However, she did hear from three other members expressing interest in the Treasurer’s position. Two of them actually had accounting experience. Anne had breathed a sigh of relief. She was certain any of the other candidates could beat Susan Lynch in the election.
The parking lot at the funeral home was almost full when Anne arrived, but she finally found a spot near the back. Rose and Nancy were waiting for her on the front porch.
“Looks like a good turn-out,” she commented as she climbed the steps.
“I’ve seen a lot of members going in,” Rose said.
Nancy heaved a sigh. “I just hope the service is short. I need to get back. I’m in the middle of a turning point in my story.”
They entered the foyer of the establishment and were greeted by the funeral director.
“Are you here for Mrs. Harrison?” he inquired.
“Yes,” Rose replied.
The man gestured to the left. “Right this way.”
Another man met them at the entryway. “There aren’t many seats left or perhaps you are members of the family.”
“No, I’m the president of the local writers chapter and these ladies sit on the board,” Anne explained.
He consulted a list on a clipboard. “Ah, you must be Mrs. Jamieson, one of the speakers. Follow me. Your seats are reserved.”
“This is a first,” Rose whispered. “I’ve never had a reserved seat for a funeral before.”
“Maybe it’s a board member thing,” Nancy commented as they marched behind the man and took their seats in the second row. Kathy Samuels was already seated there.
Anne glanced around and made eye contact with Jane Whittaker and Susan Lynch. Both women averted their heads. Ellie Campion sat several rows back with some friends, but nodded and smiled at Anne. She assumed the first row was for family.
“Excuse me, but I think I should introduce myself to Fran’s husband and sister,” she said rising. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
She made her way forward and stopped in front of a man with thinning brown hair. He wiped his eyes with a tissue.
“Mr. Harrison? I’m Anne Jamieson, the chapter president. I just want to extend my deepest condolences to you and your family.”
The man sniffed. “Thank you. This is Pam Waters, Fran’s sister,” he said indicating a dark-haired lady to his left.
Anne murmured more condolences.
“Thank you for coming and for agreeing to make a few comments to the assembly. We appreciate it,” she said.
“Glad to do it,” Anne lied.
“I believe you’re scheduled to talk after the last family member. We had so many people who wanted to say kind things about Fran, but had to keep the list short or we’d be here for hours. You will be coming to the house afterward for some food and talk, won’t you?”
She would rather skip the whole thing, but nodded anyway.
“Of course. Thank you for inviting me.”
Pam waved her hand. “I know you writers are a close knit bunch. I’m sure many will attend.
Anne returned to her seat. “Are you guys going to the house afterward?”
Rose shook her head. “I can’t. The baby has a doctor’s appointment at one, and I have to take Bethany to her dance class after school.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Nancy replied in a low tone. “I don’t even want to be here.”
“I wonder who’s going to speak,” Rose said.
Anne relayed the sister’s comments.
“Lord, I hope Susan isn’t one of them,” Nancy whispered.
A man stepped up to the podium and bowed his head. “Let us pray.”
The service began with the minister saying what he had to say followed by Pam Waters praising her sister. She in turn was followed by several other family members doing the same. The husband sobbed as did many in the assemblage. Anne sneaked a peek over her shoulder at Jane and Susan. Both were blotting tears from their cheeks.
Then it was her turn. The minister introduced her to the crowd and she took her place at the podium. She stared out over the rows of chairs and took a deep breath. Susan, with a mutinous expression, glared.
Anne kept her comments short, praising Fran’s writing and her dedication to the chapter. She even threw in compliments for the last conference and how well Fran had handled a chaotic situation. She felt like a hypocrite since most of what she said was insincere. She returned to her seat ten minutes later.
The rest of the speakers, including Fran’s critique partners and Jane, also kept their comments short. Still Anne fidgeted and let her mind wander to her latest work in progress.
The service finally ended and the funeral procession wound its way through the streets of San Sebastian to the cemetery. After a few more brief words and it was over. Rose practically ran to her car in order to make it to the pediatrician’s office. Nancy also left.
Fran’s house was packed with mourners. Anne spoke to many chapter members, avoided Susan and Jane, and left as soon as was decently possible.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Pam said. “And thank you for the kind words you spoke.”
“As I said, I was glad to do it. Um, is it all right if I come back tomorrow morning to see if I can find those papers we need?”
“Yes, of course. We haven’t been in her office since she died. Poor George just can’t face it. He’s so broken up he’s been sleeping on the sofa in the den. I guess I’d have a hard time sleeping in the bed, too, if I’d lost my husband.”
Anne murmured something she hoped was appropriate and left. She was almost to her car when a voice hailed her.
“Anne, wait up!”
She turned to see Ellie trotting her way.
“I heard you talking to Fran’s sister about coming back tomorrow. Do you mind if I tag along? I can help with some of the paper sorting.”
Anne liked Ellie, but didn’t feel comfortable with her suggestion.
“Thanks, Ellie, but I think I can handle it.”
“Oh. All right. I didn’t mean to be pushy. I just wanted to help—as a board member, you know.”
“That’s okay. How is the critique partner match-up going?”
Ellie smiled. “Great! I’ve had fifteen people contact me so far. I’m asking for experience levels, comfort levels, and genre specifics. You know, are you offended by explicit sex scenes, how long have you been writing, are you pubbed, things like that.”
“Good job. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
“Well, I’ve got to get home. If I can help with anything, please let me know.”
Ellie left, but before Anne could get into her car, Kathy Samuels walked up.
“Thank God, that’s over,” she said. “I hate funerals. I never know what to say.”
“At least you didn’t have to give a eulogy even though you knew her better than I.”
“Not really. I’m not sure anybody knew Fran all that well.”
“Still it was a nice turn-out,” Anne said.
“I can tell you who wasn’t there—Terry Whiting and Becky Lawrence. I talked to Becky last week and she said she’d rather have root canal than listen to praise for Fran Harrison. Terry just said no, she wasn’t coming.”
“Hard feelings from both ladies.”
“I can understand, I suppose. Fran had a fling with Becky’s husband, and Terry’s hubby wasn’t immune to Fran’s come on either from what I heard. Nasty business. Well, I’d better be going. See you at the next meeting.”
Anne stared as Kathy walked away. She knew about the brief affair with Becky’s husband, but Terry?
Curiouser and curiouser.
****
Funerals always sent Anne into a funk. A glass of wine helped put her in a better mood. Gil calling to say he’d treat all of them to take-out Chinese food almost made her forget the morning’s activities. Almost.
In spite of the friendly bantering between them all during dinner, something nagged at her.
If Fran was having affairs tha
t appeared to be common knowledge among many chapter members, how could her husband not know about it? Was he that dense? His tears and broken-hearted reactions said he truly grieved. Still, it seemed odd. Perhaps she could discreetly delve into the family relationship when she returned to the house tomorrow.
After dinner, with the kids upstairs finishing homework, Gil and Anne cuddled on the sofa.
“Gil, may I ask a personal question?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Did…did either of your ex-wives ever cheat on you?”
He drew in a deep breath. “I suspected my first wife, the girls’ mother, may have been seeing someone just before we split, but I was never sure, and frankly, didn’t want to know. The marriage was over, so what did it matter? Why?”
“But suppose the marriage wasn’t over, at least not yet. How would you have reacted?”
“Angry, hurt, disappointed, wondering what I could have done to be a better husband. Why?” he repeated.
Anne told him of the gossip about Fran and other men and her thoughts about George Harrison.
“There are two thoughts that come to mind. First, if his wife was discreet, he may not have known a thing. Second, he knew and didn’t care.”
“But is it possible for a spouse not to know? I know Kenneth never cheated on me—he told me that and I believed him. That wasn’t his style.”
“There’s a sixth sense that tells you when things are wrong. Like I said, I suspected Laura of seeing someone, but never pursued it. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss.”
“I can’t imagine knowing your spouse was cheating and not caring,” she said shaking her head.
“May have been an open marriage or he simply loved her so much he turned a blind eye.”
Anne had a hard time imagining anyone loving Fran.
Gil’s cell rang. “Damnation, now what…Collins here.” He listened for several seconds. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Any witnesses…Keep ’em separated.”
“Trouble?” she asked.
“Armed robbery at a convenience store. Perp shot the clerk. He’s on his way to the hospital.” He rose, pulled her up with him, and then leaned down to kiss her. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Alone again, Anne poured another glass of wine and resumed her seat on the sofa. What Gil had said about cheating spouses made sense, yet she had trouble believing anybody would condone affairs.
If Kenneth had done that to me, I’d have killed him. Suddenly, she sat up straight. What if? Oh no, that’s a stretch. If George was anywhere near Fran at the meeting, she would have known, said something, introduced him—anything.
Unless he was wearing a ghost costume.
Chapter Eleven
Anne rang the Harrison’s doorbell at precisely ten o’clock the following morning. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as her newest theory refused to leave her mind. Could George Harrison have killed his wife? Had all those tears been faked? And if he had posed as a waiter, why didn’t Fran recognize him?
Because Fran wasn’t in the room when the waiter served the dishes.
Dumb luck or did he watch as his wife paced in the hallway, slip in, and place the tainted food at her place? And the person who came and went as a ghost from the downstairs restroom was almost certainly female. At least, she thought it was, but with that crummy tape quality, who knew?
Unless, Harrison dressed as the ghost and Wainwright served after all. Or vice versa.
After three cups of coffee, Anne decided the whole concept was too far-fetched to be believable. Perhaps the poor man really was blissfully unaware of his wife’s roving eye.
The door opened and she stared at a tall, very thin man staring back at her. It was George Harrison.
She heaved a mental sigh of relief. No way could this man have been the same one seen on the surveillance tapes from the hotel. That image had been of a much heavier person.
“Mr. Harrison, I’m Anne Jamieson—from the Southeast Florida chapter of the Writers Association of America. We spoke briefly at the funeral yesterday.”
“Yes, of course, please come in.” He stepped aside allowing her to enter. “Thank you so much for the kind words you said about Fran. She was such a loving, giving person.”
“Uh, yes, yes she was,” she stammered. Fran was anything but that.
“I just don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” He blinked rapidly. “Pam said something about you needing some papers Fran had regarding the chapter.”
“Yes, she gave me almost everything right after the election, but you know how it is with a change in administration—always a few things left undone.”
“No problem. I’m sure you can find what you need in her office. She was highly organized.” He led her down a hallway and opened a door. “Here it is. Nobody’s been inside since… I’ll tell Pam you’re here. She can help if you need it.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated as she entered as though reluctant to leave her alone. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to it. It’s time for my morning walk. Take one every day. Sometimes Fran would join me. Excuse me, I’ll go get Pam.”
Anne’s heart went out to him as he left. Poor man. How could I have ever suspected him of killing his wife? Even though she was a bitch, he loved her.
She looked around the room. Converted from a bedroom, the spacious area held a large desk, several file cabinets, two bookcases, a sofa, and a couple of end tables. She saw no sign of a computer. Maybe the police confiscated it.
Sighing, Anne opened the top drawer in the desk. It contained the usual pads of paper, pens, and sticky notes. The next drawer held reams of copier paper. The bottom one had mailing supplies, although nowadays most authors just e-mailed submissions.
She turned her attention to a file cabinet. The first drawer held personal data like tax returns and business expenses. As much as Anne would have loved to sneak a peek, she refrained. The second drawer possessed much of the same. She quickly moved on to the next cabinet.
Ah, this is more like it. Inside were manila folders dealing with chapter business. She pulled several and set them on the desk. It’ll take forever to go through everything here. I’ll take them home, see what I need, and then return the rest.
“Good morning. I see you’re finding things all right.”
Anne turned to find Fran’s sister, Pam Waters, smiling in the doorway.
“Yes, I think so. It was nice of Mr. Harrison to let me do this so soon after the funeral, but there is some material I need immediately. Same with our new secretary. Fran took over that job when the last secretary moved a couple of months ago.”
“Yes, my sister often did other people’s jobs.”
Anne caught the slightly sarcastic tone and wondered how close Pam and Fran had been.
“Do you need any help?” Pam asked. “Fran kept every slip of paper known to mankind in here. Have you looked in this cabinet?”
Anne nodded. “Yes, it’s all personal stuff.”
“In that case, let me look in this one over here,” she said indicating a three drawer metal cabinet in the corner. “It’ll make things go faster. I’m sure you don’t want to spend all day sorting through my sister’s compulsive habit of hoarding.”
What an odd thing to say. Doesn’t sound like they got along that well. Maybe I can ask a few discreet questions about Fran and other men.
She cast a glance at Pam. The family resemblance was slight. Fran had been medium height, thin as a reed and had short, light brown hair. Her sister, while the same general size, was heavier and sported much darker, longer hair.
“So, are there any other brothers or sisters in your family?”
“We have a younger brother in California. He and Fran hadn’t spoken in close to fifteen years. Fran disapproved of his lifestyle. He’s gay.”
Startled by such personal information, Anne could only stare. “Oh, I’m sorry—uh, not that he’s gay, but that they didn’t get along.”
Why is she telling me this? It’s none of my business and I really don’t need the details of her childhood.
Pam, however, rambled on. “And God forbid anyone else should have something she wanted. You wouldn’t believe how many of my clothes ended up in her closet. Oh, here’s something marked “chapter bills” with this year’s date.”
“Just add it to the stack,” Anne said gazing around the room. “I don’t see her computer.”
“Police took it. Checking e-mails, I guess. They said they’d return it soon. I’ll let you know as soon as they do in case anything pertains to your writers group.”
She was still uncomfortable with listening to Fran’s shortcomings, but determined to probe anyway. Might as well take advantage of the situation.
“I appreciate that. Uh, I know what you mean about older sisters getting their own way and such. I have an older sister, too,” Anne lied. “She was just a little smarter and a little prettier than me. She never had to lift a finger to get a date—ever. Men just flocked to her. Was Fran that way, too?”
Pam sniffed. “I’ll say. Never understood it considering the personality.”
“My sister never out-grew her obsession with men. She has three divorces to prove it.”
Pam straightened and glanced toward the open doorway before lowering her voice.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but Fran was a man eater. She liked nothing better than other women’s husbands or boyfriends. Even came after my husband. Jack and I ended up getting a divorce over it.” The bitterness in her tone came through loud and clear.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”
Pam waved a hand and resumed flipping through folders in the bottom drawer of the cabinet. “Not to worry. It was a long time ago, and to be honest, she did me a favor because Jack couldn’t stop skirt-chasing either. I guess I shouldn’t be saying bad things about the dead, especially my own sister, but it was hard to hear all that praise yesterday at the funeral. Just brought back not so fond memories.”
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