Again, Tim didn’t answer, but merely stared at his neighbor.
“I said, “Where is it?” you walking corpse, and you better answer me real quick,” he raised his voice.
Spencer moved subtly toward the front of the room, waiting to see how things were going to play out before deciding whether or not to quietly intervene.
“What a shock. Steve causing drama in an entirely inappropriate setting,” Paul remarked, from behind the disgruntled guest’s left shoulder, seething.
“Seriously? What’s your problem now?” Fiona chimed in, hands on hips.
“Who did this? It’s gone and I know that somebody took it, cuz she never took it off, even after we broke up. It was the nicest thing she ever had,” Steve ranted, slurring just a bit.
“What are you talking about, you raving maniac?” Fiona demanded. “Why do you always have to ruin everything? Can’t someone throw this idiot out?” she asked, looking around.
“Someone stole Paulette’s engagement ring,” he shouted, his eyes red. “It was all she had, and some heartless lowlife took it right off her cold dead hand,” and with that, he reached into the casket, lifted up her stiff, nearly solidified hand and let it fall back on her stomach with an audible thunk. Fiona gasped and Paul’s jaw clenched while he evaluated whether or not to tackle his former brother-in-law.
Tim’s eyes went wide, both at the thought that someone had violated the dead by stealing something out of the casket, and with fury that Steve had dared to touch his handiwork. He came around to the open part, and peered inside, thinking he’d spot the ring lying somewhere against the pale satin. He knew the ring had been on Paulette’s finger, he’d cleaned it and put it on her himself, and he also took a photo of every deceased person, immediately prior to the viewing, so that he could get an objective view to see if anything needed to be tweaked. Fetching the bag that he brought with him to every funeral, he grabbed his camera and scrolled through the photos on it until he found the ones of Paulette, which clearly showed her wearing the ring.
“It was on here just when everyone was arriving,” he insisted softly, but no one heard him.
They were all busy arguing with Steve, who had gone into a tirade about honor and values and dead people. Fortunately, Chas chose that moment to arrive on the scene, and, with Spencer’s help, he restored order before the chaos escalated into violence, by promising to get to the bottom of things after the memorial service concluded.
Reverend Parsons gave his tiny congregation a scathing glance over the top of his wire-rimmed spectacles before beginning the ceremony, ensuring their silence and cooperation, at least for the duration of the service. When he dispensed with the prescribed amount of platitudes, prayers and homilies, Paul came forward with the intention of speaking in a more personal way about his twin, but was overcome with emotion, and had to be escorted from the podium by a stone-faced Fiona, who was much more pragmatic about the realities of life and death.
Her own twin, Filip, had drowned on a family camping trip when she was five, and all deaths since then had paled in comparison, even that of her mother, who was killed in a car crash when Fiona was just twelve, and that of her father, six months later, when he hanged himself in the basement.
When the ceremony at last was mercifully over, Spencer quietly hinted to Steve that he and his date could be first in the buffet line if they left while Chas questioned Tim and the other relatives regarding Paulette’s ring. He and Chas had agreed on the strategy of “subtly divide and conquer” in order to keep the situation from escalating again. The timing was perfect – Steve had eaten a heaping plateful, belched loudly enough to shake the rafters, and escorted his date out of the Inn, before Fiona, Paul and the rest entered the ballroom.
Chas and Spencer stood in the back of the ballroom as the rest of the guests filled their plates and milled about talking quietly.
“Think we’ll have any more problems?” Spencer asked softly.
“Nah, I think the agitator left. We should be good now.”
“So much for a dignified passing,” the Marine commented, shaking his head.
“Yeah. Makes me wonder if there’s something behind it that goes way beyond a missing ring.”
“Murder?”
“Maybe,” the detective frowned. “I’m going to have a private chat with the mortician. The guy is good. He seems to notice things that Nichimura misses,” he replied, referring to the coroner.
“I think he already packed up and left to go cremate.”
“Even better. No one will be around and he’ll be able to speak freely.”
Chapter 8
Fiona McCamish drove her ramshackle little car home from her sister’s funeral, wishing that she could cry, thinking that that kind of release must feel so good, but feeling so numb that it wasn’t even a possibility. She hadn’t cried in years. In fact, if she thought really hard about it, the last time that she had cried was probably when her twin brother had died.
She parked in front of her shabby apartment building, let herself into her sparsely decorated unit, and plopped down onto her well-worn red chenille couch. Pulling her sister’s engagement ring out of her purse, she placed it on her pointer finger – it was far too large to fit on her ring finger – spinning it round and round, just like Paulette used to do.
Things had gotten a bit heated between Fi and her brother before she left the Inn. She hated that he had accused her of stealing the ring, even if it was true. She felt that she deserved it, and there was nothing wrong with claiming something that one deserved to have. It’s not like Paulette appreciated it. She only wore it because it was the only thing of value that she’d ever had. It was Fiona’s opinion that Paulette probably only agreed to marry that nasty man so that she’d be sure that she’d be able to keep the ring.
Steve hadn’t been nearly as gross before he came back from Iraq, but her sister had dumped him while he was gone, before she even knew what he’d become. It shouldn’t surprise her, Paulette’s life had been a series of bad decisions. Fiona wasn’t great in the decision-making department herself, but at least hers were deliberate, not seemingly accidental, like her sister’s. There were a few decisions that the “dark” sister had made recently that would cause most people to recoil in horror, but she accepted the reality of her situation and didn’t judge herself by societal measures of normalcy.
**
Paul McCamish was furious. Someone had dared violate his dead twin’s body by stealing from her while she lay still and helpless. He knew that the thief could only be one of two people – either his own grief-stricken sister, who kept her emotions and reasons for doing things bottled up inside, or Paulette’s disgusting ex-husband. It wasn’t right, no matter who did it, but the thought of that Neanderthal, Steve, having his sister’s only valuable possession made him sick, even if the degenerate was the one who had given it to her in the first place.
He didn’t know how to go about figuring out who had made off with the ring. Paul didn’t trust the police. He felt that the bumbling fools couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag, even with a map, which left him to take matters into his own hands. He supposed that the creepy mortician could have taken it, but the odds that a small-town funeral guy would risk his entire business, for the sake of keeping a piece of jewelry that wasn’t worth more than a few thousand dollars, seemed slim.
If he confronted his sister again, she’d just withdraw and stare at him with that black gaze of hers, and if he spoke with Steve, it would most certainly escalate into violence, but he had to find out where his sister’s ring was. He owed her that.
Deep inside he knew that focusing on the missing ring right now was far less painful than thinking about the fact that his twin was dead, so he allowed himself to justify his obsession in the interest of personal sanity.
**
Loud Steve dumped his date at a bus stop on his way home, picked up a couple of six packs of cheap beer, and drank until he passed out on his sweat-stained couch,
his polyester sport coat dribbled with beer and drool. Seeing Paulette’s lifeless body had affected him more than he’d let on, despite the fact that he’d contemplated snuffing her out a few times himself. He vowed that he would find that ring though. He gave it to her, and if anyone should get it after her death, it should be him.
Paulette’s sister had always given him the creeps, with her tattoos and piercings and darkness. He’d bet money that she was the one who had taken the ring. She probably wanted to offer it up as a sacrifice to whatever demons she worshipped. Steve’s fevered imaginings as he drank, gave way to haunted and tortured dreams from which he would’ve woken screaming if he hadn’t been so anesthetized by alcohol.
**
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Detective Chas Beckett said, entering Tim Eckel’s office at the funeral home and shaking his hand.
He’d gone to the mortuary right after the last funeral guest had left the Inn, wanting to make sure that everyone was safely on their way before he left Missy, Echo, Maggie and Spencer to do clean-up. The detective had also done a thorough search of both the parlor and the ballroom, now that both rooms were vacant, and hadn’t turned up a ring, or anything else of interest.
“I didn’t take it,” Tim stared at Chas, leaving no doubt as to the fact that he was telling the truth. “In all my years of preparing the dead, I’ve never even been tempted. It’s just…wrong,” the mortician continued, in a curiously flat tone.
“I know. That’s not why I’m here. My last two cases were determined to be homicides because you picked up on tiny details that Nichimura missed. There’s something off about Paulette McCamish’s death, that I can’t quite put my finger on, and I’m wondering if perhaps she didn’t die from a heart attack after all. She has a contentious family dynamic, an impulsive and explosive ex-husband, and someone in her inner circle who was disrespectful enough to steal from her after her death. It may not add up to murder, but I think it might be worthwhile to at least try harder to rule out that possibility,” Chas explained.
Tim’s expression lightened when he realized that the detective was actually there to ask for his help, rather than to accuse him, and he nearly cracked a smile when the circumstances surrounding Paulette’s death were called into question.
“I’m so glad you asked,” the mortician nodded thoughtfully.
He rolled his leather desk chair over to a short file cabinet that was behind him, against the wall, opened a drawer, and pulled out a file folder. Opening it up, he arranged the photos that he’d taken of Paulette McCamish’s body, prior to preparing it for viewing, in a line in front of the detective. Chas leaned forward, peering carefully at the photos, while Tim stood, pointing out various things with a capped pen.
“These photos were taken before I’d done any preparations on the body. You’ll see here…” he gestured to a close-up of Paulette’s lips. “That there is something caked in the corner of her mouth.”
“Any guesses as to what that might be?”
“Well, her brother said that she had vomited her lunch right before she died, so that’s a possibility, but it looks to me more like congealed saliva,” Tim suggested.
“Frothing?”
“That was my thought,” the mortician nodded. “I took a sample of it, in case it might be needed at some point.”
“Good call. What else?” Chas pored over the photos.
“See the discoloration here, on her stomach? That may indicate that she died face-down, and was rolled onto her back post-mortem. It looks like the blood had started to pool just a bit before she was turned.”
“Why wouldn’t Nichimura have caught that? It seems like it would be pretty basic,” the detective observed, frowning.
“There are a couple of possibilities. The discoloration from pooling sometimes takes a little while to develop, so he may have just examined her too soon and didn’t see it, or…what he said in his report is that he thought she may have bruised herself while thrashing on the floor in the grip of the heart attack,” Tim shrugged.
“Does that ring true to you?”
“From what I’ve observed over the years, no. My guess would be that the body was moved.”
Chas nodded.
“Her brother was with her just before she died, as was her sister. I’m wondering why a family who doesn’t seem to be particularly close suddenly decided to get together for lunch,” the detective mused. “You said you saved a sample of the substance that was caked in the corner of Paulette’s mouth…did you save any others?”
Tim nodded and tried not to smile. “Of course. Part of every funeral contract that I write is a clause that gives me consent to take samples from the body of blood, hair, nails and tissue.”
“Which makes it potentially valuable as evidence, if necessary,” Chas said with a touch of admiration. “That’s a bit…unorthodox.”
“Perhaps,” the mortician nodded. “But I’ve always felt it’s better to err on the side of safety. One never knows when such things might be helpful,” he blinked at the detective.
“Indeed.”
Chapter 9
“Well, that was a harrowing experience,” Echo blew out a breath, recounting the events of the day before as she and Missy munched on cupcakes and funeral leftovers with their coffee. Kel, who was patiently waiting to hear it Echo would finally agree to marry him, had gone to supervise a showing of his new collection in Manhattan, and wouldn’t be joining the duo for the next few mornings.
“I thought it was going to turn into a free-for-all for a little bit,” Missy shook her head.
“Nah, not with Spencer and Chas around, but, yeah, it was icky. I can’t imagine acting the way that those people acted at a funeral. Now I’m really sorry that I asked you to host it here for them,” she looked at Missy ruefully.
“Don’t be. No matter how her family and friends may have behaved, Miss McCamish had a proper funeral. There’s no reason for you to feel badly about that.”
“I suppose. I’m really disappointed in Steve.”
“People handle grief in different ways.”
“I suppose. The younger sister…Phoebe, was it?” Echo frowned, trying to remember.
“Fiona,” Missy supplied.
“Yes, Fiona. She creeped me out. Her eyes were like…dead, or something,” she shuddered.
“Maybe she was just trying really hard to keep a tight lid on her emotions. She’s not the only one who does that sometimes,” Missy gave her a pointed look. “When are you going to put that poor man out of his misery and tell him that you’ll marry him.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be good at it.”
“Good at what?”
“Being married. It seems so hopelessly…adult,” she blinked. “I’ve been single my whole life, and it seems to suit me.”
“Really? Then why do you have a meltdown every so often and complain about being lonely?” Missy challenged gently.
“But, what if we get married and he discovers how cranky and difficult I am and decides that he doesn’t like me anymore?” Echo worried.
Her friend laughed and patted her hand. “Oh, honey, I don’t think that Kel has any illusions about exactly who and what you are. The man worked with you for almost a year, and has deep discussions with you on pretty much a daily basis. He knows what you’re about.”
“I like making my own decisions without input from anyone else.”
“Do you like it more than spending time with someone who makes you happy? And do you honestly think that Kel is going to be disagreeing with you at every turn? C’mon Echo, you know him better than that. You’re just making excuses now. Which will be better…sharing your life with someone who thinks the sun rises and sets in your eyes, or spending every night alone, wishing you’d had the courage to give of yourself completely to another human being?”
“Did he put you up to this?” Echo’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, making her friend chuckle again.
“No, darlin, I’m just doing wha
t I do best…being your voice of reason,” Missy popped a bite of cupcake in her mouth.
“Do you think I should marry him?” Echo bit her lip.
“I think that the two of you would be like peas in a pod, but it doesn’t matter what I think…it’s your decision.”
“Why is being an adult so darn complicated?”
“Because most worthwhile things are,” Missy grinned affectionately at her emotionally timid friend.
Echo took a huge bite of Coffee Carob Cupcake and leaned her head in her hand, staring out the window, wondering what the future might bring.
Chapter 10
Detective Chas Beckett drove toward Fiona McCamish’s apartment to have a little chat with the dark young lady, and was surprised to see Loud Steve’s mini pickup truck come barreling down the road in the opposite direction. Despite the fact that Echo’s neighbor was clearly exceeding the speed limit and perhaps endangering other motorists, Chas continued on his course, simultaneously radioing Steve’s infraction in so that other units could be on the lookout for him.
Pulling into the cracked asphalt parking lot that was littered with trash and being slowly taken over by the weeds that grew up in the cracks, the detective had a distinct feeling that things were not “business as usual” in Fiona’s apartment complex. He mounted the stained cement steps two at a time, and found the second floor apartment that he was looking for, not at all surprised when the door to the unit was hanging slightly ajar.
Unsnapping the leather strap on the holster of his weapon, he knocked on the door frame and called out.
“Miss McCamish?” No answer. He called out two more times, then announced who he was and that he’d be coming in.
Swinging the door inward, he entered the apartment and found that someone had turned it upside down. The red chenille sofa was lying on its back, the cushions slashed and the stuffing torn out. The carpet had been pulled away from the walls, and every drawer in the kitchen had been dumped on the floor. Moving down the hall through the apartment, Chas saw that the same technique had been employed on the bathroom and bedroom. Fiona’s mattress had been shredded, as had her pillows, and every item had been emptied from her closet and dresser.
White Chocolate Murder: A Frosted Love Cozy Mystery - Book 31 (Frosted Love Cozy Mysteries) Page 3