careers that consisted of a hearse driver at Phibbins Mortuary, to keeping coffins in his house, and finally to running his own successful death blog. Father Death was the name he used on his blog, where he posted daily thoughts on the subject of death and funerals. To the amazement of our family, he made a decent income from the businesses that paid to advertise on his site, specifically undertakers and crematoriums.

  Between the blog, his pension, and a paid-off mortgage, my mother and father lived well enough. Dad had even self-published a novel, How to Plan and Enjoy Your Funeral, which had gotten him a lot of attention—and ridicule—and he was currently working on another. Sure, his antics were embarrassing, but Gianna and I were convinced we must have seen it all by now.

  "Can it wait until tonight? I need to get to the bakery."

  Dad held up a hand. "This will only take a minute. I need your help with something, and no, it can't wait."

  I tried to stifle a groan. He probably wanted to hold another book signing in the bakery and have Josie and me make our famous coffin cookies. "All right. What is it?"

  My father pursed his lips. "I'm worried about Eddie Phibbins. He's missing."

  Unlike my father, I didn't know Eddie well, except for the times I'd attended wakes at his funeral home. It was the most popular one in Colwestern. "What do you mean 'missing'?"

  Dad stuffed his hands deep into his trouser pockets. "Eddie's my biggest client. But more importantly, he's been a good friend these past few years. Eddie always pays on time, but for the last few weeks, he's been delinquent on his account. I keep running his ads for the comfiest caskets in the world, but he hasn't paid me a red cent in return."

  I'd never sampled one of Eddie's comfy coffins, so I'd have to take his word for it. "Have you talked to him about the past due invoices?"

  "I shot him an email three days ago," my father explained, "and I've left several phone messages. Yesterday I finally got through to his wife, who told me that Eddie's disappeared. It's been over 48 hours since he was last seen. I was hoping you could help."

  This got a laugh out of me. "Dad, I'm no detective. Has Mrs. Phibbins reported his disappearance to the police?"

  My father nodded. "Yeah, Linda called them and filled out a missing persons report. But she's worried, and frankly, so am I. This isn't like Eddie. He's too responsible and devoted to his business to vanish like that. I even called the police myself and asked for your buddy Brian, but they told me he was on his honeymoon."

  "Yes, he got married last week." Brian Jenkins was a police officer on the Colwestern force who I'd met when I had returned to town four years earlier, after my disastrous first marriage had ended in divorce. For a long time, Brian had been interested in me romantically, but he'd never stood a chance against Mike. I was thrilled when Brian's attention finally shifted to Ally Tetrault, a former high school classmate who'd been foaming at the mouth for him since they'd first met two years ago. "I think they're due back in a couple of days."

  My father's expression was grim. "But you're a real good detective, baby girl, and have sniffed out a lot of killers. Can't you at least check into it for your old man?"

  "Fool," my grandmother grunted. "Sally has a busy bakery and a baby to take care of. She has no time for your silliness. Let the police handle it."

  "Dad, I'd like to help, but I don't have the experience. I just happened to be involved in a few murder cases."

  He raised an eyebrow. "A few? Columbo has nothing on you."

  Not a cheerful thought. "Sorry, Dad. I'll ask around at the bakery today, but that's the best I can do."

  "Maybe he needed to get away from death for a while," my mother suggested.

  My father shook his head. "No way. Eddie wouldn't do that. He loves that business more than life itself."

  The irony of his words wasn't lost on us. My grandmother and I exchanged an eye roll, something she rarely did. "The police will find him soon, Dad," I assured him.

  "I sure hope so, baby girl."

  The look in my father's eyes unnerved me, but I tried to let it pass. "Gotta go. I'll see you tonight." I leaned down to deposit a kiss on my little girl's soft, rosy cheek. I reminded myself again how blessed I was to have her and Mike in my life, even though I worried about falling asleep on my feet today.

  As I backed the car out of the driveway and just missed hitting the mailbox, Eddie's face flashed before me. I remembered the gentle and caring smile he wore whenever he shook a mourner's hand and his weary, lined face that always seemed to be grieving right along with them. He was personable and thoughtful. My father had nicknamed him Honest Eddie. The plaque outside of the funeral home read We're here with you till the very end. It was hard to forget that line.

  A strange feeling of foreboding shot through me. For some odd reason, I sensed that the kind and gentle mortician wouldn't be returning to Colwestern anytime soon.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Hey." Josie nudged me in the arm. "Pay attention. You're squirting frosting all over the tray. The cookies are our target, girlfriend."

  I stared down at the white, gloppy mess sitting on the tray in front of me and groaned in frustration. Yes, I was a disaster in the making today, and it was becoming more and more difficult to keep my eyes open. "Sorry."

  Josie stared at me in sympathy over the rim of her coffee mug. "Hang in there, hon. It will get better."

  "But she won't sleep." My voice started to wobble. "I'm so tired that I want to curl up and take a nap in the oven. Is that so wrong? Oh, and I think Cookie likes Mike better than me."

  Josie burst out laughing. "Where is this coming from? She's four months old, Sal. She likes whoever cuddles and feeds her. Are you giving her supplementary bottles yet?"

  I nodded. "Once a day."

  "Hmm." Josie frowned thoughtfully. Next to my grandmother, she was my personal expert on baby care. Josie's boys ranged from four to fourteen years old. In the four years since the bakery had opened, she'd never once taken a sick day, except for the time a lunatic had shot her. Josie was the one with the baking expertise, not me. She'd quit culinary school after one semester when she'd gotten pregnant with her eldest child. Life had thrown Josie some blows, but she'd always come up swinging.

  Even after four kids, Josie still had a fantastic figure and looked younger than her 32 years. Her rich, auburn hair was pinned in a neat bun on the top of her head, and her eyes looked genuinely concerned. They always flashed blue sparks whenever she was excited or angry about something. The latter emotion was usually reserved for our assistant Dodie, an
older woman who tried Josie's patience on a daily basis.

  Josie knew me better than I knew myself at times, but it worked both ways. We'd been besties since the age of eight, and our friendship was as solid as steel. When Mike and I had broken up after a misunderstanding on prom night, she'd fully supported my decision but always wondered if there had been more to the situation. Josie had refused to believe that Mike had cheated on me with Brenda Snyder—aka Backseat Brenda—and it turned out that she'd been correct. Back then I'd tended to jump to conclusions, and that particular one had cost me several years of happiness before Mike and I finally found our way back to each other.

  "Sal, you're a good mother. Don't beat yourself up," Josie said wisely. "This is your first baby. It gets easier with time. Trust me."

  "But I need to sleep, and I can't even have caffeine. How is this going to get any easier?"

  The silver bells on the front door jingled, and Josie stepped forward. "I've got this."

  Defeated, I set the piping bag down and followed her to the storefront. Who was I kidding? I was doing more harm than good here today. Maybe I should see if Dodie could come in for the afternoon and then take a nap as my grandmother had suggested. The idea sounded more heavenly than her rich ricotta cheesecake.

  Josie greeted Mrs. O'Brien, one of our more frequent customers, who was busy peering into the display case. "Hey, Mrs. O. What will it be today?"

  Mrs. O'Brien bit her lower lip in concentration. "Let's see. I'll take a dozen of the jelly thumbprint cookies. Don't forget my fortune cookie, please. I need some good luck today."

  Bakeries often needed a trademark to make them stand out from the competition. My novelty cookie shop was known throughout the town for the delicious varieties we made, many which were Josie's personal recipes. She also baked cakes on the side for extra income. Josie insisted on paying me for the ingredients, even though I'd argued with her, so in turn, I let her keep the entire profit. It was only fair, since she did all the work. Besides, without Josie's talent, my bakery never would have been a success.

  Before I'd opened the shop, I'd come up with the idea to give out a free fortune cookie with every purchase. Fortune cookies themselves were inexpensive to make and not difficult, but they hardened quickly and often before placing the messages inside, so only a few at a time could be prepared.

  "Why? Is something wrong?" I grabbed a piece of wax paper.

  She made a tsk-tsk sound, but it was all for effect. Like many other Colwestern residents, Leslie O'Brien lived for gossip.

  "I'm taking these to Myrna Dublin's house," she said. "Did you hear that her husband passed away? It was so sudden. The wake was last night, and there's a gathering at her house after the funeral. They should be leaving Phibbins Mortuary for the cemetery right about now."

  Her casual reference to the funeral home reminded me of my promise to my father. "The wake was at Phibbins Mortuary last night?"

  Mrs. O'Brien's mouth twitched in annoyance. "Yes, and what a mistake that was. They've really gone down under—err, I mean downhill."

  You had to love funeral home puns. "Was Eddie there?"

  "No." She crooked her finger, beckoning me to come closer. "I heard that he's skipped town."

  "Why would he do that? He has a business to run," Josie said.

  A broad smile crossed Mrs. O'Brien's sallow-looking face. She was in her full glory now. "Some business," she snickered. "I've heard they're on the brink of bankruptcy. I told Myrna to use End of the Road Funeral Home, but no, she wouldn't listen. She's one of those loyal types. And what did it get her? The owner didn't even show up for the wake or funeral! He left poor Linda to take care of everything, and God knows that woman is sorely lacking in the brain department."

  A woman with gray, curly hair standing behind Mrs. O'Brien nodded in agreement and decided to insert her own two cents. "Suzanne Tully said she heard a rumor that Eddie was stealing from his customers. Pocketing jewelry and other things that belonged to the deceased. I never would have dreamed Eddie was capable of that. Shameful! And that fellow who was working for him—Wally something? He was stealing his urns and selling them on eBay."

  Mrs. O'Brien looked disappointed with this revelation. "Really? I hadn't heard about that."

  "Oh yes." The woman with gray hair heaved a sigh. "It's a grave matter, let me tell you. Ha-ha, get it?"

  She and Mrs. O'Brien started to howl with laughter, but I didn't think it was funny. Now I knew why Eddie always looked sad. It wasn't the fact that he worked with dead bodies every day but the torturous puns he had to put up with.

  Josie swallowed hard. "The urns on eBay. Um, they were empty, right?"

  "Bless your heart, child." The woman with gray hair giggled. "Even Eddie isn't that cheap."

  "Don't forget my fortune cookie, Sally," Mrs. O'Brien reminded me.

  I reached into the case with the wax paper. The cookie was stuck to another one, so I broke them apart and it cracked in my hand. The message sprung up from the edges of the cookie as if begging me to read it.

  Mrs. O'Brien watched me with interest. "Oh, no, I'll take that one." She reached out her hand. "You get the most interesting messages. It's my turn now." She gestured at the unopened cookie. "You read that one."

  I handed her the cracked cookie. Interesting messages was one way to put it. When I first opened the bakery, I was convinced that the fortune cookies could predict the future. Since then I had realized it was a ridiculous notion all in my head. We usually printed our own messages, but if the bakery was too busy, like this week, we bought them by the bag from a nearby novelty store.

  I listened as Mrs. O'Brien read aloud. "'A healthy mind does not speak ill of others.'"

  Josie snorted back a laugh and quickly turned it into a cough.

  Mrs. O'Brien glared at her then fixed her eyes on me. "Well, that was a huge disappointment. What does yours say, Sally?"

  "Mrs. O'Brien, why don't I save this one for another customer," I suggested.

  She narrowed her eyes. "Be a good sport and open it up. Don't I bring you a ton of business? Didn't my son and his wife order a wedding cake from Josie? And didn't I buy a tray of cookies for the bridal shower?"

  "Okay, okay." Good grief, the woman was impossible. I cracked the cookie open and stared down at the message. "Well, this is a new one. 'Live life outside of the box.'"

  Mrs. O'Brien drew her eyebrows together. "You never disappoint, Sally. What do you think that means?"

  My brain, like the rest of me, was half asleep, but I tried to process it anyway. "I'm guessing that you shouldn't try to confine yourself. Do as you please. Live, laugh, love." A beautiful sentiment, but something told me there was more to it.

  Mrs. O'Brien waited for me to go on and looked disappointed when I didn't elaborate. "Well dear, that sounds nice, but I'm sure there must be a more ominous meaning. Something bad will happen today. I'm sure of it."

  "For goodness sake," Josie sputtered. "Must you always be the customer of doom and gloom? Isn't Mrs. Gavelli bad enough?"

  "Hey," Mrs. O'Brien retorted. "Don't ever compare me to Johnny's grandmother. That woman is evil. Remember, this is Sally we're talking about. Everyone in town knows that death follows her wherever she goes. Sort of like her father."

  The woman with the gray hair joined her in a giggle at my expense. I bristled inwardly but said nothing. Normally I would attempt to laugh it off, but I wasn't in the mood today. I gave them both a little wave and disappeared into the back room where my cookie disaster awaited me. I began to scrape the icing off the cookies, which were supposed to be decorated like Easter eggs for a Holy Thursday celebration. Instead, they looked more like geeky, ghostly smiley faces.

  The bells over the front door jingled with the women's departure, and Josie joined me a minute later. "Don't let those nosy biddies get to you, Sal."

  "They think I'm a magnet for death," I complained. The last time I'd been involved in a murder was at Christmas, and I'd been nine months pregnant. Before Cookie
was born, I'd promised Mike that I'd stay out of trouble and investigations, but in all fairness, it wasn't my fault. I didn't go looking for trouble or dead bodies. They just always seemed to know where to find me.

  "Nah." Josie went to the three electric mixers we kept on the counter and started tossing ingredients into a metal bowl for her famous no-bake peanut butter cookies. "They're just jealous. Their lives aren't half as exciting as yours."

  I gave a snort. "Mine isn't exactly anything to brag about lately. Mike and I are always tired, we argue about stupid things, and our daughter thrives on keeping us awake every night."

  Josie removed her cell from her jeans pocket. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but I'm going to call Dodie to see if she can come in for the afternoon. You need to go home and get some sleep. You're not any good to the bakery like this."

  Maybe I should have been insulted, but I only felt gratitude instead. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

  She gave me a sly wink. "Go home, Sal. You need it. Then call Mike to leave work early and have a little romantic interlude before you pick up Cookie."

  I made a face. "That's the last thing on our minds these days."

  Josie winked. "It may be the last thing on yours, but definitely not on his. Trust me. He is a man, after all."

  I hung my apron on one of the metal hooks and grabbed my sweatshirt. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything." I started toward the back door, which led to the alley, then thought better of it. I hoisted my purse over my shoulder, hurried over to Josie's side, and crushed her with a bear hug. "Thanks, Jos."

  The bells on the front door were set in motion again. Josie blew me a kiss as she left the room. "Pleasant dreams, kiddo."

  The sun was shining, and for the middle of April, it was a beautiful spring day with the temperature hovering at sixty degrees. It wasn't unlikely for us to still get snow at this time of the year, but for once it seemed that spring might be right on track. Any other day I would have wanted to sit on my deck with a lemonade, enjoying the sun cascading upon my face. But today it was the thought of my warm, comfortable bed that excited me to no end.