by Lois Winston
That’s stupid, Carol. She has to organize this memorial service, if only to make herself look good, and Jim can’t help her. He’s asked you to help her. Or rather, help him by helping her.
I had a ridiculous thought. We could invite Dan and Marni and put the entire service on Wake Up New England. Now I was really losing it. I needed help.
“All right, girls,” I said to the dogs. “What do we need to do first? Call Nancy or Mary Alice and brainstorm about my organizing the memorial service? Call Sheila and set up a meeting? Wait for Jim to call me and tell me he’s talked to Sheila and she’s eagerly waiting for my call?”
Once again, the dogs looked supportive, but I wasn’t getting any clear advice from either of them as to how to proceed. Just as a test, however, I mentioned Sheila’s name and there was no response at all. Then I mentioned Nancy’s name and they both wagged their tails enthusiastically. They love Nancy.
“Good choice,” I said. “We’ll call Nancy first.” I had my hand on the phone when it rang. Unfortunately for me, it was Mark Anderson. I’d picked up the phone right away, but I was so nervous when I heard his voice that I dropped it on the kitchen floor. I could hear him faintly, saying “Hello. Hello? Mrs. Andrews? Jenny? Anybody?”
“Hi, Mark,” I said. “Sorry about that. My hands were slippery. I just washed them and they were still wet.” Shut up, Carol. He doesn’t care about that.
“So what can I do for you this morning?” I paused and let him get a word in. I was babbling again, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“I was hoping to catch Jenny before she left, Mrs. Andrews. Did I call early enough?”
Relief flooded over me. He didn’t want me or Jim. This was a social call.
“You missed her by about fifteen minutes,” I said. “She usually leaves by eight-forty-five so she can get some work done in the library before her classes start. Do you have her cell number?”
Mark laughed, a little nervously I thought. “Funny you mentioned a cell phone, Mrs. Andrews. Under the circumstances, I mean.”
He’d put me on the defensive. I ignored his reference to my cell phone debacle and continued with information about Jenny. “She had car trouble yesterday, Mark. She was lucky it wasn’t very serious, and one of the professors at the college, Linda Burns, helped her get the carstarted.”
What is it about men and cars, anyway? Mark immediately wanted to know all the details of Jenny’s car problem. “She can call me anytime and I’d be glad to come and help her if I’m not on duty. I know quite a bit about fixing cars,” he announced proudly.
“That would be a big relief to me. I hate to think of her getting stuck somewhere.” I proceeded to give him Jenny’s cell number, then decided to get a little nosy since Mark and I seemed to be getting along so well.
“I suppose you’re not at liberty to discuss the case,” I began. “But I wondered if you’d had a chance to interview Grace Retuccio yet.”
“My partner and I are seeing her later this morning,” Mark answered. “I really appreciated that tip, by the way. But you know I can’t tell you what we find out. I hope you understand, Mrs. Andrews, how difficult a position I’m in right now. It’s very hard for me to be objective about Mr. Andrews because I’ve known your family for so many years, but the fact is, he did threaten Davis Rhodes, and that’s very serious. Plus, he deliberately misled us about his relationship with Rhodes.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “I guess I did too, Mark. But you know I didn’t mean to.”
“That doesn’t make it any less serious,” he answered stiffly.
Oh, dear. I wondered how Mark would react if he knew that I was going to help Sheila Carney organize Rhodes’s memorial service.
Impulsively, I said, “Before you hang up, there’s something I want to run by you. I don’t want to be accused of withholding more information from the police, and I hope you don’t think this is inappropriate.” I paused.
“Mrs. Andrews, what are you up to?”
“You know that the public relations agency my husband works for has taken on the Re-tirement Survival Center as a client, right? And that Jim was assigned the job of organizing the memorial service for Rhodes. Since he won’t be doing that job, at your suggestion, the agency has asked me to take over in his place.” I know that was stretching the truth a little, but hell, Jim worked for the agency, and he’d asked me to do it. It was all the same, wasn’t it?
I gave Mark a minute to process what I’d told him. Then, before he had a chance to tell me not to do it, I added, “You know, this could really be helpful to you in figuring out what happened to Rhodes. After all, Sheila Carney must be on your short list of suspects, and I’ll be working very closely with her on the memorial service. I promise I’ll pass anything she tells me right along to you.” As long as it’s helpful to Jim.
“Now, Mrs. Andrews, we don’t like private citizens interfering with police business.”
“But I won’t be interfering,” I hastened to reassure him. “I’m going to be involved in planning the memorial service anyway. If I find out anything while I’m doing what Jim’s agency asked me to do, I’ll tell you. Unless you don’t want me to give you any additional information,” I added as a little dig.
“I didn’t say not to tell me. Oh, hell. I know you’re going to ask questions no matter what I say. Just don’t get into trouble,” Mark said.
I assured him I would behave myself. I couldn’t help but smile, despite everything. I not only had Jim’s permission to snoop. Now, I had an unofficial blessing from the police, too.
TWENTY-THREE
Whether a man ends up with a goose egg or a nest egg when he retires depends a lot on the kind of chick he marries.
“We’ve got to swing into high gear,” I said to Lucy and Ethel. “I’m now officially on the staff of Jim’s P.R. agency and the local police department. Aren’t you proud of me?” Both the dogs looked at me reproachfully. They can always tell when I’m exaggerating. “Okay, maybe I’m on their staffs unofficially. But at least I’m not going to get criticized this time for sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Talking out loud had bolstered my confidence. A little. I knew that the sooner I contacted Sheila, the better. Once we started working together on the memorial service, maybe I could get her to open up to me. Especially since I had adopted my new mantra: keep quiet and let others do the talking.
I finally worked up my nerve and called her, after rehearsing what I was going to say over and over to the dogs so I would get the tone just right. I was completely bowled over when Sheila told me that Jim had already called and convinced her that I was an expert at organizing all sorts of special events. That was stretching the truth more than even I would dare, since my main special events expertise came from orchestrating our children’s birthday parties. But Sheila bought it completely. In fact, she seemed surprisingly grateful for my help.
“I’m pretty new in Westfield and don’t have too many local contacts, much less friends,” Sheila confided to me. “Jim tells me you’re an absolute whiz with organizing and producing this kind of thing. I can’t wait to meet with you and get your ideas about the memorial service. I see it as a tremendous marketing tool for the Center.”
Interesting take on the situation, I thought. Sheila certainly was expert at hiding her grief.
Then, as if reading my thoughts, she added unconvincingly, “This is such a sad occasion for me. I need all the support I can get.”
Yeah, right.
~*~
I decided it wasn’t smart to meet with Sheila by myself. I wanted another set of eyes and ears to go along with me to pick up on things I might miss, as well provide me with moral support. I was very nervous about living up to the big build-up Jim had given me. If Sheila was as smart as I thought she was, she’d see through my act in a flash.
Nancy was with clients for most of the day. I knew Claire was still away in the Berkshires with Larry. “Besides,” I said to the dogs, “L
arry would kill her if he found out she was snooping with me. Especially since he’s Jim’s lawyer. He’d worry about the appearance of conflict of interest or something. I wonder if I can talk Mary Alice into coming with me.”
The dogs danced around at the mention of Mary Alice’s name. Another one of their favorite humans.
I agreed with their decision. In fact, the more I thought about bringing Mary Alice along, the more I liked the idea. True, she was the most serious member of our group, and always had been. But she was full of the devil, as my mother used to say, when she was in the right frame of mind. The most perfect part of all was that Mary Alice really was retiring soon, and I could introduce her to Sheila as a potential client for the Center.
Carol, you are so clever!
Unfortunately, when I called Mary Alice with my proposition, I woke her up. And she was grumpy.
“I just got to bed after working the night shift,” Mary Alice said crossly. “I feel like I’ve only been asleep for ten minutes, and then you call and wake me up. What do you want and why can’t it wait till later?”
“I didn’t remember that you’re working the night shift for the next two weeks. I’m really sorry I woke you. But this is important and could help Jim. He’s in big trouble. A lot has happened since I last talked to you, and none of it is good.”
I knew I had her attention now. Mary Alice is a sucker for helping people. That’s why she’s such a good nurse.
When I finished bringing her up to date, she agreed (reluctantly) to meet me around the corner from the Re-tirement Survival Center at 3:30 that afternoon. “I’ll do anything you say, as long as I can get a few hours’ sleep.” Then she banged the phone down in my ear.
I just hoped she’d remember to show up.
~*~
I needn’t have worried about Mary Alice. She was actually five minutes early, fully made up, perfectly coiffed, and raring to go. “This is exciting, Carol,” she said. “I’m sorry about being crabby when you called me. Being sleep-deprived has that effect on me. But I got a few hours of quality rest, and I had the craziest dream. I was the star witness in a murder trial, and my testimony saved the accused from being convicted for a crime he didn’t commit. Isn’t that something? Must have been my subconscious working overtime. So, what do you want me to do?”
Stop having my dream for starters. I’m the one who’s going to save Jim.
Then I mentally slapped myself. Who cared how many of my friends had delusions about being the one who exonerated my husband? Hell, Mary Alice had been one of the bridesmaids in our wedding. She had a stake in this, too.
“Just be yourself and follow my lead,” I told her. “I’m going to introduce you to Sheila as a friend of mine who’s getting ready to retire. But don’t tell her you already have a retirement strategy mapped out for your self. We need her to think you’re a potential client of the Center, and see how she responds.”
“Got it,” Mary Alice said. “Gosh. I’ve never done anything like this before. It’s kind of like working undercover for the CIA, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be silly,” I snapped. “We have a perfect right to see Sheila. I’m there to help her plan the memorial service, and you’re there for retirement help. We’re not spies, for heaven’s sake. And don’t forget, Jim’s asked me to do this. We’ll take both cars so you can go right home from the Center. Let’s go.”
~*~
There were no other cars in the Center’s parking lot when we pulled into the driveway. Perhaps Sheila wasn’t taking on any new clients until after the memorial service. I was willing to bet, though, that once the word was official that Rhodes had been murdered, business would really pick up. Some people can’t resist being at the scene of a crime.
I shrugged off the thought that maybe I was one of those people and raised my hand to ring the doorbell. I needn’t have bothered. Sheila must have been watching for me out the window, because the door flew open and a blonde vision greeted us. Sheila was wearing a classic black Chanel suit with three-quarter-length sleeves, medium-heeled black pumps, black leather gloves, and a pillbox hat with a heavy veil.
I had the urge to genuflect and kiss her ring, but managed to control myself just in time. I could sense Mary Alice’s reaction behind me. She sounded like she was trying not to giggle.
Sheila reached forward, grasped both my hands in hers, and put out her cheek for a kiss. Jeez! I’d only met the woman once!
I settled for squeezing her hands and offered my condolences.
Sheila, playing the role of widow to the hilt, graciously ushered us inside. Remembering my manners, I introduced Mary Alice as a dear friend of mine who was thinking about retirement, and who occasionally helped me in my event planning, which was not a complete lie. (She did lend me some games for Mike’s fifth birthday party.)
Once again, I was back in that lovely living room. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Mary Alice was impressed by the decor. Hey, it was gorgeous by anybody’s standards. Mary Alice and I sat side by side on the plush camelback sofa, and Sheila sat opposite us in an equally plush wing chair.
I coughed nervously. “Sheila, I know this must be so difficult for you,” I began.
Sheila raised a lace hanky and dabbed her eyes. “You have no idea how difficult,” she said. “Dave and I were very close. Closer than most people realized.”
I wondered if she was close enough to “Dave” to know that his real name was Dick Retuccio, and that he was married to a woman named Grace, but decided I wouldn’t get anywhere if I asked her those questions.
“I feel I should explain why I’m dressed this way,” she went on. “This is what I was planning on wearing to the memorial service. I wanted your opinion. Do you think it strikes the right note of classic grief? I really feel I must be a role model for all the clients whose lives Dave touched, who are undoubtedly devastated by his death.”
Was she kidding? How in the world did I warm to this woman the first time I was here? She was as phony as a three-dollar bill.
“Well,” I said cautiously, “it is a classic look. It reminds me of someone. I can’t quite think of who.”
Sheila leaned forward in her chair. “Do you think it’s reminiscent of what Jackie wore to JFK’s funeral?”
I couldn’t look at Mary Alice. I knew I’d start to laugh if I did, and this was serious business.
Mary Alice spoke for the first time. “I don’t know. With your blonde hair, Sheila, you remind me more of Princess Grace.”
Sheila beamed. “How kind of you. I know we’re going to be great friends.”
I cleared my throat. “Now, Sheila, let’s talk a little bit about the memorial service itself. I’m not sure how far you and Jim had gotten in the planning. Do you have a guest list in mind? How many people are you thinking of? Will you want food served? A tasteful buffet after the tributes are over, perhaps? And flowers? Any favorites? Music? Oh, and…” I gave a little laugh. “Do you have a budget for the event?”
Forty-five minutes later it was clear to me that Sheila would have invited the Pope himself if he happened to be touring the United States next week. She wanted the governor invited, our two U.S. senators, the entire Connecticut congressional delegation, any prominent local legislators, the mayor, the list went on and on. And she wanted media cover- age. Lots and lots of media coverage. It sounded more like a political rally than a memorial service.
I was writing furiously while she was talking. So far Mary Alice hadn’t said another word. I think she was in shock. Or perhaps she was thinking hard about how we could really imitate JFK’s funeral and where we could find a few horses for the procession.
I snapped my notebook shut. “I think I have a good idea of what you’re thinking of for the service. Of course, if everyone we invite shows up, we’ll have to put up a tent in the garden. Maybe two tents.”
I paused. I wasn’t too sure how much more I could say about Rhodes’s memorial service. This was a little more complicated than ordering a c
lown to show up at a birthday party and juggle a few balls for the kids.
Sheila tapped her foot impatiently.
“I know our office has addresses for the people you want invited,” I said. “It’s important to get the invitations out immediately, because we have such a short lead time.” Lead time. Now that was an official phrase I’d heard Jim use many times. I never thought I’d hear it coming out of my mouth.
I decided it was high time I switched from my role as official events consultant to womanly confidante and see how far I could get. “Sheila,” I said as sincerely as I could, “both Mary Alice and I want to support you in your hour of grief. I hope you’ll think of us both as your friends.”
Mary Alice nodded her head in complete agreement. And then, she surprised me by leaning forward and taking Sheila’s hand. “I know we’ve just met,” Mary Alice said, “but you and I have much more in common than you realize. I lost my husband several years ago, and I’ve never completely gotten over it. I don’t think Carol can empathize with what you’re going through, but believe me, I can.”
Sheila’s eyes spilled over. I was impressed that she could whip up tears so quickly.
“I’m also a nurse,” Mary Alice went on. “In my job, I deal with many families going through the grieving process. Everyone does it differently. Losing your husband is a profound thing. After listening to your plan for your husband’s memorial service, I want you to know that I think it’s wonderful that you want to pay tribute to him this way.”
Huh? This wasn’t in the scenario I’d envisioned. Mary Alice and Sheila were bonding over their “widowhood,” and I was the odd woman out.
“That’s so kind of you to say,” said Sheila. “But I want to clarify something. Dave and I were kindred spirits as well as colleagues. We were also very much in love. But unfortunately, we weren’t married. We planned to be, very soon, but something got in our way. Or should I say, someone.”