Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Some days are a complete waste of makeup.

  “Oh my God, Carol. This is terrible.” Nancy’s voice was even shriller than usual. “Why didn’t you call me? I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news this morning. This has never happened to me before.”

  “Gee, what a coincidence,” I answered. “It’s never happened to me before either.”

  Nancy was instantly contrite. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I’m not thinking clearly. It must have been horrible for you, finding Jack Cartwright like that. But what in the world were you thinking, to go back to the house all alone at that time of night?”

  I started to cry. If there was one thing I didn’t need right now, it was someone else interrogating me about my actions the previous night.

  “I shouldn’t have to defend myself to you, of all people,” I said. “First the police, then Jim, and now you, all asking me the same question. I wanted to say goodbye to my house. Alone. You know how hard it’s been for me to let go of it.”

  I reached across the Formica kitchen counter and grabbed a napkin to mop my leaking eyes.

  “And besides,” I continued, “even if I hadn’t gone back to the house, Jack would still be dead. I just wouldn’t have had the bad luck to find him. That’s what I’ve been trying to explain to Jim. Over and over and over. It was an unfortunate coincidence. But he doesn’t get it.”

  I started to cry all over again. Lucy and Ethel nuzzled my legs, showing that they, at least, were on my side.

  “I’m sure Jim gets it, Carol,” Nancy said. “He’s just scared for you, and probably feels terrible about what you went through last night. And he can’t do anything to fix it. You know how men are. They have a lot of trouble giving emotional support to the people they love. But that doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

  “You may be right,” I conceded. “He was terrific last night when that twerpy detective, Paul Wheeler, was putting the thumb screws to me. Just my luck that he was on duty and heard the nine-one-one call.

  “Neither one of us got much sleep,” I continued. “Between the shock of finding Jack Cartwright, and sleeping in a strange bed, I feel like I didn’t close my eyes for more than ten minutes. We let Lucy and Ethel climb into bed with us, and I guess we must have finally fallen asleep.”

  “Where’s Jim now?” Nancy asked. “Is he still in bed?”

  “You must be kidding,” I said. “Don’t you remember how small this place is? If he was still here, I wouldn’t be able to talk without him interrupting me.”

  I felt better already. Sharing the trauma of last night with my best friend had put things into perspective for me. The authorities were dealing with Jack Cartwright’s tragic death. I had other things on my mind.

  “I know Jim’s going to ask about this when he comes back,” I said. “What happens now about the house sale? Is it off? Is the closing just postponed? How do we find out what’s happening? God, I feel so selfish asking about this under the circumstances.”

  “I think we can safely assume that the closing is off, at least for today,” Nancy said, with more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “But buyers can be very funny. It’s possible that Alyssa Cartwright may decide to go ahead with the purchase after all, once the shock of Jack’s death wears off. We can’t assume anything.”

  I bit my lip. She was right. But I hated the idea of just sitting around doing nothing.

  “How about this?” Nancy suggested. “I’ll contact the Cartwrights’

  Realtor and see what she knows. I’ll also check with Tim Casey, the Dream Homes attorney. He may have some idea about how and when to proceed. He was going to handle your house closing anyway, so he’s familiar with the deal.”

  “Just not this part of it,” I retorted. “I doubt if he’s ever had to deal with anything like this before.”

  “You never know. I’ll be back in touch as soon as I know something.” She clicked off.

  I was starting to get a headache. Whether it was from lack of sleep, finding Jack Cartwright, or caffeine deprivation didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to go back to bed and risk dreaming about my late night adventure.

  Maybe My Beloved had gone out for coffee and (hopefully) was going to bring back a gallon or two of high test to share with me. But I couldn’t wait that long.

  “All right, girls,” I said to Lucy and Ethel, who were still snoozing on the bed. “We have to unpack a box and hope our coffee pot is in it. Keep your paws crossed.”

  They telegraphed me a look which clearly said, Forget the coffee pot. Find the dog food and feed us breakfast.

  “Sorry, kids, but humans come first this morning. And don’t get too used to sleeping on the bed. Last night was an exception.”

  I squinted at the pile of boxes. I thought I’d been so organized, but I couldn’t find the one that was marked “Kitchen.”

  Rats.

  I did see the one marked “Dogs,” however. “I guess that proves who are more important around here,” I said. As if there was ever any doubt.

  I rummaged around for a water bowl and paper plates. The dogs came tearing into the kitchen and danced around my legs. See, they said. We knew we’d get fed first.

  “Not so fast, chums” I said. “You have to go out first. And on leashes. We’re not home any more.”

  I opened the door with my two canines in tow and found two thermoses of coffee on the front steps, one labeled “regular” and the other “decaf.” Ah, heaven! There was a note from My Beloved taped to a bag of muffins.

  “I thought you needed to start the day with an extra bonus, so I made an early morning drive to The Paperback Café and picked up some goodies for you. I’m going to drive around for a while and try to sort out what’s happened. Be back soon. Love, J.”

  “Well, isn’t this the nicest thing?” I asked Lucy and Ethel as they sniffed around the small patch of grass in front of the apartment trying to find an appropriate spot to do their doggy business. “What a great guy. I feel better already.

  “Let’s go inside and get breakfast for all of us. You get served first, as soon as I pour myself a full cup of regular. No diluting it with decaf this morning. I need all the caffeine I can get.”

  I tossed each dog a Milk Bone, then rummaged in a drawer looking for a can opener. It seemed so strange not to know where everything was. “You’re going to have to be patient with me,” I said. “We’re not home any more, and I have to hunt for things.”

  “How about if we turn on the television while we eat, girls? If I can find the remote control, that is.”

  The furnished apartment came equipped with only the bare essentials, and cable television was not one of them. My Beloved hadn’t wanted to spring for the extra connection cost – no surprise. “It makes no sense, Carol,” he’d said. “We’re only going to be here a short time. We’ll have to settle for over-the-air channels for a little while.”

  I wondered how he’d like it when he figured out that he wasn’t going to be able to get his beloved Red Sox games on NESN. I smiled at the thought.

  After fruitlessly surfing through all the channels, I settled for the local station from Fairport Community College. No choice. It was the only one I could get without snow. Not that I cared. I just wanted to hear another human voice.

  I was only half concentrating until I heard the reporter say, “I’m standing in front of where local police are saying a body was discovered last night. The empty house is for sale, and it looks like people are dying to buy it.” He paused to give his unseen audience a chance to appreciate his comedic genius.

  “This is the home’s owner,” the reporter went on, turning to the person beside him. “Do you have any comment, Mr. Andrews?’

  I only had a millisecond to react before the reporter stuck a microphone in the face of My Beloved. And Jenny was standing right beside him.

  Chapter 14

  I may not be a housewife, but I sure am desperate.

  “Mom, you should have called me!”

  Immediat
ely after the television interview, Jenny had driven to our temporary digs and was now letting me have it with both barrels.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jenny so angry at me. Except for the time when I accidentally threw out her treasured U2 hoodie. How was I to know it’d been tossed to her by Bono himself during a once-in-a-lifetime concert? She did forgive me, but it took two weeks before our relationship was back to normal.

  This situation could take longer to heal.

  Don’t say what you were really thinking, Carol --that you weren’t sure where she was at that time of night. Jenny had made it clear that part of her life was not something she intended to share with her parents, and Jim and I made every effort to respect her privacy.

  “It was so late, sweetie,” I said in my defense. “And I didn’t want to upset you.” Remembering the horrible scene in my beautiful house made me start to tremble. “It was awful, finding Jack Cartwright dead.

  “Your father has been on my case about it, too. What I really need from everyone is a little sympathy and support. He keeps asking me over and over why I went back to the house in the middle of the night. He can’t get it through his thick skull that I just wanted to say goodbye to our house. Alone. You understand, don’t you honey?”

  I started to cry. Again. I hate myself when I act that way, but I couldn’t stand to have Jenny mad at me, too.

  Lucy and Ethel, always in tune with the Andrews family’s emotional temperature, came over and gave my hand wet kisses. Then they looked at Jenny with what was – I swear – a reproachful expression. It was crystal clear to me what they were communicating: How can you be so angry at your mother, who is the most wonderful human being on earth? Especially when she’s had such a major shock?

  Jenny reached out her hands. Both dogs came to her side and gave her a tentative sniff. And waited.

  “OK, you guys,” Jenny said, laughing. “I can tell whose side you’re on. And that you want Mom and me to make up. Our own personal mediators.”

  “The hand that wields the can opener rules the house,” I said. “Barack Obama could probably use Lucy and Ethel to settle the Middle-East conflict.”

  “He has Bo now, remember?” said Jenny. “I’ve heard that Portuguese water dogs are better at negotiating than English cockers.”

  She gave me a quick hug. “Sorry I got a little carried away, Mom. I was just so upset when I found out what happened last night. It must have been awful for you. Do you feel up to talking about it? I promise not to interrupt. Much. I am your daughter, after all, and you know neither one of us can keep quiet for very long.”

  I had to laugh. “Sad, but true. I’ve also been told that I take twenty minutes to tell a story when it could be done in less than five. Oh, well.”

  As I repeated my story for what seemed like the umpteenth time, I realized how unbelievable it sounded. Middle-aged (OK, late middle-aged) housewife returns to visit her about-to-be-sold home alone, late at night, and discovers the dead body of her home’s buyer in her living room. I didn’t think Home and Garden Television had a program that covered those circumstances.

  “Were there any signs of a fight?” Jenny asked. “Mark is always talking about how important it is to notice every detail at the scene of a suspicious death, no matter how small it may seem.”

  “I didn’t notice anything except Jack,” I said. “Of course, at first I didn’t know it was a person. I thought one of the movers had accidentally dropped some clothing.”

  I shuddered. “I can’t talk about this any more. Let me make us both a cup of green tea.” I jumped up and headed in the direction of the kitchen. After opening and closing the three small cupboards, I gave up. “I can’t find a tea kettle. How’s that for stupidity. I’m going to have to use a pot to boil the water. I don’t think I can find any tea either.”

  “Forget the tea, Mom,” Jenny said. “I promise I won’t ask you any more questions about last night. Girl Scout’s honor. I have to leave for campus in about fifteen minutes.”

  “I hate green tea, anyway,” I said. “It tastes like medicine. Yuck.” I wrinkled my nose for emphasis.

  “Do you think Mark would know anything about the investigation?” I asked hopefully. “I have to go to the police station today and give a formal statement about what happened last night. It’d sure help me if he was there.” It’d be even better if he came here and with a fill-in-the-blanks statement for me to sign. Or, better yet, tell me that a formal statement wasn’t necessary at all. He’d certainly been helpful to My Beloved in the past.

  Not that I was pushing my luck.

  “Even though Mark and Paul both joined the Fairport police, they don’t always work on the same cases,” Jenny reminded me.

  “But he couldn’t be involved in this, no matter what. Because Mark and I are, well, because he and I are. You know what I mean. So you won’t be able to pump him for information.”

  Humph. The implication that I would take advantage of Mark’s and Jenny’s relationship was totally out of line. And exactly what did Jenny mean by the phrase, “Mark and I are.” Are what? Good friends? A couple? Neighbors with benefits? Engaged? If nothing else, Jenny had successfully distracted my thought process.

  “What do you know about Alyssa Cartwright?” I asked. “Was she in your class? Or Mike’s? Of course, she would have been Alyssa Miller then. I don’t seem to remember much about her.”

  “Alyssa didn’t go to school with either Mike or me,” Jenny said. “She was home-schooled until eighth grade, and then went away to some boarding school in Massachusetts. I always thought that was odd.”

  “Now I remember,” I said. “She’s an only child, and Sara and Chuck were very protective of her.

  “God, I can’t imagine what that family must be going through today. Do you think I should call and see how everyone is?”

  “It might be better to wait a while, Mom,” advised Jenny. “You can’t predict what kind of a reception you’ll get.”

  “Why, sweetie, that’s just plain crazy,” I said, conveniently disregarding the very opinion I had asked my daughter for. “Sara and I are friends. We’ve been neighbors for over twenty years. She’s even part of our regular Bunco group. We may not be as close as Nancy and I are, but we’re friends. I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear from me. Maybe I can even arrange for some food to be delivered.”

  I felt better. I had a plan of action. Plus, I was doing a good deed.

  “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll call Sara first and express our condolences. Then I’ll call Maria’s Trattoria and have food delivered to the family. I know Sara’s a gourmet cook, but everyone loves the food at Maria’s.”

  “I’m not sure calling the Millers is a good idea, Mom,” said Jenny. “But I know you when your mind’s made up.” She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I have to go. For God’s sake, don’t get into any more trouble today.”

  She threw her arms around me and gave me a crushing hug.

  “Mom, I love you so much. I’m sorry if I yelled at you before. But I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” Then, she was gone.

  “How about that?” I said to Lucy and Ethel. “I don’t think she’s ever said that to me before. At least, not for a long time.” We are not an overly demonstrative family.

  I hesitated, mulling over Jenny’s words of caution. To call, or not to call. That was the question. Heck, I knew Sara. She probably thought it was odd that I hadn’t called already.

  Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six rings. Then, the Millers’ voice mail kicked in. I realized it was possible they were screening calls, and perhaps they hadn’t recognized my number, because I was using a cell phone.

  “Sara, it’s Carol. I’m calling because I wanted you all to know how terribly sorry Jim and I are about this tragedy. You must all be beside yourselves.”

  I hear a click, then a high-pitched female voice which I identified as Sara’s.

  “Sorry, Carol? You called to say you and Jim are sorry about t
his tragedy,” she said, mimicking me and throwing my words back at me.

  “Because of you and Jim, and that awful, rundown house of yours, my beautiful daughter…” her voice cracked. “My beautiful daughter is now a widow. And my two precious grandchildren will grow up without a father.

  “Sorry? You bet you and Jim are going to be sorry. Chuck and I are going to see to it personally. That old wreck of a house was full of accidents just waiting to happen. We’re going to sue you for criminal negligence. And if I can convince the police, you’ll be charged with manslaughter, too.

  “You’ll be hearing from our attorney. And don’t call here again.”

  Then she banged the phone down in my ear.

  Chapter 15

  I can do anything with the right shoes.

  I’m not going to lie to you. My first reaction to an outburst like this has always been to burst into tears. I bet you’re sick of hearing me admit this by now. But I just hate it when someone is mad at me. Sometimes I think my tear ducts are on automatic pilot, like a sprinkler system set to water the lawn at a certain time of day.

  This time was different, though, because I finally realized I’d shed too many tears in the last twelve hours. And I wasn’t going to be a cry baby any more.

  So, I got angry.

  Damn it, I sold my beautiful house out of selfless love for My Beloved. To protect him and his health. To ensure that “Till death do us part” didn’t come earlier than absolutely necessary. And what did I get for thanks? A dead body.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that I had discovered Jack’s body in my house? Didn’t anyone care how traumatic that was for me? And then to be cross-examined by that little pipsqueak of a detective, like Jack’s death was my fault.

  And finally, having my good friend -- well, that was stretching it just a bit – having my neighbor Sara Miller accuse Jim and me of criminal negligence, which resulted in her son-in-law’s death. How dare she?