Sister Rose took her place at the head of my dining room table and said, “Everyone, please close your eyes and bow your heads. We will now offer a prayer for the soul of the late Mary Margaret Mahoney.”
As Sister Rose led the prayer, I snuck a quick peek and realized that the three Marys and J.T. not only had their eyes open, but they were all looking daggers at Sister Rose. Neecy had her head bowed but did not join in the prayer itself.
Interesting.
As if the prayer wasn’t enough to make the entire room (including me) uncomfortable, Sister Rose upped the ante even more. “I think it would be appropriate for each of us who knew Meg so well to share a special memory of the deceased.” Her message was clear: This is not a suggestion. You will all do it.
Sister Rose looked around the room. “Who would like to go first? How about you, Mary Ann?” Boy, this was just like being back at Mount Saint Francis when Sister Rose would give us a surprise pop quiz. Even Nancy’s tears didn’t get us out of those.
At that point, I escaped into the kitchen to get the salad for lunch. No way was I going to share anything, and being the nominal hostess did give me some privileges. Plus, being in the kitchen gave me a better opportunity to observe most of the suspects – I mean, my classmates – at one time.
And boy, were the Golden Circle girls wriggling in their seats.
I was fussing over the number of individual salad bowls to bring to the table – I know, I should have set the table before anyone arrived but I ran out of time – when I heard Claire call my name. Sticking my head around the doorway, I said, “I’ll be in with lunch in a jiffy, Claire. But I could use a little help carrying things.”
So get up, get out here, and tell me what’s going on.
“Hold the salad for a sec, Carol, ok?” Claire said. “I think it’s time for a toast. There’s a pitcher in your refrigerator, on the second shelf. Would you bring that in, please?”
“Oh, sure. I’m on it.”
Never mind the fact that this was my refrigerator in my kitchen in my home and Claire was treating me like I was the hired help instead of the lady of the house. That’s what being a good sport is all about.
Claire had now taken Sister Rose’s place at the head of my dining room table and gestured to me to bring the pitcher to her.
Gritting my teeth and reminding myself what we were here for – well, what some of us were here for, to solve the mystery of Meg’s death – I resisted saying, “Yes, Your Majesty,” and carefully placed the pitcher in front of Claire without spilling a single drop on my damask tablecloth.
“Everyone pass your glasses to me and I’ll fill them up,” Claire said. She proceeded to pour a creamy pink concoction that looked like Pepto-Bismol into each glass.
Mary Beth examined hers and asked, “What exactly is this? It looks like medicine.”
“It’s a drink recipe I happened across recently,” Claire said. She raised her glass to begin the toast. “It’s called a Pink Squirrel.”
The three Marys choked.
“We drank these every time we got together for….” Neecy blushed as Mary Beth caught her eye. “Never mind. I think I’m remembering wrong.”
“What should we drink to?” Sister Rose asked.
“How about to the reunion committee?” Mary Alice suggested. “And to departed friends.”
I took a generous sip. Hey, I was entitled. I wasn’t used to this much stress in my house. Especially stress that I wasn’t responsible for.
Boy, I never knew that squirrels – pink ones, that is – packed such a punch in their cute little claws. This drink tasted as smooth as a milkshake, but when it hit the digestive system, look out. It was a good thing we were having lunch soon, to offset the effects of the alcohol.
By this time, Nancy had resumed her place at the head of the table. “Ok, people,” she said, “it’s time to get down to business before we have lunch. Let’s talk about our reunion. How does everyone think it went?”
She colored slightly. “Apart from Meg’s death, of course. I thought it was fabulous.”
“I think it would be a good idea if someone took notes at this meeting.” Mary Alice suggested. “After all, in five more years, we’ll be planning another one.” I shot her a look, and she immediately backtracked. “I mean, in five more years there’ll be another reunion, but we won’t necessarily be the ones planning it.”
Nancy nodded her approval. “Great idea. Claire, would you please take notes? You always took the best ones in school.”
“I’ll be glad to, Nancy,” said Claire. She whipped out a yellow coil-bound notebook imprinted with the Mount Saint Francis logo and the words “Golden Circle Club” on the cover.
And that’s when all hell broke loose. No kidding.
I thought the three Marys would have heart attacks, right there in my dining room. Then, Mary Beth grabbed for the notebook, but missed.
Mary Ann grabbed the notebook from Claire and threw it to Mary Catherine. Mary Catherine lobbed it to Mary Beth, who threw it to Neecy. Neecy threw the notebook up in the air and narrowly hitting missed my Waterford chandelier. Then, she started to cry.
Porter, recognizing the sound of her mistress’s sobbing, made a flying leap over the baby gate separating the kitchen from the dining room. She caught the notebook in mid-air, raced toward Neecy, and dropped the notebook in her lap like the good dog she was.
Hey, Porter’s a Labrador Retriever, remember? So, she retrieved.
The three Marys all tried to make a break for my side door. But Mary Alice and Claire were too quick for them and blocked their exit.
The only one who didn’t say a word through this entire thing was J.T., which I put down to the fact that she was too young to know what the notebook signified.
Sister Rose rapped on the table for silence. And, of course, got it. Then said, “I think someone here has something to say. Or, perhaps, ‘confess’ might be a better word.”
This was followed by the three Marys, babbling at the same time and blaming each other for what happened to Meg, with Mary Beth being the most vocal. And Mary Catherine sobbing, and repeating over and over, “She wasn’t supposed to die. No one intended for her to die.”
“Everyone calm down,” Sister Rose ordered, glaring at us so we all knew she meant business. “And please, don’t all speak at once. Neecy,” she said, “hand me that notebook. I will keep it for the time being, until we get this mess sorted out.”
Having successfully restored what passed for order in my dining room, Sister Rose cleared her throat. Then demanded, “What happened at Fairport Manor the night before the reunion? How did Meg die? I want the truth.”
Her facial expression made it crystal clear that nobody was going anywhere until she got it.
Mary Beth looked at the other members of the Golden Circle Club. And sighed. “Ok, Sister, I’ll be the spokesperson.” Then she glared at Claire. “But first, I want to know how you got your hands on that notebook. I thought it was….”
“Stolen?” I finished the sentence for her. “You mean, you had the nerve to sneak into my house and take it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Carol,” Mary Beth snapped. “I was at the Prentiss fundraiser the whole evening. You saw me.”
“That’s true,” I said, “but you could have called someone to do your dirty work. And how would you know that the yellow notebook was taken, and when, if you had nothing to do with it?”
I was impressed with my logical thought process. I hope you are, too.
Mary Beth shot me a poisonous glance. “I resent your accusation, Carol. I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“By the way, Mary Beth,” Claire said, pointing to the yellow notebook, “this happens to be my notebook, not yours. I figured if I used it today, somebody would react. And I was right.
You did.”
Sister Rose rapped on the table. “Let’s get back to the main subject. I am asking you again. What happened to Meg the night before the reunion? How did she die?” I noticed that she shied away from using the word “murder.” I didn’t blame her.
“I’ll tell you,” Mary Ann said, glaring at Mary Beth. “I just want to get this out in the open, once and for all. When we heard about that filthy book, Fifty Shades of Navy, we never dreamed that Meg was the author. But we should have realized it, knowing her. It wasn’t until we found out that Sister Rose had been sent an advance copy that the pieces started to fit together.”
“Meg called each of us the week before the reunion and bragged about writing Fifty Shades of Navy,” Mary Catherine said. “She claimed the book was going to make her rich.”
“She used some of our old notebooks from the Golden Circle Club and embellished them, to publish this…filth,” Mary Beth said. “And she told us she’d dedicated the book to us, and listed all our names. Her plan was to show up at the reunion, hand out copies of the book to everyone in our class, and humiliate us. Because we didn’t stick up for her on the planning committee. What a witch.”
Mary Catherine took up the story. “We were pretty desperate. We had to stop her. We’d kept the secret of the Golden Circle Club all these years, and couldn’t risk exposure now. So we made a date to meet Meg at Mount Saint Francis the night before the reunion.”
“Yeah, we actually thought we could talk her out of her plan,” Mary Beth said. “I even brought a pitcher of Pink Squirrels, for old times’ sake. We thought that getting together, like the old days, would make Meg change her mind.
“But instead, she laughed. She was going to the reunion and tell everybody about her book and the Golden Circle Club. Our reputations would be ruined. And, probably, our marriages, too.”
“When we left Meg, she was alive,” Neecy insisted, finally speaking up. “She was a little tipsy from the Pink Squirrels, but she was alive. We didn’t do anything to cause her death. I don’t understand what happened. I’ve gone over it and over it in my mind, and I just can’t figure out what happened.”
She looked at me. “That’s why I wanted you to figure it out. But I never expected...this.”
“Oh, God, what if we did do something? We didn’t mean to. We really didn’t.” Now Mary Beth was sobbing.
Sheesh. We were getting nowhere. Well, we were getting somewhere, but I had no idea where. If that makes any sense to you.
“I thought Meg and I were best friends when we first met,” Neecy said, stroking Porter’s head in an effort to regain her composure. “And she was Anthony’s godmother.”
“Some godmother,” J.T. said. I was startled to hear J.T. speak. Truthfully, I’d forgotten she was even in the room. “Anthony was my only love. We pledged to be together forever.”
J.T. choked back a sob. “Meg ruined his life, your life and mine, Neecy. You never figured that out, did you? I hated her. More than the rest of you can ever imagine.”
J.T. took a deep breath and looked straight at Neecy. “Your dear friend Meg killed your son. So I killed her. No, that’s not right. I executed her.
“And after all these years, Anthony finally got the justice he deserved.”
Neecy’s face was white. “What do you mean, Meg killed my son?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Neecy,” J.T. said in disgust. “Who do you think got him hooked on drugs in the first place? Didn’t you ever wonder about all those weekend trips he took to New York City? About what he was doing there, or who he was meeting? She was his original supplier, until he got so hooked he graduated to hardcore drugs, like heroin. Meg was a real godmother, all right.”
“I can’t believe it,” Mary Ann said.
“The woman was pure evil,” J.T. said. “She never forgave you for marrying Tony, Neecy. Getting Anthony hooked on drugs was her revenge.”
J.T. looked at the three Marys. “Maybe Meg wanted to humiliate all of you by handing out copies of Fifty Shades of Navy. But she wanted to destroy Neecy. Because Neecy had everything that Meg always wanted. Especially Tony.”
Neecy buried her head in Porter’s warm doggy coat and sobbed. The rest of us sat there, watching the sad scene and not quite knowing what to do next.
Until finally, Sister Rose said, “Carol, I think it’s time to call the police.”
Chapter 43
One nice thing about living in a small town is that when
you don’t know what you’re doing, someone else usually does.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the sight of J.T. being led to a Fairport Police car by my own son-in-law. After she’d made her surprising confession, J.T. shut down completely, not offering any more information or explanation about Meg’s death.
I wondered how much of what J.T. said was the truth, and how much was conjecture on her part. And I wondered, too, if we’d ever know that answer.
Naturally, Mark clammed up and refused to share anything with me about J.T.’s arrest. Although he did thank me for pointing the police (once again) in the right direction.
To everyone’s surprise, J.T. pleaded guilty at her arraignment and waived her right to a trial by jury. And, despite the fact that her attorney tried to shush her, insisted on telling the judge how Meg died. It turned out that J.T. knew all about the famous Pink Squirrel cocktail that was the official drink of the Golden Circle Club. And because she was the marketing director at Fairport Manor, it was easy for her to pay an already inebriated Meg a surprise visit with another round of Pink Squirrels after the Marys and Neecy had left.
J.T.’s recipe had one extra ingredient, however: enough crushed Vicodin pills to be fatal, which were disguised in the creamy drink.
After Meg died, J.T. put her body on the bed, took away the incriminating cocktail shaker, substituted the pill bottle, and carefully arranged the suicide scene. Complete with the note, “Forgive me.” The Fairport police ruled Meg’s death a suicide, and voila – Meg’s remains were transported out of town and buried with no one being the wiser.
Except me, of course.
I had to admit, the note was a nice touch. But it also was a tip-off to all of us who really knew Meg that something was fishy.
J.T. refused to say why she’d picked my room (well, Nancy’s and mine) for Meg’s demise. I have my theories, but since I have no proof, I’m not going to tell you.
I heard through the classmate grapevine that J.T. is serving out her sentence at a women’s prison on the Connecticut shoreline. Which makes it convenient for Neecy to visit her. Sometimes, she brings Porter, who is now a trained therapy dog.
By the way, Tony Prentiss lost the state senate election by a handful of votes. Which just goes to prove that Jim is absolutely right about the electoral process – every single vote counts.
The uproar around Fifty Shades of Navy faded away quickly. With no one – that would be the mysterious author – to promote it, people lost interest.
Every now and then, I see one of the Marys around Fairport. We smile, nod politely, and go our separate ways. Which is just fine with me.
Claire, Nancy, Mary Alice and I are even closer now than we were before, if you can believe it. Claire is putting pressure on all of us to buy condos in Florida for the winter. I don’t know if I could ever convince Jim to spring for one, unless it’s at a rock bottom price and, perhaps, is within walking distance to his favorite place.
No, not the beach. CVS.
Meanwhile, Jim and I are muddling along. Back to dullsville, as my dear mother used to say. I’m trying not to interfere in my children’s lives, but I always check Jenny’s tummy for any telltale bulge when she pops in for a quick visit. So, sue me.
I’m sure she’ll confide in me when she and Mark decide to start a family. And it’s a complete lie that I
spend part of most days Googling sites like “How To Be A Perfect Grandmother” and picking out baby names.
But hey, I want to be prepared.
Mike checks in every now and then. He was a little disappointed that his Internet sleuthing skills didn’t crack the case. Ah, well, maybe the next time.
Did I really say that? Jim has threatened to take away my credit cards if I get involved in another mystery.
Stay tuned.
Girls and Bullying
According to the National Crime Prevention Council
(www.ncpc.org/topics/bullying/girls-and-bullying): When most people picture a “typical” bully, they imagine a boy who is bigger or older than his classmates, who doesn’t do well in school, who fights, and who likes it when others are scared of him. Girls usually face a different type of bully, one who may not look as scary from the outside but who can cause just as much harm.
The typical girl who bullies is popular, well-liked by adults, does well in school, and can even be friends with the girls she bullies. She doesn’t get into fist fights, although some girls who bully do. Instead, she spreads rumors, gossip, excludes others, shares secrets, and teases girls about their hair, weight, intelligence, and athletic ability. She usually bullies in a group and others join in or pressure her to bully.
This kind of bullying can have just as serious consequences as physical bullying. It can cause a drop in grades, low self-esteem, anxiety, depression, drug use, and poor eating habits in girls who are bullied. This kind of bullying is harder to see. Most of the time, adults don’t realize when girls are being bullied in this way.
One of the best ways to stop this form of bullying is for the girls who see it or who are stuck in the middle to speak up and say that it is not ok. But only 15 percent of girls speak up, usually because they’re afraid the bully will turn on them next. Parents and other adults can help girls beat bullying by teaching them how to stand up for themselves and their friends and by taking action themselves.
Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery Page 22