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

by Susan Santangelo

  The salon atmosphere, and the sound of a blow dryer, soothed me into such a relaxed state that I could feel myself nodding off. I figured it couldn’t hurt if I closed my eyes for just a few minutes. Just resting my eyes, so to speak. Not really sleeping.

  I was in that halfway state between awake and asleep when I heard Deanna say, “Lisa, you’ve got to be more polite to my customers. Carol Andrews has been a loyal customer for years. In fact, because of her and her friends, I’ve been able to afford that fancy private school you’ve been going to for the past three years. As long as you’re working here, you’d better watch what you say.”

  I was definitely awake now, but kept my eyes closed. It didn’t take a genius to realize that this conversation wouldn’t be happening if Deanna thought I was listening.

  I heard someone crying softly. I immediately felt guilty, assuming that my complaint was to blame for the tears.

  “I’m sorry for what I said to Mrs. Andrews. I was just trying to help. And you always say that time is money. I didn’t mean to insult her. Or upset you any more than you already are.”

  I heard some mumbled conversation and strained to decipher what was being said. But it was useless.

  And then I heard Lisa’s voice again. “You know I love you. And I’m so grateful for everything you do for me. I’d do anything to help you, Mom. Anything.”

  Mom? Did I just hear Lisa call Deanna “Mom”?

  Although my nosy side wanted to continue listening to what was, essentially, a very private conversation, the angelic side insisted that was not playing fair.

  The angelic side won—just this once—and I feigned moving around in my chair and stretching, so Deanna would think I was just waking up from a quick nap. Just for good measure, I rustled the newspaper in my lap, too.

  In a flash, Deanna was beside me. “Have a good snooze, Carol?” she asked.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I said.

  Well, that part, at least, was true.

  “I don’t normally drop off to sleep in public. I haven’t been sleeping well the last few nights. I hope I didn’t snore.”

  Deanna laughed. “I didn’t hear a thing,” she said.

  I certainly did.

  I didn’t really say that, of course.

  “I had a talk with the receptionist while you were dozing,” Deanna said, handing me a black smock to wear over my clothing. “I told her in no uncertain terms what a good customer you are, and that she should be more polite when she talks to you.”

  “It’s not just me,” I protested. “For all you know, she may be rude to some of your other customers, too. Has anyone else mentioned it?”

  Deanna shook her head. I couldn’t help but notice that her hair color, usually a bright shade of red, was much more subdued today. Nor was it styled in the spiky style she usually favored.

  Before I could continue my surreptitious interrogation, Deanna asked, “Why aren’t you sleeping well, Carol? Is there something bother you? Would it make you feel better to talk about it?”

  Rats. This is the way my hair appointments always went. I used them as an excuse to unload my latest crisis on Deanna, she offered wise counsel—or perhaps, just a series of hmms—and I left the salon feeling and looking much better than when I walked in. In other words, I spilled my guts about my personal life (figuratively speaking, of course) and she told me zip about hers.

  I had to figure out a way to turn the conversation around to her.

  “I figured out that I can’t have regular coffee at dinner,” I said. “It keeps me awake. I had decaf last night instead, and I slept like a baby.”

  Of course, this was a total lie, but it sure sounded good. I will never give up my high test coffee, no matter what.

  “That’s very smart of you, Carol,” Deanna said. “I had a customer once who….”

  Before she could launch into one of her stories, I interrupted her. I know, I was rude. But it had to be done.

  “So, tell me more about Lisa,” I said. “Where did she come from? An employment agency? I can’t imagine an agency sending someone out on a receptionist job with no customer service skills whatsoever. Don’t they screen applicants these days?”

  Deanna flushed. “Lisa didn’t come from an agency, Carol. She’s only here temporarily. By the time you come back for your next regular hair styling appointment, she’ll be back at school.”

  I pounced.

  “School? Hairdressing school?”

  “No, Carol.” Deanna stopped applying color to my hair and gave me a piercing look. “Why do you ask?”

  I opened my baby blues as wide as possible, feigning innocence. “I just wondered.”

  I focused on the newspaper on my lap, pretending to read it. But since I didn’t have my bifocals on any more, even the headlines were blurry.

  After a pause of about ten seconds, I said, “How old is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Lisa. That’s who we’re talking about, right?” I said.

  “That’s who you’re talking about,” Deanna corrected. “I’m just trying to get all your color on before my next client comes in. I worked you in as a favor, remember?”

  I started to nod in agreement, but Deanna stopped me. “Don’t move your head, Carol. You need to keep very still right now.” She continued applying my base color, then said, “I hope you don’t want foils today, because I don’t have time to do them. If you really want them, you’ll have to make an appointment to come back next week.”

  She glanced at the large clock on the wall. “Time for you to move to a new chair. I have another client coming in about five minutes from now. I’ll set your timer for thirty minutes.” She gestured to a chair on the other side of the salon, well out of potential eavesdropping range.

  Rats.

  “I’m glad to see your business is doing so well these days,” I said as I allowed Deanna to lead me across the salon. “Especially in such a down economy. You’re very lucky.”

  Deanna looked at me. “You must be kidding, Carol. My business isn’t that great.”

  “But you’re extra busy today,” I said. “I just figured that you had loads of new clients to take care of.”

  “I only wish you were right,” Deanna said, handing me a slew of magazines to keep me occupied while the hair color did its thing. “I’ve been closed for a few days, and now I have to scramble to make up the time with all those clients I had to cancel.”

  I gave it one last shot.

  “Vacation?” I asked.

  “No,” Deanna snapped back. “If you must know, there was a death in the family.” And she walked away.

  Chapter 24

  Experience is a wonderful thing. It enables you to recognize a mistake right away when you make it again. And again.

  It’s a good thing I was already sitting down. Otherwise, I’m sure my derriere would have hit the floor in response to Deanna’s announcement, followed immediately by the rest of me. And who knows what damage I’d have done to my aging body? After a certain age, I’ve read that a woman’s bones are much more brittle and subject to fractures. No matter how much calcium she takes every day.

  I sat in my chair at the opposite side of the hair salon, straining to hear whatever tidbits Deanna might be sharing with her other customer. And pretending to be leaf through a few of the magazines Deanna had given me.

  I finally gave up trying to eavesdrop and sat back in my chair. More than anything, I wished I had something to write on. Sometimes making a list helps clear my brain, which was now whirling with all sorts of possible scenarios.

  I’ll let all of you take a minute and work out a few of them for yourselves. Let’s see how good you are at sleuthing. Believe me, it’s a lot harder than it looks.

  Here’s how my thought process went:

  I saw Deanna at the funeral home the night of t
he Finnegan wake. Why was she there so early, way before the wake was supposed to begin? And who were those people with her?

  Deanna and Lisa are mother and daughter.

  Was Lisa at the funeral home with her mother?

  Deanna is a hairdresser. She uses scissors all the time. Did she use the scissors on Will? And if she did, why?

  Lisa told Deanna she’d do anything to help her. And she’s working temporarily in the hair salon. Therefore, she also had access to the tools of Deanna’s trade. Like scissors.

  Which meant that Lisa could have used the scissors on Will. Assuming she was also at the wake. Big assumption. And again, why?

  Deanna told me that she’s running way behind her appointments today because the salon had been closed due to a death in the family.

  OMG! Could Will Finnegan be Lisa’s father?

  I had to think of a way to continue my conversation with Deanna. But it was clear that asking her direct questions was making her angry with me. Something that had never happened before, in all the years we’d known each other.

  In a flash, I had a new strategy. Deanna loved to hear about other people’s problems. And she always had a helpful suggestion to offer. So I needed to come up with an imaginary problem for her to advise me on.

  A problem that, if I was very clever, might also make Deanna reveal something about her own personal life.

  I whipped through my mental filing cabinet and came up with something I hoped would do the trick. I was so caught up in my plan that I jumped a foot when I heard Deanna say, “Come over to the sink, Carol. It’s time to wash your hair.”

  Obediently, I did as I was told, allowing a single tear to leak from my eyes in the process.

  Yes, like Nancy, I can whip up tears pretty easily. Which comes in very handy when certain household bills arrive.

  There was no reaction at all from Deanna. Rats. I’d have to do it again. I hoped my eye makeup didn’t run.

  I waited until I was settled in her styling chair, then squeezed my eyes shut and—just like that!—produced another tear. And added a heavy sigh to my performance.

  This time, Deanna saw me. And was concerned. Just as I’d expected.

  “Oh, Carol, I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I looked around the salon and realized it was now empty of other clients. Even the lovely Lisa had left.

  I gave Deanna a weak smile, then said, “I’m not upset about you, Deanna. It’s Jenny. I mean, it’s my relationship with Jenny. Since she and Mark have been married, Jenny and I aren’t nearly as close as we used to be. I suppose that’s natural, but Jenny came up with a pretty outrageous suggestion recently that, well….”

  Not my best story, I admit. But I didn’t have a lot of time to come up with one. As extra emphasis, though, I allowed a few more tears to appear.

  It’s a gift.

  “I’ve heard from so many clients that the mother-daughter relationship can be a rocky one,” Deanna said, looking at my hair critically. “What happened between you and Jenny?”

  “I really don’t want to go into it,” I said. “It’s too upsetting. I’m worried that someone will walk in and overhear me.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Carol,” Deanna said. “You’re the last appointment of the day. But if you’re really concerned about being overheard, I can fix that.”

  In a flash, she had locked the salon door and put up the “closed” sign.

  “Now we can talk privately about what’s really on your mind. And it’s not Jenny, so don’t think you’re fooling me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Deanna,” I said, trying to look innocent and hoping I was successful.

  “I’ll make it easy for you, Carol. When you saw me at Will Finnegan’s wake, I saw you, too. And knowing you as well as I do, I bet you want to know why I was there.”

  Deanna reached into her equipment drawer and pulled out a pair of cutting shears.

  “And I’m just dying to tell you all about it.”

  Chapter 25

  I took a course in speed writing. Now I can write for an hour in only ten minutes.

  Have you ever heard that expression, “a frisson of fear”? I never knew what it meant until Deanna came at me, scissors in hand.

  I was alone in the hair salon. Which was closed for the day.

  And nobody knew where I was. I didn’t even leave a note for Jim.

  OMG. I was going to die. My hairstylist was going to kill me for nosing into her private life.

  “Deanna,” I said in a shaky voice, “can’t we discuss this like two rational people? We’ve known each other too long to have our relationship end like this.”

  To say nothing of my life.

  “I really did want to talk to you about Jenny and me. I don’t know what you mean about Will Finnegan’s wake.”

  My favorite hairstylist and possible killer looked at me in disgust. “That is so typical of you, Carol. It’s always all about you. But this one time, when I need so desperately to trust someone, to talk to someone about the mess my life is in, you turn your back on me.”

  She waved her scissors around my head for emphasis, and I flinched. It was an automatic reaction, but Deanna saw it.

  “What the heck is wrong with you, Carol? Are you afraid I’m going to scalp you?”

  “Don’t be silly, Deanna,” I said. “I was just shifting my position in the chair. To ease my lower back.”

  “Yeah, right,” Deanna said. “Why don’t I believe you?” She whirled me around in the chair so I was facing the mirror. “Let’s see if I can get this done quickly. I assume you want the same style.”

  Same style? What difference does it make how my hair is styled if I’m dead?

  I started to respond. Well, beg for my life, actually. When I heard banging on the salon door. And a familiar shrieking voice.

  “Deanna, let me in. It’s Nancy. I came right over after I got your text. And Claire is with me.”

  I was giddy with relief. Saved by the knock. So to speak.

  While Deanna dealt with the front door, I took a minute to compose myself. Both Claire and Nancy knew my facial expressions far too well—that’s what happens when you’ve been best friends since grammar school.

  And I realized, now that reinforcements had arrived, how absolutely ridiculous my fears were. There was no way that Deanna would have harmed me. The whole thing was just a series of…unfortunate coincidences. Yes, that was it. Coincidences that propelled my imagination into overdrive. Again.

  I really should write some of this stuff down. If I ever get a free minute.

  Nancy leaned down and gave me a quick kiss, being careful not to smudge her makeup by getting too close to my damp hair.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly,” Deanna said to Nancy and Claire. Then, to me, “I’ll finish your haircut in a little while. And there’s no charge for today’s appointment. You’ve been very patient. All things considered.”

  I knew Jim would be thrilled when I told him that. Especially since Crimpers doesn’t take credit cards, so there was no chance of racking up those extra bonus points he’s so crazy about.

  “So,” Claire asked, getting straight to the point as usual, “what’s your big emergency, Deanna?”

  “Mary Alice was sorry she couldn’t join us,” Nancy interrupted before Deanna had a chance to reply. “She has a hot date with a new guy.” She grinned. “Lucky her.”

  “Someone she met on that Internet dating site?” I asked, my demon curiosity once again getting the best of me.

  “I hope she’s not seeing someone she met online,” Deanna said. “That’s how all my troubles started.”

  “I think it’s someone she met at the hospital,” Nancy said. “She says all the guys she’s met through the Internet have been real losers.”

&nb
sp; “Mary Alice is certainly right about that,” Deanna said. “She must be a better judge of character than I am.”

  “All right, Deanna,” I said. “Let’s forget about Mary Alice’s romantic life for a minute. What the heck is going on with you? This has easily been the longest hair appointment of my life. And the most confusing. I feel like I’ve been on a roller coaster ever since I walked in here…” I checked my wristwatch… “four hours ago. Good grief. Jim will think I’ve been kidnapped!”

  “Are you having man troubles?” Nancy asked. “Is that what this emergency is all about?”

  Deanna laughed. It was a very odd laugh. Then she said, “I guess you could call it ‘man troubles.’ Or, to be accurate, ‘dead man troubles.’ The man I’ve been in a relationship with for years is dead. And I’m afraid I’m going to be accused of killing him.”

  Claire just gaped at Deanna, shock written on her face.

  “That beats any man troubles I’ve ever had,” Nancy said. “And I’ve had a lot of them.”

  Even I was surprised.

  “I guess I’d better start at the very beginning,” Deanna said.

  I couldn’t help it. Julie Andrews singing, “Doe a deer, a female deer,” from The Sound of Music popped into my head. Fortunately, I didn’t try to make it a duet with Julie.

  “His name was Will,” she continued, her voice trembling. “Will Finnegan.”

  “You mean the guy who ran Finnegan’s Rakes?” Nancy asked. “His trucks are all over Fairport. In fact, I think Dream Homes Realty has used his company to spruce up some of our real estate listings. There’s nothing like eye-catching curb appeal to draw in a potential buyer.”

  “Nancy, just this once, spare us the real estate lecture,” Claire said.

  Nancy sniffed. “I just wanted to be sure we were talking about the same man,” she said.

  “It’s the same man,” I said. “He’s been doing some landscaping work for Jim and me. And Phyllis and Bill Stevens, across the street from us, have used him for years.”