Never Buried

by Edie Claire

  Leigh's stomach tightened.

  "He died at Suburban General on June 5th, 1989, at the age of 64, of complications of pancreatic cancer."

  Leigh tried to reconcile Maura's words with the smooth, flat lawn below Fischer's headstone. "But that's not possible," she said without meaning to.

  "Come again?"

  "I just came back from looking at Paul Fischer's grave, up at Peaceful Acres," Leigh answered hesitantly. "There wasn't a blade out of place."

  Maura was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps the body hasn't been there for a while. Landscaping can change in a decade."

  A long silence followed. Finally, Maura broke it. "Look, Koslow, I know this is creepy. But we're going to get to the bottom of it, I promise. I'm going to grill the hell out of Vestal as soon as I can, but first I've got to check on a domestic situation, and that may take a while. What I'm wondering is—" Maura broke off, as if she were about to give away more than intended. "Sit tight, Leigh. You guys have a good security system over there, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, use it. Just in case this prankster isn't the friendly type."

  "Comprende," Leigh answered mechanically. They hung up.

  She sat for a long time, staring into space. Something was nagging at her. If the body was Paul Fischer, then she'd been looking at an empty grave. But empty for how long? She closed her eyes and pictured the site: the carefully tended green grass, the rows of long flat stones, laid out so precisely.

  Her eyes opened. She knew what was wrong. And she knew that not only was Paul Fischer's body not in that grave—it never had been.

  Chapter 6

  When Leigh's Cavalier pulled into the driveway of Fields Funeral Home for the second time that day, the parking lot was nearly deserted. She parked near the main entrance and walked up to the heavy wooden double doors. She started to pull one open, with no small amount of effort, and quickly found herself aided by another red-coated man. This one was considerably younger than the last she had encountered, and not nearly as polite.

  He looked condescendingly at her tee shirt and jeans. "Can I help you... Ma’am?"

  She bristled. "Yes," she said firmly, and more than a little high-handedly. "I'd like to speak with Vestal, privately."

  "He's busy in his office right now," the youth replied. "Is there something I can help you with?" His eyes twinkled evilly. "Perhaps you'd like to have a look at one of our advance planning programs?"

  Leigh stared at him hard, wondering how their relationship had gotten off to such a fabulous start. "I've already made plans with a taxidermist"—she smiled sweetly—"but thank you." She pushed past him and started walking in what she believed to be the general direction of the main office.

  She found Vestal's office without difficulty, at the end of the hall across from the lounge she'd entered before. The door was ajar, and she could see the funeral director sitting behind a cluttered mahogany desk, phone in hand. She waited patiently in the hall and tried to put the obnoxious doorman out of her mind. Her tough nineties woman act wouldn't cut it with Vestal. If she wanted information from him, she'd need her smelling salts. When he hung up the phone, she knocked.

  "Come on in," he beckoned cheerfully. Leigh walked on bright red carpet in between dark red walls and sat on a chair covered with maroon-colored vinyl. She made a mental note to send over an interior decorator when her ship came in. "Hello again," she said demurely. "I'm Leigh Koslow. I'm not sure we were formally introduced yesterday at my cousin's house, but we've met several times over the years."

  "Of course," Vestal said with enthusiasm. His eyes, however, betrayed a hint of nervousness. He leaned forward over the desk and pumped her hand hard with damp, chubby fingers. "Oh yes, you're Randall's daughter. Good man, Randall. He always took great care of my Pete, God rest his soul."

  The words "God rest his soul" slipped off Vestal's lips like butter as he settled back in his chair. Leigh wondered if he used the phrase in ordinary conversation. Well, it certainly is nice weather we're having, God rest his soul!

  "I'm here because my cousin and I are concerned about the body that was left in her hammock," she said with downcast eyes. "It's just the two of us there, you know, and Cara's expecting."

  Vestal responded with a look of fatherly concern.

  "There's something that's been troubling me," she continued. "The police know now that the body we found is that of a man named Paul Fischer..." She stole a look at Vestal out of the corner of her eye, and was pleased to see the color draining from his face. She thought again of the headstones that were lined up in rows, close together. Too close together. "But according to Peaceful Acres, Paul Fischer' body was cremated here at your funeral home. So I'm wondering, how could his ashes be buried there, when his body is at the coroner's office?"

  Leigh looked up. For a moment, she thought she had actually killed the man. His face was a whitish gray, his eyes glassy, his chest unmoving. She sat up quickly. "Mr. Fields? Are you all right?"

  He blinked, shook his head, and quickly rose. Then he crossed to the door, closed it tightly, and returned to his seat. He grabbed for the glass of water sitting on his desk and took an interminable swig. Finally he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. Leigh said nothing.

  "Miss Koslow..." he began in a hoarse whisper.

  "Leigh, please," she said warmly, feeling more than a little guilty.

  His pasty white lips tried to smile. "Leigh. I see that an explanation is in order, here. But for reasons that will become obvious, I would appreciate your discretion."

  Leigh's heart skipped a beat. She leaned forward. Such speeches were generally followed by something worth hearing. If she played her cards right, Vestal might just wrap this case up for her. She was proving to be pretty good at this detective stuff after all.

  "I'm happy to help you and your cousin in any way that I can," Vestal continued stiffly, "but I really don't know how Paul Fischer's body got into your yard, or who could have put it there." He took a deep breath and ran a fat finger beneath his nose. "You see, I haven't seen the body since the day it was brought here, ten years ago."

  Leigh let that thought sink in, then asked another question. "Did you embalm it?"

  He nodded.

  "And you knew him, right? So why didn't you recognize the body?" Leigh asked. She knew the answer, but the innocent act had served her well so far.

  "I did, of course." Vestal admitted, with a touch of defensiveness. "But it spooked me. I knew that eventually the whole mess would come out. I was just trying to delay the inevitable so I'd have a chance to think."

  Vestal rose from his desk again and walked to one of the floor-length windows whose thick red-velvet curtains blocked out any light. He parted the curtains slightly and gazed out, eyes unseeing.

  "I've been wanting to get all this off my chest for 10 years. Now I have no choice. Maybe it's just as well."

  Vestal's need for a confessor suited Leigh perfectly. "What happened to Paul Fischer's body?" she asked softly.

  Vestal took another long breath, then drooped his shoulders, resigned. "It disappeared," he said simply.

  Leigh squirmed in her seat. "Disappeared?" she echoed.

  "I had never been so angry in my life!" Vestal's apple cheeks turned to balls of red in a sea of white. "I embalmed the body soon after it came in from the hospital. That's standard procedure. I had finally sold Paul on an advance package about a year before: bottom-of-the-line, no frills. The cheapskate. I remember he hadn't bought a plot like he was supposed to, which was going to be a pain. With no family coming forward, the loose ends would be left to us. I was wondering what I was going to do with him. But the next day, he wasn't there."

  Vestal pulled out his handkerchief again, this time blowing into it loudly. "I had hired this kid, as a night janitor. He was a pathetic sort, but I was trying to give him a break. He was the only one in the building that night, as far as I know. When I confronted him, he made up some cock-and-bull story about hearing fu
nny noises, and said he didn't know anything. I grilled him and another teenager I had doing some odd jobs for me, and what did I find out? The second guy told me that the first one was—"

  He broke off suddenly, remembering his audience. Leigh kept her face impassive. "Well, the other kid told me that he had seen the night janitor acting—how shall I say it—'inappropriately' with some of the cadavers. What a nightmare. Do you have any idea how a scandal like that could affect my business?"

  Leigh could imagine.

  "I made a decision. Maybe it was a bad one, but it seemed like the best thing to do at the time. Fischer had no relatives, nobody. People in Avalon who had known him his whole life didn't give two hoots about him. He was that kind of man. No one was going to ask questions about him, much less visit his plot."

  Leigh couldn't help breaking in. "So you never reported the body as stolen?"

  "No," he said, perhaps with regret, "I didn't." The confession seemed to be helping him; his color had improved to a pale pink. He went on.

  "Maybe the kid had the body, maybe he didn't. Maybe he sold it. I just hoped that whoever had it would keep it. I changed the advance order from embalming to cremation and let the world think Fischer was buried right on schedule. And I made sure those two kids would let the world go on thinking that. The janitor promised to leave town, and I'm sure he did. He could have gone just about anywhere with the wad of cash I gave him. Nobody else ever knew."

  He returned to the chair behind his desk and sank into it. "So, that's it. That's all I know. The body disappeared. I've spent the last ten years hoping it would stay missing. Until yesterday, I thought it was going to."

  Leigh had to ask him one more question.

  "I don't understand why you weren't more worried about the body turning up somewhere and being identified by the police."

  Vestal looked slightly embarrassed. "That was always a risk, and in the end, I suppose it happened. But you see, I knew Paul Fischer. The man didn't trust anybody. Bankers, lawyers, especially not doctors. That's why he died so young, you know. Refused to believe he was sick. Didn't see a doctor till he collapsed in his driveway and a Samaritan called an ambulance. I wasn't too worried about dental x-rays being on file somewhere. And he didn't look much like himself when he died. He was emaciated, you know, from the cancer."

  "Surely some of his neighbors would recognize him?" Leigh asked tentatively.

  "If they had a chance to look at the body, maybe." Vestal replied with a calculating tone. He had clearly been over these thoughts before. "But with Paul Fischer supposedly cremated and buried, no one would have any reason to be looking for him." He paused a moment. "Maura Polanski didn't recognize him. Hell, even Mellman didn't recognize him! But then, Donald's never been too good with faces. Now Chief Polanski, he would have known in a minute, God rest his soul."

  Vestal's voice trailed off in thought, but soon he remembered who he was talking to. He cleared his throat and sat up, fatherly once again. "You realize that whoever had the body must have known whose it was," he said carefully. "They did leave it at Paul Fischer's old house. Frankly, that makes me a little nervous for you and your cousin. There are a lot of crazy people out there."

  Leigh couldn't disagree with that. She nodded appreciatively, then rose to leave.

  "Thank you for trying to help," she said sweetly.

  Vestal beamed. "Anything else I can do, you just let me know. You girls be careful, now."

  "We will be."

  Vestal opened the heavy oak door and Leigh started to scoot outside, but he gently grabbed her elbow. "By the way," he said quietly, "How did they identify the body?"

  Leigh stiffened as she heard a familiar voice echoing down the hall. Maura hadn't seen her yet—which was good. Something told her the policewoman might not be thrilled with her and Vestal's little chat.

  "I'm sorry Mr. Fields," she said quickly, "but I just remembered I left a roast in the oven. I've got to go!" She dashed across the hall and into the lounge. "My car's out here," she lied, "I'll just go on out. Thank you again!"

  With a smile and wave befitting Melanie Wilkes, she was gone. She started the Cavalier and smirked with pride. Perhaps she should become an actress. She'd never put a roast in an oven in her life.

  ***

  When Leigh returned to the house, she found Cara in the kitchen creating a marvelous-smelling pot of spaghetti sauce. "What's the occasion?" Leigh asked with a smile.

  "A craving, naturally." Cara stirred the concoction gingerly and tapped in an extra dash of Oregano.

  "Smells great. I could eat the whole pot myself."

  "Oh?" Cara's eyebrows lifted, "you're not having cravings now too, are you?"

  "If I am," Leigh retorted, "it'll be the start of a whole new religion."

  Cara laughed. "Would you mind climbing up to that top shelf and handing me the minced garlic? It's by the candles."

  Leigh knew better than to ask why. She found the bottle and handed it down, then sank into a chair.

  Cara put a lid on the pot and sat down across from her. "Are you going to tell me what you and Maura found out today," she asked pleasantly, "or am I going to withhold your dinner?"

  Where to begin?

  Cara tried to help. "The body is Paul Fischer's, isn't it?"

  Leigh stared. Cara didn't even know about the note, much less the coroner's report. "What makes you think that?"

  Cara's response was matter of fact. "As I tried to tell you this morning when you went into caffeine withdrawal—by the way, I bought regular—I'm convinced that Mrs. Rhodis is right and that something is hidden in this house. Something somebody else wants. The gender and age of the body seemed right for Paul Fischer. I think serving up the body of the house's last resident was a scare tactic to make us move out."

  Leigh was in awe. "Well, you're right. The body is Paul Fischer's."

  Cara smiled with pride, though the implications seemed nothing to be happy about.

  "We need to take this seriously, Cara. Whoever wants us out of this house is perverted enough to steal a body. Who knows what else they might do? Maybe you should think about staying at your mother's for a while."

  Cara's eyes blazed. "I'll do no such thing! I will not be frightened out of my own home by some nutball. I've wanted this house forever, and if there's something here to find, I'm going to find it first. I own the contents of this house, and I intend to keep them!"

  Leigh had known her cousin long enough to know when to back off. As mild-mannered as Cara was, when her buttons were pushed, a tigress emerged. "It's just something to think about," Leigh said softly. "We need to be careful about remembering to turn on the security system."

  Cara's face returned to its normal color. "I've been very careful about the security system ever since the body was found," she responded calmly. "I'm not an idiot."

  They were interrupted by the sound of a slamming car door followed closely by heavy knocks on the front door. If she hadn't known who it was, Leigh might have been concerned. Knowing who it was was even worse.

  The cousins looked at each other. "I'll get it," Leigh said bravely.

  She opened the door and braced herself.

  "What in the hell were you thinking, Koslow?! Don't you know when you're interfering in a official police investigation? You could have given away vital information—tipped off a suspect, for God's sake!"

  "I didn't tell Vestal anything," Leigh placated, wiping flecks of spit off her forehead. "I just got him to tell me things. And I was good at it!" she protested. "He spilled his guts without so much as a whimper."

  Maura took a deep breath, but her voice was still strained. "You just don't get it, do you? It's not your job! You are merely a bystander, do you understand? You leave the investigating to me from now on, or I swear—"

  Maura broke off as Cara slipped quietly into the hall. Leigh knew her cousin had been listening to the whole exchange, undoubtedly with some glee, but at least she had the decency to intercede before the real viole
nce started.

  "Oh, hello, Maura," Cara said graciously. "You have wonderful timing. We were just about to have some rather excellent homemade spaghetti marinara. Please join us."

  Maura looked from Leigh, the picture of innocence, to Cara, the picture of sincerity, and gave up. "Hi, Cara," she answered calmly. "That sounds great. Thanks."

  ***

  The spaghetti marinara had not been falsely advertised. When it was gone, Cara passed around a bowl of fruit salad. "Well, now," she said in a well-polished hostess' voice, "You ladies have been rather quiet. I was hoping we might have a nice, animated conversation over dessert. Shall we?"

  Leigh shot a warning look at Cara, and Maura shot one at Leigh. Both were ignored. "All right, fine," Cara continued. "I'll pick the topic. Today's topic is corpses, specifically those that reappear at a previous place of residence. Oddly enough, I happen to have been party to just such an occurrence. I was told that, for the sake of the baby of course, I should not trouble myself over the corpse's motives. So naturally, I haven't. However, it would appear that someone—again, not me—has been possessed by the spirit of Miss Marple and has been doing some investigating herself. Am I right? Would anyone else like to comment?"

  Leigh sat with her arms folded. Maura's eyes darted from cousin to cousin.

  "All right," Leigh said, resigned. "Yes. I have been doing a little sleuthing. But I shouldn't have, as you clearly overheard earlier. And I'm done now, so there's no point in belaboring the issue. The Avalon police can handle things just fine without either of us getting any more involved."

  Maura laughed sarcastically. "A lovely speech, Koslow. I'll believe it after I get a tracking device embedded in your neck."

  "No, really," Leigh insisted. "The body has been identified, but there's no real reason to think that anyone is—" She broke off, realizing she was at cross purposes with herself. She wanted to protect Cara from the more unpleasant details, yes. That seemed logical since the doctor had told her to take it easy. But if they really were in any physical danger, Cara had to know the facts for her own protection.