A grin spread across his face. "He wants to advertise on my blog when he buys the funeral home from Linda."
"What?" I asked in disbelief. "Linda hates him. She said she'd never sell to him."
"Arthur seems to think that she will," Dad said thoughtfully. "He believes Linda has no choice in the matter. The place is in the red, and he's got money to make the problems go away. Eddie never told me how bad things were. Jeez, you think you know a person."
"He might have been embarrassed."
His expression sobered. "But I thought things were fine. I still refuse to believe Eddie was stealing from his customers. He was a stand-up guy. It had to be someone else," Dad insisted.
"What did Arthur offer to pay you? Where's he getting the money from? I don't even know what he does for a living."
My father puffed out his chest. "As for what he's paying me, I don't like to discuss financial details, baby girl. Professionals never kiss and tell."
Oh brother.
He went on. "Arthur's retired from a state job. He has interests in a couple of local businesses and has been investing money he received from his wife's life insurance policy. She passed away ten years ago."
"How did she die?" I asked with interest.
"Car accident," Dad said. "And no, he wasn't driving. I know how that suspicious mind of yours works."
"Arthur received nothing when his father died?"
"We talked about that." Dad nodded. "As Linda mentioned, Arthur and his father had a huge argument right before Horace's death. Horace was always on the conservative side. Arthur wanted to try some new things at the mortuary to bring in more business, and the old man was dead set against it. He wants to expand the building, sell mourning clothes, and provide snacks for friends and family."
I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea of selling food at a funeral home. At least my cookies were only being used at receptions. Wasn't it bad enough that Charlene had been eating Doritos while making up a dead woman?
My father broke into my thoughts. "When Horace refused to budge, they got into an argument, and things turned ugly. Arthur said he has a lot of regret now."
"I'm not so sure." I pulled onto Stuffle Street and started looking for Wally's house. "Don't let this guy suck you in, Dad. I don't trust him. He and Eddie didn't get along. Why would you believe him?"
"He doesn't strike me as a killer," Dad said. "I can read people well, Sal. Now, that Charlene I don't trust. She always had that doe-eyed look around Eddie. Plus, she and Linda never got along."
I slowed the car at the side of the road. "You're sure Eddie wouldn't cheat on Linda? I mean, Charlene is attractive, and Linda—" I struggled to find the right words.
He nodded gravely. "Yep. Sort of like a truck ran her over."
"Dad! That's so mean."
He put his palms up in the air. "What can I say? I mean, they all can't be lookers like your mother. I really hit the jackpot with her." He guffawed and patted my knee. "And you and your sister, of course. Three beauties. I'm a lucky man."
We walked up a short gravel driveway that led to the house. The ranch was small but looked well-tended. A metal fence surrounded the lawn to the side and ran around the back of the house. Wicker furniture had already been placed on the wooden porch, and an open bag of mulch sat on the steps. Wally was an optimist. No one even thought of planting flowers around here until June because of the unsettling weather.
We climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. No answer.
"Maybe he's not home," I said.
My father was not about to be deterred. He pushed the bell in with his finger and held it there. After a few seconds, the door was jerked open by a man not much taller than me. For some reason I'd been expecting a strapping six-foot and three-hundred-pound brute of a man.
"Hello, Wally," my father greeted him.
The man's gaze traveled from me to my father and lingered there. Wally had a handlebar mustache, a head full of thick dark hair, and beady little eyes like a rodent. His voice gave the impression that he'd just smoked a pack of Marlboros. "What do you want, old timer?"
"Do you remember me?" Dad asked.
Wally's bushy eyebrows shot up. "Dom Muccio, right? Yeah, Eddie's buddy. What's this about?"
Dad patted my arm. "This is my daughter, Sally Donovan. She owns Sally's Samples. I'm sure you've heard of the place. It's the bakery that makes the awesome fortune and coffin cookies."
Wally made a face. "Sounds like a nut job bakery if you ask me. It must run in the family. Linda used to say that about you, Dom."
"Hey," my father said. "There's no reason to be insulting."
"What exactly did Linda tell you?" I asked curiously.
He glared at me. "Why should I tell you anything? The entire town knows that I'm awaiting trial. You're not here because you care about me or the hell I've been through."
A thief looking for sympathy. Yes, it certainly took all kinds.
My father held out his hand to shake Wally's. "Come on. Can we come in and talk for a minute? We might be able to help."
I was starting to regret our decision to come here. What did we really know about Wally except that his wife had left him, he'd driven a hearse for Eddie, and hocked his urns on eBay? His biography wasn't scoring any points with me. And he had the nerve to say my bakery was a nut job?
Wally slammed the door into the wall and gave us a mock bow. "Oh please, do enter. But make it fast. I've got things to do."
"I'm sure you have," my father said matter-of-factly and then whispered into my ear. "Especially if he's going to prison soon."
"Dad, stop it," I said.
Wally slammed the door behind us. "All right. You said you could help me. Get to the point."
Although the outside of the house looked adorable, the inside left a few things to be desired. Wally's dining room table was littered with empty beer cans, the entire house smelled of cigarette smoke, and the room was overrun with cobwebs.
Wally sat down at the table and cracked a beer open. "Well?"
"Because of the arrest, you must be aware that the cops suspect you in Eddie's murder," I said.
Wally took a long swig from the can and rocked back in his chair. "Yeah, honey, I already know this. But I didn't kill Eddie. Sure, I was angry at him. He promised me a raise and then never delivered. So I helped myself to one."
Where did he get his nerve? "You stole his property. That's a little different. Rumor has it that you blamed him for your wife leaving."
Wally pondered my statement. "Nah, I didn't really blame him. I was upset, that's all. Old Eddie was cheap but not a bad guy." He blew out a sigh. "I'm going to prison. There's no way around it. Eddie's dying makes it easier for the cops."
"How so?" I asked.
Wally let out an ear-piercing belch. "Everyone knows the police department's overloaded. They're going to try to pin this job on me. Hey, why not? I'll be doing jail time anyway, so why not go ahead and add a longer sentence?"
"It doesn't work that way," I said.
He snorted. "Wake up, honey. This is the real world."
I tried another attempt. "Look, we want to find out who did this to Eddie, so maybe we can help you if you help us in return."
"Yeah? Like how?"
"If you didn't kill him," I said carefully, "who do you think did?"
Wally ran a hand over his greasy-looking mustache. "I'm betting on his brother. See, Arthur had the biggest motive. He was practically foaming at the mouth to get his hands on Phibbins Mortuary. The guy would drop by any time he felt like it, came to every wake, just as an excuse to hang around when he knew Eddie didn't want him there."
"Yes, I've seen that firsthand," I said dryly.
Wally snapped his fingers. "I just remembered something. The day before I got fired, I overheard a conversation between Eddie and Charlene. It sounded like she was propositioning him."
My father poked me in the ribs. "You see? What did I tell you?"
Good grief. "What
do you mean, propositioning? Do you think they were having an affair?"
Wally shrugged. "Hard to say. Charlene kept talking in that real sugary voice of hers, saying things like, 'Why don't you come over to my place and let me make dinner—then we can cozy up for the evening.' But Eddie was having none of it. He told her flat out that he was a married man and that, no matter what happened, he would never look at another woman."
My father nodded, a pleased look on his face. "What'd I tell you, baby girl. Eddie was true blue."
"Yeah, a real prince," Wally said bitterly. "Make that a cheap prince. If he'd given me a raise, I wouldn't have had to take it for myself."
I couldn't believe this guy was making excuses for stealing Eddie's property. "Did you overhear anything else between the two of them?"
Wally crushed the empty beer can in his hand. "Not really. Only that Eddie told Charlene he was flattered by the attention but she should look elsewhere. He said she was wasting her time with him. Oh, wait a second. She did say something kind of strange."
"What was it?" my father asked eagerly.
"Charlene told Eddie that he should take a chance. Something about it being sad that he was incapable of living outside the box." Wally stared directly into my eyes. "She said he might be wasting the last precious moments of his life."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I knew we'd be back." Josie pulled her minivan into the parking lot of the funeral home. "You simply can't tear yourself away, Sal. It's got a hold on you."
"Oh, for goodness sake." My tone sounded defensive. "What was I supposed to do when Linda called and asked me for more cookies? Like you said, it's easy money."
She laughed. "I'm only teasing. You did the right thing. Those coffin babies are a gold mine. Even better than the fortune cookies because these make us actual money." She put a hand to her mouth. "Oops. I bet I've angered the fortune cookie gods now."
I grabbed a tray of cookies out of the back. "We're just going to drop these off and then get the heck out of there."
"Is she writing us a check again?" Josie asked. "Because frankly, after all the talk about Eddie's financial difficulties, I'm starting to get a little nervous. I hope it doesn't bounce."
We made our way toward the front entrance. "I think it's fine. In the future, I'll ask her to pick the cookies up at the bakery. We don't have time to drop these off every night, and Mickey told me he wants to cut back on making deliveries for the next few weeks while he studies for his college exams." Plus, if I spent another evening at Phibbins Mortuary, my husband would not be pleased.
"Hang on a second, Sal. I need to fix my bracelet."
I turned around. Josie was still at the back of the van, fooling with the clasp of the delicate gold rope around her slim wrist. Tiny ruby hearts dangled from it. Rob had given her the piece for Valentine's Day. Josie adored it, even though she rarely wore jewelry.
"It's so pretty," I told her.
"I love that Rob's trying to be thoughtful, but it's unpractical, especially when I'm baking all day. I only put the bracelet on this morning because Rob complained I never wear it. Men. I swear, he gets offended by the littlest things." She jiggled her wrist. "The clasp seems loose. Maybe I should take it to the jeweler."
"We can stop over there after leaving here if you like."
Josie clutched the cookies in one hand and slammed the van door with the other. "No, I'll take care of it tomorrow. Making all the coffin cookies has us behind."
"Don't be silly. We can stop. It will only take a few minutes."
"Forget it. I'm more interested in making money. This is one of those weeks that we need to pull in all the dough we can."
Zach was stationed at the front door, which I found a bit odd since the wake didn't start for another six hours. He really took his job seriously.
"Hi, Zach. How are you?" I greeted him.
He frowned and averted his eyes. "Good day, ladies. Linda is in her office if you need to see her."
His attitude was profoundly different from the other day and I wasn't sure why.
"What's the matter with you?" Josie asked.
Zach snickered but didn't answer.
"Have we done something to offend you?"
He rolled his eyes at me. "If you'll forgive me for saying so, miss, I find your behavior extremely deplorable."
My eyebrows knitted together. "What's deplorable about bringing cookies here?"
Zach gave me a look of disgust. "Forget the cookies. I'm beyond shocked by your actions. My goodness, he's at least forty years older than you. Why, he could be your grandfather. Plus, you're a married woman. Your father is always in here bragging about you and your bakery. I never took you for a tramp."
Josie barked out a laugh. "Sal, do you have a new boyfriend that I don't know about?"
Who was at least forty years older than me? Oh no. Zach must have heard the rumor about Ronald Feathers. His fishing partner, friend, and according to Josie, my main squeeze. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Zach, I'm not carrying on with Mr. Feathers. Josie was only joking around. We're in a hurry, so I'll explain later."
"You young people are always in a hurry." Zach turned up his nose at us. "No common decency these days."
I mumbled an apology and pushed Josie in the direction of the office.
"Hey, take it easy! I don't want to drop these," she exclaimed.
"This is all your fault," I hissed. "Because of that comment you made to Charlene, now everyone here thinks I'm lusting over an eighty-year-old man."
Josie started giggling so hard that I feared she would drop the tray. "Come on, Sal. Why would people believe that? Have they seen your husband?"
"It doesn't matter. People in this town love all types of sordid gossip. They thrive on it. And once Mrs. Gavelli finds out—"
"There will be some serious hair pulling and swearing in Italian," Josie teased. "You won't have a chance."
"Yeah well, thanks for that."
We reached the door to the office.
"What did you tell Mike?" Josie asked. "Does he know you're here?"
"I didn't tell him anything. He's meeting me at my parents' house tonight for dinner and thinks we're at the bakery all day. By the way, I'm bringing Cookie to work either tomorrow or the next day. Grandma Rosa has a doctor's appointment, but I'm not sure which day."
She smiled. "It's your bakery, hon, so I guess you can do whatever the heck you like. Maybe we can put Cookie to work."
I raised my free hand to knock. "All in good time."
"Please come in," a voice called.
Linda was sitting in the swivel chair behind Eddie's desk, going through some paperwork. She looked up at us, a broad smile in place. "Hello, girls. How wonderful that you brought the coffin cookies. We've had mourners calling ahead, asking if there would be any after the service tonight."
Jeez Louise. "You mean they're coming for the cookies and not the deceased?" This was a bit disturbing.
She shrugged. "What can I tell you? It happens. So how much do I owe you?" Linda reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a leather checkbook.
I gave her the amount. "Have you heard anything from the police about the cause of Eddie's death?"
"They think it's poisoning, but they don't have all the tests back yet." She stared at me with new interest. "Your father said that he was meeting with Arthur this morning. What was that all about?"
Jeez, couldn't anyone keep a secret? "I'm not sure."
"Right." She obviously didn't believe me. "If I were to wager a guess, Arthur wants to start advertising on your father's blog. He's already making plans for the day he takes over here."
Josie and I exchanged baffled glances. "Is that going to happen?" I asked.
She handed me the check. "Unfortunately, yes. I'm being pushed into a corner. With all of Eddie's gambling debts, the place is in the red. I don't see a way around selling, and Arthur is the only party currently interested in buying it." Linda lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "I hope Ed
die will forgive me."
"But you said you'd never sell," Josie pointed out.
Linda's voice was agonized. "What do you want me to do? Do you think it's easy for me? I have to eat, you know."
"No one is judging you," I said gently. "Didn't Eddie have a life insurance policy?"
She shook her head. "He was always too busy with everyone else's death to plan for his own."
Josie raised an eyebrow. "How very morbid of him."
Linda ignored the comment. "I'm taking the money I have left over after paying all the debts—which won't be much—and going to live with my son in England." There was a catch in her voice. "I need to get away. Far away from here."
* * *
"Sweetheart, you've barely touched your dessert." My mother added a coat of bright red lipstick to her mouth as she addressed my father.
Dad pushed his piece of tiramisu away and poured some anisette into his coffee. "I'm not hungry tonight, hot stuff."
We all looked up from our plates in shock. My father saying that he wasn't hungry was like not having snow in Buffalo during the winter. It simply didn't happen.
Mike and I were seated on one side of my parents' cherrywood dining room table, with Cookie on my lap. I had just started her on small portions of baby cereal, as Grandma had advised, and she seemed to be enjoying the taste. How I hoped this helped her sleep better.
Gianna and Johnny were on the other side of the table with Alex, who was busy smearing applesauce on the back of his high chair. Gianna set some Cheerios on his tray, which he immediately shoved into his mouth. My mother and father were both seated at the head of the table while Grandma Rosa's chair at the foot was empty. She'd gone into the kitchen to answer the house's landline.
My mother reached over and laid a hand on my father's arm. He lifted wounded eyes to hers and then pinned me with a stare. "Sal, the police won't share any information about Eddie's murder with me," he complained.
"Dad, you're not related to him," Gianna said.
He sipped his coffee. "How are Sal and I supposed to solve his murder if I don't have any of the facts?"
Mike's fork clattered against his plate. He'd been unusually quiet all evening, and I worried he might erupt like a volcano at any second.
Icing on the Casket Page 9
