Late Edition

by Fern Michaels

  when McGullicutty led

  authorities to his killer.

  Another odd twist in the

  story was that the victim

  died at the hands of a

  daughter whose existence

  he had only just learned of.

  In an operation

  orchestrated by society

  widow Ida McGullicutty,

  evidence located in the

  basement of the alleged

  killer’s Chicago home led

  authorities to reexamine the

  cause of death. Ricin, a

  protein extracted from the

  castor bean and toxic when

  ingested, proved to be the

  real cause of death, and

  Mr. McGullicutty’s death

  was reclassified as a

  homicide. His daughter has

  been charged with murder

  in the second degree in his

  death and is being held on

  a five-million-dollar bond.

  “I plan to run the rest of the story next week, but I thought Ida would want to see this first. I’m not reporting it as I normally would. Not that this isn’t spectacular as it is. I just didn’t add all the paranormal stuff. Might even gain The Informer a few new readers,” Abby said.

  Ida placed the copy of The Informer on the table. “I knew you would handle this with as much discretion as your paper allows. Thank you for that. With any luck, the other tabloids will not do any sensationalized follow-ups.”

  Toots refilled their coffee mugs. “I told you so. Now the world will know about Nancy, not that it matters. You never suspected that Thomas was cheating on you, did you?”

  Ida shook her head. “No, I didn’t. Looking back now, I see there were signs, but I chose to ignore them. He traveled so much for his company. It would’ve been easy to do. I was so busy with my own life, I didn’t take time to stop and examine my marriage. I’m sorry that Thomas died the way he did, but sadly his death has opened up a new chapter in my life. I never had any desire to go into business. Though I still love photography, I wouldn’t want to traipse around the world, taking photographs of war zones. I do believe my sense of light and color can assist me when I prepare the dying. Did you tell them, Mavis?” Ida asked.

  “Tell us what?” Sophie piped up.

  “No, I thought I would wait and let you have that honor,” Mavis said in her usual sweet voice.

  “Do we need a drumroll?” Toots asked.

  “Mom! Go on, Ida. Don’t pay any attention to her. What’s your news?”

  All eyes were focused on Ida. They’d come so very far this past year. Each one of them had created a new and exciting life for her golden years.

  “Tonight Mavis and I are going to do our first paid official layout. That’s what we call it. With the certification we spent a week getting, we can do this at any funeral home, hospitals, wherever. Actually, we’re thinking about making up brochures and sending them to funeral parlors and morgues all over the country. Of course, I’ll take the photographs and do the makeup. We’re going to need a few volunteers for this.”

  “What?” Sophie cried out. “Volunteers! Are you nuts?” She held her hand out in front of her. “Don’t answer that. You’ve come way too far.”

  “I think she meant to say models,” Mavis added.

  “As in living and breathing models?” Abby teased.

  “Exactly, dear,” Ida said, then went into further detail. “I thought you girls could pose. You know, wear Mavis’s designs. I’ll do your makeup, hair, and nails, snap a few pictures. A catalogue really. We plan to list Good Mourning, clothes for the living, so it wouldn’t be like this is a complete death . . . thing. I’ll be using colors from the Drop-Dead Gorgeous line. Having live models will increase my sales, I’m sure.”

  When they had digested Ida’s words, they all doubled over with laughter.

  “Yeah, it’s not like your client can say, ‘Hey, I don’t resemble that woman in the brochure,’ and ask for her money back,” Sophie joked.

  “True, but her family members can,” Ida said. “I want them to recommend my services.”

  More laughter from the women as they clustered around the table.

  “Why don’t Toots and I come to the funeral? We can view your work firsthand, act like we’re long-lost friends or something,” Sophie suggested.

  Mavis looked at Ida. “It’s up to you,” she said.

  “I think it’s a fantastic idea. If we’re going to do this right, Mavis, we need to get a move on. The viewing starts at seven o’clock tonight. I want to have enough time to work with our . . . client.”

  “Yes, I agree. I need to stop by the factory and pick up a small peach dress. This poor little woman we’re sending off only weighed ninety-eight pounds. I’m sure we’ll have to stuff her a bit.” Mavis said this as though it were completely normal.

  “Why don’t you drive the Thunderbird? Take the top off, but remember, Ida, Mavis has to drive. You are not to get behind the wheel of any vehicle, and I mean any vehicle, until you have a driver’s license. I don’t care what state it’s from as long as it’s legal. Are we clear on that, Ida?”

  “Crystal.” Ida saluted Toots. “I haven’t had time to study that horrible manual I got from the Internet when we were in Charleston, but I promise to get to it as soon as I have this business established. So, Mavis, let’s go. I can’t wait to see what the family thinks.”

  Mavis and Ida gave Abby a hearty hug, then gave the girls the name of the funeral home and directions.

  “I can’t wait,” Sophie called out as they stepped out the front door.

  Toots, Abby, and Sophie relocated to the deck as soon as the two left.

  “We’re obsessed with the dead, each and every one of us, don’t you think?” Sophie said fretfully.

  “We’re simply trying to make things better for the living. At least that’s the way I look at it,” Toots said.

  “Mom’s right, Soph. No one, at least no one I know, thinks you guys are totally deranged, whacked out, off your rocker, or whatever you want to call it,” Abby joked. “If you’re doing something you like, and it’s helping others in some small way, what more could you want?”

  “You’re such a smart daughter,” Toots said.

  “Yeah, she is. Takes after me,” Sophie added.

  “Bull,” Toots said.

  “Shit,” Sophie finished.

  “Enough,” Abby stated.

  They spent the next hour reminiscing, and planning, going in all directions at the speed of light and at the same time knowing their future could turn on the spin of a coin.

  Chapter 39

  Upon arriving at Parker’s Funeral Home, Mavis and Ida were a bit nervous, yet excited, too. They had more than five hours to prepare Mrs. Wilkinson for viewing.

  Mavis picked out the peach dress for the elderly woman.

  Upon seeing her, Mavis’s eyes filled with unshed tears. “She was such a tiny woman. The family said she simply died in her sleep of old age. She was ninety-six. This is how it should be,” she said as she prepared to remove the plastic from under her body.

  “She’s so cold,” Ida said, a trace of fear in her voice.

  “Yes, poor dear, she is. But that’s where you come in. You’re going to make her look like she’s just gone to sleep.”

  “Did the family leave a picture?” Ida asked.

  They had learned in their class to ask the family, whenever possible, to provide a recent picture of their loved one. This would enable them to create as close to a natural appearance as possible.

  “Yes, it’s here somewhere,” Mavis said, searching the small room reserved for laying out the body. She spied it next to Mrs. Wilkinson’s dentures. “Oh no! They’ve forgotten to put her teeth back in her mouth. Look at this!” Mavis exclaimed.

  Ida stepped behind the casket, where Mavis held upper and lower denture plates in her hand. “Let me see the picture.” Mavis handed the
five-by-seven color photo, something probably taken for the woman’s church roster, to Ida. “This is awful. She doesn’t look presentable without her teeth in place.”

  “What do you think we should do? I don’t know if there is enough time to call someone to fix her mouth. Mr. Parker said he would be gone for a few hours.”

  Ida took a deep breath. “We’ll have to do this ourselves. We don’t have a choice. If the family sees this little woman’s mouth looking like she’s sucking on a lemon, they’re not going to recommend our services. We have to make this first showing our best. Let me look at her,” Ida said, returning to stand at the head of the coffin. She put on a pair of latex gloves, and with her thumb and forefinger, she tried to open Mrs. Wilkinson’s mouth. “She’s not cooperating,” Ida said to lighten the mood.

  “Don’t you remember, Ida? At the demonstration in San Francisco, the mortician sewed up the mouth so that the corpse would not look slack-jawed. Here, take this pair of scissors, snip the thread, and insert the dentures. Then I’ll resew what was snipped off.”

  Mavis smiled but remained at her side while Ida snipped the thread and attempted to insert the poor dear’s dentures in her mouth.

  Carefully, Ida pried Mrs. Wilkinson’s mouth open, then tried to place her bottom dentures in her mouth. “She must’ve had a large mouth before, because these aren’t going in as easily as they should,” Ida said. A few adjustments later and she was able to force the bottom plate in Mrs. Wilkinson’s mouth. “Okay, hand me the top dentures.”

  Mavis, acting as Ida’s new assistant, placed the upper dentures in her outstretched gloved hand. Mavis had a flashback to the time when Ida wore a latex glove as part of her attire. Hopefully, those days were long gone and would never return.

  Holding the bottom denture, Ida tried to slide the upper denture in place. She wiggled it a few times and managed to force the upper dentures into her mouth.

  “I’m glad I have all of my own teeth. Herbert had his teeth, too. He was such a stickler about flossing at night.”

  “That’s wonderful to know, Mavis,” Ida commented dryly. “I’m not sure I could live without that extra tidbit of knowledge.”

  “Ida, for Pete’s sake, I was just talking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf.”

  Ida looked up at Mavis, snapping, “Do you want to do this?”

  “Uh, no thank you. It was your idea.”

  “Then be quiet,” Ida said.

  “You don’t have to be hateful, Ida. Are you sure you can do this?”

  Ida removed her hand from Mrs. Wilkinson’s chin. When she did, her mouth hung open like a dark hole leading to a cave. “Mavis, something is not right here. Look at this.”

  Mavis stepped up to the head of the coffin again. She looked at Mrs. Wilkinson’s mouth, and it did appear to be rather . . . well, stuffed.

  “Unless her mouth was twice the size in life, I don’t think we’re going to be able to hide these extra-large teeth. They must belong to someone else. Possibly Mr. Parker switched them with another . . . client’s?” Ida stated.

  Mavis’s eyes quadrupled in size. “It can’t be! It says right here . . .” Mavis scurried around, searching for a paper from the funeral director; when she found it, she skimmed its contents. “It states right here that she specifically wanted to be buried with teeth.”

  “Let me see that,” Ida said. She read through the instructions, then passed the paper back to Ida. “Yes, it does, but it doesn’t say they have to be her dentures. We can’t screw this up, Mavis. We’ll be has-beens before we’ve even started. I think I can make this work.” Ida snapped off her latex gloves. Carefully, Ida maneuvered the dentures until Mrs. Wilkinson’s mouth was closed. Then Mavis resewed the mouth so that it would not pop open.

  Ida propped a pillow under Mrs. Wilkinson’s neck. Hands shaking, Ida carefully outlined Mrs. Wilkinson’s lips with Pulse-Less Peach lip liner. She stood back to view her work.

  “There,” she said, feeling quite proud of herself. “Hand me that tube of lipstick.”

  Again, Mavis did as instructed.

  Using a lip brush, Ida carefully filled in Mrs. Wilkinson’s lips with the peachy lipstick. She added a touch of clear gloss, then blotted her lips with a tissue. When she was finished, she stepped back to admire her work. “Well, what do you think?” she asked Mavis.

  Mavis stood at the foot of the casket. “I think poor Mrs. Wilkinson looks like she’s wearing someone else’s dentures. Remember that show with the horse . . . Mister. Ed? I think she looks like that horse.”

  Ida huffed, “If you can do any better, then I suggest you try. I’ve still got to do her eye makeup. Do you think you can paint her nails with the Pulse-Less Peach? It matches her dress perfectly,” Ida said, still admiring her handiwork.

  “Of course.”

  For the next two hours, Ida and Mavis tended to Mrs. Wilkinson. When they were finished, she looked a bit more colorful, and a bit more . . . lively. The only imperfection: the teeth were still two sizes too large. If they were lucky, the family would be so overcome with grief, they wouldn’t notice.

  They packed up their cosmetics, with enough time to visit the ladies’ room so they could touch up their own makeup, though they didn’t use anything from The Drop-Dead Gorgeous line. It was almost time to meet with the family and the mourners.

  Mavis fussed with her lipstick, added a bit more blush to her ever-thinning face, then spritzed her wrists with Joy perfume. Ida reapplied her own lipstick, tucked her pageboy in place, and washed her hands. Twice. She saw Mavis watching her with a worried look on her face.

  “Before you ask, no, I am not having a germ issue. My hands just felt extra yucky from touching those dentures. Who would’ve thought me, of all people, would touch a set of dentures, then cram them into someone’s mouth?” Ida asked, looking quite pleased with herself.

  She hadn’t painted a pretty visual at all, Mavis thought. She was becoming like Sophie. That wasn’t a bad thing. Well, not that bad.

  “I’m so proud of you, dear. But there’s something I’ve been meaning to say. Do you remember how you told us about that shrine room Nancy had and what Goebel heard her say? I’ve been thinking about it, and if she intended to kill you all along, then why did she end up waiting until more than a year had passed? We know that’s what happened because of when she hired that detective to find you. I now think I have it figured out. It was your OCD that saved your life.”

  “What are you talking about, Mavis? That’s nuts.”

  “No, listen to me. Suppose Nancy came to New York to poison you and found out how you were living, that you were always wearing protective clothing, et cetera. How was she supposed to get to you? You weren’t seeing visitors. You didn’t go out. You certainly didn’t eat in restaurants. So, she went back to Chicago and hoped she would get another shot at you. But the next thing she knew, you had disappeared. Voilà. You may have that fake Dr. Sameer to thank for curing you of your OCD, but you probably have the OCD to thank for keeping you alive until Toots rescued all of us.”

  Ida was still thinking over what Mavis had just said when they stepped out of the ladies’ room and into the hush of the funeral parlor’s main room. Murmurs of condolence could be heard throughout. As though they were in a formal receiving line, Ida and Mavis stood off to the side while the family members each took turns viewing poor Mrs. Wilkinson. Some dabbed at their eyes; some simply patted her thin hands. One woman commented on the color of her nail polish, saying she wished she knew where she could find such a color. Ida wanted to jump up and tell her, but manners dictated that now wasn’t the time.

  They spotted Sophie and Toots as they made their way toward the casket. Each wore one of Mavis’s Good Mourning gray ensembles. As soon as the family members stepped away from the casket, Sophie and Toots came forward, not to say a final good-bye to a dear friend but to see Ida and Mavis’s handiwork.

  Ida and Mavis observed them as they inspected the body of the little old woman. Toots’s smil
e seemed a bit forced, and Sophie’s eyes bugged out of her head like those of a character in an old cartoon.

  They joined them in the corner. As always, Sophie was the first to speak. “My God, Ida, Mavis, that poor woman looks like Marlon Brando in The Godfather! Did you stuff her jaws with socks, or was she just naturally homely?”

  Ida cleared her throat several times to distract Sophie. When she finally caught her attention, Ida whispered to them, “See that elderly man with the walker heading our way? He’s the husband. Be nice.”

  It seemed like it took the old man an hour just to walk to their side of the room. Talking among themselves, they guessed his age to be in the midnineties.

  “Poor old man,” Mavis said.

  “Why do you think everyone is poor? The old coot could be loaded,” Sophie said.

  Mavis wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just a term of endearment.”

  “Sounds more like a financial conclusion if you ask me,” Sophie shot back.

  “No one asked you, Sophie, so be quiet,” Toots admonished. “Here he comes. Act like you have manners.”

  The four women waited patiently as the elderly man approached them. He was hanging on to his walker as if his life depended on it.

  When he finally managed to drag himself and his walker within speaking distance, the old man, not much bigger than his dearly departed wife, dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

  He leaned on his walker for support, took a deep breath, then gummed the words, “I gave you the wrong teeth.”

  Ida and Mavis looked like they’d been kicked in the mouth; Toots was stunned; and of course, Sophie, being Sophie, cackled so loud the funeral director came to see if she was all right.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I think my friends might have some explaining to do.”

  Mavis looked at Ida, and Ida looked back as if to say she hadn’t a clue.

  “Yes, the family asked me if we forgot to remove some medical apparatus from her mouth,” Mr. Parker said.

  “No, they didn’t. They simply got the wrong set of dentures, that’s all,” Sophie informed him.

  The old man gummed a smile. “Well, isn’t that something. Old Martha said that when she died, I was to make sure to bury her with teeth.”