Have Yourself a Beary Little Murder

by Meg Macy

  In the main parlor, I walked to the side door and smiled in relief. It led to the service elevator, big enough for a full-size coffin. How else would they get the deceased up from the prep room? Leah might be getting Jack Cullen ready for tonight’s visitation. I checked my cell phone for the time. Dave was bound to return in less than an hour. I had to move fast.

  “Keep him there, Dad, for a second beer.”

  My voice echoed inside the elevator. I wiped clammy palms on my coat and punched the B button. The floor beneath my feet slowly descended. The room below surprised me in its neatness and sterile whiteness. Walls, cabinets, counters, flooring—everything sparkled from the bright ceiling lights, too. I also didn’t smell anything. I’d expected a hint of nasty formaldehyde, the scent an ugly reminder of high school biology. A metal table looked scary. So did the odd machinery above it, and the weird sink with its long attached wand.

  “Sasha! What are you doing here?”

  I whirled to see Leah in the adjoining room’s doorway. She wore a blue gown over jeans and a sweatshirt, plus matching shoe coverings. A face mask dangled around her neck. Red powder smeared one cheek. She wore clear latex gloves, too.

  “Stopped in for a chat.” I waved a hand. “Is Dave here?”

  “No. He’s meeting with someone, but I don’t know who.”

  “Good. I hoped to catch you alone.”

  Smiling, she beckoned me to join her in the next room. I didn’t want to remain near that metal table, or muse on what occurred there. Leah sidled over to the plain casket, where a man in a suit and tie lay inside, eyes closed, hands folded. I almost didn’t recognize Jack Cullen. He’d always walked around Silver Hollow in ragged clothing, and looked as if he hadn’t shaved for days. He was clean shaven now. His gray hair had been slicked to one side, too.

  Another doorway beyond led to a large open room with two rows of caskets, some plain pine like Cullen’s. Most looked elaborate with carvings on the corners or sides, in various polished woods. I recognized mahogany, oak, and cherry.

  “So this is the makeup room?” My face felt hot. I hated how nervous I sounded. “Um, you must have training in cosmetics, then.”

  “I’m licensed in embalming,” Leah corrected me, “but that includes using makeup.” She held up an airbrush tool, its slender cord plugged into a nearby compressor, and handled it with loving care. Clearly, she took pride in using it. “This helps make our clients look as natural as possible. Have you ever tried an airbrush?”

  “No.”

  “I love it.” She picked up a round jar. “This is called hot chocolate, but it’s just a brown shadow powder I use for contouring. Around the nostrils, the chin, the little cleft above the upper lip. And a tiny bit under the cheekbones.”

  “Not an easy job,” I said, gazing around me. “I never would have known.”

  “It can be tough sometimes.” Leah set down the tool and picked up a makeup brush. “Families want to see their loved ones looking peaceful, like they’re asleep.”

  I was impressed by all the items spread out on a side table. Palettes of eye shadows held shades of blues, greens, browns, even gold and pink. Mascara, eyebrow pencils, tubs of finishing powder, bottles of nail polish, various tubes of lipstick and gloss, along with combs, brushes, nail files, and other tools filled a separate box. Leah was truly skilled, given the way Jack Cullen looked better dead than alive.

  “You have a real gift, doing this job.”

  “Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “So does Mr. Cullen look okay? He was a mean son-of-a-gun from what I’ve heard. Not much family, either. Poor guy. I usually get a photo from the family, but this time I had to guess.”

  “A hundred times better than when I saw him in the summer,” I said honestly. “He was dehydrated, of course, but he recovered.”

  “Too bad I couldn’t do much for Dave’s dad. Tom Senior had been sick for so long. But Dave wanted Cal Bloom to look his best. That was important.”

  When Leah glanced expectantly at me, I nodded. “I only had a quick glimpse, though. The parlor was crowded.” The truth was I hadn’t wanted to see the mayor’s body in the casket. Not after finding his body, but I didn’t want to admit that.

  “More people came to his visitation than we’ve had in years. Cal Bloom didn’t deserve that much hoopla, though.” She frowned. “Poor Alison. I heard she’s in the hospital. Did she come down with the flu, too?”

  “I’m not sure.” I changed the subject, not wanting to get sidetracked with time running short. “Can I ask you how sick Dave was, the day of the parade?”

  Leah had been powdering Jack Cullen’s neck, focused on the job at hand, and glanced my way after a long pause. “He mentioned how you’d asked him about that.”

  “I’m curious whether he was. Sick, I mean.”

  “Don’t you believe him?”

  “No,” I said simply. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “But Dave never lies. Not about anything. He’s the most honest guy in Silver Hollow. He never thinks badly of other people. He didn’t believe me when I told him about—well.” She leaned closer toward Jack Cullen’s body. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “About what?”

  Her hands shook, and she twisted so fast that powder from the brush flicked into the air. “You wouldn’t believe me, either.”

  “Yes, I would.” I checked my cell again. Dave might be on his way now. I was nervous about getting off the main subject. “Tell me what you told him.”

  “Dave said what’s done is done. And besides, he’s dead.”

  What an odd phrase—what’s done is done. It sounded ominous. Shivers ran up my arms and chest. “You mean about Cal Bloom?” I asked. Leah hesitated, so I touched her arm. “Maybe you’d feel better talking about it. I know the mayor bullied both of you. I heard him at the parade and the Bear-zaar. Remember?”

  “That’s not the half of it.” Her bitterness had returned, a hundredfold.

  “Then tell me.”

  “I can’t.” She sounded stubborn. Leah fiddled with Cullen’s shirt, collar, tie, and then the cuffs of his sleeves. “Dave deserves to own this place, you know. Alison Bloom should sell it to him, not to some stupid funeral home chain. None of the villagers around here would want to deal with strangers taking care of their loved ones. Dave and I have worked here almost fifteen years. Everyone trusts us.”

  “I agree—”

  “We’ve worked so hard,” Leah continued, as if I hadn’t said anything. “We’ve been respectful of everyone’s family members. Even Mr. Cullen. And he’s broke.”

  “I’m sure people around here will help pay for the funeral,” I said. “My uncle paid for his coffee at the café. I know the church pantry sent over groceries, and so did Tim Jackson. Gil Thompson helped out, too.”

  “Cullen wasn’t a nice man.”

  “But he was a veteran. That’s why they wanted to help him.” I felt like I was beating a dead horse, and grew desperate for an answer. I didn’t have time to discuss Cullen or anyone else except her husband. “When Cal Bloom came to change into the Santa Bear costume, before the parade began, did Dave meet him?”

  “Here?” Leah turned to face me. “Why would you think that?”

  I held up the piece of glass. “Because I found this by the gate outside. On the sidewalk. One eye was missing from the bear’s head that Cal Bloom wore. We found him sitting on that bench by the Quick Mix Factory.”

  She peered closer. “Looks like a marble to me.”

  “It’s the missing eye. I’ve been wondering how it got there, too.” She shrugged, so I kept talking. “I think your husband killed Cal Bloom. I think Dave asked you to help him cover up the crime. Or did he force you to help?”

  Leah stood frozen, half-turned away, drawing in shallow breaths. Slowly exhaling, so I waited. She finally swiped at her face with a sleeve. Was she crying? Uh-oh. I hated to upset her more, but I had no choice. She started shaking like a tree in a stiff breeze, st
ill silent.

  “Is that how you got the bruise on your neck, Leah?” I asked. “Dave grabbed you? I saw the mark the last time I was here.”

  She scrunched her shoulders upward, as if trying to hide the offending mark. “It’s not much of a bruise.” Using her face mask, Leah held it against the base of her neck. “You don’t know. You can’t know what it’s like. Lying to everyone. Praying no one finds out.”

  “No, I don’t. But I’m willing to help. Whatever you need. Counseling, or even if you want to get away from Dave. From the funeral home.”

  “Dave says I can’t. It wouldn’t be right. His family, they’re everywhere.”

  “They’d never want you to keep that kind of secret,” I said. “Cleo Richardson would want to help. Nickie and Ann. Diana, too.”

  “You don’t understand!”

  I cringed at her wailing tone. “The van almost ran me over that night when I crossed the street. Dave drove it that night. After he put Cal’s body in the back. Right?”

  Leah turned haunted eyes toward me. “No. I was driving.”

  Chapter 25

  I reached out to her, but Leah backed away. “Dave forced you to help, after he killed the mayor. Is that true? Please. Just tell the truth.”

  “He—he deserved to die. For what he did.”

  My heart thumped so loud in my ears, I could barely hear her whisper. I took a deep breath. “What did the mayor do?”

  “Cal Bloom was sick.” Her eyes looked huge. “You don’t know what kind of man he really was, Sasha. No one does. Nobody in Silver Hollow knew, except me and Dave.”

  “Okay. So explain what you mean.” I waited, and spoke again while she hesitated. “Did Alison and Kristen have problems with him, too? What did Bloom do?”

  When Leah kept shaking her head, I sighed in frustration. She finally spoke, her tone sharp. “No, they don’t know anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “He kept saying nasty things. Telling dirty jokes. And showed me photos.”

  I took a wild guess. “He showed you a photo. Of Cissy Davison?”

  “Yes. He said she posed for him. That if I did the same thing, he’d reward me.”

  “Reward you. In what way?”

  Leah picked up a pair of scissors and a makeup brush, tossed them down, and then picked up other tools. Threw them into the box, harder and harder. Her growing rage scared me. What had I started? Next she picked up a razor blade and stared at it. I wondered if she’d hurt herself, and how I could stop her if she attempted it. I hoped not.

  “He lied about so many other things, to me and Dave. I didn’t believe him at first,” she whispered, “but why else would he have that picture?”

  “Cissy posed for her fiancé, Gus Antonini, not Cal Bloom,” I said firmly. “She told me that herself. So yes. He did lie.”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “And about signing the papers.”

  “The papers—”

  “To sell us the funeral home.”

  I slowly nodded. “He had them drawn up by a lawyer in the spring, I heard that. But Cal never signed them.”

  “He promised!” Leah wept openly now. “Cal swore he would sell. Dave was like a son to him, he deserves to own this business. I didn’t have a choice, Sasha!”

  “So you posed for him?” Shocked, I touched my own neck in sympathy. “Was Dave so mad, he gave you that bruise?”

  Her eyes bulged with fear. “No, not Dave. Cal had no sense of decency. He wasn’t easy to please. He was always complaining to Dave, always yelling at me. Then one day he grabbed me by the neck. Right here.”

  She pulled down her sweater to show the fading bruise on her neck, tinged yellow, with finger-shaped marks. But that didn’t jibe with what I knew about the mayor. I’d never heard any rumors of physical violence. Not with his first wife, or with Alison. Cheating, yes. But not abuse. And why would Cal Bloom hurt the wife of the man he treated like a son? I was beginning to doubt her story. Maybe Dave had abused her, and Leah didn’t want to admit it.

  Except Cal’s reputation for womanizing hadn’t died with him. I had to ask. Hated to ask, but I wanted the truth. I’d come this far.

  “Did you have an affair with the mayor, Leah?”

  She licked her lips, eyes shifting down to the floor. “Ugh, no.”

  I sensed Leah was lying. “You showed Dave the bruise, though?”

  “He saw it.” She sounded sad now, and her whole mood changed from fear to an odd hollowness. “Dave asked me what happened. I told him, but he didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe me, Sasha. My husband didn’t believe me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I felt horrible for her, and her voice had risen to an alarming pitch. “But I’m still confused. Why would Cal Bloom hurt you? And show you Cissy’s photo.”

  “I told you, he was nasty,” she snapped, and then stumbled to the doorway. “I gotta calm down. My hands. I can’t do anything unless I have a drink.”

  “I’ll make you coffee,” I offered, but Leah shook her head.

  She weaved her way around the caskets to a small storage room near the locked elevator. I followed, curious about what she meant by a drink. Alcohol, apparently, since several bottles lined a shelf unit inside. They resembled the ones hotels put in guest rooms. Leah stripped off her gown and gloves, slid one bottle into her pants’ pocket, and plucked two more from the shelf. She shoved aside shrink-wrapped paper plates on a shelf and grabbed a stack of plastic cups. After sloshing clear liquid into two of them, she added a dash of salt.

  “Tequila, minus the worm, but no lime.” Leah waved me over, picked up one cup, and swallowed half the contents. “Bottoms up, Sasha.”

  I shook my head. “Sorry. I do like infused vodka, but I prefer tea.”

  “No stove or microwave down here, sorry. There’s one in the lounge upstairs.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not thirsty.”

  “This stuff is what keeps me sane,” she said and waved at the shelf. “I hid it down here so nobody would find out.”

  “But someone did, right? Is that how you got that bruise?”

  Leah whirled around, a deer-in-the-headlights expression plastered on her face. “Cal found my stash three weeks ago. Guess I didn’t hide it very well.”

  “But it’s not an excuse to hurt anyone.”

  “I know. It hurt a lot.” After finishing off the first little bottle, she poured a second into her cup. “I’ve been using makeup to hide it. I forgot one day. That’s when Alison noticed. She asked me what happened, so I told her. I told her Cal grabbed me. You should have seen the look on her face.” Leah cackled and then gulped more tequila.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I can imagine she was shocked.”

  “Ha. She denied it, of course. Her husband wouldn’t hurt anyone, yadda yadda. Sure, right. Cal Bloom was perfect. And Alison was practically perfect in every way.”

  Her bold, singsong voice changed her entire outlook. I wondered when Dave would return. Maybe he could explain what had been going on between Bloom and his wife. The real story about working conditions at the funeral home. But Leah continued rambling.

  “She got everything. Whatever she wanted. Alison demanded a new kitchen, new floor, cabinets, appliances. Second floor, their living quarters. Top of the line stove, forty-eight inches wide, with a microwave warming drawer. A Sub-Zero refrigerator. She was relentless. Designer clothes, shoes, phones, cars. New everything.”

  I remembered what the mayor said the day of the parade. “New furniture, too.”

  “Oh, yes. Whatever it took to keep her off his back. Cost him over forty grand, with the furniture and kitchen. Alison never cooked dinner in that new kitchen, either, not once! She always ordered carryout. That’s what Cal complained about, anyway. Endlessly. I felt sorry for him. He didn’t deserve such a witch. She was bona fide, too.”

  “Wow.” I found it odd that Leah’s rage had tapered off and been displaced by a deep-seated jealousy. “Alison spent a lot of time at the Silver Birches.”<
br />
  “Yeah. I figured she wouldn’t bother visiting her mom once she got all that inheritance money. I mean, you told me she upped Cal’s insurance policy, right? So I asked Dave. Over a million bucks! Unbelievable.” Leah finished her drink, eyed the cup with sorrow, but sounded steadier than I’d expected. “They were both crazy.”

  That was the second time she referred to Alison in the past tense. As if she were dead. Another red flag that signaled strange behavior to me. My stomach knotted.

  “So what happened? Were you and Dave both here when the mayor came to change into the costume?” I worded the next question with care. “Then Cal had a heart attack.”

  Leah paused so long, I wondered if she’d heard me. “Yeah. He clutched his chest and everything. Keeled over, boom. Just like that.”

  “Then what happened?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. He was dead.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “The preliminary autopsy report showed a skull fracture. That he hit his head.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that’s right.” Leah tossed the empty cup and both bottles into the wastebasket. “Dave said it was an accident.”

  That didn’t answer all my questions, however. “Why did you drive him all the way to the bench by the Quick Mix Factory? Why not call 9-1-1, or the police? If you explained all about what happened, they’d have believed you.”

  “No. They wouldn’t believe me. Dave didn’t.”

  I cleared my throat. “When we found the mayor, his gloves were soaking wet. I saw burns on his hands and chest, too. Like he’d been electrocuted.”

  “He did that to himself. Wanna see? Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Leah pulled off her face mask, tossed it as well, and led the way upstairs. I was glad to leave the basement. We passed the side parlor with the Victorian hearse, the office, and the main parlors. The lounge was tucked away near the restrooms, behind two glass doors, with shirred curtains blocking the interior. I recognized the alcove and its antique phone stand, near the back doors that led outside. A red light blinked above. Probably an alarm.

  Uneasy, I dug out my cell phone. I didn’t have time to text Mason or my dad, however. Leah stood inside the lounge, the doors open. Watching me. I slipped the phone into my coat pocket. Shivered, since it felt colder here than in the basement.