The Corpse at the End of the Chapter

by Karen Hayes

  Unfortunately, it was Reggie who met them at the door. “I was so very, very sorry to hear of your mother’s death,” he began. “Such a fine, fine woman. I don’t know how the Misty Valley library will be able to function without her. She has been the lifeblood, truly the lifeblood of that institution for so many, many years.” He shook his head sadly. “What a dreadful, dreadful loss.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Peace,” Brandon said. “Could we go into your office to discuss her burial?”

  “Oh, of course, of course,” Reggie Peace said. “Follow me, please.” He led them into his office, indicated the soft chairs for them to sit in and positioned himself behind his desk. “Now, what kind of funeral were you thinking of? We generally use the organist, the very good organist, from the Episcopal Church here, who is very, very good, can play pretty much anything you want, but if there is another you prefer...”

  “Uh, I was thinking just a simple graveside service,” Brandon said, looking to his wife, who nodded in agreement.

  “With a viewing beforehand?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Brandon said.

  “Oh, but surely, surely you want to give her many, many friends the opportunity to say good-bye,” the funeral director said. “There would be limited, very limited space in the cemetery proper.”

  Brandon smiled. “My mother was not well-liked. She had very few friends,” he said. “I’m sure there will be plenty of room graveside to accommodate them. She has not been to church since my father died ten years ago, but she used to be a member of the Baptist congregation here in Pleasant View. I thought perhaps I would say a few words and the current pastor could give a prayer. That should be sufficient.”

  “Maybe we could have Miles play his bells while you’re speaking,” Louise suggested.

  Miles Kirkland was the music teacher at the Pleasant View Middle School. Some years earlier, Miles had become enamored of carillon music and, after studying the art in Europe, had assembled his own portable, 23-bell carillon. He played often for outdoor weddings, as well as ballgames (with his brother Jacob on drums) and outdoor concerts. He could easily bring his carillon into the parking lot and play from there.

  “That’s a great idea, Louise,” Brandon said. “Church bells would be most appropriate for a funeral. He can play a couple of hymns. Maybe Amazing Grace.”

  “No, that needs bagpipes, not bells,” Louise said. “We’ll figure something out. Miles may have some ideas himself. So, that’s settled.” She turned back to look at Reggie Peace and smiled.

  Peace pursed his mouth. “Well, if you’re sure, quite sure that’s what you want...”

  “It is,” Brandon said, certain the funeral director was mentally calculating how much he was losing by the Laffertys not renting the mortuary’s chapel and their cut from the organist’s fee. He made a mental note to pay Miles Kirkland well for his services.

  “What day and what time do you wish to have these services?” Peace asked, a little less warmly.

  “I talked with the Medical Examiner’s office this morning,” the doctor told him, “and they assured me they should be finished with the body by Wednesday. So shall we say Thursday?” He looked over at Louise. “What time...?”

  “Eleven Thursday morning,” Louise suggested. “Would that work for you, Mr. Peace?”

  “Yes, yes, that will do,” he said, jotting some notes down in his calendar: graveside service, no music, prayer by Baptist minister. “And the obituary?” he asked.

  “Dinty Moore will print that in his paper Wednesday,” Louise said. “Now, may we look at some coffins?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Right this way, please, right this way.” Reggie Peace got up from his desk and led the doctor and his wife down the hall to a dimly lit room filled with coffins.

  Louise entered the room tentatively and looked around. “Do you suppose we could have a little more light in here?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, so sorry,” said the mortician. “This is as bright as it gets in here. It has been our experience that grieving families prefer a dim light when choosing a final resting place for a deceased loved one.”

  “Well,” replied Louise, “this grieving family prefers to see what they’re buying. Since we can’t, we’ll just order your least expensive model.”

  The pained look on Reggie Peace’s face almost made both Brandon and Louise break into laughter. Brandon felt almost sacrilegious to want to laugh while planning the burial of his murdered mother. But laughing at Reggie Peace was something he knew his mother would appreciate.

  “The, uh, least expensive model?” Peace asked.

  “Yes, I’m sure that will do,” Brandon said. “I trust my wife’s judgment. Since it’s rather difficult to see what the other ones look like. I really need new glasses. And, anyway, it’s just going to be buried in the ground.”

  “But we have this lovely, just lovely ebony model with a pale pink satin lining...”

  “Pink? Oh, no,” said Louise. “Agatha hated pink. Considered it just diluted red.”

  “Then there’s one in mahogany with a cream lining,” Peace continued.

  “What’s the least expensive one like?” Brandon asked.

  “Uh, it’s gray, just gray, with a plain white lining.”

  “Gray? Why that’s perfect. Gray is mother’s color, isn’t it, dear?”

  “Definitely,” Louise concurred.

  “I guess we need flowers, too,” the doctor said. “Do we order those from the florist or through you?”

  “Oh, from us, from us, of course,” Peace said. “We have a catalogue in the office. Lots of lovely, lovely sprays to choose from. And a headstone, too, of course.”

  “I don’t think we need that,” Brandon said. “We had a two-deep grave for my father, so we just need to add mom’s death date to the info already on dad’s headstone.”

  “I see,” said Peace, his sanctimonious smile fading. “Yes, yes, I seem to remember that. Well, at least let’s choose some flowers.”

  Brandon and Louise grinned at each other as they followed Peace back to his office, where he produced a large three-ring binder with pages and pages of coffin-topper floral sprays.

  “Did you have something particular in mind?” Peace asked, as he opened the binder to a page that featured, Brandon noticed, some extremely expensive sprays. “This red and white rose spray would look lovely, just lovely on the gray casket.”

  Louise took the binder from Peace’s hands and flipped through the pages, moving more to the back of the book, where the less expensive sprays were. “Oh, look, Brandon, purple and white daisies!”

  “Daisies?” Reggie Peace was aghast. “You want to put daisies on your mother’s coffin?”

  “Daisies were mom’s favorite flower, Mr. Peace,” Brandon said, “especially purple ones. This will be perfect. Can you have MOTHER printed on the ribbon?”

  “MOTHER? Yes, yes, of course we can do that. Of course.” He took the binder back from Louise and noted the catalogue number of the daisy spray. “So, will that be all?”

  “I believe so,” Brandon said, taking his check book from his wallet and picking up a pen from the holder on the desk. “Do I just make this out to Peace Mortuary?”

  “Please,” said Peace. He pulled out a hand calculator and came up with a total that made his mouth droop unhappily. Brandon wrote out the check and handed it to the funeral director with a smile.

  “Thank you,” said Louise, as they stood to leave. “You have been most helpful.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” said Peace, as he escorted the couple out of the mortuary.

  Once they had started backing out of the mortuary parking lot, Brandon could no longer control himself and burst out in laughter. His mood for the day had now improved. Louise joined him with some loud giggles. “I hope your mother will forgive us for that daisy spray, but I had to squelch those ‘let’s see how much I can get out of the rich Dr. Lafferty’ dollar signs I saw glowing in Mr. Peace’s eyes.�
�

  “Actually, she did kind of like daisies,” Brandon said, “although I’m not sure about the purple. But she was all for saving money. I had to persuade her to buy any flowers at all for dad’s casket.” He laughed out loud. “Connie would really appreciate the money we saved today. He’s worse than mom was. He would have opted out of any flowers at all.”

  “Do you think we’ll burn in hell for the way we were teasing with Reggie Peace? I mean, your mother’s death was hardy humorous.”

  “You’re right. But I’ve been crying inside all weekend. Maybe a little levity is what I needed. That and a good French dinner. I’m looking forward to eating at Celine’s son’s place.”

  They drove next to the Baptist Church and, by good luck, found the pastor in the church, cleaning up from the Sunday potluck that had followed services the day before.

  “I’ve only been here a couple of years,” Reverend Ashton said, after Brandon had introduced himself and Louise and explained what they wanted. “I never knew your mother. But I am honored to be asked to pray at her funeral. You said it’s just to be a graveside service? Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.”

  NINE

  “SO WHERE’S THE WEBB BOY’S NEW RESTAURANT?” Lafferty asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Louise said. “Somewhere on Main Street, I assume.”

  It wasn’t on Main Street and, after driving around for a bit, they stopped at the local Maverick station and asked for directions. The restaurant turned out to be in an old house on a side street, its presence noted by a simple sign on the door, Paul’s Bistro. Inside was pure elegance—plush red carpeting, tables covered in white linen tablecloths, set with gleaming crystal goblets and highly polished silver. Each table was decorated with a single long- stemmed rose in a crystal bud vase. The fragrance of the flowers subtly permeated the atmosphere of the room. Hanging from the center of the high ceiling was a lovely, but not too ostentatious chandelier.

  Brandon gave a low whistle. “If the food is as good as this place looks, I’d say Celine Webb’s boy has a real winner. Thanks for suggesting this.”

  Even at that early hour, there were a few other diners–or perhaps they were late lunchers. Paul Webb himself greeted them and gave them a window table overlooking the back yard. Even though the spring and summer flowers were mostly gone, there were a few roses still in bloom (the source of the flowers on the tables, Louise assumed, since their heady fragrance meant they did not come from a florist), and the shrubs whose blooms had faded were still a very healthy green, though some had hints of fall yellow and red. Louise recognized many of the plants and could tell that in the spring the garden would be a riot of color.

  “You have done wonders with this place, Paul,” Louise said.

  “Thank you Mrs. Lafferty,” Paul said as he handed her and Brandon both menus. “May I recommend, for starters, our hors d’oeuvre platter. It contains an assortment of our appetizer specialties–Basil Palmiers, Brandade Canapes, Foie Gras with dried Apricots on Baguette Slices, and Citrus Marinated Olives.”

  “Oh, Paul, that sounds divine. Doesn’t it, dear?”

  Brandon nodded. He hoped the entire meal would be wonder- ful, as he would need to make his confession to Louise while they were eating it. It was either during dinner or in the car on the way home, and he didn’t think that would be a good idea.

  After perusing the menu, Louise decided on the Sole Meuniere, Brandon on the Bœuf Bourguignon. Their server was Paul’s younger brother, Mark, dressed in a white tux with black bow tie, who brought their hors d’oeuvres, took their orders, recommended the appropriate wines for the meal and was an attentive, but not intrusive server.

  Dr. Lafferty waited until their entrees were served and the wine poured before he told his wife he had something serious to talk to her about. “We had a little levity this afternoon,” he said, “but now it’s time for something a little more solemn.”

  “Does it have something to do with your mother’s murder?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t...Brandon what is it?”

  “Louise, you know I love you.”

  “Well, I hope so. Brandon, you aren’t having an affair are you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Because there are rumors flying around, you know, about you and Wendy.”

  Brandon flushed a little. “That’s nonsense and you know it. Wendy is planning to marry Randy.”

  “I know, dear.” Louise smiled and reached over to pat his hand. “I just like to give you a bad time. So if it’s not about an affair, what is it about?”

  “Well, it actually is about an affair...sort of.”

  “Brandon, you aren’t making sense. Either you’re having an affair or you’re not. Which is it?”

  “It’s something that happened a long time ago. You and I had dated a few times then, but this was long before we were serious.”

  Louise took a bite of her tender sole, relishing its savory, buttery flavor. Paul Webb rally did know how to cook. “Brandon, I think we both had...relationships...with others before we met, even when we first started dating. There’s no need to confess them to me at this point. Unless you’re expecting me to reciprocate. I mean, we dated off and on for a few years before our relationship became serious.”

  “I do need to confess this one,” Brandon said. “It happened one summer when I came home for a few days and...well, Ruby Stone had just graduated high school and was working with my mother in the library.”

  “Ruby Stone? “ Louise raised her voice just a little, then thought better of it and lowered it again. “You had an affair with that lush?”

  “She wasn’t a lush then,” Brandon said. “And I should also say it’s not good to speak ill of the dead. Somebody told me that’s what Copper said to her customers Saturday when they were bad-mouthing my mother.”

  Louise put down her fork, grabbed her wine glass and took a much larger gulp than was normal. “Ruby Stone is dead?”

  Brandon nodded. “Sometime last night, the sheriff thinks.”

  “Brandon, did you...?

  “No. I didn’t even know about it until the sheriff told me late this morning.”

  “And why did the sheriff tell you? If she were dead, he’d need to have Ryan take her to the medical examiner, not you.”

  “The sheriff thinks the same person who killed my mother may have killed Ruby.”

  “Why? What is the connection between Agatha and Ruby?”

  “I guess maybe I should start at the very beginning.”

  “Please do.”

  So Brandon started at the beginning. He took a mouthful of his delicious beef, put his fork down, took a drink of his wine, put his glass down, sighed, and began. He prefaced his explanation by saying he had never even told his parents about any of this, so if Agatha knew about it, she got it from someone else. He told her about coming home one weekend in June for his parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, how he had arrived Friday afternoon and had visited his mother at the library, where Ruby had flirted with him outrageously. Agatha had told him she and his father planned to go to dinner and a movie in Pleasant View that evening, just like they did every Friday night, so he would need to ‘batch it.’ Brandon didn’t mind as he was used to batching it all the time in Portland. But he did take the opportunity, out of his mother’s hearing, to invite Ruby to dine with him that night, telling her he’d pick up a couple of steaks and they’d have a barbecue on the patio. Ruby had eagerly agreed and said she’d get a takeout order of some of the wonderful potato salad they made at Cabot’s to go with the steaks. Ruby, Brandon told Louise, was all over him from the moment she came in the house, so, naturally, one thing led to another and...

  “And your parents came home and caught you.”

  “No. I had Ruby home and was watching TV when my parents came in. And the next night we had their big anniversary party and Sunday I went back to Portland and that was that.”

  “Somehow I’m missing someth
ing here,” Louise said. “You had one little moment of weakness with Ruby, then you went back to Portland. So how does that connect your mother’s murder to Ruby’s?”

  “There’s more,” Brandon said. He did not see Ruby again until sometime in January, when she showed up at his apartment in Portland, very pregnant and in tears. She’d been living in Portland for several months, she said, but had just lost her job and was appealing to Brandon, who was, she claimed, the father of her unborn child, for assistance. He’d turned her away, saying her accusation was ridiculously impossible. Then, a few weeks later, she’d approached him on campus, telling him she didn’t know where else to turn and begging him to help. He was with friends—it was all very embarrassing.

  “She started to make a scene, right there on campus,” Brandon said. “She was yelling and screaming and making threats. I tried to just ignore her, but she kept at it, and finally pulled a knife and threatened to kill me, then herself and our child. I still would not believe that I had anything to do with the baby she carried. Cam-pus security came, Ruby was arrested, she appeared before a judge, who found her guilty of assault and attempted murder and was sentenced to prison.”

  Louise collected her thoughts for a moment. “Why didn’t I know anything about this?”

  “That was the year you took time off from school. You had gone home to Astoria because your mother had cancer and you had to care for her.”

  “Oh, this was that year.” She shook her head. “It’s probably good that I didn’t know. Watching my mother waste away, helpless to do anything except cater to her every need was enough. If I’d known about this incident with Ruby, I probably wouldn’t have dated you anymore.”