by Meg Macy
Pastor Lovett started the service with a prayer, led the hymns, and then offered the microphone to those who’d been invited to give eulogies. After Gil Thompson, my father, and Tim Jackson finished, Vivian Grant stood and began addressing the crowd, her voice inaudible. Pastor Lovett hurried to her side and held the microphone, so she started over. I guessed the family hadn’t expected her to speak.
“I want to remind everyone here that Cal Bloom, despite his few faults, championed small businesses in this village. He supported us whenever asked, and at unexpected times, too. I’m sorry I didn’t tell him in person. But I thank him from the bottom of my heart.”
When she sat down, I whispered in Maddie’s ear. “What was that about?”
“He loaned her money. Remember that huge food fight she had with Carolyn Taylor, when she found out Will had been carrying on with Vivian? But Alison made sure she paid back every penny, with interest.”
“Mee-ow!”
“No kidding.” Maddie snickered. “Who knows, but maybe Cal fooled around with Vivian before he married Alison. Or after.”
“Or both.”
Mom hushed our whispers, since the pastor had started reading the poem on the memorial card’s back side. “ ‘—for some the journey’s quicker, for some the journey’s slow . . .’ ”
How apropos. Someone had hastened his journey to the other side, all right.
Once the service ended, the family slowly left the sanctuary. Alison remained dry-eyed, but Kristen wept openly and leaned against Zoe Fisher. Her friends Nickie Richardson, Cissy, and Debbie Davison crowded behind her, too. While the rest of the mourners filed out of the pews, I scanned their familiar faces. No signs of evident guilt, of course. If only it were that simple. Otherwise, the cops would attend every murder victim’s funeral.
I followed my sister out to the narthex. Alison Bloom squeezed my mother’s hands and exchanged air kisses, and accepted Dad’s murmured condolences. Maddie skipped the line of people waiting to speak with the family and dragged me outside.
“Did you see Vivian Grant, sucking up to Kristen just now? What’s going on?”
“I have no idea. You didn’t give me a chance to overhear anything.”
“Oh, something’s up. Alison and Kristen look ready to tear each other’s throats out.” Maddie gestured toward the church. “They didn’t sit together, and they’re leaving in separate cars. A house divided, huh? Cal Bloom must be turning over in his grave.”
“He’s not there yet,” I said wryly, “but you’re right, he will. They’re lining up cars to head to the cemetery now.”
“Yeah, but I’m skipping the rest to finish some work.” My sister headed toward Theodore Lane. “Update me if any more bombs drop in the war.”
I sighed, wishing I could follow, but my parents beckoned. We drove to the burial service which proved to be a simple reading and prayers at the mausoleum. Pastor Lovett then invited mourners back to lunch in the church’s Fellowship Hall.
“You’re not getting out of this,” Dad said when I tried begging off. “Maddie doesn’t have anyone else in her business, so that’s a good excuse.”
“And Alison wants to know if you’ve made any progress on proving her innocence,” Mom said. “Thank goodness the police aren’t harassing her further.”
Reluctantly, I rode in the back seat of my parents’ car. My thoughts returned to what I’d seen and heard at the parade over a week ago. When had Cal Bloom left to change into his Santa Bear costume? I know he’d met people, but who? Someone with a good reason to confront him. Was it Lois Nichols? Tony Crocker? And when had he spoken to Alison? Had she enlisted help from Kristen and Detective Hunter to move the body?
Maybe their public spat was a cover for their collusion.
Unless Cissy Davison and Gus Antonini abandoned their plans for dinner at the Regency Hotel. Had they waylaid the mayor and taken their revenge? Or was it Dave Richardson, whose expectations to buy Bloom’s Funeral Home had been put on hold again?
Then again, Alison Bloom was desperate to keep her mother at the Silver Birches.
“Sasha? Wake up,” Mom said when Dad parked the car on Kermit. “I’m so hungry, it’s almost two o’clock. And you won’t hear me complain if it’s the same chicken, ham, and green beans like at all the church potlucks.”
I followed my parents downstairs but hung back, wishing Elle and Mary Kate had come. I’d seen them briefly at the visitation last night, but I was on my own today. Mom chatted with Dad, Tim Jackson, and Gil Thompson. Kristen stood at the far end of the hall with her friends, plus Mary Monroe. Zoe Fisher tapped me on the arm with a bright smile.
“Hey, Sasha, where’s Maddie?”
“Working.”
“Ah. I hoped to talk to her about the graphics studio. She asked me to help her out.”
“Yeah, she’s having a hard time keeping up with stuff.”
“I’ll head over there once this is over and figure out what she needs.”
Her dark eyes sparkled with eagerness. Zoe wore her sleek dark hair in a pageboy, minus the purple or teal shades Maddie favored. Her black jumpsuit, silver belt, and outrageous jewelry had a similar flamboyance to my sister’s style, though. They’d be a perfect team.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Jessica Fletcher. Any new bodies drop lately?”
I turned to see Digger Sykes waiting in the buffet line, clearly off-duty given his tight and well-worn sport coat. He held a fistful of memorial cards printed with Cal Bloom’s photo. The mayor’s beaming smile jarred again with his secretive past.
“One of these days you’ll find a corpse,” I said, “and it won’t be a joke.”
Digger grinned. “Lighten up, Sasha.”
“You’re a cop, so act professional like Chief Russell. Or Detective Mason.”
“Ha. Haven’t seen him around.”
I suddenly remembered what Mom had mentioned. “Is it true you weren’t happy about the mayor not supporting your promotion?”
“I didn’t expect him to do anything. And Bloom called me lazy after the last two murder investigations, thanks to you.”
Boy, would I lose a popularity contest. Tony Crocker, Kristen Bloom, Lois Nichols, and now Digger Sykes had all expressed their displeasure with me lately. I tried to push past, but he grasped my arm and leaned close to whisper.
“There’s a new rumor about your ex-husband.”
“Now what?” Digger must have heard about Flynn’s engagement to Cheryl Cummings, but I wasn’t about to confirm that. “I haven’t seen Flynn for days.”
“Hanson’s in big trouble. Again. That flashy lawyer in Detroit filed another lawsuit against him.”
I shrugged. “Probably as bogus as the first one, since the judge tossed it out of court. You mean Vince Sheffield? What’s his beef now?”
“Apparently, he’s claiming Flynn made ‘unwelcome advances’ against one of his clients. Met her at a restaurant, grabbed her during their meeting. Sheffield’s out for blood.” Digger sounded gleeful. “Hanson walks around like he’s God’s gift to women and the entire planet. What goes around always comes back to bite you where it hurts.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. Remember you’re in Chief Russell’s doghouse, and don’t try to blame me for that. You knew better.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
He swaggered off toward my dad and Gil Thompson. I didn’t care what Digger Sykes thought. Or anyone else, for that matter, since Flynn’s hotshot style and over-the-top friendliness with clients could very well be taken wrong. But that kind of lawsuit, even if it was thrown out of court, could affect the other Legal Eagles. Branson and Blake had worked hard to establish their practice. I hoped Flynn wouldn’t bring it crashing down with a reckless mistake.
Speak of the devil. I’d glanced around the large hall and spied Flynn with Mike Blake. Cheryl Cummings cooed over Lisa Blake’s new baby in a car carrier. For a woman who’d given birth recently, Lisa looked great. And in pink to match her infant’s outfit
and blankets. Clearly, she was ecstatic having a daughter. Her sons had to be in school or the local daycare.
I turned away, filled a plate, and chose to sit with Tyler and Mary Walsh. While we ate, they shared a brief, funny memory of Cal Bloom. “He came in for our pecan pie two or three summers ago,” Mary said. “He was so disappointed that we’d run out that day.”
“Cal said he’d try the lemon instead, remember?” Tyler laughed.
“He expected a chiffon pie,” Mary said. “You should have seen that man! Said my lemon icebox was so tart, he kissed his tonsils.”
“You’d put in less sugar than usual, honey, by mistake.”
“I felt so bad about it, I promised him a pecan pie at Christmas. He got the biggest kick when I delivered it to him, all wrapped like a present!”
Her husband nodded. “Didn’t share it with nobody, either.”
“And Kristen never forgave him!”
We all laughed together this time. I nearly dropped my fork when Flynn leaned over my shoulder to greet the Walshes. Then he hissed in my ear.
“Got a minute, Sasha?”
Displeased by the interruption, I rose to follow him to the coffee urns. Everyone had finished lunch and lingered now over dessert, chatting in low voices. Why did people think they could confide in me to solve their problems?
I wasn’t a miracle worker.
“Let me ask you something first,” I said. “What’s this lawsuit against you?”
“Total fabrication.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Flynn snorted. “Vince Sheffield’s been after me for months. He’s sick. Sick and jealous, trying to discredit me because my television commercials are so popular. They’re making him look like a loser. I can’t help that.”
“This lawsuit sounds serious, though, and you can’t blow it off. Did you actually meet his client at a restaurant?”
“It was a setup.” He glanced around, although I could barely hear his whisper. “That woman has a history of luring guys and recording them on her phone. I doubt if the case gets to the investigation stage, and then discovery could take six months to a year. Vince Sheffield is well-known for frivolous litigation. The judge threw out his last lawsuit against me. That’s bound to happen again.”
I didn’t reply. Swagger had always been part of his game, but Flynn hadn’t learned to be more careful. I noted a few white strands mingling in his spiked blond hair. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’d learned a hard lesson this time.
But Pastor Lovett interrupted us. “Well, Mr. Hanson! I hear congratulations are in order. Have you chosen a wedding date and venue yet?”
“I’m sure it’s too early for that.” Marianna had also joined us and beamed. “We watch Ms. Cummings every morning on FOX4 for her weather forecast.”
Flynn flashed a shocked look in my direction. I mouthed, “Not me” and slipped away, figuring that Dave Fox had somehow found out. Or maybe Cheryl Cummings told a friend and somehow the news spread. Flynn reported seeing Kristen and Phil Hunter together in Ann Arbor, so what did he expect? He must have forgotten his own words, that secrets couldn’t be kept for long even outside the village.
Besides, Digger was right. What goes around comes back around, and not always in a good way. Call it karma, or payback. Best to avoid that altogether in the long run.
Since Pastor Lovett kept Flynn talking, and I’d seen Uncle Ross escape with our factory staff earlier, I grabbed my coat from the hallway rack. Outside the cold wind froze me to the bone. Before I reached the corner of Theodore Lane, Maddie honked her car horn and pulled to the curb. I climbed inside.
“Going to the post office,” she said, “so keep me company. Did you hear that Zoe agreed to work for me the rest of December? That will really help.”
“She’s so talented.”
“And then, Digger told me before the church service that Flynn’s engaged to Cheryl Cummings. Did you know?”
So that was how news had gotten around. “Yes, Flynn told me at the parade, but swore me to secrecy. Sorry about that.”
“Mom said she knew, too.” Maddie pumped a fist toward the sky and then turned onto Baker Road. “Hallelujah. He’ll finally leave you alone!”
“Don’t bet on that. And what if he gets cold feet, like with Gina Lawson?”
“Oh, I don’t think so the way Cheryl’s flashing that diamond. That rock’s bigger than Mom’s and Barbara Davison’s combined. Everyone’s settling down except me.”
“You’ll get married before I will,” I said wryly. “Wait and see.”
“At least the parade and tree lighting was a success—”
“The mayor was murdered.”
Maddie waved that away. “You sold a ton at the Bear-zaar, and the Beary Potter wizard bear production’s on track. All that’s left is the Holiday Open House.”
“Don’t forget the staff party and wedding.”
“Hang on a minute.” My sister parked in front of the small building, ran in, and then returned with a plastic crate holding multiple small packages. “They called and said I’d better pick up all this stuff. Wouldn’t fit in my box, and I have to switch to a bigger one. I’ll take care of that next year. I’m too busy to exchange keys and fill out paperwork.”
“You should have your mail delivered to the factory.”
“And risk getting stuff mixed up? No way. Plus, I can take the cost off my taxes.” Maddie drove back toward Silver Hollow, explaining the various specialty items she’d ordered. “I didn’t expect to run out of printer ink so fast, even though I do so much online.”
“We’re always ordering that, plus boxes, tape, foam noodles. You name it.”
At last we left busier traffic and entered the outskirts of Silver Hollow. “Okay,” Maddie said. “Remember you were gonna update me about the war.”
“The war. What war?”
“Kristen and Alison. And the whole bit with Vivian Grant, too.”
“I have no idea what she’s up to, although she was talking to Kristen at the funeral lunch. Alison stayed far away from both of them. I’ve got to get back to shipping teddy bears, though, and forget all this craziness.”
“Stop acting like a Grinch. Be a Holiday Cheermeister instead.”
“As long as I don’t have to sit in the Chair of Cheer.” I stuck out my tongue. “Or taste all kinds of Who Pudding. But you owe me Christmas cookies.”
“I stashed a box on the shelf where we keep the Bubble Wrap. You, Deon, and Isabel French can treat yourself while you’re slaving. Compliments of Silver Moon, by the way, but save a few for Tim Richardson. I know he’s busy helping his parents.”
“No rest for the weary, I swear.”
“We’re all working overtime.” Maddie turned onto Theodore Lane. “Christmas comes, ready or not, remember. That’s what Mom always says.”
“True enough.” I spotted a low-slung sporty red Camaro in our parking lot. “Whose car is that? Anyone you know?”
“Nope.”
I squinted in the dim afternoon light and saw Detective Hunter emerge from behind the wheel. He stood waiting, his expression unreadable, one hand on the car’s slick roof, watching me climb out of Maddie’s car. I waited for my sister to park, though, half-turned away. Together we walked toward the shop. Hunter’s deep voice sent a chill through me.
“Ms. Silverman. A word with you, if you don’t mind.”
I did mind, but replied, “Sure.”
I wasn’t about to allow him the chance to accuse me of hindering the police investigation. Or not cooperating. Besides, I hadn’t gotten far with either Kristen or Alison and might learn something new from Hunter.
If I was lucky.
Chapter 19
“I’ve got to take this stuff to the graphics studio, so I’ll see you later.”
Maddie winked. A subtle message to tell her everything the first chance I got, and she hurried off with her packages. I sensed she knew the last thing I wanted was to waste precious time with Detective H
unter. He pulled leather gloves from his coat pockets and tugged them on. His ears looked bright red. The wind stung my cheeks and lips, and I shivered.
“It’s colder than I thought out here.” He eyed the gray clouds overhead.
I’d gotten the hint. “Might as well come inside for a cup of coffee.”
“Thanks.”
The detective quickly followed me to the back porch, but hung back when I explained about Rosie’s uneasiness with strangers. If my sweet dog accepted him, he could be trusted. Rosie had bonded with Mason, but I wasn’t so sure about Hunter.
“Hey, sweet girl. It’s okay—”
I’d grabbed her leash and harness, buckled it on, and sighed in relief. Rosie barked, of course, and I was grateful he stayed on the walkway when I led her past to the yard. Once she was finished, however, Rosie sniffed his pant leg and walked past him back into the house. He didn’t reach a hand down to pet her, however. Hunter seemed disinterested, standing in the kitchen doorway, hands in his pockets, and eyeing the Christmas decorations. My sweet teddy bear dog looked adorable. Who wouldn’t fall instantly in love with her curly hair, those bright black button eyes, and wagging tail?
He was startled when Onyx jumped down from the cat tower’s top ledge. She curled her sleek, lithe black body around his legs. Then he crouched, gloves off, and slid a hand over her silky fur, head, and ears.
“What’s her name?” Hunter smiled at her purring rumble. A cat lover, apparently. “What a gorgeous animal.”
“Onyx is that, and more.”
Disappointed, Rosie grabbed her squeaky snowman between her jaws and bounded up to claim the abandoned window seat. Squeaking it over and over, as if she was insulted. Onyx continued to soak up the love Hunter lavished on her, circling him, rubbing her head against his hand whenever he stopped. And when he rose to his feet, she meowed. Insistent. The detective squatted again to pet her.
“That’s her way of telling you she’s the queen, and you’re her subject,” I said, “but she’ll get tired of it. Eventually. Or bite you.”
“Uh-huh.”
