Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6)

by Susan Santangelo

  “Humph,” Claire said, remembering her embarrassing encounter earlier today. Which I’m sure she’d hold me, and only me, responsible for until my dying breath. “Some people are just plain rude. To walk away in the middle of a conversation with no explanation or apology.”

  “I saw that creepy Bernardo beckoning to him,” I said. “You know who I mean, right? The so-called ‘concierge,’ who’s always popping up all over the place, offering services that nobody wants. Or asks for. Like taking Lucy and Ethel for a walk without permission earlier today and scaring me to death. I thought they’d been dognapped.”

  Nancy patted my hand in sympathy. She knows how much I love the girls. Then, she said, “Maybe Bernardo had made an appointment for Gene to pick out a new hairpiece.”

  “Humph,” Claire said again. But this time, she grinned when she said it. “Do either of you have anything else to report?”

  “Kurt Armitage also told me there’s a big deal memorial service scheduled for Charlie tomorrow morning at the beach,” I said. “In fact, that’s what Jim’s working on right now. It’s going to be a huge media event.”

  “Why do I get the feeling from the expression on your face that this is not good news?” Nancy asked. “There’s more to this event than a memorial service, right?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re right. According to Kurt, Deputy Sheriff Armstrong may make a big announcement at the service. She’s honing in on a particular young man who was seen arguing with Charlie right before he died.” I choked back a sob.

  “By this time tomorrow, Mike could be in jail.”

  Chapter 39

  Don’t be so serious all the time. If you can’t laugh at yourself, give me a call. I’ll be glad to laugh at you.

  “Well, we’re not going to let that happen,” Claire said firmly. “Mike needs legal representation, right away. I’ll find Larry and he’ll get to the bottom of this.” She whipped out her phone and started typing a text.

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” Nancy said.

  “There are only two things wrong with your suggestion,” I said, stopping Claire’s busy fingers in mid-flight. “First of all, is Larry licensed to practice law in the state of Florida?”

  “Well, no,” Claire admitted. “I didn’t think of that part.”

  “What’s the second problem?” Nancy asked.

  “I bet Mike won’t even talk to Larry,” I said. “He’s refused to admit that he saw Charlie last night, remember? Except to me, and I had to practically force it out of him. He has no idea the trouble he could be in.”

  “Then it’s up to us to clear Mike,” Claire said. “And we can do it.” She grabbed my hands and repeated, “We can do it. Believe that, Carol. But there’s no time to waste. We’re going to figure this whole mess out before tomorrow morning’s memorial service.”

  “I wish I had your confidence, Claire,” I said.

  Nancy checked her phone. “Mary Alice just sent a text. She says she has something she wants to tell us. She wants to be sure we’re all together, and then she’ll FaceTime us.”

  Nancy tapped a quick reply into her phone. “I told her to call now.”

  “Since when does Mary Alice know how to text?” I asked, happy to focus on another topic besides my soon-to-be-wearing-an-orange-jumpsuit son. “And what the heck is FaceTime?”

  “She took a computer course at the Fairport Senior Center this winter,” Claire said. “FaceTime means you can make a call on your Smartphone and actually see the person you’re talking to.”

  “FaceTime is a great idea, as long as my hair and makeup look good,” Nancy added. “I just don’t use it too early in the day.” I shot her a quick look and realized she wasn’t kidding.

  Nancy’s phone trilled, she pressed a few buttons, and through the wonders of technology, Mary Alice appeared on the screen, waving at us.

  “We’re putting you on the dining table so we can all see you,” Nancy said. “You’re our centerpiece.”

  “This is probably the closest I’ll get to Florida for a long time,” Mary Alice said. “And I guess I won’t get a tan today, right?”

  Claire and Nancy both laughed, but I didn’t. I was too impatient for mindless chatter, so I grabbed the phone. “Mary Alice, Mike is in big trouble. I don’t know what you’ve found out, but I sure hope it will help him.”

  “What?” Mary Alice asked. “What’s going on?”

  Nancy yanked the phone from my hand and put it back on the table. “Here’s the short version. Some idiot claims that Mike and Charlie King had a fight last night. Mike lied to the deputy sheriff about seeing Charlie. Carol thinks Mike’s going to be arrested and charged with Charlie’s death.” She looked at me. “Have I left out anything important?”

  I shook my head.

  “Now,” Claire said, leaning forward toward the phone so Mary Alice could see her, “what have you found out?”

  “Give me a second,” Mary Alice said. “I’m trying to process what you’ve told me. Oh, Carol, I wish I was there to give you a hug.”

  “Hugs are great,” Claire said, “but information is even better. What do you want to tell us?”

  Mary Alice held up a yellowed newspaper clipping. “Remember I told you that the obituary for Charlie’s wife was in the paper the same day as Brian’s?”

  “We’re all nodding,” Nancy said, speaking for everyone.

  “I found the obituary and re-read it.” Mary Alice’s voice wobbled. “It was very hard for me to look at that paper again. But I forced myself. The obituary was very short. But there was something about the way it was written that made me suspicious. I know a few nurses who’ve been on staff here at the hospital for years. One of them, Rita Monroe, was a goldmine of information. She remembered that Charlie’s wife was a very troubled person after she had her baby. Today she’d probably be diagnosed with postpartum depression, but back in those days, nobody knew what that was.”

  By this time, Claire, Nancy and I were jockeying to get as close to the phone as possible. Stupid, I know. Like that’d make any difference in Mary Alice’s story.

  “Rita told me that Charlie’s wife committed suicide. And the family hushed it up. That’s why her father had that memorial to her at his drug store. It was the only way he could think of to honor her life….And her memory.”

  “How tragic for Carrie,” Nancy said, echoing all our thoughts.

  “Postpartum depression can sometimes last for years,” Mary Alice added. “Nobody understood it back then.”

  “I didn’t know much about it until that actress, Brooke Shields, wrote a book about her own experience with it,” Claire said. “Remember the furor that caused?”

  “This is all very sad,” I said, directing my comments toward the phone, “but I don’t see how this relates to Mike. Helping him is my number one priority right now. I feel bad for Carrie, but…. I hope the rest of you understand.”

  “Of course we do,” Nancy said. “Mary Alice, we wish you were here with us so much.”

  “Believe me, so do I,” Mary Alice said with a laugh. “We had five more inches of snow last night.”

  “Thanks for the information about Carrie’s mother,” I said, not wanting to appear ungrateful. “We’ll be home soon.”

  After a flurry of air kisses, Nancy clicked her phone off and looked at Claire and me. “So, where are we? Did that help at all?”

  “I don’t see how,” I repeated, shaking my head in frustration. “I’m worried to death about Mike, and I don’t think either of you are helping. You just don’t understand.” I could feel a major pity party starting.

  “I’m going to ignore that remark,” Claire said. “Because we both know how upset you are. And maybe Mike isn’t our birth son, but that doesn’t mean we don’t love him. So quit feeling sorry for yourself and let’s get back to work.”

  She wrote NEXT STEPS in bold writing on the notepad, then looked at me. “So…what next? Or, should I say, who next? As in, who else do we talk to?” />
  “Whom,” I said automatically. “Whom is the direct object of ‘talk.’ ”

  Nancy rolled her eyes.

  “I’d sure like to find out who that dining room server was who started all this trouble,” I said. “In fact, I’d like to wring her neck, the liar.”

  Claire wrote: FIND OUT WHO SERVER IS.

  Nancy said, “That’s a great idea. And I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m hungry. What do you say we make a quick trip to the dining room ourselves? We can grab a bite and ask a few questions. Multi-talking at its best.”

  “Great idea,” Claire said. “Just give me a minute to freshen up, and text Larry, in case he’s looking for me.”

  “What about the dogs?” I said, gesturing to Lucy and Ethel who were snoozing by the sliding glass door.

  “I bet they won’t even miss us,” Nancy said. “Come on.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I hate to leave them. They may start to bark because they’re in a strange place.”

  “Then we’ll take them with us and eat outside by the pool,” Nancy said in frustration. “Let’s go.”

  Lucy gave me a doggy stare and a huge yawn. Then she rolled over and went back to sleep.

  “She’s telling us she’s had enough exercise, and needs her rest, Carol,” Nancy said. “I don’t blame her. Bye, Lucy. We’ll bring you and Ethel a treat from the dining room.”

  Honestly, that Nancy. Sometimes I think she knows my dogs better than I do.

  Chapter 40

  Chocolate comes from cocoa, which is a tree. That makes it a plant, which means that chocolate is a vegetable. Therefore, eating a whole bag of M&Ms is actually eating a salad.

  “I’m sorry, hon, but we are closed,” the self-important young man said, halting us at the entrance to the dining room. “We begin dinner service at five o’clock. I suggest you try the poolside bar.”

  Never mess with three post-menopausal women. Especially if they’re hungry. And, above all, never call us “hon.”

  I peeked around the little twerp’s shoulder. There were four men sitting at a table in the corner of the dining room, enjoying a late lunch.

  “I’m certain I didn’t hear you correctly,” I said in my most lady-of-the-manor voice. “Or, perhaps you’ve been misinformed. Those four gentlemen are obviously eating. I assume that’s food from your hotel kitchen. We would like to do the same. So please seat us. Now. Unless the dining room only serves men at this hour, which is a form of discrimination. In that case, we could sue. And my friend Claire just happens to be married to a prominent Florida attorney. I’m certain he’d be happy to take on the case. Am I right, Claire?”

  Claire nodded her head in agreement. “Discrimination cases are his specialty, as you know, Carol. In fact, he’s slated to argue a suit against the Happy Holidays Hotel chain at the U.S. Supreme Court in two weeks.”

  Nancy suppressed a giggle. With a great deal of effort.

  Well, what else could the poor guy do, when faced with a possible lawsuit, but open the velvet rope he’d been hiding behind, reach for some menus, and say, “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Please, follow me. I’ll alert the kitchen that you are here. Also, please enjoy an iced coffee or tea on the house.”

  “That’s more like it,” I said, settling into a seat and preparing to look at the menu. “What a jerk.”

  “I just hope somebody comes to take our order,” Nancy said. “There don’t seem to be any servers around.”

  “Those four men over in the corner have food,” Claire said. “I doubt they went into the kitchen and made it themselves.”

  “Fat chance,” Nancy said. “There aren’t a lot of men who’d make their own lunch, even in their own house.”

  I laughed in spite of myself. “Trust you to make me feel better.”

  “You know the old saying, ‘Marriage is for better and for worse, but not for lunch,’ ” Claire added. “Although retirement sure changes that in a hurry.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by a burst of laughter coming from the other table.

  “You know,” I said, turning around and craning my neck with some effort, “there’s something about one of those men over there that looks familiar. I think I’ve seen him some place before.” I whipped out my bifocals for a better look.

  “Well, how about that,” I said. “I not only know that guy, I’ve been married to him for more than thirty years.”

  “What? You’re kidding,” Nancy said.

  “I think I know my own husband,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing up. “Even from the back. I’m going over there to see what’s going on. Are you two coming with me?”

  “Why not?” said Nancy. “I just love drama. Come on, Claire.”

  I wasn’t surprised to see that two of Jim’s tablemates were Mack and Kurt Armitage. But his third companion was a shock. It was Bernardo, that shifty concierge, who’d recently kidnapped my dogs. What the heck was he doing there? Had he served lunch, then pulled up a chair and made himself comfy? That’d be just like him.

  Their table was littered with empty glasses and plates, which didn’t seem to bother the men at all. They were all having a jolly time, judging by the continuous laughter. This was a serious business meeting to plan a memorial service? I didn’t think so.

  I tapped Jim on the shoulder. “Working hard, dear?” I was pleased to see that I had successfully embarrassed my husband, which was evident from the red flush that crept up around his shirt collar.

  Gotcha!

  All four men immediately sprang to their feet. Just like four little boys whose mothers had caught them raiding the cookie jar just before supper.

  “Carol,” Mack said, recovering the quickest, “we were just talking about you. We need your input on tomorrow’s memorial service. You know, the woman’s touch. Especially since you and Charlie had such an intimate history.”

  “I’d hardy characterize my relationship with Charlie as intimate, Mack,” I said. “Unless you want to include my friends, Nancy Green, Claire McGee, and the entire graduating class of Mount St. Francis Grammar School in…well, never mind what year.

  “This is Nancy,” I continued, pulling her forward, “and this is Claire. In case you haven’t met them before. In fact, Claire and her husband Larry may be the first contestants on The Second Honeymoon Game.” I looked at Kurt. “Assuming the show’s pilot ever happens.”

  “The show always goes on,” Kurt hastened to assure me. “It may be delayed a bit, but it will go on.”

  “We don’t mean to interrupt your business meeting,” I said, dripping with an excessive amount of sarcasm that I was sure even my clueless husband couldn’t miss, “which is obviously important and very serious, judging by the amount of laughter we heard from the other side of the dining room. When you have a second to spare, Jim, I’d like to have a brief conversation about our son. I promise I won’t take up too much of your valuable time. And, Bernardo, if you could find it in your heart to take our lunch orders—at your convenience, of course—I would really appreciate it. Oh, and Lucy and Ethel send their best.”

  Then I turned and made my way, head held high, in the direction of my own table. At least, I started to make my way. It would have been so much more dramatic if I hadn’t held my head up quite so high, which caused to bang right into a pile of extra chairs and spill them all over the place.

  My gallant husband immediately sprang to my rescue, even though I’m sure what Jim really wanted to do was smack me upside the head, figuratively speaking. As he grabbed me to save me from falling, he hissed in my ear, “This better be good.” Then he gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and said to his tablemates, “Carol and I need some time to catch up. We haven’t seen each other for most of the day.”

  And whose fault is that, dear?

  I didn’t really say that, of course. No sense adding more logs to the fire. So to speak. But boy, I wanted to. I glared at Jim, which I hoped telegraphed how angry I was.

  Bernardo ro
se from his chair. “While you and your wife talk, I’ll tell the kitchen to prepare a special meal for all you lovely ladies.”

  I gaped at him, and repeated, “You’ll tell the kitchen? I don’t understand.”

  Bernardo looked apologetic. And embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mean to mislead you, Carol. Or your friends. But sometimes I like to go incognito to see how well one of my properties is running. I actually own this hotel.”

  Kurt spoke up. “It turns out that Bernardo owns this one, and several others. He also happens to be the mysterious backer of The Second Honeymoon Game that Charlie talked about but wouldn’t identify. I guess you could say that Bernardo’s our boss.”

  “And a fine one he is, too,” Mack said. “We’ve just been kicking around some new ideas for the show. Bernardo has some terrific ones.”

  I’ll just bet he does. And even if he didn’t, you’d say so anyway.

  Nancy immediately pulled up a chair beside Bernardo. “I’d love to hear some of them,” she said. “I find television so fascinating. I know Claire does, too. Right, Claire?” She gave me a wink, and I realized that Nancy was creating a diversion so Jim and I could slip away and have a private conversation. If there’s one thing that men like to talk about, it’s how brilliant they are.

  “Well, I don’t pretend to be an expert,” I heard Bernardo say as I dragged Jim to a deserted corner of the restaurant.

  “Do you have any idea how much you humiliated me in front of everybody just now?” Jim asked angrily. “Mack and Kurt and I were trying hard to make a good impression on Bernardo, and you had to come along and ruin it.”

  “I refuse to let you intimidate me into apologizing for my behavior,” I said, looking my husband squarely in the face. “I was totally justified, in my opinion. And I’m sure every other wife in the world would agree with me if she knew the circumstances. Now, be quiet and let me talk. It’s about Mike. He’s in real trouble, and he doesn’t even realize it.”