Icing on the Casket

by Catherine Bruns

  I decided to beat him to the punch. "We didn't do anything wrong. And there's no fire. Josie told the 9-1-1 operator on the phone, so they're wasting their time."

  He lifted his eyebrows. "They have to check it out either way."

  Without further comment, he held the door open then followed Zach and me inside. For a second, I was foolish enough to believe that would be the end of it, but after a quick word with the firefighters, Brian grabbed me by the arm and pulled me into the viewing room.

  "Let go!" I tried to wriggle free, but he was having none of it. He slammed the door shut and then whirled to face me. His green eyes had darkened, and I could visualize smoke pouring out of his ears.

  "Tell me this," he seethed. "Why is it that disaster follows everywhere you go?"

  Josie opened the door. "Okay to come in?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "No," Brian growled.

  "It's not her fault," Josie said quickly. "We came here to look for my bracelet. I think I dropped it—"

  He threw his hands up in the air. "Just stop. It's always something like that with you two. I was foolish enough to believe you'd stay out of this and mind your own business after what happened at Mrs. Gavelli's house last night. I should have known better. You two can't keep your noses out of any murder investigation in this town. While we're at it, don't you have a business to run?"

  Josie glared at him. "Don't worry about the bakery. It's in good hands." She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  Brian's nostrils flared. He reached down, removed his badge from his uniform shirt, and then held it out to me. "Here you go. It's obvious that you and your friend here think you can do a better job than the police at finding Eddie's murder, so please, feel free to take over."

  The action shocked me. Sure, Brian had been ticked off at me for interfering in prior investigations, but he'd never behaved like this before. Everyone had their limit, but he needed to understand where I was coming from.

  "How do you think I feel?" I shot back. "I didn't want to be involved in Eddie's murder. I was only going to ask a few questions to help my father. I promised Mike I'd stay away from investigating after Cookie was born, and guess what? There's no winning for me! I'm like the Pied Piper of dead bodies because they follow me everywhere. Now someone is targeting me, and I have no choice but to be involved."

  "Sally." Brian gritted his teeth in exasperation.

  "No!" I pointed a finger at him. "You're going to listen."

  Josie was visibly impressed. "You tell him, girl."

  I blew out a breath and tried to calm myself. "I'm not trying to do your job. Believe me, I happen to have plenty of faith in you and the police department. You've saved my life more than once, remember. But don't tell me to walk away because it's too late for that. So perhaps we can find a way to help each other and somehow get justice for Eddie. Is that okay with you?"

  "Don't be so hard on her." Josie put an arm around my shoulders.

  Brian sighed in resignation. "All right. Tell me exactly what happened when you arrived today."

  I gave him the quick, condensed story. As I was finishing up, a tap sounded on the door, and Adam came in followed by Zach.

  "I just questioned him." Adam nodded at the elderly man. "He said he ran as soon as the firecracker came through the window."

  "I didn't know he could move that fast," Josie remarked.

  Zach's face flushed. "Do you think that whoever threw the firecracker is the same person who killed Eddie?"

  Brian gave him a strange look. "We can't be sure, but it's a possibility."

  "I see." The elderly man seemed uncomfortable. Josie shot me a questioning look. Did Zach know more than he was letting on?

  Brian watched us, his eyes narrowed. "First Mrs. Gavelli's house. Now the funeral home. What do you think this means, ladies?"

  "That someone dislikes Mrs. Gavelli and funeral homes?" Josie teased. "But there's a lot of people who fall into that category."

  The color rose in Brian's neck.

  "She's only kidding," I said.

  Brian folded his arms over his chest. "It's bad luck on Mrs. Gavelli's part that she lives next door to a certain Italian family. Would you agree?"

  "Oh fine," I grumbled. "Yes, someone's angry that Dad and I have been asking around about Eddie's death."

  "Very good," he mocked. "I'm glad to see that you're paying attention here."

  I snapped my fingers. "Wait a second. Maybe whoever did this wasn't intentionally trying to do damage to the funeral parlor."

  Brian shot me a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

  "Josie told me so herself. The M-80 at Mrs. Gavelli's could have burned her house down. But this was a standard firecracker. What if whoever tossed the firecracker through the window was just trying to scare us and not cause a lot of damage here?"

  Brian mulled this over. "Good observation. You may have a valid point."

  "What's going on?"

  We turned around to see Charlene standing in the doorway. She was dressed in all black with a wide brimmed hat, full-length black leather coat, and matching boots. It was the perfect wardrobe for a funeral. Her eyes were puffy and red, as if she'd been crying.

  "Miss Jones. Where did you come from?" Brian asked.

  Charlene looked confused. "I came in through the back of the building like I always do. It's nearest to my work area." She glanced around at us. "What's going on? There's no wake today, but I do have a body to prepare. It's always nice to have an audience."

  "Someone threw a firecracker through the front window," Brian explained. "Do you know anything about it?"

  Charlene stabbed a finger into her chest. "Me? Why would I know anything about it? What are you implying, Officer?"

  "I'm not implying anything," Brian said calmly. "I wondered if you might have seen anyone suspicious on your way in."

  "Oh." Charlene blushed. "Sorry, I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." She looked around the room again. "Is Linda here?"

  "Zach said she went to meet with Arthur." I turned to reaffirm this with Zach, but he'd slipped out of the room.

  "He's outside talking on his cell phone," Josie said.

  "Then it's true." Charlene's face hardened. "She really is going to sell the place to him. I can't say I'm surprised, but I won't work for that man. He's a sleaze. Nothing at all like his brother."

  Brian edged closer to her. "Do you think Arthur could have been responsible for his brother's death?"

  Charlene wrinkled her nose as if a putrid smell had invaded the room. "I didn't think so before, but now I'm not so sure. He just wouldn't let up on Eddie. And Linda's weak. She never liked the business and didn't give a damn about Eddie's feelings. Yesterday she—" Charlene hesitated and didn't finish the sentence.

  Brian latched on to her reaction. "Is there anything else you'd care to tell me?"

  "I heard Linda on the phone with someone last night. She thought I'd left but I had to come back for my sweater." Her eyes sparkled with mischief, as if she had a secret. "She was crying and everything. I heard her tell the person on the other end of the line that she didn't have it and begged them to understand."

  "Have what? Money?" Josie mused out loud. "Maybe she owed someone dough? Or it could have been a bill collector."

  "It all fits," I said. "She needs money badly, so she's selling the place to Arthur. I hope she at least gets a fair price."

  Charlene bit into her lower lip. "Personally, I hope she gets zilch. Nada. A big zero. Eddie had a heart of gold, and she stomped all over it." She hoisted her purse over her shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a friend waiting."

  After Charlene had left the room, Josie rubbed her arms as if for warmth. "That chick gives me goosebumps. Maybe it's just me, but the way that she calls a dead person her friend is creepy."

  "Charlene was trying hard to make Linda look like a viable suspect," I remarked.

  Brian leaned against the door. "What are you getting at, Sally?"

  "I'
m not sure," I confessed. "She hated Linda and adored Eddie. We know that Charlene was carrying a torch for him, so would she really do away with him?"

  "Maybe they were carrying on," Josie proposed, "and he refused to leave Linda for her. She got angry and killed him."

  "My father insists that Eddie wouldn't do such a thing. Wally also said that Eddie had resisted her advances. So why lie about it?"

  Brian's shoulders sagged. "All right, I wasn't planning to tell you this, but we got Eddie's autopsy back yesterday."

  "Were you able to find anything? I asked. "I was under the impression that the embalming might have messed with the results."

  "It's always a possibility, but luckily, no, not in this case. We learned that Eddie died from cyanide poisoning. It was something he either ate or drank. Cyanide works more quickly than any other type of poison. Eddie would have been dead within minutes of ingesting it."

  "The killer watched him die." An icicle formed between my shoulder blades. What type of lunatic were we dealing with? The world could be a dark and evil place, but I still held on to the belief that most people were good. It was upsetting how these psychos always found their way to Colwestern. Even worse was realizing that the person who had killed Eddie was someone he had worked with at one time or another. A person he had trusted.

  "We're going to find the person who did this." Brian looked at me, as if guessing my thoughts. "Sally, I know that you won't leave this alone, so I'm asking you to please be careful. Someone would be only too happy to place you inside a coffin as well."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Gianna reached for another fudgy delight from the plate in front of her. It was her third one in the last fifteen minutes, a clear indication of how agitated she was.

  "I don't know how much more of this I can take, Sal," she confessed as she licked the fudge frosting off the sugar cookie's surface. "She's driving me bananas. I got up at three o'clock in the morning to get a drink of water and found her in the kitchen rearranging my cabinet shelves."

  I sipped my hated decaf. "You knew this was going to happen. Nicoletta could drive Mother Theresa crazy."

  "Truth." Gianna nibbled around the cookie's edge and made her way to the center. "Do you know what else? She said that Johnny looks like a walking skeleton. It's obvious that I'm starving him to death. Nicoletta said he's lost weight since we got married because I don't know how to cook."

  "Sweetheart, you know that I love you more than anything. Believe me, Nicoletta drives me crazy too, but she's right. You don't know how to cook. Neither do I for that matter."

  Gianna's jaw locked in a determined manner. "Well, I can make hamburgers. And I made macaroni and cheese the other night."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Nuking a box of Stouffers doesn't count."

  "Oh whatever." She reached for another cookie. "Give me some credit. I'm trying."

  I leaned back in my chair. The sun was in full glory this morning, its beam of light shining through the bakery's front window and basking me in its warmth. I had convinced myself that the bright, cloudless blue sky was a good omen and nothing bad would happen today. No more dead bodies, no fire bombings, and no sightings of Mrs. Gavelli. The last one pertained to me but not my sister.

  "I think it's great that you're trying, but Nicoletta's talking about real cooking. Lasagna, pasta e fagioli, braciole. The dishes that you and I can only dream about cooking someday while she and Grandma can make them blindfolded." No one could match our grandmother in the Italian cuisine department, but Mrs. Gavelli was probably a close second.

  Gianna swallowed the rest of her coffee in one gulp. "Nicoletta told me that she was making dinner tonight and wouldn't take no for an answer. I don't like anyone ordering me around in my own home, but when she told me what she was making, I caved." She blew out a sigh. "I sold out for stuffed peppers."

  I patted her hand. "Hey, I would have done it for a frozen cheesecake." My phone buzzed, and I glanced down at the screen. Our parents' landline. "Hello."

  "Hi, sweetheart." My mother gave a halfhearted giggle in my ear. I raised an eyebrow at Gianna's questioning stare and whispered, "Mom."

  She rolled her eyes in return.

  "What's up?" I asked.

  Mom paused for a second. "Your father is on his way over to the bakery. He's determined to get to the bottom of who killed Eddie and needs your help, darling. Please don't disappoint him."

  "I'll do what I can."

  She blew out a shaky breath. "Sweetheart, I'm really worried about him. He's not himself these days. He only had one piece of your grandmother's cheesecake this morning."

  Okay, this was terrible, but my main concern now was not that Dad had only consumed one piece of Grandma Rosa's cheesecake but the fact that I hadn't been invited over to sample any. I sincerely hoped there were leftovers. "Maybe he wasn't feeling well."

  "No," she insisted. "There's more. He can't—" She paused again.

  Oh, good grief. If this had anything to do with their love life, I might lose my breakfast. "Mom, it's okay. You don't have to tell me."

  Gianna shot me a questioning look, but I shook my head at her.

  "He can't blog." My mother hiccupped back a sob.

  "What do you mean he can't blog?"

  Mom released a long, pent-up breath into the phone, as if she'd been holding it for an eternity. "He can't write. That's how much Eddie's death is affecting Daddy. He can't do what he's always been meant to do. His heart just isn't in it anymore."

  Gianna groaned out loud. "Gee, the world will come to an end if Dad can't blog."

  I lifted a finger to my lips and hoped my mother hadn't heard her. "He'll be okay. I'm sure it's just a temporary thing."

  "I wish I could believe that," she sighed. "But it's a daily ritual for your father. Why, he's so organized. The first thing he does in the morning, after he has breakfast and a piece of pie or cake, is to sit down with his coffee and write his daily blog. Then he tweets, Instagrams, and posts to his Facebook author page. Why, Daddy's followers look forward to his unique thoughts. When there was no blog yesterday, they started panicking. They began messaging him, worried that he was ill."

  I stared at the phone in disbelief. Who were these people? Okay, I would understand this behavior if we were talking about J.K. Rowling, but not my father. Yes, he'd written a book and self-published it, which was admirable, but 99 percent of his sales had come from the Colwestern community itself. He called himself a bestselling author and compared himself to Stephen King when he was about two million copies short. He claimed that our town loved him and that his book was unique. The latter was definitely true. My family always gave the town grapevine fresh dirt to thrive on.

  "I'm sure he'll be fine, Mom. Maybe he just needs to take a breather. Everyone has to take a break now and then."

  "Well, I hope so," she sniffed. "I just put the baby down for a nap. She's such a little angel. Sweetheart, your grandmother wants to talk to you. Why don't you and Mike come for dinner tonight? She's making lasagna."

  "We'll be there." I hated myself for asking this. "Is there any cheesecake left?"

  There was a muffled sound on the other end as my grandmother came on the line. "But of course there is. How are you, cara mia?"

  "I'm…managing." That was an understatement. "How's Cookie?"

  "She is sleeping. She had a bottle of milk and some cereal and went out like a bulb."

  "That's light, Grandma."

  "Whatever. The solids will make her sleep better, cara mia. But only a little cereal for now. In a few weeks, you can try some of my applesauce."

  "As long as I get some too." Grandma's homemade applesauce, like everything else she made, was amazing.

  "But of course," she replied.

  "Thanks for watching Cookie today." I clutched the phone tightly between my hands. "Grandma, Mom and Dad seem to be acting a bit weirder than usual."

  "That is not possible," she said. "They cannot get any weirder."

  "Is everything o
kay?"

  My grandmother grunted. "Those two are regular pazzas. What if your papa cannot blog? Oh, the world is certain to end."

  "I can't believe he has so many people depending on his posts," I mused.

  "What can I tell you?" Grandma Rosa asked. "I do not understand it either. The world has gone to hell in a wastebasket."

  I had to stop and think about that one for a minute. "Um, I think that's handbasket, Grandma."

  "That is good too," she agreed. "Your papa should be there shortly. I am glad. I need a break from that man. Your papa is worried about Eddie's legacy. He said that Linda wants to talk to him privately about the funeral home's future. He would like you to go with him."

  "It's really none of our business what she decides to do with the place."

  "Yes, I know this. But try to tell your father that."

  I said goodbye and clicked off. Gianna was talking to Josie, but they both stopped and looked over at me.

  "Let me guess," Gianna said. "Dad can't function as a blogger again until he finds Eddie's killer."

  I reached for one of Josie's cappuccino cookies, already having forgotten my earlier resolution to diet and exercise today. The cookies were a new creation of hers made with one teaspoon of coffee and cocoa powder, rolled in sugar for an extra sparkle. I was craving coffee like crazy, and every little bit helped. "Something like that."

  Gianna shut her eyes. "Just when I think he can't get any weirder."

  Josie waved her wrist at me. The tiny rubies sparkled off the sunlight streaming through the window.

  "You found your bracelet!" I said excitedly. "Where was it?"

  She sat down at the table and removed it from her arm, then placed it in a small box. "Under the back seat of my van. It must have fallen off when I put Robbie in his car seat."

  "I'm so glad you didn't lose it."

  We all sat there for a minute, enjoying the peace and quiet. My bakery had been bustling all morning and Josie and I were glad to be off our feet during the temporary lull.

  Josie propped her hands up on her elbows. "What's your latest guess about Eddie's killer?"