by Sara Rosett
“I can’t believe Detective Rickets isn’t going to investigate,” I said, and burrowed my hands deeper into my coat pockets.
Mitch, sitting on the wrought-iron chair beside me, moved his feet as a splatter of pool water landed near his shoes. “Watch me, Daddy! Watch me! Watch me!” Nathan shouted. He and Livvy were again wearing their floaty bathing suits. Livvy laboriously paddled over to us and gripped the edge of the pool. “Why won’t you come swim? The water’s lovely.”
“Lovely” was Livvy’s latest new word. She had a tendency to latch onto certain words or phrases and use them to death. She’d heard the word from a classroom assistant at school, who’d pronounced Livvy’s drawing of the continents “lovely.” So many things in Livvy’s world were lovely now.
“You and Nathan have a good time. I’ll swim another day,” I called, and she frowned before bobbing back over to Nathan. They began splashing gallons of water as they tried to outdo each other with their antics. The pool was sheltered from the breeze and the sun was still shining, so I’d figured swimming was a great way for the kids to burn off their energy. Nathan ducked into the water and blew bubbles, then emerged with water streaming down his face. I knew the kids were warm enough in the heated pool, but the chill of the wrought-iron chairs was making me shiver.
“Good job, buddy,” Mitch called. To me, he said, “You heard Jake—it was a prank.”
Once Jake repeated to the detective what he’d told us, Detective Rickets had taken a brief look around the funeral home and declared that the incident was a result of the funeral home’s inattention to securing entrances coupled with juvenile mischief. He’d summed it up by saying, “It appears that the person who took the casket entered the funeral home through an unlocked door to the garage area, and discovered the casket containing Mr. Avery’s remains in the anteroom where it was left unattended before it was to be moved to the viewing room. The person moved the casket to the van in the garage, which had the key in the ignition.” Detective Rickets speculated that the person drove to the end of the parking lot, had second thoughts, and ditched the van. “All he had to do was slip over that berm of landscaping between the funeral home and the strip mall that’s under construction next door and he’d be out of sight. No video cameras over there, so no recordings.”
At that point, Detective Rickets had swung toward Mr. Grisholm and said, “You have any video cameras set up in this place?”
Mr. Grisholm shook his head. “The—ah—nature of our business has proved a deterrent to burglary.”
“All righty. I’ll check the other businesses along the street here, see if they noticed anything,” he said after taking down Jake’s rather general description of the guy who’d asked questions about the funeral home. His tone indicated he didn’t think there would be any results.
A splash of water brought me back to the present. Livvy squealed as Nathan flung water at her. I snuggled my chin into my wool scarf and looked at Mitch. “So now you don’t think Felicity had anything to do with it?”
Mitch shook his head. “No, you were right. Anyone could have picked up that flyer. I jumped to a conclusion,” he said as he ran his shoe along the line of bricks that edged the pool.
I blinked. “You never do anything like that.” Between Mitch and me, he was always the thoughtful, reasonable one.
Mitch lowered his voice as he said, “You saw her taking things from Grandpa Franklin’s house. Who knows how much she would have bundled out of there if we hadn’t shown up. If she thought Grandpa Franklin had something valuable on him—jewelry or even those letters, she’d steal a casket, no question.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s pretty harsh. She’s that moneygrubbing?”
“Yes,” Mitch said without hesitation. “She’s selfish.” Mitch glanced over his shoulder at the house, where the family was still discussing the incident at the funeral home in rather loud tones. They were debating about switching to another funeral home, but I thought it was probably too late for that.
“But to steal a body? That’s crazy.”
“She’d do it,” Mitch said emphatically.
“That still sounds crazy to me, but Felicity was Aunt Christine’s first thought today at Grandpa Franklin’s. Oh! I haven’t told you about that. Someone had searched Grandpa Franklin’s house. Things aren’t in the right places and some of the cushions are slit. I wonder if Aunt Christine has told everyone about it. She thinks it was Felicity.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her.”
I shook my head. No matter how much I wanted something, I don’t think I could bring myself to vandalize someone’s house. Mitch’s eyebrows crunched together as he asked, “So the cushions were slit?”
“Yeah, but it was done in a way that’s not noticeable when you first look at it. Aunt Christine wants to change the locks. When would Felicity have time to do all this stuff? Doesn’t she have to work?”
“She’s off today and she could have gone by Grandpa Franklin’s house anytime yesterday. No one is staying there all the time.”
“Speaking of Aunt Christine,” I said, “I asked her why she said she was sorry.”
“You did what?” Mitch sat up straight.
“I asked her why she said she was sorry,” I repeated, a bit defensively. “She said it was because she thought she should have been there with him.”
“Ellie, why do you do this?” Mitch said, his tone laced with frustration.
“Do what?”
“Have to know every little detail.” He frowned. “Of course, she was upset because she wasn’t there. Don’t make such a big deal out of it.”
He rarely got upset. He was one of those people who rolled with the punches. Almost always, he was unflappable and composed. But every once in a while, when something really bothered him, his imperturbable air faded. It was like watching the fizz erupt when Livvy added vinegar to baking soda for her Show and Tell project. I felt stung. “I just wanted to know why she said she was sorry. It was kind of odd. And that detective insinuated that she thought there was more to be investigated. She could reopen the case. Isn’t it better to know what we’re dealing with? Have everything out in the open?”
“Saying she was sorry isn’t odd,” Mitch said, ignoring my last arguments. “Not odd at all when you consider her father had just died. She was in shock. Why do you always push and push? Why do you always have to know everything?”
That hurt. I said quickly, “I don’t have to know everything.”
Mitch twisted to me and said, “Yes. Yes, you do. And if anything appears the slightest bit unusual, you want to know more and you keep picking and prying.” His words were like shrapnel, each one a tiny wound, inflicting pain. I always thought I had a knack for picking out things that didn’t fit. I did it all the time in my organizing business. I could look at a room, a closet, or a schedule and just see what needed to go to organize things. And, sure, I had a healthy sense of curiosity. At least, I’d always thought of it that way. There had even been a few times when I’d been able to ferret out the truth from under layers of lies.
I was getting worked up, my heart pounding, as I said, “Well, at least I’m not like you—burying my head in the sand and saying ‘everything will be okay, there’s nothing to worry about.’ ” I stopped abruptly at the wounded look on Mitch’s face, realizing my words had hurt him as much as his had hurt me. Normally, I’m not so quick on the mark verbally, but there’s something about fighting with your spouse—some of those barriers that usually prevent me from saying the first thing that pops into my head are down and I know him so well that he’s an easy target.
I realized there weren’t any splashes coming from the pool and twisted in that direction. Livvy and Nathan were both standing motionless in the shallow end, their wary gazes trained on us. The water lapped against their still bodies. Great. Now we were arguing in front of the kids—something we try to avoid.
“Nathan, where’s the ball you were throwing?” I called out, and Nathan high-st
epped through the water to get it, still watching us out of the corner of his eye. Of course, Livvy saw an opportunity to get the ball from Nathan, so she swiped it and then he went after her. All was normal in the pool again, so I turned back to Mitch and said in a quieter voice, “Besides, even you have to admit that my . . . ,” I paused, trying to think of a word besides nosy, “inquisitiveness has paid off in the past.”
“Ellie, I don’t want to argue with you.” I could tell by the care he took in choosing his words that his flare of emotion was fading and he was reining in his anger. He sighed and said, “Tonight after the viewing, I’ll ask Dad about a locksmith, which will keep Felicity out of the house.”
It didn’t seem like a very good solution to me. Was anyone going to talk to Felicity? Aunt Christine had said she would, but after the scene at the funeral home, I didn’t know if Felicity would be at the top of her list.
It’s hard to argue with someone who refuses to argue back. Even though I wanted to defend myself and my actions, I leaned back against the cold wrought-iron chair and tried to relax my tight shoulders. “You never want to argue,” I said. He didn’t take the bait, just leveled a glance at me that said he was backing off and I’d be smart to do the same, but I continued, “Why wait to call a locksmith? Do it now before something else happens.”
“No, everyone is stressed out as it is. I’m not going to make it worse. After the viewing, I’ll take care of it.”
I shook my head. “There are too many weird things going on,” I persisted, leaning toward him. “The broken window that still hasn’t been fully explained, and someone searched Grandpa Franklin’s house. We’re assuming it was Felicity, but it might not be her.”
“No,” Mitch crossed his arms. “We’re not going off on a wild goose chase here. The broken window was from the storm and Felicity is trying to discreetly ransack Grandpa Franklin’s house. That’s all that’s going on.”
I checked the kids. Their arms were cranking as they energetically splashed each other. I lowered my voice and said, “Mitch, your grandfather’s body disappeared from the funeral home. We need to contact Detective Rickets and tell him about the search at Grandpa Franklin’s house, except . . .” I frowned, thinking of how quickly he’d closed down everything this afternoon. “He seemed like he didn’t want to look into anything too closely. It would probably be better to talk to Detective Kalra. I’ve got her card,” I said, making a move to get up.
Mitch put his hand on my wrist. “Ellie. We’re not calling a detective—any detective. What happened this afternoon with Grandpa Franklin’s body—that was incompetence on the part of Grisholm’s. They should never have let Jake work there. He’s a magnet for trouble.”
I watched the kids splash for a few moments. I knew that tone of voice. Mitch was usually so easygoing, but every once in a while he could be so stubborn. Like his temper, his stubbornness didn’t show up very often, but when it did, well, there was no changing his mind.
“Fine. Ignore it, write everything off.” I stood up. “I have to get ready for the viewing. Can you bring the kids in?”
“Sure,” Mitch said, and I could feel his gaze on me as I pushed in the chair. “Ellie,” he said, his voice quiet, “this is my family. If there’s something wrong, the family will take care of it.”
“Will they, Mitch? Will they really try to get to the bottom of what’s going on? Or will they close ranks and hide it?” I strode away before he could answer.
Chapter Nine
“Thank you so much for coming,” I said to an older man who was moving around the room, speaking to each Avery family member. Most of the Avery family was here for the funeral, except for a few relatives who lived far away, like Dan’s mom, Jenny. He shook my hand and moved on to Mitch, who was standing in a cluster of people near the casket. We hadn’t really talked since our argument at the pool. There had been the rush to get ready for the viewing and get the kids settled with the babysitter, a part-time employee from Caroline’s office.
We’d decided earlier in the day that the viewing and the funeral might be too upsetting for Livvy and Nathan. Both of them seemed relieved when I told them they didn’t have to go if they didn’t want to. “Good,” Livvy had said. “I don’t want to see a coffin.” Livvy’s cousins, Madison and Jack, were staying with them as well. Madison had brought the newest installment of the Infinity Mystery series, which was Livvy’s all-time favorite book series. Livvy had said, “Wasn’t that lovely of her?” The books followed three friends as they used math to solve mysteries. I’d left her curled up on the corner of the couch already halfway through the first chapter of The Spiral Secrets. Nathan and Jack had been alternating between building with Legos and playing with dump trucks. With a Disney movie as backup in case everyone got bored, I knew they’d be fine.
I shook another person’s hand and accepted more condolences. The room was crowded with people who’d come to pay their respects to the family. Unlike this morning, everything was running smoothly. The casket had been in place when we’d arrived. I’d edge over to look inside and was relieved to see that Grandpa Franklin’s body had been repositioned. The soft music played, the water feature burbled, and people circulated, speaking in low murmurs. The funeral home was being obsequiously polite and deferential. We probably could have asked for a bagpipe serenade and it would have happened in an instant.
“Thank you so much for coming,” I said as a woman reached out to shake my hand.
She clasped both of her hands around mine and said, “I had to come. Mr. Avery was such a wonderful person.” As I focused on her face, I realized she was the jogger who’d stopped at Grandpa Franklin’s house to see if he was all right. Dressed in a black wrap dress and with her blond hair loose around her head, she looked completely different. “So sad that he’s gone,” she said in her distinctive nasal tones.
“Yes,” I said. I still had the feeling I knew her from somewhere. “I’m Ellie Avery. I’m married to Mitch, Franklin Avery’s grandson.” She’d mentioned her name when she was at Grandpa Franklin’s house the day we arrived in Smarr, but I couldn’t remember it and she obviously didn’t remember that I’d been there at the tape line beside her.
“Maggie Key,” she said. As soon as she said her name, I had it. At least, I thought I did. Could it be her?
“Margaret Key, the author?” I asked hesitantly.
“Why, yes. That’s me,” she said, smiling widely.
“My daughter loves your books. In fact, she’s just started The Spiral Secrets and I know she won’t put it down until she finishes it,” I said, trying to reconcile this woman in front of me with the picture on the back flap of the books in the mystery series. She looked about fifteen years older than her photo. I wondered if she hadn’t updated her photo in years or if she’d had some serious air-brushing done. In real life, wrinkles radiated out from the corners of her brown eyes and she had the beginnings of a double chin. Instead of the silky, smooth blond hair that framed her face in the photo, she had slightly frizzy blond curls with dark roots.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! It’s so important for children to be readers—that’s why I write middle-grade chapter books. If kids fall in love with reading, then it’s a lifelong love.”
“That’s true. I’m so glad you’ve written the Infinity mysteries. Livvy can hardly wait for the next one. She’ll be so excited when I tell her I met Margaret Key!”
“Oh, call me Maggie. Everyone around here does. Here, let me give you some bookmarks for your daughter.” She unzipped her slouchy leather purse with her small, delicate hands and dug around inside.
“I can’t believe my husband didn’t tell my daughter that her favorite author lives in the town where he grew up.”
“Well, he probably has no idea I live in Smarr. Here we are!” she said, and pressed a stack of brightly colored bookmarks into my hands. “And take some stickers, too.” She settled the purse on her shoulder and said, “I only moved here after the book festival last year. I fell in
love with Smarr during Book Daze—such a rich literary history and so quaint—have you seen the downtown? No? Well, you must go. It’s quite revitalized now with little craft shops and antique stores and bistros. I’d spend all day downtown, if I could. But, of course, if I did that, I’d never get any writing done. And Quincy House, have you been there?”
“Yes,” I said, and before I could elaborate that it had been one of the first places Mitch had shown me during my first visit to Smarr, she said, “Oh, good. It has the best Sunday brunch. Have you had it?” I nodded and she continued, “The crepes! They’re so—” She broke off as a rotund man with round glasses and a brown goatee going gray joined us.
He extended his hand. “Sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t help overhearing. I have to agree that Smarr’s downtown area is one of the most picturesque that I’ve seen. That’s where I’m going to open my pizzeria. Authentic, oven-fired pizza, mind you.” Maggie was staring at him and made no move to take his hand. He reached out and grabbed her hand as he said loudly, “I’m so thrilled to meet a famous author. You should come by after we open! I’ll put a signed photo of you on the wall.”
She smiled weakly, then withdrew her hand. I was a little surprised at his boisterousness. I know I’d just said almost exactly the same thing, but his voice carried across the room and people were turning to look at us. “Oh, pardon me. I’ve completely forgotten my manners,” he said as he reached out to shake my hand. “Stan Anderson. New in town.” I introduced myself and he continued, “I never met your grandfather—just arrived a few days ago—but my dad was a buddy of his and wanted me to convey his sympathies to the family.”
“How did your father know Grandpa Franklin?” I asked, stepping back slightly. Stan Anderson was one of those people who didn’t seem to have any regard for personal space. He leaned toward me as if to keep me from getting too far away. He had a narrow forehead, but his face widened at his chin into heavy jowls. With his egg-shaped body, triangular head, and thick neck, he reminded me of the oval-shaped Weebles toys that the kids liked.
