I loved my mom, but I definitely wasn’t ready for a visit. Especially not in the middle of my murder investigation. If she thought my acting was crazy, she’d consider me certifiable for attempting to solve a murder. No, I was not going to mention that part of my arrival here.
“Sure, it would be great if you came to visit,” I managed to say with feigned enthusiasm. “But I’m working a lot. Maybe you should wait until I get the swing of things with the pub. I mean, I am working a lot.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess,” Mom said begrudgingly.
Yes, it would be good, if it were true. But in reality, I was still just working a short shift each day, only waiting tables. Even though I had asked Dean repeatedly to go over more of the daily running of the pub with me. Things like ordering and making schedules and doing payroll. Somehow, he always managed to make it sound like he would, only to tell me he didn’t really have time. But that he would.
He wasn’t going to, but I was not a confrontational person. I didn’t really want to tick off the man who lived in my backyard and ran my business.
“It is good,” I lied. “Really good. Great. Fabulous. Amazing.” I clapped my mouth shut. I was overselling it.
“Okay, well, your father will be glad to know things are going fine there. For the most part.”
Yes, for the most part.
“But now I need to dash. I have an appointment to show Ellen DeGeneres’s stylist a condo in the Valley. Not one of my biggest sales, but who knows maybe she’ll recommend me to Ellen.”
“Wow, that would be awesome. I hope it goes great. I’ll call you later this week.”
“Okay, hon. I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom.” I tapped the cell screen to hang up. I leaned back against the pillows of the window seat. I did miss my mom, but I knew I dodged a bullet about her coming here. I needed to have the situation with the pub more under control. I needed to feel more established. And I need to solve the mystery of what happened to Cliff.
Then I could take on Mom.
Downstairs, I heard Oliver singing along with The Beatles. I regrouped for a moment longer, repeating my favorite quote about my mom. “There is no way to be a perfect mom, but there are a million ways to be a good one.” I had to remember my mom, and my dad, only wanted the best for me.
I smiled, suddenly glad I talked to her. After all, her talk was only going to push me harder to make my life here work. See, moms did work in mysterious ways. Although it didn’t go unnoticed that Mom had managed to avoid my question about the odd things some of the locals had said about Grammy. Something was not quite right there.
Oliver belted out the lyrics to Here Comes the Sun, off-key but definitely enthusiastic, and I decided I’d better go downstairs to see what he was doing. When I walked into the living room, Oliver was sitting on the floor surrounded by albums.
“Your grandmother has an amazing collection of vinyl,” he said as soon as he saw me. He held up a copy of The Beatles’ Abbey Road. “I bet some of these are worth money.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I know nothing about record albums.”
While I loved all the oldies, I had no idea what they might be worth. Until moving into her house, I only ever played music through my phone or tablet. “They look really cool though.”
Oliver nodded, looking through a few other covers before glancing back up at me. “So were you talking to Momma Leah?”
“Yes, she’s on a campaign for me to come back to California, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And she wanted to come visit pretty much as soon as possible.”
Oliver winced. “I hope you talked her out of that one. I love Momma Leah, but she is a lot. And that’s saying something for me.” He gestured down at himself in his purple jeans and hot pink T-shirt.
I smiled. “Yes, that is, although I find it easier to appreciate your ‘a lot.’”
Oliver was one of my acting friends that my mother actually liked. Probably because at one point in his life he’d been a huge success. Of course, I always believed he’d be a success again. He just hadn’t found the right part in my opinion. Nor was he really putting much effort into it.
I glanced at the old cuckoo clock hanging beside the doorway to the kitchen. “I suppose I better get showered and ready.”
Cliff’s funeral was that day at four o’clock.
Oliver started to pick up the albums, putting them back in the cabinet under a record player that looked like something from the seventies. “I’m dreading this. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real dead person.”
I hadn’t either. Definitely not a pleasant prospect. “I’m not thrilled with that either. But we will pay our respects, then get to work talking to people who might know more about Cliff. I’m hoping Mac Porter will be there.”
“Do you think a man who clearly didn’t have any love for Cliff would bother to go to his funeral?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m banking on this being a small town, so everyone will be there.”
“You’re probably right,” he said as he got to his feet. “After all, death by llama is bound to draw a crowd.”
I shot him a dirty look. “I’m going to clear Jack’s name.”
He laughed. “The champion of falsely accused llamas. That’s my friend.”
As we walked up to the white, steepled church that looked like something out of a photo book of perfect New England images, I got the feeling my hunch was right. Large crowds of people in somber black clustered around the front lawn and along the walkway, while a long line waited to file in through the open double doors.
“Wow, he got a huge turnout.”
I nodded. “Now we just have to figure out if Mac Porter is here.”
Oliver looked dubious. “It would be easier if everyone had name tags.”
I couldn’t disagree. This was a lot of people, although I did already recognize quite a few faces from my time working at the pub.
“Sophie,” a female voice called. I noticed several people looked in my direction. Apparently I did not need a name tag.
I turned to see Jessica Grace approaching, looking like a Hollywood bombshell in her tight, black, wiggle dress, plenty of cleavage and leg showing. And I had questioned the appropriateness of my sleeveless, black jumpsuit. The deep V-neck of my top suddenly seemed pretty tame. Then again, my lack of cleavage might have a lot to do with that. Jessica wasn’t lacking on any curves. And she wasn’t hesitating on whether to show them.
She strolled up to us, gliding smoothly in her six-inch heels, even on the grass. “Hi there. This is quite a crowd, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, not sure what else to add. This was definitely not the typical funeral. Or at least I suspected it wasn’t, so I gestured to Oliver. “Jessica, this is my friend Oliver.”
“Oh, I know who he is. I’m not so old that I don’t remember The High Jinx of Hayley and Jake.” She held out her hand, that huge diamond of hers sparkling brightly on her extended fingers. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Imagine, a real celebrity in our little town.”
I guess she never saw my show, since she made no mention of me being a celebrity. Of course, my show had mainly done best in the forty-and-above demographic.
Oliver took her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Jessica smiled, and I’m pretty sure a starving crocodile looked less predatory. “It’s more than nice to meet you.”
He flicked a quick look at me, then managed to disengage his hand from hers. If she sensed any discomfit from him, she didn’t show it.
Jessica studied Oliver for a moment longer, then cast a look around the crowded church lawn. “Cliff certainly got a big turnout. Amazing for someone who had so many enemies.”
“Did he really have that many people who disliked him?” I asked, not exactly pleased. I already had a handful of possible killers. It might take years to investigate half the town.
“Well, Cliff was either loved or hated. But I guess t
he good people of Friendship Harbor are overlooking most of his shady behavior today. Funny how death will do that.”
I nodded, scanning the crowd. People did look appropriately somber. Then my gaze landed on a tall, burly man with a graying beard. Although I couldn’t hear him from this distance, the movement of his hands and the flash of anger in his eyes made it clear he was agitated. Then noticed who he was talking with. Frances Robichaud.
“Check out Millie Hall,” Jessica said, drawing my attention back to her.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still half watching the large man’s erratic motions. “Who?”
“Millie Hall?” Jessica said, tipping her head in the direction of the short, portly woman we’d met at the library. “You probably haven’t met her. She usually isn’t far from her mother’s side. I’ve helped them out over the years. Cleaning. Taking her mother to doctor’s appointments when Millie was working. Let me tell you, Eleanor Hall is a dragon lady.”
“We actually met them a few days ago. I can see that Millie’s mom could be tough.”
“Understatement,” Jessica said wryly. “But Millie sure appears to be playing grieving widow today.”
To be honest, it took me a moment to locate Millie. Of course, the wide-brimmed hat with black veil did make it harder to see her features. She was dressed in a black crepe, tunic-style jacket and a black skirt that stopped at her knees. The whole ensemble was very Queen Elizabeth and did seem a bit over the top. Especially for the funeral of a mere acquaintance.
She did look like a grieving widow. Was there more going on between Millie and Cliff than the occasional hello at the supermarket.
“Did Millie know Cliff well?”
“Who knows. I can tell you this, Millie has a lot of money. Inherited from her father. He had a shipyard and made a lot of money. That would make the old spinster very attractive to a guy like Cliff.”
I studied Millie again. She clutched a white handkerchief in her hand at the ready for any tears, but right now she spoke calmly with a woman I didn’t recognize. Then I heard Millie’s mother call to her in that distinct raspy and demanding voice. Millie excused herself from her chat with a slight bow and disappeared out of sight with her mother.
“I tell you, this town is so dull, people will try to turn a funeral into the social event of the season.” Jessica sighed as if she could hardly bear the predictability and mundaneness of it all.
I smiled with what I hoped was sympathy, but my attention was already back to the mountain of a man with Frances. His grim expression said he was still irritated, his arms crossed over his barrel chest. Frances leaned close to him and talked quietly, but whatever she was saying didn’t seem to be soothing his annoyance.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?” I said. “I need to speak to Frances Robichaud about the celebration of life.”
“Oh sure,” Jessica said readily. “I’d love to have a moment to chat with Oliver.”
Oliver gave me a look, silently imploring me not to leave him. I smiled sympathetically, but headed across the lawn. I had no doubt he could handle Jessica. I’d seen him handle swarms of Haley and Jake fans with no problem. One flirtatious Mainer with a desperate desire for a more exciting life should be a piece of cake for him.
Instead of going directly up to Frances, I skirted around a group gathered near them, trying to look as nonchalant and unobtrusive as I could. When I was a few feet away from her and the hulking man, I stopped with my back to them. I took my cell phone out of my purse and pretended to be looking at something as I tried to block out the chattering group in front of me.
“I just don’t see why you would do this,” the man muttered.
“I just think it’s the right thing to do. It’s a respect thing,” Frances told him, her voice low and calm.
“When did he ever respect you?” the man growled.
There was a moment of silence, then Frances said, “Mac, no matter what happened between Cliff and me, he was still Karen’s father.”
I paused my pretend texting. This was Mac. I stepped back a little to get closer.
“Karen told me she doesn’t even want to do this. She saw what he did to you. What he did to me.”
Frances didn’t respond again for a second, then when she did, I couldn’t make out what she said. I took another step back, the heel of my strappy sandal sinking into a hole. Arms flailing and cell phone flying, I struggled to regain my balance, then I just braced myself for a hard crash onto my butt. But before I could make contact with the ground, a strong arm came out of nowhere and tugged me upright and against a hard body.
“I’m starting to think you need one of those plastic bubbles to keep you safe,” Dean said wryly, his face just above mine. I could smell mint as if he’d just finished eating a candy. Or maybe in his physical perfection, that was just the natural scent of his breath.
I blinked up at him, breathless. “I think you might be right. But I’d probably fall down inside that too.”
Instead of being sympathetic, he nodded in agreement. “Or roll down a hill.”
He made sure I was steady, then he released me to go retrieve my phone.
While he did that, I glanced around to see that Mac and Frances were watching me. I smiled awkwardly, then moved away from them. Aside from thinking I was a klutz, they didn’t seem to notice anything unusual, but I decided any chance for more info was probably lost now, so I walked over to Dean.
He held out my phone. “Did you get any good dirt?”
I frowned, glancing down at my phone, not sure what he was referring to.
“You need to work on your eavesdropping skills if you are going to make a go of this detective thing.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping.” Crap, was I that obvious?
Dean raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything more, so I took the moment to play my boss card.
“Is the pub ready for the celebration of life?”
He didn’t rise to my bait. “Yes, I left Dave and Janelle there to get things ready. So, it’s all under control.”
I nodded, realizing I should have known that. Dean always seemed to be in control. “Great. Thank you.”
He nodded.
“And thank you for saving my butt.” I meant it literally, but I realized he would probably take that as a reference to the fact that he was still pretty much in charge of the pub.
He nodded again, and I wasn’t sure how he took it.
“Okay,” I said, suddenly feeling completely inept. A bad eavesdropper. An inexperienced pub owner. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later.”
I scanned the groups of people, who had thinned out as more people had entered the church. Oliver stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting for me.
“You managed to get away from Jessica,” I said softly as I reached him.
“Yeah, as soon as I said I wasted most of the money from my hit show on drugs and gay strip clubs, she suddenly found someone else who she just had to speak to.”
“See, I knew you could handle her.”
“Oh yeah, that trick always works with gold diggers.” He held out his arm and we started up the stairs to the church.
The inside was packed, so we stood at the back against the wall. A kaleidoscope of light reflected on the white and oak pews from the stained glass windows that lined both of the other walls. The casket and dozens of large floral arrangements sat at the front of the spacious area, along with a robed minister who nodded and spoke to people as they passed him to view the open casket. The sound of organ music played softly.
“Do you have to do that?” Oliver whispered, staring at the line of people waiting to say their final respects to Cliff.
“We should. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do?”
He grimaced more. “I’ve never seen a real dead person.”
“What about your friend Moe’s funeral?” Oliver had a musician friend who died in a freak stage-diving accident.
“He was cremated. I saw his urn.
It had a picture of him etched on it. Although the image looked more like Flea than him.”
“Mmm,” I said sadly. I’d be disappointed if my image looked more like a member of the Red Hot Chili Peppers than myself.
I’d never seen a dead body either, suddenly thankful that was the case. But that was about to change. I grabbed Oliver’s arm and tugged him to the line.
A low hum of quiet conversation filled the church. I tried to make out what people were saying, but with the organist playing, I could only make out a word here and there, Still, it was better to focus on that than thinking about seeing a dead Cliff.
All too soon, given how many people were there, we reached the white coffin. Cliff lay inside in a gray suit and a rather jaunty red tie. He looked surprisingly good for a dead man. There was artfully applied color in his cheeks. His thin hair was brushed neatly. He even seemed to have a crooked little smile on his lips.
“He still looks like a player,” Oliver whispered.
I elbowed him lightly.
“What, I think he’d appreciate that.”
I couldn’t argue. We looked at him for a moment, neither of us exactly sure how long was long enough.
“Can we go?” Oliver finally said.
I nodded. I started to step away from the casket, when I caught a flash of something under Cliff’s neatly folded hands. I leaned closer.
“What are you doing?” Oliver mumbled, desperate to get away from the body.
“Do you see that?” I whispered, gesturing with my head.
Oliver looked around like he just wanted to flee the church, but then he sighed and moved closer.
“It’s a ring,” Oliver said.
I nodded. Someone had tucked a gold wedding band under his crossed hands, just the edge of it visible. The way it was shoved in there, it looked like someone must have placed the ring there today. Had Frances done that? Had she kept his wedding band all these years? Or maybe someone had been planning to marry him, then he died.
Who might have been planning to marry Cliff?
Eight
When we stepped into the pub, I realized I should have given Janelle and Dave better instructions. It looked like a middle school dance. There were balloons in clusters at the entrance and over by the bar, and there was a table set up with a punch bowl. An actual punch bowl. I had been convinced those only existed in prop warehouses and yet here was one, running free in the wild.
Murder Drama With Your Llama (Friendship Harbor Mysteries Book 1) Page 10