Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

by Denise Swanson

  May nodded, but looked puzzled.

  Both the peninsula counter and the table were loaded with food. Jell-O molds nudged casserole dishes, while angel and devil’s food cakes fought the eternal battle of temptation.

  Skye edged past the overflow and went through the arch into the living room. Uncle Dante had claimed her father’s favorite lounger, where he sat like Napoléon with one hand scratching his belly and the other aiming the remote. A can of beer sat sweating on the oak end table, a white ring already forming on the wood.

  Skye’s gaze swept the room. She was stunned. Uncle Emmett was eating a plate of ravioli, tomato sauce dripping on the white brocade of the love seat. Vince sat next to him gesturing with his fork, which held a bite of chocolate cake—crumbs flew in all directions.

  She watched as, without noticing, Uncle Neal ground a cookie under his heel, leaving an oily patch on the russet carpet. Mona scooted closer to Neal on the sofa and tried to pick up the ginger snap’s remains in a paper napkin.

  Food in the living room. Her mother never allowed them to eat there. The world as they knew it truly must be ending.

  Skye aimed her question at Dante. It had only been a week and she was still angry about the essay contest, so she didn’t want to talk to Mona. She also wasn’t interested in joining the conversation about tractors that Emmett and Vince were having. “Where are Hugo and the twins?”

  Not turning from the television screen, Dante said, “Ask Olive.”

  Instead Skye headed for the den, a spare bedroom that her parents had converted by adding a love seat, armchair, and television. On her way she fixed herself a plate of food and grabbed the latest mystery from her purse.

  It crossed her mind that this might be a good opportunity to talk to some of her relatives about her grandmother’s death, but she was too tired to do a good job. Grief and several nights of just a few hours of sleep had caught up with her. One thing she had learned as a psychologist was that if she didn’t feel good physically, she tended to make stupid mistakes mentally.

  So, instead of pressing on with her investigation she set up a TV tray by the small sofa, kicked off her shoes, and snuggled into the corner. Selecting a carrot spear from her dish, she settled in to read.

  Skye half heard the twins and their families arrive a little while later. By the time Hugo and Victoria made their appearance, it barely registered. Skye was deep into the fictional world of the story when the den door was eased open and Aunt Minnie slipped in.

  Skye reluctantly put her book aside. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. I just wanted to rest a bit before going back to the funeral home. It’s already past six.”

  “Have a seat. Did you get anything to eat? How about a cup of coffee?” Skye pushed her tray away.

  Minnie sat gingerly on the chair. “I nibbled while we put things away. I don’t eat much anymore.”

  Skye looked from her aunt’s plump figure to her own and wondered about genetics.

  “How about some coffee then?” Skye slid her feet back into her navy pumps.

  “That would be nice, but I can get it.” Minnie tried to get up.

  Skye beat her to the door. “Sit down. I want another glass of Diet Coke anyway.”

  When Skye returned with the drinks, she found her aunt with her eyes closed. She set the cup and glass on the tray between them, and curled back up on the love seat.

  “I’m not asleep.” Minnie stretched and reached for the coffee.

  “This whole thing must be a real strain on you. I know you spent more time taking care of Grandma than anyone else.” Skye eased her way into the topic she was interested in pursuing.

  “I never begrudged Mom the attention.”

  “Of course not. Everyone said how devoted you were.” Skye swirled the ice cubes in her glass. “Still, it had to be hard.”

  “A little. Mom didn’t like to acknowledge that she needed help.”

  “It must have been tough having to be there three times a day every day to make her meals.”

  “The others wanted to let the housekeeper do it all, but I knew she wouldn’t eat right if we let that foreign woman fix her food.”

  “Really? You didn’t think Mrs. J did a good job?” Skye leaned forward.

  “No. She refused to dust and run the sweeper every day. She would only clean once a week.” Minnie’s cheeks were pink and her eyes had shed their dull look. “She wanted us to put in a dishwasher.”

  “Grandma wouldn’t have liked that.”

  “No, but she only complained to me. I’d tell May and Mona, and then Mom would say I had gotten what she said wrong.” Minnie sat back and ran a hand over her eyes. “I tried so hard to please her and never could.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. But it would be hard to think that’s the way she felt about you.” Skye patted her aunt’s hand and silently asked her grandmother’s forgiveness for lying about her. “I remember Grandma saying you were the one she could depend on.”

  “You know, Mona and Dante treated her like a child and she never seemed to resent them. And May treated her so casually and still was her obvious favorite.” Minnie sniffed and wiped her nose with the paper napkin from the tray. “I must admit sometimes I resented all the time I spent trying to be a good daughter and not getting anything back.”

  “That would be hard to take.” Skye knew how fragile her aunt’s mental health was and was reluctant to push her. Still, she had to find out if Minnie was the one who killed her grandmother. She tried to be as gentle as possible. “It sounds as if you’re saying it felt like she was throwing all your love and attention back in your face.”

  Minnie didn’t answer.

  Skye took a breath and silently apologized to her aunt. If Minnie was innocent, this was an awful thing to say, but if she was guilty, Skye couldn’t let her get away with murder. “It must have been a relief, almost, when Grandma died.”

  Minnie shot out of her chair and threw the door open, banging it against the wall. Her normally soft voice shrieked over her shoulder. “I don’t know what you mean. I loved my mother and she loved me. I didn’t want her dead.”

  People gathered from different parts of the house. The twins surrounded their mother and led her off into one of the bedrooms. May shot Skye a deadly look from the sink, while everyone else tried to pretend that nothing unusual had happened.

  Vince went over to Skye. “I shouldn’t have pressed her so hard,” she admitted, whispering. “This could be the thing that pushes Aunt Minnie around the bend.”

  He put his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. She’s had that turn signal on for twenty years.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Roses Are Red, Lies Are Yellow

  Wednesday, the day after the wake, Skye met her parents and Vince at the Reid Funeral Home and rode with them to the church. Saint Francis Catholic Church had been built back when Scumble River was first established in the 1850s. It towered above the other buildings, with walls clad in crumbling brown brick and faded gray concrete overhangs.

  Almost a third of Scumble River’s population was Catholic, so parking was always a problem, unless you were among the first fifty cars and secured a space in the small back lot. Later arrivals used the side streets, often angering residents whose driveways they blocked.

  In front of the church there was room for three or four vehicles, depending on the size of the car and its owner’s skill in parking. During a funeral the hearse and limousine took up those spaces.

  Jed parked in back and he, May, Vince, and Skye entered the church through the side door. They found seats in the second pew from the front and waited for Father Burns to begin.

  Dante and his family occupied the first row. Minnie and her brood sat in back of the Denisons. Mona and Neal were once again last. Skye could hear Mona’s complaints from two rows away.

  The priest finally started the Mass and they all rose. Skye found it difficult to concentrate on the words
of the service. She squirmed and plucked at her clothes as the heat of many people crowded together added to the already uncomfortable interior temperature. Her eyes were continually drawn to the closed casket. It looked much too large for a person of her grandmother’s size.

  Eventually Father Burns’s words penetrated Skye’s thoughts. “I could stand up here and tell you that Antonia Leofanti has gone home to be with our Father and is at peace with Him in His kingdom, because that is true.

  “I could stand up here and tell you that Antonia Leofanti lived a long life and left a wonderful legacy of family and love. That too is true.

  “But when someone, old or young, is ripped from this mortal coil by violence, the question then becomes: Do we seek an eye for an eye? Or do we turn the other cheek?”

  Skye missed the rest of what the priest said. Her mind latched on to his question and refused to let go. Vengeance or forgiveness? It was a tough call, but perhaps simple justice was the answer. She had always believed that the consequences should fit the action.

  After the funeral Mass ended, Skye followed her parents numbly down the aisle. May climbed into the limousine with her brother and sisters, and Vince rode with the other pallbearers, which left Skye and her father together for the trip to the cemetery.

  As she slid onto the front seat of her parents’ white Oldsmobile, and Jed settled into the driver’s seat, Skye looked at her father’s expressionless face.

  The air-conditioned interior was a relief and they drove in silence for a while. Jed switched on the radio, then turned it off almost immediately.

  “Dad?”

  “Mmm?”

  “How mad at me is Mom?”

  “Aw, she’s not mad. She just doesn’t like things to be stirred up.”

  “I didn’t mean for Aunt Minnie to have such a hissy fit.”

  “Well, she’s always been real high strung. She’s been having those spells of hers since she was a teenager. She didn’t even finish high school because she had some sort of breakdown her senior year.”

  “I never knew that.” Skye turned to look at him. “What happened?”

  “If I remember rightly, Antonia and Angelo sent her to visit some relatives somewhere.” Jed scratched his head. “Seems to me they had Mona go with her.”

  “Relatives? See, that’s exactly why I was trying to get the family history from Grandma before she died. I didn’t know we had relatives anywhere else.” Skye straightened in her seat as they entered the cemetery.

  The black wrought-iron gates that spelled out Scumble River Cemetery and the narrow, tree-lined road always sent Skye’s imagination down dark paths, and her thoughts turned to the idea of mortality.

  The graveside service was mercifully short, considering the heat and humidity. Father Burns led them in a prayer and then Simon guided them back to their cars before lowering the casket.

  Skye picked her way past the graves, stopping to examine a monument shaped like a regulation-sized La-Z-Boy. Mementos had been glued all around it. A football huddled near a beer can, and golf tees were heaped next to a videocassette. The coup de grâce was an ashtray fastened to the chair’s arm, a faux cigarette made to look as if smoke were rising from its tip.

  Where else but Scumble River would they make a monument out of a man’s bad habits?

  May and Vince had both elected to ride with Skye and Jed to the luncheon at the new church hall. They entered a large room with folding tables and chairs and plain white walls. Although not fancy, it was at least air conditioned. They were among the first to arrive.

  Skye noticed her mother’s pallor and fetched her a glass of cold punch. “Here, Mom, you look as if you could use this.”

  May downed the liquid in one gulp and handed the empty cup to Skye. “Thanks.”

  The silent treatment. Skye hated when her mother stopped talking to her. Usually May never quit chattering, so when she spoke in single words, Skye knew she was in hot water.

  “Look, Mom, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  “This isn’t the place to talk about it.” May spotted people beginning to arrive, and moved toward the door. She whispered over her shoulder, “Just stay out of trouble today.”

  Skye was scanning the crowd for Vince when someone grabbed her arm from behind and yanked. She turned, swallowing a scream, when she saw her Uncle Dante.

  He pulled her toward a door leading to the catechism classrooms. “I want to talk to you, young lady.”

  Her stomach dropped. Short of creating a scene, Skye could see no way to break loose. “Let’s talk here. I was just going to get something to eat. We could sit together.”

  Dante’s eyes narrowed, which caused them to all but disappear under his jutting brow. “Not in public.”

  She had never seen her uncle like this. He dragged her out of the common area, and shoved her into a room decorated with children’s drawings of Jesus. Dante pushed her into a child-sized chair and pulled over the teacher’s chair for himself. “What do you think you’re doing questioning my son?”

  “Questioning him? Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She could almost make herself believe her own words, since her conversation with Hugo seemed years ago rather than yesterday afternoon.

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Missy!” Dante roared. “You talked to both Hugo and Victoria about how much money they had.”

  “It was just conversation. I hadn’t seen them in a long time and commented on how well they seem to be doing.” She rounded her eyes. “I had no idea a car salesman could make so much money.”

  Dante puffed out his chest. “Hugo’s the best, and Prescott’s going to do even better.”

  “Yes, that private school is certainly impressive.” Skye relaxed a little. She could almost rest her chin on her knees, the chair was so small. “Do you help them with tuition?”

  Dante’s face turned an alarming shade of reddish-purple and his voice grew louder. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m telling you to lay off my family. Quit asking questions.”

  Skye rose and started edging toward the door. “I’m just surprised you’d agree with Hugo.”

  “About what?” Dante’s bulging brow wrinkled.

  “About subdividing Grandma’s land instead of farming it.” With her hand on the knob she grew brave. “I mean, you were always the one who said if Grandma lived much longer, we’d have to start selling off the land to pay for her care, and it would be such a shame to lose it for farming.”

  “Subdividing it? What are you talking about?” Dante seemed to notice for the first time that she wasn’t sitting any longer, and he started to lever himself off his seat.

  “Didn’t Hugo tell you about his lunch with that guy from the Castleview housing development company?” Skye eased the door open.

  Dante sank back into his chair. His answer was almost inaudible. “No, no he didn’t.”

  That had certainly hit a chord. She’d never seen Dante lose his bluster so fast. As she left the room, Skye said over her shoulder, “I wonder what else he didn’t tell you.”

  Skye saw the twins sitting together at a long empty table. From the debris surrounding them, she surmised that their children and spouses had already been and gone. She quickly took a glass of punch and made her way over to Ginger and Gillian.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked, hoping they weren’t too angry at her after the incident with their mother yesterday. She didn’t relish being kidnapped again, nor the idea of another five-mile hike home.

  Ginger and Gillian paused in their conversation and nodded after a brief hesitation.

  “How’s your mother? I’m sure sorry about yesterday.”

  “Did you really accuse her of murdering Grandma?” Gillian asked.

  “No! I just commented on how much work it had been for her to serve Grandma three meals a day, and that things would be easier for her now.”

  Gillian pushed her dish away and sighed. “She’s okay. Something happens; then she’s fine. At least she didn’t h
ave one of her spells.”

  Her cousins were really being nice about yesterday’s incident. Maybe she had misjudged them. “Did her visit to Carle Clinic help with her spells?”

  “Could be,” Ginger said. “You know Mama, we don’t discuss things like that.”

  Before Skye could reply, two young boys came tearing around the table, chased by two little girls. The boys threw themselves at Ginger, screaming at the top of their lungs.

  Skye was astounded when her cousin failed to respond. She neither scolded them for the commotion, nor checked to see if there really was a problem. Instead Ginger sat still while they swarmed over her, grabbing bits of food from various dishes.

  The little girls scrambled up on chairs, their short party dresses exposing their thighs and underpants. They too were talking so loudly Skye thought her ears would start bleeding.

  Finally, carrying the food they had liberated from their parents’ plates, the children ran off, scattering adults as they went.

  Skye sat silently, amazed that neither parent had intervened. Ginger took a sip of coffee as if nothing had happened.

  “What were we talking about?” Gillian broke off a piece of cookie and popped it into her mouth.

  “Ah . . . Ah, your mom’s health. Do you know what’s wrong with her?”

  “Well, part of it is she’s going through the change, so she’s embarrassed to talk about it.” Gillian drew circles on the white paper tablecloth with her damp cup.

  “But menopause isn’t that big a deal anymore, is it? I thought they had a pretty safe and effective hormone therapy now.”

  Ginger shrugged. “Mom doesn’t want to take drugs, so she’s having a rough time.”

  “You girls can’t talk her into it?”

  They both shook their heads.

  Skye got up. “I’m going to get some water. You all want anything?”

  “More coffee would be great. Cream and two sugars. Thanks.” Ginger handed Skye her cup.

  When Skye returned, her cousins’ husbands had joined them. Both looked uncomfortable in their funeral clothes. Flip Allen, Ginger’s husband, was a big, hulking guy whose suit appeared to have been borrowed from his little brother. His wrists and ankles showed from their respective cuffs.