“I don’t understand, Neecy,” I said. “Meg was stealing clothes from you. And you let her get away with it. Why didn’t you try and stop her?”
I couldn’t help myself. This made no sense to me.
“I wanted to be popular, Carol. For heaven’s sake, can’t you understand that? I was only popular at school because everyone thought I was Meg’s best friend. Hanging out with her was like getting the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. I would have done anything to keep that image going.
“Then, one night, Tony came to pick her up for a movie date. Meg and I were outside, and I remember she was twirling around, showing off a brand new dress that my mother had just bought me. Of course, I hadn’t worn it yet. Not that she cared about that.
“Tony came roaring up the driveway on his motorcycle. When I saw him, I thought my heart would burst out of my chest. Meg hopped on the back of the motorcycle, but before they roared down the driveway, he turned around and gave me the sweetest, most loving look. And I knew, right then and there, that we were meant to be together. The next day he called me for a date. My parents forbade it, of course. So I snuck out to meet him. It was…thrilling.”
Neecy closed her eyes, smiling at the memory. “I can still see him that night. He was so handsome. Well, of course, he still is.”
She snapped back to the present. “Tony called me again, and my mother refused to let me talk to him. So he waited for me outside Mount Saint Francis. And he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride on his motorcycle. Oh, man, did I ever! It was so much fun. So…freeing. I loved it.”
Neecy frowned. “When my parents found out, they were furious. I always thought that Meg was the one who squealed on me. She denied it, of course. But she was so jealous when Tony dropped her to start taking me out.”
A smile curved on her lips. “I think that was the only time in our lives that I had something she wanted, that she couldn’t take from me. Meg couldn’t figure out why Tony preferred me to her. And, to tell you the truth, neither could I. But I didn’t care. I fell for him the first night I laid eyes on him. And he felt the same way about me.
“Nobody but Meg knew we were dating. Believe it or not, she covered for me at home lots of times. Of course, there was a price to pay. Meg always demanded payment, in one form or another, for doing someone a favor. Especially me.
“And soon after graduation, Tony and I eloped.”
“It sounds like you and Tony were meant to be together,” Mary Alice said.
“That’s true. But I’m not going to pretend that we’ve lived happily ever after,” Neecy said. “No one does. We’ve had a good life. Until our son died. I didn’t think either of us would survive that.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m not going to cry. I’ve shed gallons of tears since we lost Anthony.”
“The death of a child has to be the most horrible thing that can happen to a parent,” I said. “I can’t imagine the pain you and Tony went through.”
Mary Alice flashed me a warning glance. She sensed that I was about to ask more questions. I got the message and took a sip of my iced tea instead.
“Anthony was just eighteen when he died,” Neecy said. “Legally, that meant he was an adult. But he always was my baby boy.
“Unfortunately, he made some bad choices. He died of a drug overdose. I was the one who found him.”
Nobody spoke. Mary Alice and I watched helplessly as huge tears gushed out of Neecy’s eyes.
I realized that I was crying myself.
“Meg showed up at Anthony’s funeral,” Neecy said after taking some time to compose herself. “She was his godmother. A very poor choice on our part, in hindsight. But my parents insisted on her, so Tony and I agreed.
“Meg really came to the funeral so she could hit us up for money, not share in our sorrow or comfort us. As usual, it was all about her.”
“What a heartless bitch!” I said. Mary Alice shook her head at me. But I couldn’t help myself.
“She was what she was, Carol,” Neecy said. “I believe your phrase sums her up quite nicely.” She allowed herself a ghost of a smile. “I’ve sometimes wondered if she was glad Anthony died. That his death was my punishment for stealing Tony away from her all those years ago.”
“That was the end of your so-called friendship, right?” I asked. “You said you hadn’t seen Meg in a long time.”
“I didn’t tell you the truth about that,” Neecy said. “I didn’t tell Tony, either. But every now and then she’d contact me and say she needed money. And I always gave it to her.”
“But why?” I asked. “She made your life miserable.”
“Let’s just say that Meg knew some things about me that I preferred to keep hidden,” Neecy said.
“I’m not going to tell you that part. We all have our secrets.”
I didn’t have to look at Mary Alice to know that she was telegraphing me not to probe. And, to my credit, I didn’t.
“Of course, each time Meg contacted me,” Neecy said, “the amount she asked for increased. And then she showed up at my door a few months before the reunion. She was very excited. She told me that she was onto something that was going to make her a rich woman very soon.”
“Did she tell you what it was?” Mary Alice asked.
“No,” Neecy said. “Not even a tiny hint. But it was like she’d won the lottery – that’s how excited she was.
“And it seems to me that if Meg was about to become rich, it makes no sense that she would commit suicide,” Neecy said. “I think someone murdered her. And I’m afraid that if it comes out how much I hated her, and that I’ve been giving her money for years, the police will think it was me.
“So I want to hire you to find out how Meg died, Carol. I know you’ve done this kind of thing a few times in the past. I have no one else I can turn to.”
She slid a personal check, made out to me, across the table. “Fill in any amount you want.”
Chapter 33
Bet you didn’t know that the 11th Commandment is
“Thou Shalt Not Stick Thy Nose Into Other People’s Business.” I tend to ignore that one.
It takes a lot to stun me into silence. No surprise, right? But Neecy’s offer to pay me was a first. I didn’t know how to answer her.
I’d never thought that being a natural snoop could open up a new career path for me. After all, Miss Marple never collected a paycheck, and look at all the mysteries she solved.
I wanted to say, “Of course I can help you, Neecy. I’ll figure out how Meg died. And keep you out of it.”
But I knew better. Because it was possible, though unlikely, that Neecy was involved in Meg’s death. After all, she had just admitted to Mary Alice and me that she’d been giving good old Meg money for years to keep a secret. Any way I looked at that, it was blackmail. Hush money.
On the other hand, if Neecy was involved in Meg’s death, she wouldn’t have asked me to help her, right? Unless she enlisted me because she figured I could find out information she couldn’t. And she could use that information to cover her tracks, so to speak.
Lordy, what a mess. I didn’t know what I should do.
So I used one of my most time-honored techniques, honed through years of practice dodging questions from Jim about the cost of my recent retail purchases – I didn’t give her a direct answer.
“I can’t take money from you, Neecy,” I said. “But we all want to know how Meg died,” I said. “In fact, we were talking about that very thing on the ride over here today, weren’t we, Mary Alice? And you came up with the idea of a tribute or memorial celebration for Meg,” I said. “Especially since none of our class was able to attend her funeral.
I hoped Mary Alice would go along with my spur-of-the-moment brainstorm.
“The more I think about your idea, the better I like it, Ma
ry Alice. And it’s so fitting that you organize it, since you were our class president.”
Now I snuck a peek at Mary Alice, whose face resembled a thundercloud. “I don’t remember saying….”
“And I said I’d help you.” I continued. “We talked about involving Sister Rose, too.”
“I guess we did talk a little about a service,” Mary Alice said, now still looking annoyed but finally catching on to what I was up to.
“That’s an interesting idea, considering Meg didn’t have a whole lot of friends in our class,” Neecy said. “I suppose we could do something. We could even hold it here.”
Then she veered back to her outrageous job offer. “But we can’t do anything until we know more about how she died. And prove that I’m not involved. So it all comes down to you, Carol. Are you going to help me?”
Rats. Now I know how a deer felt when it was trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” I said. “No promises, though. And absolutely no money.”
Neecy jumped up and gave me a big hug. “Thanks, Carol. I knew I could depend on you.”
I made a big show of looking at my watch. “It’s almost four o’clock, Mary Alice. Don’t you have to be at the hospital by five? We’d better collect the dogs and go.”
Right now. Before I got myself into any more trouble.
Jim wasn’t going to be thrilled to hear about my official sleuthing. And my son-in-law, well, his reaction didn’t bear thinking about.
I was heading outside to corral Lucy and Ethel when Neecy followed me to the front door, holding two boxes. “Don’t forget about Tony’s mailing, Carol,” she said. “Unless you won’t have the time to do it now.”
“Not a problem,” I lied, grabbing the boxes and heading toward my car. “Not a problem at all.”
At least, not a problem compared to the mess I currently found myself in. Stuffing envelopes would be a welcome, mindless diversion.
My specialty, since my mind had gone AWOL a long time ago.
Chapter 34
I changed my computer password to “incorrect.” That way,
if I log in with the wrong one, the computer will tell me,
“Your password is incorrect.” Brilliant, right?
“Of course, I turned down Neecy’s job offer,” I said to Jim. “Although I have to admit I was flattered she wanted to hire me. It’s the first job offer I’ve had in a long time.”
I had decided to give my husband a carefully edited synopsis of the day’s events. Which I had come up with on the way home from Neecy’s and practiced first on Mary Alice, and then on Lucy and Ethel. I can always depend on their approval.
Well, I usually can.
“Carol, when I suggested that you add to our retirement income with some sort of part-time employment, opening a detective agency wasn’t what I had in mind,” Jim said.
“How about my becoming a political campaign consultant?” I asked. “Neecy’s husband needed help getting a mailing out and I volunteered. He’s the kind of person it’s hard to refuse. Very charismatic.”
And sexy as all get-out. I didn’t really say the last part, of course. No point in giving Jim anything like that to worry about.
“I never would have figured Tony Prentiss to be a success at anything when we were growing up,” Jim said. “Much less run for elected office. I think that he was arrested once in high school for stealing a car.”
“You can’t be serious, Jim. Tony’s a successful businessman, not a car thief.”
“Carol, we all were young once. And did some stupid things. All I know is, Tony ran with a dangerous crowd when we were in high school.”
“Well, Tony must have straightened himself out,” I said, defending my friend’s husband. “He certainly wouldn’t be running for office if he had a criminal background. As a matter of fact, by my standards, he’s testimony to what the love of a good woman can do. So, there, Mr. Smarty Pants. And I’m glad to help him out by doing this mailing. I hope he wins the election, too.”
Jim settled himself into a kitchen chair and grabbed a handful of campaign literature. “I think it’s a little late for you to begin a career in politics, Carol. How about if I knock off some of this mailing while you make dinner. I’m starving.”
That man really does have a two-track mind.
I couldn’t wait for Jim to go to bed that night. I was anxious to check my e-mail and see if my darling son had responded to my urgent message. And I didn’t want to answer any more questions from my husband, since after 10:00 p.m., my creative juices totally dry up and I tend to tell Jim things that I’d never admit earlier in the evening.
Finally, having relieved his mind that Fairport, Connecticut, was not in imminent danger of any major weather-related calamities, thanks to the assurance of the all-knowing meteorologists at The Weather Channel, Jim heaved himself out of his chair and announced he was going to bed.
“I want to check my e-mail, dear. I won’t be long,” I said. Jim nodded and headed to the bedroom.
And I logged onto the computer.
Halleluiah! A message from Mike.
Hey Cosmo girl. What’s up with u? R u in trouble again?
I began typing my reply so fast that I misspelled most of the words. Oh well, Mike would get the idea. And maybe he’d even think I’d invented a new language.
I ended with: Need u 2 do Internet search right away. Do u have time 2 help?
Then I fired it off and waited. I was proud of myself that I’d inserted a few words in “textese.” Hey, I keep up with current trends.
The response came immediately. Just like I’d hoped.
Mike: Restaurant closed 4 a week. Painters here. Search 4 what?
I rattled off a bunch of names for him to check out: Meg Mahoney (a.k.a. Mary Margaret Mahoney), Neecy Prentiss (a.k.a. Denise Prentiss and Denise Nolan), and the three Marys. Also Tony Prentiss.
Once again, a reply:
Mike: What do u want to know about them?
Me: Everything. What have they been doing 4 the last 40 years?
Mike: Everything? U sure r nosy.
Me: Ha! As much info as u can find. Especially about Meg Mahoney. She died at the reunion. Well, right b4 the reunion.
Mike: Aha! I knew there was a dead body in there somewhere. Bet you’re involved. Was she ur roommate?
Me: No, but she was found in my room. By me.
Mike: Ouch.
Me: Especially 4 her.
Mike: Leave it 2 me. But give me a little time.
Me: Don’t do anything illegal!
Mike: I’ll take my cue from u.
Somehow, I didn’t find that comforting.
Well, after that cyber conversation with Mike – during which I did not ask about his current (or past) romantic life, which just about killed me – I was wide awake. Like I’d just gulped down 4 cups of high-test coffee. Black.
I knew I’d never get to sleep until I wound down. And I also knew that, if I snuck into bed and tried to go to sleep, my tossing and turning would drive Jim nuts. Not that I could blame him, the poor guy. When I’m this fired up, late at night, even Lucy and Ethel want nothing to do with me.
Unfortunately, Jim and I had already finished Tony’s campaign mailing. I considered taking the brochures out of the envelopes so I could re-stuff them. Then I remembered that we had sealed them. Too bad we were so efficient.
The siren song of a sleeping computer lured me back to my desk. “At least you won’t mind if I wake you up,” I said. “Maybe I have a new e-mail that I need to check out.”
Nada. Zip. Boring. But not boring enough to put me to sleep.
I was so desperate for late-night entertainment that I decided to check out my Spam folder. I often found things
in there that were so ridiculous, they made me laugh out loud. Like an offer of marriage from an Arab sheik who found himself wrongfully jailed in another country and needed $10,000 from me to spring him, so he could buy me the engagement ring he had promised me.
Hmm. It seemed that I’d gotten several e-mails from Amazon suggesting titles for me to buy. And most of them suggested Fifty Shades of Navy.
I’d meant to give Mike this book to research, too. But he already had so many other things to check out.
I’m a pretty obedient person. If someone in authority suggests that I should do something, I usually do it. And who has more authority in this entire cyber universe than the biggest cyber bookstore?
I can talk myself into anything. It’s a gift.
So, why not do this myself? All I had to do was click on the Amazon link. Not that I planned to order the book. Of course not. But maybe I could find out a little more about the book, and the author, without committing myself to a sale.
Oh, grow up, Carol. You’re a married woman. You don’t shock easily.
So, I clicked. And was immediately on the book’s Amazon page.
The cover art was a pair of navy knee socks, artfully draped over a pair of…omg…were those handcuffs? Nah. I must be imagining things.
I forced my eyes away from the cover to read the author blurb:
There has been much speculation in the media about the identity of this book’s author. For reasons of confidentiality, however, the publisher can only confirm that the writer has direct, personal knowledge of growing up as a Catholic girl in the Sixties and Seventies. It was this intimate knowledge that inspired the story of Fifty Shades of Navy.
Rats. I’d never get to sleep now.
Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery Page 17