by Carrie Marsh
“Bruce McGovern?” Mary wrinkled her nose. “I vaguely remember Andrew talking about him. He’s been in the drunk tank a couple of times. Hardly Public Enemy Number One.”
“A couple times?” Dawn squawked as if Mary had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. “He practically had his mail sent there. I’d say his fingerprints are probably all over her but they’d have to be singled out from all the other men’s fingerprints I’ll bet are all over her as well.”
“That’s pretty harsh, Dawn.” Grace narrowed her eyes. “The girl is dead.”
“Yes.” Dawn lifted her chin defiantly. “But she had been given a dozen chances to turn her life around and she chose not to. I can’t feel bad for that.”
Mary thought back to the impromptu interview she had with Summer just several days ago. She listened to Dawn but said nothing.
“Her cousin, Ray Hulka, is an associate of my husband’s.” Dawn’s husband Bob was a podiatrist, which was a perfect career to keep Dawn in all the arts and crafts she could handle. “He offered her his home when she came to town and she said no. Would rather shack up with those bikers, the Outcasts…”
“The Outlaws. They are called the Outlaws,” Grace corrected.
“Whatever. My point it that Summer had people offering to help her and she just turned her back.” Dawn shrugged. “No one cares about the hurt and suffering she put her very own family through. But I’m supposed to feel bad for her? I don’t think so.”
“It’s always a shame when a young person dies.” Mary uttered the words more to herself than to Grace or Dawn.
“I know Ray did whatever he could to help keep that Bruce McGovern away. Ask your son.” Dawn crossed her arms over her ample breasts. “If the police weren’t called to break them up at some bar or her apartment. Or the restraining orders they sent like Valentine’s Day cards to each other. Go ahead and ask him. He’ll tell you it’s true.”
“I’ve heard the stories, too, Dawn,” Mary replied. “But you can’t always believe what you hear.” Mary had heard that the quilt Dawn submitted in the Autumn Embers Fall Festival quilting contest was bought online. Should she ask if that were true? And risk losing a potential gold mine of a customer? Not a chance.
“All you had to do was look at her and you knew what kind of person you were dealing with.” Dawn dropped a couple citrine beads in a baggy and wrote the price on them with the magic markers attached to the table. “Short skirts and cut-off jeans. She was no angel.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” Grace dusted off her hands after finishing her éclair. “Mary, did Andrew say anything about there being an opening at the PD? They could use someone like you, Dawn.”
“Not enough money,” Dawn replied before Mary even had a chance to say no.
Pretending she didn’t hear her, Mary just went behind the counter and keyed up the register.
“These are pretty,” Dawn mumbled. Collecting a few similarly colored stones and placing them in baggies, she made her way up to the counter. “I don’t need any spacers. I can get them cheaper off the Internet.”
Mary’s very first sale was for seventeen dollars and eight cents.
“It looks like you’ve got some unique things in here. You’re offering classes?” Dawn asked as she took her bag of goodies from Mary.
“Yes. If enough people sign up there will be one next Thursday.” Mary smiled kindly as if she had never seen Dawn in her whole life and didn’t think of her as a snobby know-it-all.
“I’ll put the word out.” Dawn shrugged confidently. “You’ll have enough people.” Without another word, she turned and strolled out of the store.
“How do you keep your cool?” Grace asked while peeking into the pastry box. “That woman makes me so upset I have to eat another éclair.”
“You know, you can always leave when she comes by. Just go to the bakery for a spell and then come back.” Mary smiled, teasing Grace.
“Are you kidding? If I go over there, that’s it. Henry will have me working while those no-good kids of ours are lazy-ing around texting and taking breaks. Besides,” Grace looked out the door, “I love to hate her. I really do.”
“That’s sick.” Mary giggled.
“Isn’t it? But I can’t help myself. I enjoy hating that woman.”
“Give me one of those éclairs before you bogey them all.”
As they laughed at Dawn and themselves, several more customers trickled in. Throughout the day there was a steady flow and by the time it was five o’clock closing time, Mary had a healthy register and aching feet.
“Tomorrow will be even better.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SUMMER FUNERAL
THE SUMMER FUNERAL
“Well, here it is.” Mary spoke to Alabaster as she read the morning paper. Alabaster was lying on the sale pages while Mary looked through the local stories. “Summer Moran’s funeral is the day after tomorrow at Duffy Funeral Home. Oh, they are having a wake, too.” She bent the paper down and looked at her cat.
Alabaster had already enjoyed his breakfast of dry kitty food and treat of leftover salmon from the night before. Now the sun was shining a perfect square of sunshine on the counter for him to lie in.
Will you be going?
“Yes.” Mary was sure. “I don’t know how many people care that Summer passed away. I’ve never met the Hulkas but I think it’s only right since I did, in fact, hire her to work for me.”
And you are just going to offer your sympathies and a kind word to the family. Not to go poking around and eavesdropping.
“Can I help it if people just offer me information? No,” Mary huffed. “Plus, I’m not going to go over there and say ‘Hey, I hear your cousin was a bit of a wanton woman. Do you think that has anything to do with where she is right now?’”
Alabaster stretched, blinking his eyes lazily at Mary as if he were waiting for her to elaborate.
“Family usually knows the real person. I’ll bet I get a completely different description from the Hulkas than I did from Dawn. They are suffering right now. They will be thankful for someone to just offer them an ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Wouldn’t you agree?”
I would. Alabaster sat on his haunches and stretched his shoulders straight up, causing his body to tremble slightly. Walking over to the window, he sat down and soon began to serenade the birds that flickered at the bird feeders only to disappear into the trees.
Just remember, emotions are high at funerals. People are on edge and sometimes don’t even realize it. One minute, they are paying their respects and the next they are flipping chairs and knocking over flowers. Be careful.
Mary nodded her head and proceeded to tear out the small obituary and stuff it in her purse. After cleaning up the kitchen, she quickly got dressed, hopped in her Smart car, and drove to Beads and Baubles.
Within minutes of unlocking the door, turning on the lights, and switching the Sorry We’re Closed sign to Welcome We’re Open, Grace was there with two Styrofoam cups of hot coffee.
Customers meandered in and out. Several signed up for the introductory beading class scheduled for next week. Finally, before quitting time, Mary told Grace she’d be stopping in at Summer’s wake to pay her respects.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Grace offered. “Just to keep you company. It might be a little harder than you think.”
Mary thought for a moment but shook her head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll be all right. I think it’s important for her cousin to know that as an employer she had impressed me. With all the rumors of how she was, maybe I can help them ignore all that and focus on something positive.”
“You’re a good egg, Mary.” Grace patted her friend’s hand as she stood from the bench and smoothed out her skirt, an elegant zebra print with a red top and red boots. “You let me know if you change your mind.”
“Leaving so soon?”
“Yeah. Sean called in sick.”
“Called in sick? He still lives at
home with you and Henry.”
“Right? He left us a voicemail. Can’t make it in. Sick.”
Mary started laughing and couldn’t stop.
“So, now I have to help close the store and get it ready for tomorrow.” Grace shook her head. “I don’t know what’s happened to my life.”
After they had said their goodbyes for the evening, Mary started to get her own shop closed for the day. She had hoped and prayed that business would just stay steady but she never imagined she’d be ahead of her own meek predictions by so much.
“You’re not a Rockefeller yet, Mary Tuttle.” Next to the register, as she balanced her receipts and bagged up the cash to go to the bank, was a picture of Alabaster with Andrew and a picture of Ward. It was a year before he got sick. His full head of gray hair windswept across his forehead and that confident, cocky smile that spread even now just from the picture to Mary’s lips.
Her eyes watered a little as she touched the frame.
“I think we’re going to do all right, Ward.” She sighed. “I really wish you could be here to see this. I’ve got the black onyx at the northeastern corner of the store to ensure the positive energy from the morning gets in. The crystals are above the doors to bounce the energy around. I waved sage everywhere before I set anything up to rid it of any negativity but I can’t be sure that worked because Dawn Williamson did come in. However, she bought some stuff so I shouldn’t complain.”
She had spent over twenty-five years with Ward. It was still hard having him gone.
“Well. That’s enough for one day. Good night, my love.” She kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them to his cheek through the glass. Within a few minutes, Beads and Baubles was closed for the night.
Duffy Funeral Home was off Main Street on the corner of Pilson Street and Hawk Avenue. She was thankful to see a fairly full parking lot. Summer may have had a lot of acquaintances but Mary was sure most of them wanted to keep that private.
As she climbed out of the car, she straightened her black dress. Pulling a Kleenex from her sleeve, she made her way to the entrance and walked in. She had just been at this same funeral home for Hank Jewels. She looked around, hoping to see one familiar face, any familiar face, but there weren’t any. She was beginning to regret not having Grace with her.
The people milling around all had a look of shock on their faces. Most of them were young and had probably only attended funerals of a grandparent or two. With those the deceased were old, maybe even sick. Death was common and even accepted under those circumstances. But this was someone young, maybe close to their own age, so it was awkward and itchy and didn’t feel right at all.
Walking into the viewing room, Mary saw a closed casket. Positioned next to it was a picture of a smiling, attractive, and very much alive Summer Moran. Her skin was tan, her eyes were twinkling as she sat casually on the hood of a car. It looked like a red Mustang. Mary wondered for a moment where the picture was taken and by who? Was it a boyfriend or maybe her parents?
“Thank you for coming,” a male voice said from behind her. Mary put her tissue-holding hand to her chest and let out her breath.
“Are you her cousin?” Mary asked with a quiet, gentle voice.
“Yes. Ray Hulka.” He reached out his hand that Mary noticed was trembling slightly. His eyes were red and droopy. Mary took it in hers and shook.
“This is my wife, Hillary.” He stretched his arms out to a stone-faced female who looked as if she hadn’t shed a tear in over a decade and was determined not to start now.
“How do you do?” Mary offered her hand to Hillary. “My name is Mary Tuttle. I met your cousin briefly when she applied for a job at my store.”
Ray and Hillary looked at Mary as if she had suddenly turned green.
“A job? What store?”
“I just opened Beads and Baubles. Downtown. It’s a bead shop. Summer had stopped in and I was very taken by her. This came as a real shock. I am so very sorry for your loss. She was a lovely girl.”
Hillary harrumphed and blinked her eyes rapidly. “We tried to help her.” She spoke as if she had repeated this statement so many times it tasted stale in her mouth. “We offered her a home. Stability. A roof over her head and food on the table but it wasn’t good enough.”
Ray put his arm around his wife. “Mrs. Tuttle. There was so much about Summer we didn’t know. And there were all the things we wish we didn’t know. We’re just lost right now.”
“I completely understand.” Mary patted Ray’s hand and looked at his face. Under better circumstances, he would have been a handsome man. Comparing him to the picture of Summer, they had a few similarities in the chin and around the eyes.
As she looked at Ray’s eyes, she suddenly saw them harden. He was focusing on something behind her. Before she could turn to look, Hillary screeched.
“No!” She waved her hands in front of her like she was trying to flag down a ride. “You are not allowed here! Get him out of here!
Mary turned around to see a mountain of a man trying to make his way to the casket. He was a huge bear of a fellow in clean, dark blue jeans and what would pass as a dress shirt for a man who didn’t have a lot of money. It had a collar and long sleeves with buttons up the front. His beard was trimmed close to a very square jawline. His hair fell into chestnut ringlets that would catch any woman’s eye. But what surprised her were his deep-set eyes. It looked as if he had been crying harder than Ray had. Was it remorse? Was it an act? Was this the man who Summer had issued restraining orders on?
“Bruce, I warned you!” Ray went stomping up to the big man. “If you set foot in here, I’ll have you arrested.”
So, that is Bruce McGovern. Mary’s eyes narrowed.
It was like David and Goliath. Ray looked up at least a foot to meet Bruce’s eyes. Unless Ray was a black-belt in karate or had a stun gun in his pocket, there was no way he’d be able to take Bruce down.
“I have the right to say goodbye to her,” Bruce mumbled. He was not the character she had envisioned. Although studies had proven men who abuse women were master manipulators who could turn the charm on and off. This whole thing could be an act. A ruse.
“If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive,” Ray hissed.
In an instant, Bruce had Ray around the collar, nearly lifting him in the air. Hillary ran up to the pair, pounding her bony fists to no avail on Bruce’s massive back. Finally, the funeral director and a couple of mourners pulled the men apart.
“This is a funeral!” the funeral director shouted. “Show some respect!”
Bruce had broken down and was crying openly but did not back down. Ray stood straight with his hands clenched at his sides and his jawbone grinding beneath his skin and stared hatefully at Bruce.
“Get out of here!” Ray shouted, turning his face red and bulging.
“I have the right to say goodbye to her,” Bruce mumbled again through tears.
“Sir, I am afraid at the family’s request you need to leave.”
Bruce looked at the funeral director pleadingly. His mouth moved as if he had something he wanted to say, maybe even needed to say but like everything else, his voice had abandoned him, too.
He looked to the casket, a fresh well of tears filled his eyes. Then he looked at Ray. Had there been no one else in the room, Mary was sure Bruce would have killed Ray.
The funeral director went to take Bruce by the arm but he yanked it out of his grasp. Looking around at all the staring faces, Bruce McGovern left the wake. It took seconds for the gossip to start to spread.
Mary put her hand to her cheek. It was obvious the Hulkas had enough on their plate. She was done talking to them. Instead, she folded her arms across the front of her and made her way around the casket, down the rows of seats and out into the main sitting area.
“I can’t believe he would show up here,” Mary heard one young woman in a pair of tight blue jeans and a black t-shirt whisper.
“He loved her. That makes you do stu
pid things,” her friend replied as she nervously tapped a pack of cigarettes against her thigh.
“Yeah, but the guy is a convicted felon. You think the cops would have him in cuffs by now,” Black t-shirt added.
“Do you really think he did it? I mean, he didn’t look guilty to me.”
“That’s because you’ve had a crush on the big ape since eighth grade. Come on. Let’s go have a smoke outside.”
Mary continued her slow tour of Duffy Funeral Home.
“Best funeral I’ve ever been to, right?” A young man, also in blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and blazer elbowed his friend as he spoke. “What a show.”
“Yeah,” his friend agreed.
“I mean, I suppose if I’d been tapping that I’d want one last chance to look at her, too. But to fight in front of the coffin like that? You’d think that there would be some kind of rule that says you don’t do that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“All I can say is that McGovern dude is one brave dude to take his chances here. I mean, what if the other members of The Outlaws showed up? Is that little dude going to stand up to them, right?”
“Yeah.”
Mary wondered if Summer was actually in the Outlaws. From the sound of it, Bruce was. But he wasn’t wearing anything with their label. She also hadn’t heard a Harley-Davidson motorcycle pull up. Those things could be heard a mile away.
Making her way past the hallway for the restrooms, she came to an empty corner next to the Funeral Director’s partially open office door.
“What an ordeal.” She heard the director speaking to another man in a black suit who wore a dazzling gold and diamond pinky ring. “I told you I wanted an armed officer here.”
“You were right.”
“We still have the burial tomorrow.” The Funeral Director rubbed his hand over his balding head. “Heaven knows what’s going to happen at that.”
“Things will probably cool down,” Mr. Pinky Ring soothed.
“Are you kidding?” Funeral Director looked at his associate with a slack jaw. “I don’t normally say things like this but that woman in that coffin was still smoking hot after lying dead in the woods overnight. That man who we just escorted out had a piece of it, and who knows how many other guys, judging by the stories I’ve heard. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”
