by Lois Winston
“She thought because I killed for my country in Iraq and Afghanistan, I’d have no problem killing for her.”
“But you were a Marine. You killed to protect us from terrorists.”
“Exactly. And believe me, even then it’s not easy to look someone in the eye and pull the trigger.” He shifted to face me more completely. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d do it again in a split second, but you never get over taking a life. You live with it for the rest of your life. No way was I killing for Sylvia. Even if she was my mother.”
“She was using you, Tino. A loving mother would never ask her son to kill for her.”
“I know.”
“And that’s when you went to the police?”
“Yeah. I admitted my part in disposing of both bodies. I was willing to take whatever punishment the D.A. doled out, but they offered me a deal. Get Sylvia on tape, and they wouldn’t press charges against me.”
“What about me, Tino? Where do I fit into all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did Mr. Gruenwald offer to pay me to find Philomena’s killer?”
“I don’t know why, but he genuinely believed the killer was someone working at Trimedia. He knew the cops considered him and Sylvia prime suspects. Since he hadn’t killed Philomena, and he couldn’t conceive of Sylvia killing her, he needed someone on his side to figure out what really happened.”
“He isn’t going to like the truth.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Do you also realize he’s responsible for everything that happened?”
Tino knit his brows together. “How do you figure that?”
“All actions have consequences. Gruenwald set the first domino in motion by cheating on Sylvia. When that first domino toppled, it created a chain reaction.”
“Cheating isn’t a crime.”
“No, but he’ll have to live the rest of his life knowing his libido ultimately resulted in two murders and his wife’s incarceration. Philomena and Norma Gene are dead because Gruenwald couldn’t keep his fly zipped.”
“He can’t be held accountable for Sylvia’s actions.”
“Unfortunately, the law probably agrees with you, but what about his other actions?”
“Besides taking up with Philomena? Like what?”
“He manipulated Bear Essentials out of existence in order to give Philomena the magazine she wanted. How many people are out of work and about to lose their homes, thanks to Alfred Gruenwald?”
“I see what you mean.”
“Good, because even if he can’t be charged with any crime, he at least deserves to lose his job.”
I’d worked myself into a rage, probably because the adrenaline surging through my body over the last half hour needed some outlet of escape. I leaned my head back against the seat, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath as the train slowed to pull into Newark Penn Station.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to blow up at you, but that man’s been a thorn in my side ever since he orchestrated the hostile takeover of our magazines. Just once I’d like to see justice win out over greed.”
Tino rose and stepped into the aisle. I followed. “You just might get your wish,” he said.
“Something else you’re not telling me, Tino?”
“Not my place to say, Mrs. P.” Then he winked at me.
“What happens now?” I asked as we stepped onto the platform.
“I’m heading back into the city. By now the cops have picked up Mrs. G.”
We headed downstairs together. “So I guess this is it? We probably won’t see each other again.”
He bent down and kissed my cheek. “You never know, Mrs. P. You stay safe, hear?”
“You, too, Tino.”
“Count on it.” He headed for the door to Platform One to catch the train back into the city, and I headed for the nearest food stand to buy a bottle of water before making my way to Platform Five for the train to Westfield.
~*~
Once settled into a seat on a Westfield bound train and sufficiently rehydrated, I called Cloris to explain why I’d gone AWOL.
“Park Avenue matron Sylvia Gruenwald, a cold-blooded killer? Who would’ve guessed?”
“In a way, I did. One of my first theories was that Gruenwald was covering for his wife.”
“But he wasn’t?”
“No. That man is in for a rude awakening when he learns she not only killed his mistress and her girlfriend but was plotting his murder.”
“If he wasn’t such a scumbag, I might feel sorry for him.”
“My feelings, exactly.” I sighed heavily into the phone.
“You sound exhausted.”
“I am. The last thing I want to do this evening is deal with Ira, his bratty kids, and Mama drama.”
“I don’t suppose you can get out of the rehearsal and dinner?”
I laughed. “Only if Tino had turned out to be the killer and got to me before I got away. And even then, Mama would probably be pissed with me.”
Cloris gasped. “Don’t even joke about such a thing!”
“At least we get half a comp day out of today’s extravaganza. I’ll get through the weekend somehow, then take Monday morning off.”
“Sounds like an excellent plan. Hopefully, tonight and tomorrow will go smoothly for you.”
I laughed again. “We’re talking Mama here. How likely is that?”
~*~
By the time I trudged the several blocks from the train station to my home, only the late afternoon sun winking through the autumn leaves could convince me it was really half-past four in the afternoon and not in the morning. The adrenaline rush that carried me through the events of the last couple of hours had long since dissipated, leaving every fiber of my body numb, every muscle screaming from exhaustion.
Only the crisp breeze kept me from collapsing onto the nearest lawn. I hugged my arms around my body, quickened my steps, and cursed not having my coat.
Like a Siren’s call, my bed beckoned from my house down the street, but unfortunately, we were due at the church in thirty minutes. Far too many hours loomed ahead before tonight’s threesome rendezvous between me, my pillow, and my mattress.
Yelling coming from inside the house greeted me as I approached the front door. I recognized the two screaming banshees immediately: Mama and Lucille. Coward that I am, for a split second, I considered not entering the house. What if I turned around, got into my car, and drove straight to Tahiti? Then I laughed. With my brain suffering from sheer exhaustion, my thoughts made little sense. No bridge across the Pacific, I reminded myself.
I shook the absurd idea from my head, took a deep breath, and stepped into the house, nearly tripping over one of Mama’s suitcases.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I found Mama and Lucille standing nose-to-nose in the living room, both shouting at each other, spittle and venom spewing forth. I slammed the door to grab their attention. “What in the world is going on?”
Lucille jabbed a finger at Mama. “This harlot is not moving back into my room! I forbid it.”
“Your room?” screamed Mama, swatting at Lucille’s hand. “This is my daughter’s home, not yours, and if I want to spend the night, you have no say in the matter, you socialist freeloader.”
Just what I needed. If it’s not one thing, it’s my mother. Or my mother-in-law. Dealing with murder obviously wasn’t enough drama for one day, not in my life.
I stepped between the two of them, pushing each back an arm’s length from me. “Enough! Both of you shut up!”
Lucille shoved my arm away. “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“I can and I will. Now what’s this all about?”
They both began yammering and pointing fingers at each other.
“Stop!” I glared at my mother-in-law. “I understand that you’re upset about sharing a bedroom.” I turned to Mama. “Why are you here with a suitcase? Have you decided to cancel your wedding?”
“O
f course not!”
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for a further explanation.
“I can’t stay at the condo tonight.”
“And why not?”
“Really, dear, everyone knows it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” said Lucille, “but I wouldn’t expect any less from a silly twit like you.”
Given the fates of Mama’s last four husbands and one fiancé, I understood why she didn’t want to take any chances. She needed all the good luck she could get for her latest trip down the aisle. “It’s only one night, Lucille.”
My mother-in-law crossed her arms over her voluminous sagging breasts, set her jaw, and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care if it’s only one hour. I don’t want her in my room.”
“You’re living in my home,” I reminded her.
“So there!” said Mama, emphasizing her statement by sticking out her tongue.
“Enough!” I said. “Act like adults, or you’ll both find yourselves out on the sidewalk.” With that, I marched down the hall to my bedroom, slammed the door behind me, and collapsed onto my bed.
Big mistake.
Twenty minutes later Mama was shaking me awake. “For heaven’s sake, Anastasia, what are you doing napping? We’re due at the church in ten minutes!”
Sometimes I think the last nine months have all been a bad dream. Then I wake up and realize the dream is my new reality. At which point I want to pull my quilt over my head and go back to sleep.
Unfortunately, Mama had whipped the quilt off my body. “You’re not even dressed yet!” she said. “What is the matter with you?”
For a split second I toyed with the idea of telling her but bit my tongue. Literally. Not only didn’t I have the energy, Mama is too self-absorbed to accept any excuse that throws a monkey wrench into her perfectly orchestrated works. She and Lucille have much more in common than either of them would ever admit. Each thinks the world revolves around her.
“Give me five minutes,” I mumbled. I dragged myself off the bed and headed into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face and run a comb through my hair.
Two minutes later I found Mama, the boys, and Zack waiting for me in the living room, Lucille nowhere in sight. Mama looked pissed; the boys looked uncomfortable; Zack looked concerned. He crossed the room, draped his arm around my shoulders, and planted a kiss on my temple. “You look beat. Everything okay?” he whispered.
I nodded.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you know me so well?”
He raised both eyebrows. “Now you really have me worried.”
“I’m fine, but it’s a long story. We’ll talk later. Let’s get through this evening first.”
Mama clapped her hands together to interrupt us. “We need to leave. Now. We’re already late.”
~*~
We needn’t have rushed. Lawrence and the minister greeted us at the church, but Ira and his kids were nowhere in sight.
“Ira’s running late,” said Lawrence.
Mama threw her arms up in the air. “Of course, he is! Why should I expect anything to go as planned?” She pulled out her cell phone and called the restaurant to push back our dinner reservation a second time.
Ira finally arrived—sans brats—an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” he said, hurrying down the aisle to the front pew where we all sat.
“Where are the children?” asked Lawrence.
Ira offered up a chagrined expression accompanied by a shrug. “They refused to come. I finally called a babysitter and left them at home.”
I wondered if they’d dare pull a similar stunt tomorrow for the wedding. Not my problem, I told myself as we began to go through the motions of the rehearsal.
Without Ira’s three belligerent offspring to cause problems, we finished quickly and were soon on our way to the restaurant for the rehearsal dinner. The remainder of the evening went by without any problems, although Ira seemed subdued and a bit distracted throughout the evening.
“Is everything all right?” I asked him at one point between courses.
He smiled weakly. “Sorry. Just a lot on my mind.”
Perhaps he’d finally come to the unpleasant conclusion that he needed to do something about his children. I chose not to pursue the topic.
We arrived back at the house by nine o’clock. “If you’ll excuse me,” said Mama, “I need my beauty sleep.” She headed toward the bedroom she used to share with Lucille. A moment later we heard them arguing.
“I’m not sure how much sleep—beauty or otherwise—she’s going to get tonight,” I said.
The boys took off for the den. A moment later a baseball play-by-play drowned out their grandmothers’ bickering. “A person can’t hear herself think in this house,” I said.
“We don’t have to stay.” Zack entwined his fingers through mine and led me out the back door and up the steps to his apartment.
“Alone at least,” he said, once inside. He grabbed a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from the refrigerator and two glasses from the cabinet. We settled onto the sofa, and he poured the wine. After handing me a glass, he said, “Now suppose you tell me what happened today.”
~*~
I woke up the next morning in Zack’s bed with no idea how I’d gotten there. The last I remembered, I was relating how Sylvia Gruenwald killed Philomena and Norma Gene and planned to rid herself of her husband.
The aroma of brewing coffee wafted into the bedroom. I slipped into Zack’s discarded shirt, and padded barefoot into the main room to find him whipping up an omelet. He stopped to pour me a cup of coffee. “Good morning. Sleep well?”
“Hmm. Did I at least enjoy myself?”
He laughed. “Sweetheart, you were out before your head hit the pillow.”
“Oh. So I guess you didn’t enjoy yourself, either?”
He grinned. “I didn’t say that.”
I swatted his arm.
~*~
As I stood at the altar watching Mama and Lawrence take their vows, I sent up a silent prayer that this time my mother would find long-lasting happiness. Along with some financial security. I had my doubts about the latter, though, given that Lawrence seemed content to sponge off Ira, a man soon to be his ex-son-in-law. How long would Ira continue to foot the bills for a man no longer his relative?
Poor Ira. He thought he could buy love. Had he always been this way or only since his first wife’s death? Either way, all that money he tossed around certainly wasn’t buying him any happiness. Or respect. He’d married a gold-digger, and his kids alternated between using him as a personal ATM and a doormat. Even though he swam in Benjamins and I was stuck with both Karl’s debts and his curmudgeon of a mother, I’d never trade places with Ira Pollack.
I glanced over to where he sat sandwiched between his twins and his son and wondered what he’d promised them to show up today. Apparently, not enough to keep them from slumping in their seats, scowls plastered on their faces, chips the size of two-by-fours on their shoulders.
After last night, Mama came to her senses and decided to forego including twin flower girls and a ring bearer in the ceremony. No woman wants to be upstaged at her own wedding by a three-pronged adolescent plot to sabotages the event. Ira tried to convince us his kids would behave, but I voiced my doubts, and for once Mama agreed with me.
After the I do’s we posed for photos in the church. No matter how much Ira cajoled them, his kids refused to cooperate with the photographer.
“They’re doing this on purpose,” I whispered to Zack. “I’m going to put a stop to their manipulative behavior.”
I took a step in the direction of Ira’s kids, but Zack reached for my hand to stop me. “Allow me.”
He stepped between the photographer and Ira’s three brats. One by one he whispered something into each child’s ear. One by one their eyes grew wide with fear before each nodded, then plastered on a smile.
“What did you say to them?”
He winked at me. “You don’t want to know.”
Translation: Zack had threatened them with whichever alphabet agency he really worked for. It must have been a whopper of a threat because once we arrived at Ira’s home for the outdoor reception, his kids holed themselves up in the house, not even showing up for the catered luncheon.
Unfortunately, several others made an unwelcome appearance.
Ira had just finished a toast to Mama and Lawrence when two men in dark suits entered the tent and headed straight toward him. Given all my dealings with the police over the last few months, I easily made them for detectives, a suspicion confirmed when I spotted them flashing badges. Ira nodded and followed them out of the tent.
I followed Ira. He and the two men made their way to the patio. I stopped at the entrance to the tent. The men stood with their backs to me, Ira facing me. From my vantage point I couldn’t hear their words over the conversations and music going on behind me, but I saw the color drained from Ira’s face. He shook his head violently and yelled, “No!” loud enough for me to hear.
I rushed across the lawn to the patio and placed my hand on his arm. His entire body trembled. “Ira, what’s wrong?”
“Cynthia,” he said in a shaky whisper. “They found her body floating in the canal.”
The Art of Decoupage
Decoupage is a method of laminating paper to surfaces. The craft dates back to the seventeenth century where it was first used to decorate furniture. The term comes from the French découper, “to cut out.” Decoupage appears complicated but is actually a very simple craft. All you really need to know how to do is cut and paste.
Basic Decoupage Directions
Decoupage will work on just about any surface—glass, wood, plastic, metal, ceramic, clay, terra cotta, slate, leather, plastic, plastic foam, paper, cardboard, and fabric. To begin, clean the item you want to decoupage. Wood should be smooth and dust free. Wipe down glass surfaces with rubbing alcohol or vinegar. Metal surfaces must be coated with rust-resistant sealer. Lightly sand very smooth plastic surfaces before decoupaging.