Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5)

by Susan Santangelo

  Claire covered Mary Alice’s hand with her own. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I never expected that telling you about Deanna would bring up all these painful memories.”

  “It happens when I least expect it, Claire,” Mary Alice said, dabbing her leaking eyes with a napkin. “Even after all these years. Don’t blame yourself. But at least, because I was Brian’s wife, I was able to have a wake and funeral for him. Since Deanna had no legal relationship with Will Finnegan, she couldn’t even do that.”

  I cleared my throat. My turn to speak.

  “You’re wrong, Mary Alice. Deanna did have a wake for Will. I was there. Sort of.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” Nancy asked. “That’s not logical at all. How could you be ‘sort of’ anywhere? You’re either there, or you’re not.”

  This from a person who flunked Logic when we were in college. And it’s none of your business what my grades were for that same course, so don’t bother asking.

  “You didn’t mention this when we were hashing things out with Deanna,” Claire said. “Why not?”

  I started to squirm in my seat, even though I had nothing to feel guilty about. But the way Claire asked the question made me uncomfortable.

  “I wasn’t trying to hide it,” I insisted. “Deanna and I had talked about it before you got to the salon. Although I’m still not completely clear on all the details.”

  Like, most of them.

  “And besides, Deanna was doing all the talking when we were together, in case you’ve forgotten. She needed to unburden herself. So, I kept quiet.”

  “Okay,” Nancy said. “You kept quiet at Crimpers. But now, tell us what happened. And don’t leave a single thing out.”

  As if I would.

  “Be brief and stick to the point,” Claire said.

  As if I wouldn’t.

  I had a brief flash of how I could shock all three of my best friends by describing the lurid scene at the funeral parlor. Finishing with my discovery of the …um…scissors. But we were in a public place, after all. About to have dinner. And my mother, and the nuns, had raised me with good manners.

  Besides, talking about that terrible sight was bound to make me lose control. Something I was determined not to do, if only just this once.

  So instead, I motioned for everyone to come a little closer to me. Then, I leaned over and said in a low voice, “Jenny and I went to Will Finnegan’s wake to pay our respects because he’d done landscaping work for Jim and me. We got there a little early, and Deanna was just leaving. We didn’t get a chance to speak. That’s it.”

  True, yet not, if you get my drift.

  Nancy eyed me. “No, that’s not it. There’s something more you’re not telling us. There has to be. I can tell by the way you didn’t look any of us in the eye when you were talking.”

  I took a sip of water. My eyes filled up. Damn it. Automatic sprinklers, for sure.

  “You’re right.” I glared at Claire. “But someone told me to be brief. I’m doing as I was told.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Carol. Grow up, already,” Claire said.

  “What else happened,” Mary Alice asked. “Something did. And it upset you terribly. Am I right?”

  I nodded my head. “It was horrible. We were the first ones to arrive at the funeral home. We sat and waited for a few minutes, but no one else came. So I went up to the casket to say a prayer. There was a…scissors…in Will’s chest.”

  “What?” Nancy shrieked. “That’s unbelievable.”

  “SSSHHH,” I said. “Keep your voice down. We don’t want everyone to hear what we’re talking about.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Mary Alice asked.

  “Who indeed?” mused Claire. “That’s a very good question.

  “And then what happened?” Nancy asked.

  “I hustled Jenny out of there as fast as I could. But we only got as far as the women’s room when a group of people came out of another part of the funeral parlor. Deanna was one of them. I didn’t want to talk to her, so we ducked inside the bathroom.”

  “I don’t get it,” Mary Alice said. “Do you mean Deanna was there before the wake started? Why?”

  “More to the point, why didn’t you want to talk to her?” Claire asked, cutting to the chase as usual.

  I chose my words carefully. “I can’t explain my reaction to seeing Deanna there. It was just a gut response. But now, after hearing about her relationship with Will Finnegan, I’m wondering if maybe there were two wakes for him that night.”

  “You’re losing me, Carol,” Nancy said.

  I held up my hand. “Just give me a minute to think more about this.”

  I passed out the menus. “Decide what you want for dinner while I think about this scenario and see if it’s possible.”

  “I don’t think I can eat a thing,” Nancy said, scanning the menu, no doubt for the most low-fat item on it.

  I didn’t believe her for a minute. No matter what, Nancy can always eat.

  Me, too.

  The more I thought about the two-wakes idea, the more it made sense to me. Which explained why Deanna and the folks with her were leaving the funeral home just as the official wake—the one that had been mentioned in Will’s newspaper obituary—was about to start.

  “I know this sounds nuts,” I said, “but I really think I’m right. Deanna must have had an earlier wake, so the friends she and Will had made as a couple could pay their respects. And then there was probably a half hour lapse, so that group could leave and the Finnegan family could come in and have their own wake. And sometime during that half hour, someone…added the scissors.”

  “Unless,” Claire said, her expression thoughtful, “Deanna did it as a parting gesture to the man who had, as the song goes, ‘done her wrong.’ “

  Or perhaps someone who loved Deanna, and who thought she had been treated badly by Will, was the guilty party. Like Deanna’s daughter, Lisa. Whom I’d overheard telling her mother that she would do anything to help her.

  Don’t go down that road, Carol. None of these people suspect Deanna has a daughter. And maybe you misheard. For once, keep your mouth shut.

  “This is a somber group of patrons,” I heard a familiar voice say. “You’re not a good advertisement for my restaurant, that’s for sure. I hope the service and the food aren’t why you all look so unhappy.”

  “Oh, no Maria,” Mary Alice said. “We haven’t even ordered yet.”

  “Have you been waiting long?” Maria asked. “I’ll send a server over to you right away. You’re all very good customers, and deserve to be treated well.”

  “Honestly, Maria,” I said, trying to spare the restaurant’s serving staff from Maria’s wrath, “there’s nothing wrong with the service.” I had heard horror stories about her temper from my kids when she was a teacher.

  “And besides,” Nancy put in, “the restaurant’s very busy tonight. We don’t mind waiting a little while. Especially since it’s a rare occurrence that we’re out to dinner on our own.”

  Maria relaxed. A bit.

  “Then you must let me send you over a bottle of Prosecco,” she said. “To make the waiting more enjoyable. On the house.”

  Well. Sounded good to me.

  Maria snapped her fingers and two servers immediately responded. “A bottle of Prosecco for my friends,” she said. “And when you deliver it, be prepared to take their orders immediately.”

  Golly, it sure was fun to have friends in high places.

  Maria leaned over the booth to continue our conversation. “I have to get back to the kitchen, but before I leave, I feel I have to ask you what’s wrong. You all look like you’ve lost your last friend.”

  She straightened up. “I’m sorry. It’s probably none of my business.”

  Claire jumped in. “We were talking about
the death of someone here in town,” she said by way of explanation. “I didn’t really know him, but Carol did.”

  “So I was right, then,” Maria said. “You were talking about someone who died. Who was it?”

  “He was a local landscaper, and did some work for Jim and me,” I said. “His name was Will Finnegan.”

  I thought I saw a quick flash of recognition on Maria’s face. But it was gone in an instant, so perhaps I was wrong.

  “I don’t think I know the name,” she said. “Every death is always sad. Enjoy your Prosecco.” And she hightailed it back to her kitchen as fast as she could.

  Chapter 28

  I had amnesia once. Or, was it twice?

  I don’t know if it’s a sign of age or not, but I have more and more trouble falling asleep at night. Jim’s out like the proverbial light within five minutes after he climbs into bed, but not me. I toss and turn, turn and toss. Sometimes for more than an hour.

  Hmm. I wonder if that counts as an aerobic exercise. I could be burning fat and not even know it.

  Anyway, when I dragged my weary bones to bed that night, I expected to fall asleep immediately. Just this once. I was sure that the combination of the longest, most stressful hair appointment known to womankind, plus the rich food and Prosecco I’d overindulged in at Maria’s Trattoria, would send me to dreamland in an instant.

  Not that I expected to sleep through the night, mind you. I haven’t done that in at least ten years.

  Of course, I was the last one in bed. Jim was on the left side—where he always is. The center and right half of the bed had been completely commandeered by two sleeping English cocker spaniels.

  It was hard to figure out which of the three was snoring the loudest. And Lucy—who was in my spot—refused to budge. The little stinker.

  That’ll teach me to stay out so late.

  I didn’t want to have an argument with Lucy. Especially since I knew I’d lose. And truthfully, I wasn’t that sleepy. Darn it.

  I turned and made my way, as silently as possible, into the kitchen, so as not to awaken my sleeping prince and his two canine bedmates. Of course Lucy, little dickens that she is, immediately roused herself followed me. For a split second, I debated racing her back to the bedroom. If I got there first, maybe I could jump into bed and she’d have to sleep on her dog bed. For a change.

  Of course, she’d probably beat me, and there was no way I was sleeping on her dog bed.

  “How about a midnight snack?” I asked my fellow insomniac. “Dog biscuits for you, and a cup of chamomile tea for me. And I’ll tell you all about my day. And the World’s Longest Hair Appointment.”

  Lucy wagged her stubby tail. Any sentence that includes the words “dog biscuits” is a guaranteed hit with her.

  “It’s a deal,” I said. “But you have to promise me you won’t interrupt while I’m talking.

  “Oh, wait a minute. I can’t make tea because the kettle will shriek when it comes to a boil. And if I use the microwave to heat the water, it’ll ding when it’s done. Either way, I’ll wake Jim.”

  I sighed. “Well, I guess I have to settle for a few cookies instead.”

  See how I justified substituting something fattening for something healthy? Try it for yourself sometime, and you’ll find out how easy it is.

  Just don’t do it right before a cholesterol test.

  Lucy and I padded into the family room and settled on the coach, each munching on our respective treats.

  “We have to stop this midnight snacking routine,” I said. “Your waistline is getting bigger.” My dog gave me a dirty look, and I sighed.

  “You’re right. So is mine. So, do you want to hear about my day?”

  Big yawn from my sofa mate.

  “Well, tough, because you’re going to hear about it, anyway. It’s the price you have to pay for your late night snack. And besides, maybe if I talk about everything out loud, it will make more sense to me.”

  Another yawn. Then, Lucy pulled herself up to a sitting position, facing me, which I took as a sign to go ahead and start talking.

  “I’ll keep this brief,” I promised. “Claire says I take too long to get to the end of a story. Here goes.”

  I don’t plan to go over my day again with you, so I hope you were paying attention while it was happening. There’s no quiz, though, so if you weren’t, you can always flip back a chapter or two and refresh your memory.

  By the time I was reaching the end of my story, I was starting to feel sleepy. Maybe I had discovered a new solution for my insomnia—talking so much that I put myself to sleep.

  I yawned, then said to Lucy, “I hope this guy Mary Alice is dating is a good one. She deserves some happiness in her life. She’s been alone too long. But you already know that.”

  I yawned again.

  “Oh, there’s one more thing I want to tell you before we go to bed, Lucy.”

  She opened one eye and gave me a sleepy look.

  “I’ll be quick,” I said. “I’m tired now, too. But Nancy had a funny thing happen to her that she shared at the end of dinner. It made all of us laugh, which was a good way to end the meal. It seems that she had an online friend request from someone named Alison Green. She didn’t recognize the name, but accepted the request because she’s always looking for new real estate clients. You know how she is. Well, you won’t believe this. It turns out that Alison Green is a dating site for people to cheat on their spouses. She started getting all sorts of weird e-mails, even though she claims she never officially registered. Isn’t that hilarious?”

  Lucy got up from the sofa, stretched, then turned to look back at me.

  “Okay, I get it,” I said. “I agree. It’s time to turn in. I just hope we can sneak into the bedroom without waking Jim. Or Ethel.”

  No worries in that department. They were both deep in slumber, and Ethel had shifted her bed of choice to the official doggie bed in the corner. Leaving more room for me and You Know Who.

  But I had the darndest dream when I finally got to sleep. Lucy and Ethel were at the Pray Farm in Rehoboth, MA, where they were born. I always take both dogs there when they need grooming, even though it’s a long drive from Fairport. Their mommy-in-chief, Lynn Pray, and daughter Courtney Cherico, were busy clipping their coats and combing them out after their baths.

  And what were my two canines doing while they were being beautified? Spilling all the Andrews family secrets to every other canine in the place! In doggie language, of course.

  You don’t think that’s really possible, do you?

  Chapter 29

  I went to San Francisco and found somebody’s heart. Now what?

  I’ll tell you a secret. I don’t wait until New Year’s to make resolutions I’ll probably break anyway. I make them on a regular basis, so I can break them and not feel an avalanche of guilt on January 2.

  The following morning, I decided to try something I’d resolved to do way back in June. Yoga.

  Nancy gave me an exercise CD for my birthday—Yoga with Yolanda. My BFF is a real exercise nut, and starts every day with an hour or so of ritual torture at a local fitness center.

  She’s been on my case to come with her for a long time. I know exercising will do me good. But I also know that I will never stick to a regular routine. I have no self-discipline whatsoever.

  You can check that fact out with Jim, should you happen to see him. I’m certain he’ll agree.

  Anyway, Nancy finally figured out that there was no way I was going to join her, so she gave me this CD. She knows I’m always complaining that I can’t turn my neck very well, and assured me that yoga was the answer.

  Of course, I hadn’t taken the CD out of the plastic wrapper yet. But today was the day. Come on, endorphins! I need you to do your stuff right now!

  I loaded the CD into my computer. Yolanda and I had a date.
I could hardly wait to start. I pressed “play.”

  And the darn phone rang.

  Wouldn’t you just know it? Here I was, all pumped up to pump iron (well, not really, but close enough), and someone had the nerve to interrupt me.

  I considered yelling for Jim to answer it, but then I remembered it was his Fairport Merchants Association morning. He loves going to those weekly meetings so he can pick up some local gossip for the State of the Town column he writes for our weekly newspaper. And also, I was sure, so he could enjoy a high calorie, high cholesterol breakfast without my trying to stop him.

  Yolanda would have to wait. I hoped she was patient.

  The instant I picked up the phone, I heard a male voice. An angry one.

  “Mrs. Andrews? Carol Andrews? Is that you?”

  “Who is this?” I demanded, prepared to slam the phone down in the caller’s ear.

  “This is Detective Paul Wheeler of the Fairport Police. I hear you’re up to your old tricks, snooping around something that’s none of your business. And you had the nerve to criticize the way I’m handling the Finnegan case. Back off. This is a police matter. Don’t interfere. I mean it.”

  The next thing I heard was the dial tone.

  “I have never been so insulted in my life!” I proclaimed to Lucy and Ethel, both of whom looked at me without trying to hide their skepticism.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “There’ve been a few other times.

  “But the nerve of that…little twerp…to call here first thing in the morning and ream me out like that. Wait’ll I tell your brother-in-law what’s happened.”

  Then it occurred to me like a bolt of lightning that, perhaps, that’s how Paul found out about my sleuthing in the first place. Maybe Mark said something to Paul directly, or maybe he suggested to his superior at the police department that the Finnegan death should be looked into more closely, beyond what happened at the funeral home.