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

by Susan Santangelo

  “That was scary,” Jenny whispered to me. “I really thought she’d had a heart attack.”

  “I did, too,” Claire said. “That’s why I called the paramedics.” She pulled out her cell phone. “I better cancel them.”

  “No, Claire,” I said. “Let them come, anyway.”

  “But why?” Jenny asked. “What if there’s a real emergency, and they’re here instead and can’t respond to it.”

  “You have to trust me,” I said. “I have a very good reason.”

  Claire looked mutinous and started to punch numbers on her cell. I grabbed the phone away from her.

  “I think Isaac Weichert saw something happen here the night of Will Finnegan’s first wake,” I said. “We need him here to see if we can jar his memory. And besides, there’s always more than one emergency team on call. But I’m betting that Isaac and Pam Augustine will respond to this one.” I hope.

  I peeked around the corner and saw that the Irish wake was now proceeding full speed ahead. People were clustered in groups, talking loudly about how exciting the scene with Melinda and Jack had been. I guess none of them had ever seen a person confess to a crime before.

  The women I had identified as Will’s possible girlfriends were now clustered in one large group. Too bad I didn’t have the time to eavesdrop. The stories they were exchanging must have been something.

  And smack in the middle of this group was Deanna. I bet her stories were the most interesting of all.

  Jack and Louisa were still at the front of Slumber Room A, now seated under the poster of Will and holding hands. They both looked a little shell shocked, to tell the truth. And who could blame them?

  I heard the wail of a siren. Good. Fairport Ambulance was almost here. I just hoped the rest of my plan worked and Isaac came through. Because if he didn’t, I was going into permanent retirement and donating all my Agatha Christie books to our local library.

  Out of the corner of my eye—my peripheral vision is still quite good, fortunately—I saw Mark and Paul leading a subdued Melinda Mallory toward the main exit.

  Rats. I need them here.

  I chased after them as fast as I could. Which, as you know, is not very fast. By the time I caught up with them, puffing all the way, both detectives were already in the parking lot with Melinda.

  Isaac and Pam hurried past us, loaded with assorted medical equipment and pushing a stretcher.

  Phew. At least, that part of my plan was working.

  I was relieved when Mark turned and fell in step behind Isaac and Pam, leaving Paul to deal with a struggling Melinda Mallory. True to form, Paul snarled at me, “I’m taking Ms. Mallory into headquarters. I don’t need you here.”

  Fine with me. So back into Mallory and Mallory (I wondered if the name would have to be changed) I went.

  My plan was to make a quick stop at the women’s room on my way to Slumber Room A. I figured the two paramedics had to examine Helen first, and that would give me some time. All that excitement had, well, you know what I mean.

  Unfortunately, my plan was derailed before I could put it into action by the sight of Phyllis Stevens making her way toward me through the crowd, disapproval radiating from every pore in her body. Poor Bill was, of course, several steps behind his wife, and making little effort to catch up with her.

  He gave me a quick wave, turned away, and headed straight for the bar.

  I cringed. I didn’t have time for a confrontation.

  So, I took the offensive.

  “Phyllis,” I said, throwing my arms around her neck and giving her a bear hug, “you look ten years younger. Welcome home. That cruise must have been wonderful. I can tell that you had a great time, and I can hardly wait to hear all about it. You and Bill must come over later this week for drinks. But right now, I’m needed inside. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  I turned to make my getaway, but Phyllis grabbed my arm. “Not so fast, Carol. What in the world is going on here? I thought Will Finnegan’s wake happened while we were away. And why did we have to find out about this…whatever it is…on the Fairfield Patch? You didn’t even have the common courtesy to leave us an invitation.”

  I squirmed out of her grasp. “I’m sorry for the oversight, Phyllis. A lot’s happened while you were away. I didn’t want to upset you on vacation. And I wasn’t sure exactly when you and Bill were coming home.”

  The upshot of my wasting valuable time placating Phyllis was that I completely missed seeing what happened next, and had to rely on Nancy and Mary Alice to give me the details. Which really irritated me.

  I heard it, though—another scream, even louder and more primal.

  By the time I hustled myself to Slumber Room A, I saw my son-in-law separating Isaac from an out-of-control Pam Augustine, who was pummeling poor Jack Finnegan with her fists and whatever else was handy.

  And Pam was screaming curse words like—well, I’m not going to repeat them. Remember, I went to Catholic school.

  Then I heard Mark say to Pam, “You have the right to remain silent.”

  OMG. I never saw that one coming.

  But please don’t tell anyone I admitted that.

  Chapter 46

  Nothing tastes as bitter as humble pie.

  It took a while for me to recover from the fact that I had been Completely Wrong about who was to blame for Will Finnegan’s death. Almost a whole week, in fact.

  I moped around the house, sighing a lot. Everyone avoided me, even Lucy and Ethel. Every now and then, I’d check my e-mail, just for something to pass the time. But I avoided reading the local newspaper. I didn’t want to know any of the details of how Detectives Mark Anderson and Paul Wheeler had cracked the Finnegan murder case.

  My case.

  Some mornings, I stayed in bed until noon. Jim tried to cheer me up by bringing hot coffee into me every morning, but even the lure of caffeine failed to excite me. And I had no interest, whatsoever, in attending the Fairport Merchants Association black tie gala.

  Which proves how depressed I was. I never turn down a chance to go shopping for a new outfit. Or two.

  How had I gotten the whole thing so completely wrong? Pam Augustine was never on my radar as one of Will’s girlfriends, much less the one who did the dastardly deed.

  I decided I had to find a new post-retirement hobby and give up sleuthing for good. Jim was right. I meddled in things that were none of my business, and it had to stop.

  My pity party didn’t even stop when I got a letter of thanks from Chief Flanagan for all I had done to help the police in their investigation.

  Poor me.

  Then, I got mad. Really mad. At myself, for missing any clues. And at Mark, who hadn’t played fair with me.

  So I took a nice hot shower, washed my hair, and got dressed in my most professional outfit—a navy pantsuit which makes me look thinner.

  I left a note for Jim. “Out for a while doing errands. Back soon.”

  I only had one errand, of course. And it was at the Fairport Police Station. I had to know how Mark figured out the case, and I hadn’t.

  “This is a nice surprise, Carol,” my son-in-law said, giving me a brilliant smile. “I didn’t know you were coming by. I hope you don’t have another dead body to report.”

  “That’s not funny,” I said, glaring at Mark. “And as far as dead bodies go, I am a concerned private citizen trying to do my duty. And help the police, if the occasion should call for it. Which it has. Frequently. In case you’ve forgotten.”

  Mark gestured me into a chair. “Of course I haven’t forgotten, Carol. I was just kidding you.” He took a closer look at my face, then said, “But I can tell you’re not in a kidding mood right now. So, why are you here?”

  Don’t come across like a cry baby, Carol. Be professional. And remember those grandbabies-to-be.

  “I wanted to congr
atulate you on arresting Pam Augustine for Will Finnegan’s murder,” I lied.

  “Yes,” Mark said, “that was an interesting twist to a very confusing case. Or, should I say, cases. In fact, if it hadn’t been for you, we probably wouldn’t have solved them yet.”

  Say what?

  “You know I’m not at liberty to reveal certain aspects of our investigation,” Mark said.

  I nodded. Good sport that I was.

  “But I guess it won’t hurt to tell you that it was Isaac Weichert who pointed us in Pam’s direction. Although he didn’t really mean to. Let’s just say that the conversation I had with him after we left your dinner party proved very enlightening. Especially about paramedics’ access to…” He stopped himself.

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to share?

  Mark nodded. “That’s all I can share.”

  You don’t think I’d let him off the hook that easily, do you? I was starting to get my confidence back, so I plowed ahead.

  “How about if I come up with my own scenario and you tell me if I’m right or wrong?” I asked, an outrageous idea forming in my head.

  “Mary Alice has mentioned that paramedics sometimes hang around the hospital emergency room after they deliver a patient. Is that what happened? I know there was a confrontation between Deanna and Louisa about Will. Did Pam overhear it? Is that what happened?

  “I bet she’d gotten one of Will’s kiss-off letters, too,” I said, warming to my scenario even more. “And she figured out a way to send Will on a permanent one-way trip with no one being the wiser.”

  Mark stood up. A sure sign that our little chat was over. And that I was on the right track.

  “Why don’t you and Jim come for supper on Sunday night?” Mark said. “It’s our turn to cook.” And ever so gently, he propelled me out the door.

  I pondered what Mark had—and hadn’t—told me all the way back home. I knew I’d never give up until I figured out the whole story. And if Mark wouldn’t tell me, I’d just keep on digging until I figured it out.

  But it was a heartbroken Mary Alice who provided the missing information.

  “I should have known it wouldn’t last,” my sweet friend said, tears forming in her eyes.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Nancy said, patting Mary Alice’s hand. “Men can be so hurtful. Just look at Bob as an example.”

  “Let’s not look at Bob right now,” I said, putting the brakes on Nancy’s attempt to mingle her own male troubles with Mary Alice’s. And since the tears were being shed around my kitchen table, I had the right to interfere.

  “Carol’s right,” Claire said. “We’re not here to talk about you, Nancy,” she said, shooting her a look that is frequently reserved just for me. “We got together to cheer up Mary Alice.”

  “Would ice cream help?” I asked, falling back on our tried and true way to banish the blues.

  “Not this time,” Mary Alice said. “Amazingly enough. But it would help if I could just tell you what happened. With no interruptions.”

  I zipped my lips. “Go ahead. We’re all ears.”

  “Well,” Mary Alice said, “Isaac and I went out to dinner last night. And right before dessert, he told me he was leaving Fairport. Not just on a trip.” Her lower lip quivered. “He was leaving for good.”

  She stopped for a second, and took a deep breath.

  “Isaac told me that he and Pam Augustine had been in a relationship for a long time. And then she left him for someone else. He never knew who it was. But she hurt him terribly. And he told me that when their ambulance arrived at Fairport Hospital with Will Finnegan, Pam insisted on going inside and waiting with the patient. Although that was unusual, Isaac didn’t question it.”

  “Love can be blind,” Nancy said. I kicked her under the table.

  “Isaac said he never realized what Pam had done until she went ballistic at the second memorial service. And mistook Jack Finnegan for his dead brother.”

  “Did Isaac share this with the police?” I asked. Not that the police shared it with me, of course. Despite the fact that it was my dinner party that started that conversation going.

  Mary Alice nodded. “But now, he feels so guilty. So, he’s leaving town. He told me how special I had been to him, and that he’d always remember me.” She sighed. “But I’m still glad I met him. I found out that I’m ready for a relationship again. And we did have fun for a little while.”

  Nancy raised a glass of water and toasted Mary Alice. “Here’s looking at you, kid. And, remember, we’ll always have Fairport.”

  “I like Everybody Loves Will better,” I said. “I think a television show with that title would have a long run with millions of fans. Just think of the plot twists.”

  That broke the tension and sent us all, even Mary Alice, into uncontrollable giggles.

  “You know,” Nancy said, “it’s suddenly dawned on me that Isaac really was the hero at the second memorial service. You weren’t there, Carol….”

  “Don’t rub it in,” I said.

  Nancy looked hurt. “I’m not rubbing it in. I’m merely explaining what happened.”

  Humph.

  “Anyway,” she went on, directing her comments to Mary Alice, “remember that Isaac was the one who jumped in and saved Jack Finnegan when Pam was attacking him. If it hadn’t been for Isaac, she could have really hurt Jack.”

  “You’re right,” Mary Alice said. “I never thought of it that way. And who knows, maybe he will come back to Fairport, someday.”

  I knew Isaac would have to come back and testify at Pam’s trial. But I decided not to share that tidbit.

  “You should be very proud of yourself, too, Carol,” Claire said. At my puzzled look, she explained, with just a slight grin, “Once again, the always curious Carol Andrews has come through, saving the fair town of Fairport from the bad guys. You solved the jewelry burglaries, and figured out who planted the scissors in poor old Will. An impressive record, for sure.”

  I suddenly realized that Claire was right. Not that I’m one to brag. But two out of three is a pretty darn good record, right?

  Of course, right.

  Maybe the library won’t be getting my mystery books after all. At least, not yet.

  I may need them for future reference.

  How to Plan a Funeral

  Let’s face it. Funerals are events that each of us must face, whether we want to or not. For a spouse or life partner, a family member, a close friend, a neighbor. And, of course, the ultimate one—our own.

  In Funerals Can Be Murder, Carol Andrews assumes the role of “official funeral planner” to unmask a murderer. But you may be surprised to know that there is a real occupation that’s similar to what Carol does in this book—funeral concierge.

  Annie Gibbons of Dennis, Massachusetts, is one of the first funeral concierges in the northeast. Her company, with Amazing Grace, coordinates all the usual details associated with a funeral, plus many extra, meaningful touches.

  Gibbons explains that there many different scenarios under which she and her company are hired. “We may be contacted as a result of a terminal diagnosis, by clients who want to pre-plan, or by families who have experienced a sudden death and are overwhelmed with the details that must be attended to.”

  Here is a partial list of what with Amazing Grace can coordinate:

  Help with selecting a funeral home

  Selecting, developing, formatting, and printing of a religious service bulletin, prayers, songs, eulogy.

  Travel arrangements

  Accommodations

  Flowers

  Food coordination/ meals after wake

  Bereavement gathering, food, music & picture retrospective video production.

  House, baby, elderly and pet sitting

  Personalizing of memorial service

 
; Emergency house cleaning

  Gibbons says that many Baby Boomers want to plan how their life will be celebrated when they’ve passed on, often choosing personal stories, music, and pictures for their unique service. For example: a young attorney who died suddenly had a collection of neckties that numbered in the hundreds. “At his life celebration, we displayed all of his ties and had a sign that read, “IF YOU WEAR ONE, TAKE ONE, PUT IT ON, THINK OF JOHN.”

  Another Gibbons’ client was a family planning the celebration of life for their 85-year-old mother, who had died a few months earlier. “She loved doing crossword puzzles with her grandchildren,” Gibbons said. “To personalize this celebration, we had square sugar cookies made, frosted and decorated with crossword puzzles using words significant to their family. It was very special.”

  Annie Gibbons can be reached at 508-237-0595, and her website is www.withamg.com.

  There are many resources on the Internet that can be helpful when planning a memorial service, as well. One of the best is www.funerals.org.

  A truly innovative life celebration was chronicled in a July 20, 2006 New York Times article: “It’s My Funeral and I’ll Serve Ice Cream If I Want To.” Check it out yourselves. You may discover that funerals can be, not murder, but fun.

  Believe it or not.

  Recipes for an Irish Wake

  By Chef Paulette DiAngi

  Irish Stew

  Sauté in bottom of large pot for two minutes:

  2 T olive oil

  1½ pounds cubed beef, mutton, lamb or some combination

  1 c chopped onions

  1 small leek, chopped

  Add:

  4 c water

  2 c Guinness Stout

  1 t thyme

  2 bay leaves

  2 T chopped parsley