Eating Cupcakes in a Cemetery

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  Carmen chatted on during her entire appointment. Luna didn’t find out what Carmen was going to say or do when her husband finally phoned; but she did find out several important names to go into her little black book.

  ***

  Belinda and Bev stared at each other. No one ever crossed the line about the child. It was an unwritten rule. No matter how much the sisters bickered and fought, even the child’s name was sacrosanct and never mentioned.

  “Let’s go to the cemetery,” Belinda said.

  Belinda didn’t know how to drive, and Bev was still dizzy, so they walked the short distance to the graveyard.

  “Is that why you bought your townhouse, because it was so close to the graveyard?” Bev asked as she walked along, holding her high heels.

  “In a nutshell, yes. I thought if we were ever talking again, you could visit, and we could come here.”

  “Mom ever come by?”

  Belinda shook her head sadly. “Nope. I’ve asked her, but she’s always terribly busy. I’ve only lived at this address for two years. Do you know, she actually takes a hot yoga class about three blocks from here?”

  Bev twirled her stilettos. “Did you know, Belinda, there is a name for a mother like her?”

  Belinda smiled for the first time that evening. “Is it absent?” she asked.

  “No it’s more like a real expletive.” Bev thought about the puzzles. “Look; I’m really sorry about that guy destroying your puzzles. I don’t know who he is. Maybe I pissed him off. I can’t remember.”

  “And you’ll probably want to thank me for not calling the cops,” Belinda admonished her younger sister.

  “Thank you for not calling the cops, Bell.”

  “Your welcome five and dime; when my sister shows up at my door and tells me she woke up next to a dead guy…well, it was the least I could do. And, you brought money.”

  “Five and dime! You haven’t called me that in years!” Bev laughed and punched her sister in the arm. “It didn’t make sense when you gave me that nickname and it still doesn’t.”

  “Come-on, Beverly Penelope “Penny” Nichols, that’s pretty close to five and dime! And I was ten at the time I thought it up. I thought it was pretty clever.”

  “Is this it?” Bev said as they reached a wrought iron gate. It had a massive padlock on it. Belinda nodded, and kept walking. She crooked her finger at Bev to follow.

  “See all this foliage? It hides the fact that the fence is missing. We just go in this way.”

  The two sisters pushed their way in. Belinda hung back, watching to see which grave Bev would go to.

  “Look at this one, Bell, it’s beautiful.” Bev sat down in front of a marble angel.

  Belinda sat down beside her. “It’s my favorite. It looks like the angel climbed up these steps and then threw herself over the casket in despair.”

  Bev continued, “She’s cried ever tear and now, exhausted from grief she lies there. Her wings are drooping and just about touch the ground. Whoever bought this headstone just loved their dead relative so much.”

  Belinda shone her phone on the inscription and the dates. “She was only little when she died.”

  “Yes she was,” said Bev, thinking about her daughter. “She would be nine now. She never had a tombstone.”

  The two sisters reached out and held one another’s hands. A siren sounded as a police car went by a couple of streets over and broke the spell.

  “We really should get over this obsession with cemeteries,” Bev said, “It’s not really healthy.”

  “Practically deadly,” said Belinda.

  Despite her grief, Bev started giggling. “You know, one of these days we are not going to mourn when we come here; we’ll make an evening of it and bring something to eat.”

  “Like a loaf of bread?” Belinda asked.

  “Think big. If I’m going to party, I want cake! Confetti cake with strawberries and whipped cream!”

  “I don’t like confetti cake; I like croissants.”

  Bev smirked. “But if you had to choose cake, it would be…?”

  “Carrot or spice cake.”

  “Fine, we’ll get a lot of cakes. No! Better yet, how about a bunch of cupcakes? And we will spend the night eating cupcakes and not mourning.” Bev grew serious again and leaned forward and traced the angels’ wing.

  “Maybe we will be able to think about my daughter and not think about how she was conceived and how she died.”

  Belinda stood up. There was only so much thinking about the past she could take because the guilt threatened to crush the life out of her. “But not tonight,” she said briskly. “We have to go back to my house and count money. You are going to buy me a new door.”

  “Don’t you mean a new lock?”

  “No,” said Belinda firmly, “You are going to buy me the whole damn door. And you should really buy yourself a pair of sneakers.”

  They pushed back through the greenery.

  “And some deodorant,” Belinda added.

  ***

  Mr. Sean Johnson, Manager of the Shady Rest Motel with his newly minted nametag and name, spent some time walking back and forth in front of the mirrored wall in the foyer.

  This was an excellent decision, he told himself. He also congratulated himself on his sleight of hand earlier, when he managed to palm a few hundred-dollar bills from the motel room belonging to former resident Beverly Nichols. The FBI agent, one Hailey Peterson who was more than a partner with FBI agent Jamal Osman, had not noticed.

  Sean wondered if he should go back and try to get some more money. He knew this was basically a motel for knocking boots; a sleazy no-tell motel. For himself, no matter how much he was knocking boots he would always be noticing the large blood stain on the wall. Yes, he would have to replace the green striped wallpaper as he could not rent the room in it’s present condition.

  “Hello, this is Sean W. Johnson phoning you quite late in the evening. Are you finished with the room?”

  “Not yet Sean but Hailey and I are printing it ourselves as the local yokels are taking way too long. Do you know they are still at the crime scene in the cemetery?”

  The manager realized that Jamal had mistaken him for some other official person. Then the other penny dropped for Sean. Despite talking to Jamal, in person, for two weeks, the FBI agent did not recognize his voice. Fine. The deception will continue, Sean decided.

  “Unacceptable.” Sean said as he debated using the drawl again.

  “No kidding. You know what’s weird about this whole mail fraud/kidnapping thing Sean, we didn’t consider the woman a suspect. We thought she was an innocent by-stander. Plus, Serafino Napoleone was dressed after he was shot.” Jamal was dividing his viewing pleasure between a soap opera he had on mute and Hailey’s contortions as she was fingerprinting the room.

  Usually the manager had to repeat himself several times before he was understood. This new name, however, seemed to give him new communication powers. Not only did people understand him, but they were volunteering information about dead people.

  “So tiny Beverly Nichols, who has a habit of drinking sufficient alcohol to make her parking a continual inconvenience to her neighbors; stripped this Serafino, shot him and then put his clothes back on?” Sean asked, while he chewed on the end of his pen. “I find this most inconceivable.”

  Jamal was confused. How would the Assistant Deputy Director know how Beverly parked? Was he running a secondary ghost operation? Oh my god, did Sean know about the fraternization between Jamal and Hailey? Time to mend fences.

  “Say Sean,” Jamal started tentatively, “I want to thank you again for my promotion to Special Agent. And you know I was just joking when I said I’d phone your wife and tell her about you and Lisa?”

  Hailey had been listening to this conversation while she was working, but because she hadn’t changed the battery yet in her hearing aid, she was only catching part of it. She decided to walk closer to Jamal and heard the last sentence clear as a be
ll.

  “I’ll take that, thank you,” Hailey said as she grabbed the receiver from Jamal’s hand and pointed to the motel phone. “You see this button that says, ‘front desk’? That’s who you’re talking to.” She swiftly put the phone to her left ear nearly smacking Jamal with it in the process. “Thanks for your help Sean; we’ll get back to you soon.”

  Jamal was peeved. He was the lead on this investigation; he was the one who gave the verbal reports.

  “You idiot!” he spat out, “You just hung up on the Boss!

  “Again, take note of the phone. You were talking to Sean Johnson, the front desk manager of the motel, not Don Halverson, Assistant Deputy Director.”

  Jamal blinked a few times as he reviewed the information.

  Hailey smirked as she watched him mouth the words ‘not Don Halverson’. Jamal had that whole tall dark and handsome thing going on; strong deductive reasoning? Not so much.

  Chapter Five

  Two months before…

  He walked by the mirror, then swiftly turned to catch his appearance in the mirror. Serafino had a theory. If he turned quick enough, he would see himself as strangers would. A fine-looking man with a new half carat diamond stud in his left ear. He repeated the process several times just to make sure.

  His much older girlfriend walked in the bedroom.

  “Serafino, really? I’ve told you it looks good. It makes you look even sexier. Now stop parading around like a peacock. We’ve got dinner reservations.”

  “Okay, Boobsy, let’s go to dinner.”

  “Serafino, please!” Suzanne begged, “If you call me that in private, you could slip and call me that in public again. I’m a classy lady; treat me like one.”

  Serafino’s back was to her, but she saw his glare in the mirror.

  “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to tell you what to do. Your earring, that suit, you look sharp baby. Really sharp.”

  Her boyfriend’s jaw relaxed. Suzanne breathed a sigh of relief. This dinner was important. Serafino had to be on point, and she didn’t want him clouded with anger. She watched as he continued to preen in front of her full-length mirror. He was smooth all right; she just hoped he was smooth enough to impress her employer.

  ***

  Jamal hoped he had set his PVR correctly to ‘record series’, not just ‘record episode’. The new soap was airing at two pm and the teasers looked promising. ‘Before they were infamous’ promised a scandalous look at celebrities lives and loves and murderous schemes before they became well-known. Of course, it was thinly disguised as fiction, but Jamal was already hooked. The first episode hinted at a Presidential candidate and a popular singer and their lovechild who grew up to be a Senator.

  Jamal was currently searching Senators and their origins. His work lay untouched on his desk. Jamal reached out and divided the pile in half. He arbitrarily flipped one half of the reports over. His workload didn’t change but didn’t seem so overwhelming that way.

  “I see you’re really going after this stack of anonymous tips,” his boss said.

  Jamal looked up at Don Halverson and smiled. “You bet, Boss. I received an anonymous tip about a Senator; and I’m slogging through backgrounds to see if it has any merit.”

  “Good job Son. At this rate, you’ll be out in the field as a special agent in four or five years.”

  Jamal kept smiling but groaned as soon as Don left his desk. Mr. Jamal Osman was a striking looking young man with big dreams that involved prestige combined with adventure. He daily dreamed of going undercover and being the hero in an epic take-down of criminals. As a relatively new FBI agent, he would not even begin to be considered for undercover work until he had done his time with paperwork. Like Don said, four or five years.

  At least he had a party to go to tonight; a combo going away and welcome aboard party. Special Agent Hailey Peterson was recently assigned to the office while Special Agent Jakob Kim was leaving for greener pastures in Springfield.

  Jamal had already set his sights on his conquest for the night; namely Field Agent Lisa Stopford-Perkins. He logged on to the intra-office email and sent her a cute little cat video. She sent him heart eyes and a kissy face emoji. It was going to be a good night.

  ***

  “This is my employer, Mr. Vincent Millar. Mr. Millar, this is the young man I was telling you about, Mr. Serafino Napoleone. Excuse me gentlemen.”

  Serafino waited until the older gentleman sat down, then joined him at the table. Suzanne excused herself and returned to her condo. She had only been there to make the introductions; she wouldn’t be in on the negotiations.

  “So what you’re saying, is that you’ve already set up this charity and you want to us to support you?”

  “I’m not fond of the word support,” Serafino said evenly, “It would be more of a relatively cost-free promotion. We would supply you with all the signage and flyers and ten percent of all monies received. In return, you would have your people put one flyer in each shopper’s bag. That’s it.” Serafino cleared his throat. He had eaten way too many potato chips.

  Mr. Millar leaned forward. He was amused. “I have over six hundred stores in the Continental United States; let alone my international interests. You think you can supply me with enough flyers for my millions of customers here at home?”

  Serafino adjusted his tie and looked down at the table. He cleared his throat again and asked the waiter for some water.

  Mr. Millar, owner of the Mansion Decorating Discounts chain was disgruntled. He thought his assistant and mistress, Suzanne Turcotte, who normally was a sharp cookie, was going to bring him a real opportunity. He looked over at the thirty-something man guzzling water. Another upstart thinking too big for his britches and a nervous nelly at that. Oh well, at least I’ll get a good meal out of this, he thought.

  “If you could just look out the window,” Serafino said, his thirst finally sated, “You’ll see two semi-trailer trucks blocking the view of the harbour.”

  Mr. Millar looked. Two plain white semis were in fact parked just outside the restaurant.

  “If we were to open the back of each truck, we would find millions of flyers ready to go. Here is a sample.” Serafino pulled out a thin paper that read in part:

  “Help Seniors in Trouble! Donate now to S.A.A.R.P. Senior Advocates Aiding Real Pensioners!

  “You’ve heard of us for years. You’ve seen our ads on television and heard them on radio. We’re the people who go to bat for our precious elders and get them the monies they deserve.

  “Simply send your donation in this pre-addressed, pre-stamped envelope. Fold this flyer in half with your generous donations to help our seniors and mail it in as soon as possible.

  “Don’t send your money overseas. Send it to Seniors in Trouble Now!”

  Serafino pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, placed it on the dotted line, and folded the flyer. He put his fingers in his water glass and then ran them over the pre-glued edges. He handed the now sealed envelope to Mr. Millar.

  “This is one of the few times in my life I’ve been pleasantly surprised, Mr. Napoleone. Very pleasantly surprised. But why would I agree to this? As I mentioned, I have hundreds of stores at home and more abroad. Money I don’t need.”

  Serafino could feel his body tense up. He felt exactly like he did before he landed the first blow on one of Helen Percy’s debtors; happy.

  “You and I disagree Mr. Millar. I understand you are having a re-branding issue along with union certification issues in dozens of your stores. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little cushion?”

  Vincent Millar stood up. “We are not having dinner, Mr. Napoleone; we are making a deal. I am going to shake your hand because you are going to give me twenty-five percent and then we are going to go and look at those trucks. I want to see my multi-million-dollar cushion.”

  ***

  Bev woke up and realized she was still drunk.

  “Apparently I now live in a motel,” she said to herself as she looked around he
r surroundings. She recognized her purse, and her collection of stilettos in red, black and yellow so if all her shoes were here, she was home.

  “And now, welcome Beverly Penelope Nichols; you’re the next contestant on what time is it?”

  It was that weird time of day, she decided, when it could be early morning or early evening.

  “Do I need to go to work or have I already been is the question of this unknown hour?” She got out of the bathtub and headed into her living room/kitchen/bedroom and turned on the television. It was 5:53. After she put her glasses on, she could read the tiny PM on the screen.

  “Bonus!” she yelled, “I’ve already been to work! That’s worthy of a celebration!”

  She went to her stash of bottles under the sink and started picking up random bottles looking for any remaining booze. A horrible thought occurred to her.

  “What if I work at night?”

  ***

  “So he went for it?” Carmen asked when Serafino came home late that night. She was tired. Their four kids had been hopped up on red licorice their Auntie had bought them and took forever to go to sleep. She could not even get excited when her husband told her they were going to be millionaires.

  “That’s nice,” she said and started snoring.

  Serafino gently nudged her. “I bought a diamond earring, amore.”

  At the word diamond, Carmen’s eyes sprang open and she sat up in bed and looked at Serafino’s ear.

  “Very nice,” she said, “Now where’s mine?”

  He reached under his pillow and brought out a deep purple box. Like a hungry woman, Carmen snatched it from his hand and opened it. Two one carat diamond studs sparkled back at her.

  “Are you finished with the cougar now?” Carmen asked as she put her earrings on.

  They were a unique couple. They really loved one another, and also told one another there were no secrets between them. Carmen knew that Serafino used other women to get ahead in life and Serafino knew that Carmen didn’t care what he did as long as he loved only her and brought home money. He also knew if he ever took any of his women seriously, Carmen would kill him.