Either way, I had to be very careful about my next move. I didn’t want to antagonize my son-in-law any more than I already had, and I certainly didn’t want to try anything that might result in a personal visit from the odious Paul Wheeler.
However, I had information about the Finnegan case that Paul Wheeler probably didn’t. Which I should share with him. As any upright citizen would.
But I figured that, assuming he’d even deign to see me, Paul would brush off all my information about the widow and her long-time, stalled romance with her brother-in-law. That was the primary motive for Will’s death. I was sure of it. They just got tired of waiting to be together, and hastened things along.
Assuming Will had been murdered. And I had no idea if he actually had.
Hmm. I also knew about Deanna’s involvement with Will. And how he had lied to her for years. Did that make her a possible suspect, too?
Oh, God, what if she were guilty? Or, if she didn’t actually kill him, what if she’d plunged the scissors into his chest at the funeral home?
Where would I go to have my hair done if Deanna went to prison? I didn’t think she’d be able to see clients if she were behind bars.
Stop it, Carol. You’re really being ridiculous.
Then, another possible scenario occurred to me. Maybe Will’s estranged wife and his brother knocked off Will, and the lovely Lisa, Deanna’s daughter, added the scissors to make a point (sorry!) about how badly Will had treated her mother.
Hmm. I liked that one. Except that Deanna’s heart would be broken if her daughter were implicated.
Or, maybe Deanna suspected Lisa, and was trying to protect her by taking the blame herself. For Will’s death, not the scissors. Or the other way around.
If you’re confused, you can imagine how I felt!
I needed to step back and stop thinking about this. Give my mind a chance to de-clutter. Maybe a date with the waiting Yolanda and her yoga CD was the answer.
Nah. Who was I kidding? I was treating myself to some heavy duty retail therapy.
And I’m not going to tell you about that. After all, you might squeal to Jim.
Especially since I don’t always shop with coupons.
Chapter 30
Protons have mass? I didn’t even know they were Catholic.
“What do you love doing more than anything else in the world?” My Beloved asked me at dinner that night.
Hmm. So many options to choose from.
Or, maybe I was busted! Yes, that must be it. I’d stupidly left evidence of my shopping spree in a place where Jim had found it.
“Is this a loaded question?” I asked, smiling so he’d think that I was joking. Which I most definitely was not.
“Don’t be silly, Carol. I have a surprise for you, and you’re going to love it. Because it involves something you love to do. And lately, haven’t done nearly as often as you used to.”
Ah, I got it now. I knew what Jim was up to. I hadn’t been married to him all these years without being able to read his mind. Especially when it came to this particular activity.
And the fact that my dear husband still found me attractive after all these years, well, I was a lucky woman.
I gazed at my husband fondly, and replied, “I think I know what you’re talking about, Jim. But let’s wait until I at least clear up the dinner dishes.”
Jim wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “That’s not what I was thinking of, but it’s a damn good idea.
“How’d you like to get all gussied up in a fancy dress and go to a dinner dance with me? I’ll even wear my tuxedo.”
“Why, Jim, I’d love that. When? Where? Are we going to New York? Oh, how I’ve missed those black tie events we used to go to before you retired from the agency. This is great!”
I jumped up and planted a big smooch on Jim’s cheek.
“Well,” Jim hedged, “it’s not exactly a New York party. It’s more of a New York suburbs party.”
My face must have shown my disappointment, because he immediately added, “But it is a chance for us to go out on the town for a night. The town of Fairport, that is. The Fairport Merchants Association is holding a dinner dance next month and the newspaper has bought a table. The editor’s given me two tickets. What do you say? Want to be my date?”
“Of course I do,” I said. “It sounds like a lot of fun. Where’s it being held?”
Then, I had another thought. Why not go for broke? Figuratively speaking.
“You know, Jim, I’ll have to buy something new to wear to this dinner dance. I haven’t gotten dressed up for a long time.”
Jim sighed. “I figured that’d be part of the deal,” he said. “Oh, go ahead. I know how you like to shop.”
Major understatement. I love to shop. Almost more than I like to snoop. I mean, sleuth.
Of course, I’ve had years of practice to perfect my shopping technique. The sleuthing is a new addition to my repertoire.
“Actually, Jim, this could be helpful to the Merchants Association,” I said as the wheels in my brain continued to turn.
“You mean, you’ll be helping the bottom lines of stores all over town?” Jim asked with a smile. “That’s really noble of you.”
“No, silly. That’s not what I meant.”
Not exactly.
“But you know how you’re always after me to go after some freelance writing and editing jobs? Well, how about if I document my shopping in a story for the Fairport Merchants Association? You know, like a promo piece. About all the wonderful stores we have right here in Fairport, so there’s no need to go to the mall, or New York City, to find fabulous buys. Does the Association have a marketing person?”
Jim shook his head. “It’s an all-volunteer organization, Carol. Individual members do their own marketing. Nobody’s ever done it as a group.”
“Why, Jim Andrews, I’m surprised at you. After all your years doing public relations in New York. Why haven’t you suggested it?’’
I was on a roll now. There was no stopping me.
“I’d call it ‘Shopping With Carol.’ Or maybe ‘Carol’s Fabulous Finds.’ Why, it doesn’t have to be just about my shopping for a dress for the dance. I could write a shopping column for the local paper, and feature a different business each week. I bet it’d be a real hit. Why, I could do restaurants, and stores, and beauty salons….”
Wait a minute. I suddenly realized I could include all kinds of local businesses in this kind of column. Even landscaping companies. And nobody would think anything of my showing up and asking nosy questions. It would all be on the up and up.
Brilliant, Carol. One of your best ideas yet.
I’d use researching a shopping column as a cover for my real purpose. Solving the mystery behind Will Finnegan’s death.
This time, I ignored the little voice inside my head when it told me in no uncertain terms to let the police do their job. Especially since I knew how helpful I’d been in previous investigations, pointing out little clues that that had been overlooked.
Besides, people talked to me. I was…unthreatening. Nosy, yes. Devious, sometimes. But always unthreatening.
“So, what do you think, Jim?” I asked. “Would your editor go for the idea of my writing a shopping column? It may even boost the paper’s advertising revenue. Will you talk to him for me? Or, even better, make an appointment for me to go and talk to him?”
I frowned. “That might be a better idea. I don’t want you to be in the middle of this.”
Jim laughed. “I’ve been in the middle of this ever since we said ‘I do.’ “ He held up his hand. “Not that I’m complaining. Life with you is never dull, that’s for sure.
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you do a little informal research and put together a sample column for me to bring in to the newspaper? Where would you start? With your shoppin
g for a new dress to wear to the dance? And what about the ‘Shop Local’ angle? Isn’t that the point of your idea?”
“I’d certainly stress ‘Shop Local.’ But I want the column to appeal to men, too,” I said. “So I think it would be better if I started with something more generic than my shopping for a dress.”
I thought about my answer for a millisecond.
“Maybe the first column should be about food. And not just Fairport restaurants. Local markets, too. Especially the ones with takeout sections. I’m sure the owners would love some free publicity.”
“Sounds like a great start,” Jim said. “And an easy sell to my editor. Everyone needs to eat, after all.”
The more I thought about this idea, the more excited I became. I realized that I could cleverly work in a few questions about the importance of curb appeal to bring in customers.
Then I’d toss in an innocent question about the importance of patronizing other local businesses.
Like, say, Finnegan’s Rakes.
Chapter 31
If the world were a logical place, men would be the ones who ride horses side-saddle.
It didn’t work out that easily, of course. Few things that are worthwhile seldom do. Just ask any woman who’s in labor at Fairport Hospital, and I’m sure she’ll agree with me.
The first thing I did the next morning, at Jim’s suggestion—he was the in-house newspaper expert, after all—was to write a quick, one paragraph synopsis of what the column would be about. He called it an “elevator speech,” though I had no idea why. Since we don’t have an elevator in our antique house.
Once I was satisfied with what I’d written, I decided I was ready to try it out on my first suspect. I mean, subject.
I planned to start with Helen Konisburg from Fancy Francie’s, because I figured I could accomplish several things at the same time: column research, sleuthing, and tonight’s dinner.
A perfect trifecta!
I practiced my opening lines on the dogs, and we all decided that I should use the subtle approach. It hadn’t worked for me with Deanna, but Helen didn’t know me nearly as well. And besides, practice makes perfect, right?
So, instead of making an appointment to see Helen, I called the store and placed an order for the special take-out dinner of the day with Cathie, my new telephone friend/culinary consultant. It was beef stroganoff, one of Jim’s favorites, so I ordered four portions, two for tonight and two more for leftovers. Which I sincerely hoped I’d have, but with Jim’s appetite, that might not happen.
I arranged a pick-up time, and just as Cathie was about to hang up, I said, “Oh, by the way, will Helen be there when I come into the store? I’d like to say a quick hello.”
Cathie snorted. “She’ll be here. I don’t think she ever leaves this place.”
Perfect.
I was just congratulating myself on how well I’d pulled that off when my cell phone started to chirp, indicating a text was on the way.
I squinted to read the message. It was from Deanna.
I need u. Can u come 2 Crimpers right now?
Double rats. I wasn’t up to more Deanna drama this morning. Although she’d put herself high up on my list of suspects. Truthfully, even higher than Helen K.
Me, by text: Y?
Deanna: Police came 2 talk 2 me. Help!
Me: Will be there asap!
I dashed into the bedroom and headed for the closet, trying to find a pair of clean sweats to put on. No time to beautify myself. This was an emergency.
Lucy followed me into the bedroom and positioned herself in the center of our unmade bed.
“Get off, Lucy,” I said. “You know that’s not allowed. You have to wait until I pull up the comforter. I don’t want dog hairs all over the sheets. That’ll make Jim sneeze all night.”
My canine companion didn’t budge. And gave me an unblinking doggy stare.
I sank down on the bed beside her. “You’re right, as usual, Lucy. This is probably all my fault. Paul would never have had the brains to dig a little deeper into the Finnegan case if it weren’t for my big mouth. I should have realized that once he started looking, he’d find out about Deanna’s relationship with Will Finnegan. What a mess.”
Lucy yawned, a sure sign that she was bored. She’s heard me blame myself for too many things over the years. Including some that I hadn’t even been responsible for.
But maybe this wasn’t my fault after all, I thought as I pulled a sweatshirt over my head. I wasn’t worried about mussing my hair. After all, Deanna could fix it in a second. Assuming she would.
“You may have something there,” I said to Lucy. “It would have been natural for Paul Wheeler to go back to the funeral home and question the staff. Someone there must have told Paul about the first wake.”
I felt better now. A little. I just hoped that Paul wouldn’t get around to asking me any more questions about that night. Because I had absolutely no idea what I could say without implicating Deanna. Who had means, motive, and opportunity for both Will’s death and the wake incident. In spades. But was she the only one who did?
I sighed. “I guess it’s up to me to find out, Lucy,” I said. Then, remembering my dream, I added, “You have to doggie swear to keep this to yourself.”
A hastily scrawled “Closed until noon” sign had been taped to the Crimpers’ front door, and all the window blinds were shut tight. Deanna must have been watching for me, though, because the door flew open before I had a chance to knock.
“I got here as soon as I could,” I said. “How are you doing? Was it terrible for you? The questioning, I mean.”
“Thanks for coming, Carol,” Deanna said. “I was pretty frantic when I sent you that text. I’m doing a little better now.”
I followed Deanna to the rear of the shop. “I made a fresh pot of coffee,” she said. “Caffeine always helps me think more clearly.”
Me, too.
“How do you take it, Carol?” Deanna asked me, handing me a mug. “There’s sugar on the shelf, and some milk in the refrigerator. Help yourself.”
I was momentarily flummoxed. I couldn’t count the number of times Deanna and I had shared coffee over the years. She knew I always drank it black.
Then, I realized that she was stalling for time. So, instead of chastising her for forgetting, I said, “Black is fine. Thanks.”
“Why don’t you let me style your hair, Carol?” Deanna said as we walked into the main part of the shop. “It looks like it could use a little help.”
I sat down in my regular chair at Deanna’s station and turned to face her. “Okay, Deanna. Yes, my hair needs some help. But that’s not why I’m here, and you know it. Quit stalling. What happened with the police?”
“Do you mind if I fuss with your hair while I talk?” Deanna asked, turning me around so I faced the mirror. “That’ll calm me down. Give me something to do with my hands.”
“Sure. Now, talk.”
“It didn’t go at all well,” Deanna admitted, misting my hair so she could style it better. “I wasn’t expecting a visit from the police. I guess I was naive. After all, the funeral home people would have told them that I’d made arrangements for an earlier wake for Will. My name was bound to come up.”
She combed my hair and tskd. “I just did your hair, Carol,” she said. “How did it get so messy so fast?”
“I didn’t have time to do anything with it this morning,” I said. “Because you sent me that urgent text. So I have ‘bed head.’ “
“That’s for sure. Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.
“Anyway, someone knocked on the shop door around eight this morning. I figured it was one of my clients, on the way to the train, who needed to make an appointment. But instead, it was a police detective. Paul Wheeler. And he proceeded to ask me a whole lot of questions about my relationship with Will Finnegan
. What a horrible little man.”
“I know Paul,” I said. “He’s pretty full of himself. Unfortunately, he’s my son-in-law’s partner on the Fairport police force. I don’t know how Mark puts up with him.”
“I resented the way he questioned me,” Deanna said. “Although I guess it’s pretty unusual for someone to have two separate wakes. When he asked me about my relationship with Will, I implied that we’d been good friends for years, and that was the extent of our relationship.”
“Oh, Deanna, you never should have done that,” I said. “Especially since so many people knew about you and Will. All Paul has to do is talk to one person who came to the first wake, and the truth will come out. And then, he’ll want to know why you lied. You’ve made things even worse for yourself.”
“You’re right, Carol. And I could tell that Paul didn’t believe me. I was stupid.”
Deanna took a deep breath. “Then Paul noticed the collection of scissors at my station. I had cleaned them the night before, and didn’t have a chance to put them back in my drawer. Paul suggested I could have planted one in Will the night of the wake. Just to make sure that he was really dead.
“I really lost it then. I told Paul that I’d never do anything to hurt Will. I admitted that I loved him. And that we’d been together for years.
“Of course, then Paul wanted to know why I hadn’t been honest with him in the first place. At that point, I stopped talking. I said I wasn’t answering any more questions without a lawyer present.
“He finally left the shop,” Deanna said, “but said he’d be back. I texted you right away. I knew you’d figure out what to do.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” I said. “It’s true that I’ve pointed the police in the correct direction a few times….” I let my voice trail off, remembering how Paul had told me, in no uncertain terms, to butt out of this investigation. My face burned at the memory.
Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5) Page 15