Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5)

by Susan Santangelo

  Her eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up.

  “What happened? How did I end up on the floor?” She reached for my hand. “Can you help me up? I’m so embarrassed.”

  I got her to a sitting position, and then Helen managed to right herself completely.

  “I think you fainted,” I said. “I’m sorry if what I told you about the Finnegan wake upset you.”

  “I never faint,” Helen snapped. “There must have been a wet spot on the floor, and I slipped.” She took a deep breath. “I’m fine now. Really. Just mortified that you witnessed my little misstep.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I said. “But head injuries should always be checked by a doctor. Maybe you should go to the emergency room. I’d be glad to take you.”

  Helen waved me off. “I’m perfectly fine.” I started to hand her a credit card, but Helen said, “Pay me the next time. Do you need any help getting the sandwiches into your car? I have more orders to fill before the next rush of customers starts.”

  So it’s time for you to leave, Carol. We’re done here.

  Helen didn’t actually say that, of course. But she certainly implied it.

  “I can manage, thanks,” I said, taking the tray and hurrying out the door.

  As I made my way down Fairport Turnpike, I was occupied with three things: Not dropping the food, hoping the emergency vehicle I backed into was gone, and wondering what the heck was up with Helen.

  Because something certainly was.

  Chapter 19

  Victoria’s secret is an elasticized waistband.

  Remember that old saying, “No good deed ever goes unpunished?” That’s exactly what I was afraid of.

  So far, my track record for doing a good deed for the Finnegan family was a big fat zero. If my unlucky streak continued unbroken, the widow Finnegan would probably dump the tray of sandwiches over my head and throw me out the door on my keester.

  Or, even worse, accuse me of planting the scissors in Will, and call the Fairport police to come and arrest me.

  I was tempted to forget the whole thing, go home, and have the sandwiches for supper. And probably for lunch the next day, too. Which was especially appealing since, with the excitement of Helen fainting, I had forgotten to buy the pot roast for Jim’s dinner.

  Oh, grow up, already. You can always leave the sandwiches on the front steps and vamoose before anyone sees you. And besides, Jack Finnegan asked you to stop by. Hopefully, he conveyed that information to his sister-in-law.

  On the other hand, if you get any negative vibes, you don’t have to introduce yourself at all. You could just pretend you’re a delivery person from Fancy Francie’s. Or doing a favor for a nameless friend.

  Now, that was a great idea.

  Comforted by my new escape plan, I headed toward the Finnegan home, which was located in one of Fairport’s priciest areas—and there are many—the beach.

  After a few wrong turns, I found myself at the far end of Fairport Beach Road, a series of small bungalows and cottages interspersed with some mega mansions. Although most of the older homes looked like they could use a major facelift, they fronted directly on Long Island Sound, and the land alone was worth a fortune.

  I knew that some of these homes were only used by their owners during the summer months, and rented out to college students during the fall and winter. The annual Clam Jam rite-of-spring party, held on that stretch of beach in early April, was always a magnet for hundreds and hundreds of students to party hearty until the Fairport police came to shut it down.

  The Finnegan home was on the opposite side of the road from the beach, so the view of Long Island Sound wasn’t as good. A small blue bungalow style, its major attempt at curb appeal was a wraparound porch rather than the knock-your-socks-off landscaping that Will could have used to advertise his company.

  Odd. But maybe I noticed this because of all the years living with a p.r. professional, who used to drill into my head that clients often lost major marketing opportunities that were right under their noses. This was a perfect example. Will could have taken “before” and “after” pictures of his front yard and used them to attract new clients. If he’d bothered to fix up his own yard first, of course.

  There were no cars in the driveway, so I hoped I’d gotten lucky and nobody was home. I could just leave the tray of sandwiches with a quick note and get the heck out of there.

  Feeling braver than I had before, I headed for the front door. Balancing the food tray in the crook of one arm, I rang the doorbell.

  No answer. Things were looking up for me to make a speedy getaway. But just to be sure, I forced myself to ring the bell one more time.

  Rats. I could definitely hear the sound of footsteps coming in my direction. Then the door swung open, revealing a petite brunette in her mid-forties who seemed vaguely familiar. “Can I help you?” she asked. “What address do you want?”

  The woman eyed the tray of sandwiches, then me. “You don’t look like a typical delivery person.”

  “I’m not a delivery person,” I said quickly. Then I corrected myself.

  “Actually, I’m delivering these sandwiches to the Finnegan family, so I guess that does make me a delivery person.”

  Carol, you are such a dope. Introduce yourself, express your condolences, give her the food, and leave. Why are you complicating things so much?

  “Do I have the correct address?” I asked. “Are you Mrs. Finnegan?”

  “Technically, I guess I am,” the brunette said. “Although nobody’s called me that in a long time.”

  She gestured me to follow her down a long hallway toward the back of the house. “The kitchen is this way. Come in and I’ll put the tray in the refrigerator. We can have them for supper, which will save me from cooking.”

  A woman after my own heart.

  “Is there a delivery slip for me to sign?”

  “No delivery slip, Mrs., ah….” I stammered. “I came to express my condolences on your loss. Well, my husband sends his condolences, too, but I’m the one who picked up the food. The tray is a gift from both of us to your family.”

  I couldn’t tell if the woman was grateful or not. She had the strangest expression on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have introduced myself when you answered the door. I’m Carol Andrews. Will Finnegan did landscaping work for us. I took it for granted that you were his…ah…widow.” I stopped myself, completely embarrassed.

  This encounter was even more uncomfortable than I had imagined. And you all know that I have a very vivid imagination.

  “I’m the one who should apologize,” the woman said. “Technically, I am Will’s widow. Although I don’t think of myself that way.”

  My face must have mirrored my confusion. And I was plenty confused.

  “I’m Louisa,” she said. “You were very kind to bring us food. This whole thing has been such a shock.”

  Of course, I was now dying of curiosity, which under the current circumstances was very inappropriate. But I couldn’t understand how someone could “technically” be a widow. In my universe, either you were or you weren’t.

  “The rest of the family is out right now,” Louisa said. “Would you like a cup of tea? Even though you’re a total stranger, I want to tell you about Will and me. It’s quite a story.”

  She paused, then continued. “Maybe I want to talk to you because you are a total stranger. Do you have a little time to spare?”

  At this point, it would have taken a herd of elephants to drag me out of Louisa’s cheerful kitchen.

  “I’m a very good listener,” I said, settling myself into a chair and taking off my coat. When I let other people get a word in edgewise.

  I didn’t really say that last part, of course.

  Louisa placed two cups of green tea on the table, sat down opposite me
, and took a deep breath.

  “Here’s the abbreviated version of my so-called marriage to Will Finnegan,” she said. “I hadn’t seen the creep for more than ten years. Not since he walked out on me. And then I got a call from the hospital on Tuesday night that he’d had a heart attack and I was listed as his next of kin.”

  Chapter 20

  Guilt is the gift that keeps on giving.

  I had no idea how to respond to such a bombshell. So I picked up my teacup, preparing to take a sip. Then, I noticed my hands were shaking, so I put the cup back on the saucer before I dropped it.

  Louisa didn’t notice. Her eyes were closed, and a few tears were leaking down her face.

  “Damn it,” she said, taking a napkin and drying her cheeks. “I thought I’d used up all the tears I had for that rat years ago. I’m sorry to break down in front of you, Carol. If the kids could see me like this, they’d both give me hell, that’s for sure. They have no use for their father, either.”

  Silence. From both of us. And Louisa’s tears continued to flow.

  Finally, I handed Louisa another napkin—the one she’d been using was a crumpled mess—and started to get up from my chair.

  “I think it’s best if I go,” I said. “I never realized….”

  “No!” Louisa said, grabbing my hand and pulling me back down into a sitting position. “Don’t go. I need to let this all out, once and for all. And then, maybe, I can finally find some peace in my life. I’ve been pretending for too long.”

  She took a deep breath. “When I met Will Finnegan twenty-two years ago, I thought he was the handsomest man I’d ever seen.”

  No argument from me on that point.

  “He had a way of making me feel so special,” she said. “Like I was the only person in the world he cared about. Every time he’d hold my hand, even when I suspected he was being unfaithful, I’d feel a zing, like an electric shock. And he’d convince me that I was wrong. That I was the only woman in the world for him. And I believed him. Does that make any sense to you?”

  I nodded. Even though I’d never seen the cheating side of Will, I could certainly relate to the zing part.

  “When I first met Will, I was singing in the chorus of a Broadway musical,” Louisa continued. Her face lit up at the memory.

  “Although the competition was fierce, the director chose me to be an understudy for the female lead. I was so excited. It was going to be my big break, and I was on my way to becoming a Broadway star. Which is all I ever wanted to be, ever since I was a little girl.

  “And then, Will asked me to marry him. He made it clear that he wanted a stay-at-home wife, and forced me to make a choice. It was either him or the theater.”

  Louisa laughed bitterly. “Boy, did I ever make the wrong choice. And by the time I figured out what a sap I’d been, my moment had passed. So now I sing in local amateur performances. And churches. Anything I can get.”

  “That’s how I know you!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been trying to figure it out. I knew you looked familiar when you opened the door, but I couldn’t place you. You’re the choir director at St. Ambrose.”

  Louisa nodded. “That’s one of my regular jobs. Are you a member of the parish?”

  I didn’t want to admit that Jim and I have only a nodding acquaintance with St. Ambrose, so instead I responded, “You have a gorgeous voice. And you play the organ beautifully. The music there is so wonderful, it’s like going to a concert.”

  She beamed. “That’s nice to hear. And I give music lessons, too. Anything to add some extra money to the family coffers. Although I have to say that, even though I hadn’t laid eyes on Will in years, he always provided child support.

  “I never told the kids that, though. If Brian and Amy found out that I was taking money from their father, they would have had a fit. When he walked out on me, he walked out on them, too. And they’ve never forgiven him.”

  I had to wonder why Louisa and Will didn’t get a divorce. It seemed like the easiest solution to a complex problem.

  As if reading my mind, Louisa said, “I suppose you’re wondering why we didn’t get a divorce.”

  “It’s really none of my business,” I said. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  In fact, you’ve told me too much already.

  I didn’t really say that, of course.

  “You may find this hard to believe,” Louisa said, “but Will didn’t believe in divorce. He said divorce was a sin. That when two people were married, they were married for life. Isn’t that rich? He thought divorce was a sin, but having extra-marital affairs wasn’t.

  “And I was so stupid, I didn’t argue with him. I guess I was in shock when he walked out. Or maybe I thought that, one day, he’d come back. And I would probably have taken him back, too.”

  Louisa shook her head. “I was so naive and trusting! Always waiting for my happy ending, just like in the fairy tales we read when we were kids. You know what I mean?”

  I started to respond, but Louisa wasn’t quite finished.

  “Have you met Jack?” she asked me. “Will’s brother?”

  I nodded. “He came to my home this morning to finish up some of the landscaping work Will had started. When I first saw him, it freaked me out. He looks so much like Will, they could be twins. In fact, Jack was the person who suggested I stop by to see you.”

  Notice that I left out the part about my supposed association with the Fairport police. No sense confusing the poor woman. And heaven knows I had no desire to go sleuthing again. Even if I frequently unearth evidence that the entire police department has overlooked. And thereby solve the case. Not that I’m bragging, mind you.

  “Jack’s a doll,” Louisa said. “As a matter of fact, he’s been more like a father than an uncle to Brian and Amy since Will deserted us. I often think that he’s the Finnegan brother I should have married. And he’s made no secret of his feelings for me. Oh, well. No sense going into all of that now. It’s over and done with.”

  Louisa glanced at her watch and said, “Oh, golly, I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to go to the funeral home to see what arrangements can be made for another memorial service. And when. I just want this whole thing to be over with, for my sake and for the kids’.

  “Or maybe I should be asking the police about that, not the funeral director. Did you hear what happened there last night just as the wake was about to start?”

  I started to admit that I had been there, but stopped myself in time. No sense going down that particular road right now.

  Instead of answering the question, I started for the front door. “I hope the food will be a hit with the family.”

  Louisa gave me a hug. “Thanks so much for the sandwiches, and especially for letting me unburden myself to you like I did. I hope I didn’t bore you with my troubles. I’m sorry I kept you here so long.”

  “No apology necessary,” I said. “I was glad to be a friendly ear. Please let me know if I can do anything else to help. I really mean that.”

  I rattled off my cell number and headed down the driveway to one of my favorite thinking places, the solitude of my car.

  As I drove in the direction of Old Fairport Turnpike, it should come as no surprise that my brain was more confused than usual. So much so that I drove right by my own house, and had to go to the corner, make a U turn (there was no oncoming traffic, thank goodness), and head back in the right direction.

  I hate to admit it, but I have a very suspicious nature. I had an awful feeling that there was another mystery to be solved. Don’t get me wrong, the scissors incident was grisly. Horrible. I shuddered when I remembered the sight of Will in his casket.

  But I couldn’t help but wonder why had Will had died so suddenly, when he appeared to be in the best of health. Did Will have a history of heart problems? Or was it possible that he didn’t die of natural causes
?

  Louisa would probably know. But even I didn’t have the nerve to ask her about Will’s health history.

  I wondered if the police would take a closer look at Will’s actual death. With Paul Wheeler on the case, any real detective work was doubtful, or even nonexistent.

  I couldn’t stop myself from imagining a terrible scenario, one that Louisa herself had inadvertently given me. Maybe she got tired of waiting in marital limbo and wanted to be free. Or maybe Jack got tired of waiting to marry the woman he loved. But now that Will was out of the way, the coast was clear for Louisa to marry the other Finnegan brother.

  And Louisa wouldn’t even have to change her last name, or the initials on her guest towels.

  Chapter 21

  I’m not old. I’m timeless.

  “More au gratin potatoes?” I asked, passing the casserole dish across the table in the direction of my darling daughter and her husband. “And there’s more baked ham, too.” I handed the empty meat platter to Jim. “How about cutting the rest of the ham while it’s still warm, dear? That way, anyone who wants seconds can have them, and I’ll be able to use the rest for leftovers.”

  It was Sunday night, and our turn to host the Andrews family dinner. It’s a tradition I started right after Jenny and Mark were married, and a way for us to keep in touch as a family.

  Yes, I actually cooked the meal myself. Just in case you were wondering.

  And if you’re thinking that Sunday dinner is also an excellent opportunity for me to casually get information from my son-in-law the police detective about a case I might be interested in, you’d be absolutely right.

  Mark attempted to take the platter away from Jim, but I stopped him. “Let Jim do it, Mark,” I said. I gave My Beloved a squeeze on his knee. Under the table, of course. We’re not into overt displays of affection at our age.

  “You don’t mind doing it, do you, dear?” I asked. “You know exactly how to slice the ham so it’s thin enough to be used for sandwiches.” I gave him my most winning smile.