Retirement Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Mark looked at me again. “Ok, go over everything for me and please, don’t leave anything out, even if you think it’s not important.”

  I started my story with meeting Maria at the Trattoria to plan Mary Alice’s retirement shower. For the first time I added Maria’s comments about how badly Rhodes had treated the restaurant wait staff. I talked about Grace Retuccio, and Sheila, and how each of them had eaten dinner with Rhodes at the restaurant. I threw in the part about Grace calling Rhodes “Dick.” Then I told Mark how Nancy and her real estate network had tracked down Grace, and our subsequent meeting with her. I finished with the meeting Mary Alice and I had with Sheila about organizing the memorial service for Rhodes. I spared no details. I probably went on for a good twenty minutes.

  Mark took copious notes in a little wire-bound notebook.

  I took a sip of my coffee and realized it was now stone cold. What the heck. I drank it anyway.

  Jenny and Jim said nothing after I was through. Somehow, I didn’t think they were both speechless with admiration for all I’d accomplished, but who knows?

  Mark asked me again about my cell phone.

  “I wish more than anything that I could remember where I lost it,” I said helplessly. “But I use the damn thing so seldom that I never missed it.”

  I glared at Jim. “I told you I never wanted one in the first place. But you insisted.” Then I realized how cruel that sounded. How could I scold My Beloved when he was suspected of murder?

  “Jim, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  My husband gave me a tight-lipped smile.

  “Let’s stick to the point here,” Mark said. “I want you all to think very hard. Is there anyone who’s been in this house since Davis Rhodes’s death who could have planted that pill bottle in your medicine cabinet?”

  “Nancy, Claire, and Mary Alice have all been here,” I said. “And you and your partner, of course.” Now there was an interesting thought.

  Wouldn’t it be great if Mark’s pain-in-the-ass partner planted the pill bottle?

  Stupid, Carol. Move along.

  “We did get a Fed Ex delivery a few days ago, but the deliveryman didn’t come inside. Oh, and there were two college students selling magazine subscriptions, but they didn’t come inside either. That’s it.”

  Jenny opened her mouth to say something, and all of a sudden I realized I had left out one person on my list of recent visitors, Linda Burns.

  But what possible motive could she have to implicate Jim? I shook my head slightly at Jenny, and she got the hint and didn’t speak. I was not about to mention Linda, and have the police question her, until I figured out a few more things. And I knew just how I was going to start. As soon as Mark left, I was going to e-mail Mike and have him do an Internet search on her.

  Jim said, “Mark, I feel better knowing you believe in me, but I’m going to call my lawyer now and bring him up to date on what’s happened tonight.” He stood up and shook Mark’s hand. “It’s good to have you in my corner. Thanks.”

  Mark asked Jenny for a plastic bag to put the pill bottle in. Then he said, “I hope you understand that I have to turn this bottle in to headquarters, even though I believe Mr. Andrews is innocent. It’s evidence in a murder. I’ll do what I can to convince the powers-that-be of my theory, but you may have to come down to the station tomorrow for questioning, Mr. Andrews. Also, I’ve done my best to keep your name out of any newspaper stories, but I’m not sure how much longer I can do that.”

  Jim nodded his head and left the room to call Larry.

  Jenny walked Mark to the door and I could hear murmured talking.

  I didn’t even bother to try to overhear what they were talking about.

  I had more important things to do than eavesdrop on my daughter and her perhaps-boyfriend.

  I e-mailed Mike in Florida and asked him to find out anything he could about Linda Burns. Then, I had another brainstorm, and asked him to find out about Dick Retuccio, too. And I told him it was an emergency.

  I just prayed he’d check his e-mail tonight.

  Jenny and I had a quick conference in the kitchen before we both went upstairs to bed.

  “Mom, why didn’t you tell Mark that Linda Burns was here yesterday, and went upstairs to wash her hands? Come to think of it, that’s kind odd.

  We have a perfectly good powder room downstairs. But I definitely heard her go upstairs.”

  “I didn’t think it was smart to mention Linda’s name to Mark yet. It could just be a coincidence that Linda used that bathroom. And I’d never hear the end of it from her if the police questioned her because I suggested it. She’d probably sue me for slander. Or libel. I never could keep those two things straight. Anyway, I just e-mailed Mike and asked him to do an Internet search on Linda Burns. And while I was at it, I also asked him to check on Dick Retuccio.”

  “Good plan, Mom. I hope Mike responds quickly. In the meantime, what else can we do to help Dad?”

  “Well,” I said slowly, “it might be good to give Mike some more information about Linda. For instance, do you know where she got her degrees from?”

  Jenny laughed. “That’s easy. You go into her office and the whole wall is full of her diplomas. It’s really weird, because most of the other professors don’t display them, the way doctors and lawyers do. She got her undergraduate degree from Papermill University, just outside of Los Angeles. I’m not sure what year, though, but I can certainly check tomorrow when I go to school. And I think she got her graduate degrees from Athena University, which is a really top-notch school. It’s somewhere in the state of Washington.” She yawned.

  I was immediately the doting mother. “Sweetie, you need your sleep.

  I’m just going to send Mike another quick e-mail with the new information you gave me about Linda, and then I’ll be up, too.” I gave her a quick squeeze. “We both know Dad’s innocent. It won’t be long before the police know that, too.”

  Now if I could just tell myself to stop worrying. Yeah. Right.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 26

  On anniversaries, the wise husband always forgets the past, but never the present.

  Thursday morning snuck up on me far too soon. I lay there in bed, feeling groggy. Probably because I had tossed and turned for most of the night. I was debating whether to roll over and give sleep another try when I heard the comforting sounds of Jenny moving around in the kitchen. I inhaled and smelled the heavenly aroma of perking coffee.

  Being a caffeine junkie, there was no contest. I just made sure not to look at my haggard face in the mirror when I brushed my teeth. Too scary. And depressing.

  It was wonderful to have Jenny home for a while, I thought for the hundredth time. I knew I’d better not get too used to it, though. She’d already made it clear that if she stayed, she’d want a place of her own.

  No more mooching off Mom and Dad.

  I threw on a sweat suit and went downstairs to enjoy a leisurely breakfast with my daughter before she left for school. It was also a good opportunity to continue our brainstorming about Linda Burns.

  Imagine my surprise when I walked into the kitchen and found My Beloved there instead of Jenny. Being someone who always jumped to the worst possible scenario, I panicked. I was sure something horrible had happened that I didn’t know about. Yet.

  “Easy, Carol,” Jim said, correctly reading my mood for once. “Larry and I had a short conversation last night, and we decided it was important for us to get together this morning and come up with some sort of defense strategy.” He saw the stricken look on my face and hastened to explain. “Not a defense strategy as in a court-defense strategy. Larry is looking for an angle to take me off the police’s suspect list. Permanently. He agrees with Mark’s theory that someone is trying to frame me. I’m meeting him for breakfast, and then I’ll take a later train into New York. I’ve already called the office and said I’d be late today.

  “You know,” he added, “I feel s
o much better knowing that Mark believes in my innocence. Oh, by the way, Jenny has no car today, remember? She had to leave for school extra early because she was hitching a ride with another instructor. She said she’ll call you later and let you know what she finds out. Am I supposed to know what that means?”

  I was dying to tell Jim my theory about Linda Burns, but muzzled myself. I needed some proof, something that tied her and Davis Rhodes together, before I dared voice my idea to Jim. He’d tell me I was crazy. And, of course, he could be right. So I ignored his question and distracted him by holding out a coffee cup for him to fill.

  “If I retire soon, I’ll make the coffee for you every morning,” Jim said.

  “Wouldn’t you like that?”

  Ouch. No, I wouldn’t like that.

  With all that had been going on, I’d lost track of the reason why this whole mess had started in the first place. Or, to put the proper spin on the situation, why I had started what turned into an unholy mess. I didn’t want the traditional husband-wife roles mixed up. Hell, I didn’t want my turf invaded. There, I’d finally admitted to myself that what Nancy had accused me of so many weeks ago was true. I knew I’d have to find a way to deal with these feelings when Jim did actually retire, but right now, I had other things to accomplish.

  I managed a weak smile and said, “That’s a great idea. It’s something for me to look forward to when you retire. In the future.”

  Jim laughed. “It’s not going to happen today, honey. I’m leaving now to meet Larry. I’ll check in with you later today.”

  I walked him to the door, gave him a quick smooch, and sent him on his way. Then I settled back with the morning papers to enjoy my delicious cup of coffee. I had to give the guy credit—he did make better coffee than I did.

  I ignored the little blue plastic bag with the New York Times inside, in favor of our local paper. I wasn’t feeling smart enough yet to digest the Times.

  Whoa! What was this story at the bottom of page one?

  Break-In Reported at Local Retirement Center

  The Retirement Survival Center, recent scene of the death of its founder, Davis Rhodes, was broken into sometime Wednesday night, a Westfield police spokesperson said. Entry was gained through a window at the rear of the structure. “It’s too soon to determine whether anything was taken,” said the spokesperson, who also refused to speculate about any connection between the break-in and the suspicious death of Davis Rhodes.

  I couldn’t believe it. I sat down at the kitchen table with the paper in my hand and read the story again. Who would have wanted to break into the Center? Why? And where were all the juicy details a story like this should have?

  Even though the police spokesperson had refused to speculate about any connection between the break-in and Rhodes’s death, it was clear to me that the two events had to be related. It didn’t make sense any other way. I was sure the police had come to the same conclusion and didn’t want to release that fact to the press.

  But the murderer—I finally was able to use that word, if only to myself—the murderer had to have a powerful motive to return to the scene of the crime and risk getting caught. Unless…unless it was someone who had a perfectly reasonable explanation for being there, like Sheila. No, that wouldn’t work. Sheila was there every day. If she wanted to look for something, she had all day, every day, to do it. There was no need for her to break in.

  Then there was Grace. Hmm. That one needed some more thought.

  But I just couldn’t picture her as a burglar.

  I knew I needed to find Jim and Larry right away and tell them about the break-in, in case they hadn’t seen the news article in today’s paper. I started to punch in Jim’s cell number. Then, my hand froze.

  It suddenly occurred to me that this break-in was, pardon the pun, a lucky break for us. If everyone agreed that the same person who was responsible for Rhodes’s death was also the person who broke into the Center, then My Beloved was 100 percent in the clear. Because while the break-in was happening, Jim and Jenny and I were sitting at our dining room table with one of the policemen on the case. Jim had an iron-clad alibi for this one.

  I couldn’t wait to share the good news with Jim. I tried his cell phone but he had his voice mail on. I decided not to leave any message, remembering the trouble a voice mail message had caused on my own cell phone. That was another loose end I needed to figure out. Where the hell did I lose my cell phone, and who’d found it and sent it to the police?

  Priorities, Carol, priorities. First, find Jim. Then, think about the cell phone.

  I quickly dialed Claire. We hadn’t spoken since she and Larry had gotten back from the Berkshires.

  “I have so much to tell you,” I said, cutting her off before she could barrage me with questions. “But I have to reach Larry right away. I know he’s with Jim. It’s really important. Did you see this morning’s paper?” I took a deep breath and then asked, “Am I babbling again? I’m sorry. But I have to reach them right now. Then I’ll call you back and bring you up to date. Promise.”

  Claire laughed. “We’ve been friends since before puberty. I’m used to your babbling, although you don’t do it nearly as much as Nancy does.

  Anyway, Larry was going to meet Jim at the Marathon Diner, because it’s close to the train station. He always keeps his cell on. Call him, and then, for God’s sake, call me back and tell me what’s going on.” She rattled off the number and I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t even say thank you to her. I just hung up and immediately dialed Larry.

  As luck would have it, both Jim and Larry had just read the article about the break-in at the Center.

  “I agree with you, Carol,” Larry said. “The chances of the two incidents not being connected to each other are pretty slim. It’s lucky for Jim that Mark Anderson was at your house last night, although finding that pill bottle in your medicine cabinet doesn’t look so good.” He put his hand over the receiver for a minute, then came back on the line. “Jim wants to talk to you for a second. Here he is.”

  “Jim, isn’t this great news?” I asked excitedly.

  “I suppose so,” Jim said. “But it would be even better if I could figure out who’s behind all this. I want you to call Sheila this morning, maybe even go over to the Center, to see if she needs some moral support, all right? I wouldn’t be surprised if the break-in will put the timing of the memorial service back a week or two, but that’s up to her. Or rather, it’s up to the police. I have to admit, though, that things seem to be looking up for me. I just don’t want to get over confident. I’ll call you from the office. My train’s coming. I have to go.”

  I hung up and practically danced around the kitchen. Finally, there was just a glimmer of light at the end of a very dark tunnel. I hadn’t felt this upbeat in quite a while.

  Ok. Calm down, Carol. The nightmare wasn’t over yet. And there were several important things on my to-do list for today.

  Let’s see. Well, I absolutely had to figure out what had happened to my blasted cell phone. If I could figure out where I left it, or even the last time I’d used it, that could lead me to the person who’d anonymously mailed it to the police.

  Jim was right. I had a dandy excuse to snoop around the Center today.

  Not that he put it that way, of course. In my official role as coordinator of Rhodes’s memorial service, I had to find out whether the e-mail invitations should still go out today. And I could see if Sheila had any idea what, if anything, had been taken.

  But I had to call Claire back first. Knowing her, she was probably sitting right by the phone and willing it to ring. Maybe I could even talk her into coming with me today. As long as Larry didn’t find out, of course. As much as I liked him, he could be a stuffed shirt at times.

  I smiled to myself. If only husbands knew how much we wives keep from them. For their own good. Of course.

  Claire didn’t take a whole lot of convincing to come with me to the Center. Once I’d brought her up to speed on e
verything she’d missed while she was in the Berkshires, she was raring to go. She also loved the idea of the retirement shower for Mary Alice.

  “A shower is a great idea. We’re going to have such fun putting it together. And Mary Alice will be so surprised. But how in the world did Linda Burns end up helping us organize it? I didn’t know she was such a good friend of Mary Alice’s. How can we get out of it? Just forget to call her?”

  “I already thought of that, but I don’t think that’ll work,” I replied.

  “Linda was pretty definite about wanting to help. She gave me some story about how she’s a party planner extraordinaire. She bragged that Bruce’s boss consults her all the time when his office is planning any kind of bash.

  If we don’t call her, believe me, she’ll call us.” For the moment, I decided to keep quiet about my Linda Burns - Davis Rhodes theory. I’d share them if Mike turned up any solid evidence from his Internet sleuthing.

  “I’m waiting for Maria Lesco to get back to me. She was going to come up with some possible themes and menus for the shower. Right now, I’m much more concerned with seeing what I can do to clear Jim’s name once and for all. So, are you game? Do you want to come to the Retirement Survival Center with me and talk to Sheila Carney?”

  “I have another suggestion. How about if we meet for an early lunch at Maria’s Trattoria? Maybe she’s come up with a few ideas for Mary Alice’s party. And we have to eat, anyway. Then we can also figure out if we should just show up at the Center or call first. You know, it’s possible that the police have the whole area cordoned off because of the breakin. Sheila may not even be there.”

  “I hate it when you make such good sense,” I said. “Of course, you’re absolutely right. I’ll see you at the restaurant at eleven-thirty.”

  Perfect. That gave me at least two hours to shower and dress, and then force myself to concentrate on solving the riddle of my missing cell phone.