Isaac laughed. “It’s a deal.”
We all said our goodbyes, Mary Alice mouthing, “I’ll call you later.” I nodded, then headed in the direction of my next quarry: Helen Konisburg.
But she was nowhere to be seen. Like Elvis, she apparently had left the building.
Chapter 33
Teach a child to be polite and courteous, and when he grows up, he’ll never be able to merge his car onto the freeway.
After I had carefully tucked four containers of Fancy Francie’s beef stroganoff in my insulated tote bag for safekeeping—I do try to plan ahead whenever possible—I sat in my car and, lacking Lucy and Ethel to talk to, had an in-depth conversation with myself.
I did get a few funny looks from some passersby, but I ignored them.
The clerk who waited on me explained that Helen had an emergency dental appointment. Which sounded fishy to me. Especially since she seemed perfectly fine when she was helping other customers.
No matter what, unless I got the name of Helen’s dentist and followed her there—even I drew the line at that—my so-called sleuthing trip to Fancy Francie’s was a fizzle.
Tomorrow, I reminded myself, was another day. And I now had two more people coming for dinner, thanks to a combination of perfect hostess skills and a big mouth.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. Who else could I talk to about Will Finnegan this afternoon? Or maybe I should just find a safe place to hide out for a while and sneak a peek at Will’s cell phone, which now rested quietly in my car’s glove compartment.
My stomach began to growl, a reminder that I never did have lunch after all.
And then, I came up with the perfect solution to satisfy my growling stomach and insatiable curiosity. I pointed the car in the direction of Maria’s Trattoria.
One thing I’ll say about Maria’s. The heavenly aromas that engulf me the instant I walk in the door are guaranteed to pack on a pound or two. But who cares? Not me.
It was too early for dinner, but a perfect time to have a quick bite of whatever the lunch special had been. Assuming there was any left.
I caught sight of Maria in her favorite spot—the open kitchen, where she can not only cook up a storm but keep an eye on how the restaurant patrons are being taken care of.
Maria saw me and held up a plate and fork. I nodded. Boy, she sure knows me well.
In no time flat, she had filled the plate with a sampling of Italian delicacies—I won’t tell you which ones because I don’t want you to get jealous—and directed me to the booth nearest the kitchen.
“I’d say ‘mangia’ to you, Carol, but I know I don’t have to,” Maria said, laughing. “That’s one thing I can always count on with you.”
Maria took a seat opposite me, then said, “Thank goodness you came in when you did. I needed to sit down for a minute. I’m really going to have to break down and replace the floor in the kitchen. That tile is murder on the feet.”
She leaned a little closer. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I was hesitant before, but your coming here alone this afternoon has made up my mind.”
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. It was the best I could do—my mouth was full of yummy food.
“It’s about Will Finnegan,” Maria said. “You mentioned him when you were in here for dinner the other night. I know you saw me react when you said his name. In fact, I’m surprised it took you so long to come back and talk to me.”
I could have taken offense at the implied criticism, but Maria has been an occasional part of my sleuthing team for a while. And, as I said before, she knows me very well.
“You know I’m not one to spread gossip, Carol,” Maria continued in a low voice.
I nodded. Maria repeated information on a need-to-know basis. Which, as I’ve explained to Jim, time and again, is not the same thing as gossiping. He still doesn’t get the difference. But then, he is a man.
“I know it’s not right to speak ill of the dead. But Will Finnegan was a real slick operator. He came in here at least once a week and usually met a different woman. They were very cozy, if you know what I mean. And always left together, sometimes in a real hurry.” Maria waggled her eyebrows in case I didn’t get her meaning.
“He always ordered the same meal. Veal Marsala. And at least one bottle of Pinot Grigio.
“I’m no prude, and the whole thing fascinated me.” Maria laughed self-consciously. “Maybe I read too many romance novels.
“Anyway, I confess that I asked the servers to report back on whatever snippets of the conversation they could hear, without being too obvious that they were eavesdropping. It was the same thing every time. Will told the woman that she was his soul mate, and he’d been waiting for her all his life. And he wanted to show her how much he loved her. What bunk. But it always worked.”
I was so fascinated by what Maria was saying that I actually put my fork down and gave her my undivided attention. Something I never do.
“I began to notice that there was a regular rotation of women,” Maria continued. “The same ones began to reappear. And on the same day of the week that they had been in the previous time. I couldn’t figure it out. But maybe you can. If you’re interested, that is.”
Boy, was I!
“As a matter of fact,” I said, “a dear friend has asked me to look into Will Finnegan’s sudden death. I assume you heard what happened the night of his wake?”
Maria nodded. She looked thoughtful, then added, “After being in a classroom for years, and now running a restaurant, I’m pretty good at reading people. That Will Finnegan may have been as phony as a three-dollar bill, but he was charming and very good looking. If he turned all that charisma in my direction, I probably would have fallen for it, too. I bet he had a little black book filled with girlfriends’ names.”
Or, maybe, a cell phone.
So you can imagine my surprise when I finally smuggled Will’s phone into the house, locked myself in the guest bathroom, and checked out his contact list and call log.
The only call that showed up was the one Deanna had made to his wife the night Will died.
And phone’s contact list only listed one name: Deanna’s.
Chapter 34
Experience is the thing you have left when everything else is gone.
“I may be temporarily sidetracked,” I announced to Lucy and Ethel the next morning, “but I’m not finished yet. Something’s definitely up with Will Finnegan’s death. And I’m going to figure out what it is. Just as soon as I figure out what to cook for dinner tonight. We’re having company, in case I didn’t tell you that last night.”
“You didn’t tell me that, either, Carol,” said Jim, strolling into the kitchen fresh from his shower. “I finally figured out that the best way I can find out what’s happening in the house is to ask Lucy and Ethel. Because you tell them everything.”
He wrapped his arms around me and gave me a quick smooch.
“You smell good,” I said. “I like that new aftershave you’re wearing.” I turned around to face my husband. “I haven’t had a chance to fill you in yet on what’s new with Mary Alice. She has a new male friend, Isaac Weichert. I met him yesterday, and ended up inviting them both to dinner tonight. He seems really nice, but I wanted you to check him out, too. You know we have to protect Mary Alice. I don’t want her to be hurt again, after all she’s been through. And she admits that she’s a novice at the dating game. Your opinion is important.”
Jim gave me a cheeky grin. “It’s nice to know that my opinion is still important after all these years. So, what are we having for dinner?”
I frowned. “Beats me. Something easy to make, and delicious. I haven’t figured that part out yet. But I will.”
“Why don’t you check out that new cooking show with Chef Paulette for ideas?” Jim suggested. “Everything she makes is with nat
ural ingredients. I heard about it at the Business Association breakfast. I think the show is called Love On A Plate. It’s on two mornings a week at ten o’clock.” He frowned. “But I can’t remember which mornings.”
Isn’t that just like a man? Sharing all the details, except the most crucial one.
“I’ll look for it,” I promised. After all, Jim did remember the name of the television show. He got definite points for that. And maybe Chef Paulette did catering. Like, for tonight.
No, Carol, tonight is all on you.
Then I had one of my truly terrific ideas. With a slight ulterior motive, which should come as no surprise to any of you.
“How about if we make this dinner a real party?” I said. “ Let’s invite Jenny and Mark to dinner tonight, too. Hopefully, Mark isn’t working. I miss her. I mean, them.” I tried not to let my voice tremble when I said the last part.
Which Jim immediately picked up on.
“You can’t expect Jenny to call you every day and fill you in on her life, Carol,” he said. “She’s not a little girl any more. She’s all grown up, and her primary priorities in life are her husband and her teaching career.”
“Well, I know that,” I snapped back. But I was worried that Jenny, and especially Mark, were mad at me for being critical of Paul Wheeler’s investigative prowess. Especially in case that would be added to my list of sins and deny me babysitting rights for my hopefully to-be-born grandchildren.
I held out the phone. “Here, you call her.”
“You really are the limit, Carol,” he said. “I’ll do it right now.” And he padded into the family room to make the call.
I tried not to overhear. Honestly, I did. But I was delighted when I heard Jim say, “I’m not sure what time, Jenny. Let me ask your mom. Hang on.”
In an instant, I was by his side and grabbed the phone.
“Hi, honey. It’s just an informal meal so we can get to know the new man Mary Alice is dating. I already met him at lunch yesterday, and he seems very nice. I wanted Dad to meet him, too. And then I remembered how special your relationship with Mary Alice is, and wondered if you and Mark would like to come. I’m planning to serve around six o’clock.”
“I’d love to come, Mom,” Jenny said. “But I’ll have to text Mark and see what his schedule is. He’s been up to his eyeballs with all those house break-ins. Have you read about them in the paper? All upscale houses, some north of the Merritt Parkway, and more close to the beach. Mark says there doesn’t seem to be any pattern to the break-ins, and because so many of the homes are owned by some of Fairport’s movers and shakers, there’s a lot of pressure from the first selectman and the police chief to get the case solved.”
“I hope you both can come, sweetie,” I said. “Don’t bother letting me know. Just show up at six. Oh, and Jenny….”
“Yes, Mom?”
“If you want to bring something for dessert, that’d be great.”
Jenny laughed. “I’ll bring something extra fattening. But I promise I’ll take all the calories out before I get there.”
“Jenny will be here for dinner,” I said to Jim as I handed him back the phone. “But Mark may be working. And she’ll bring dessert. But I still have to figure out what to serve for the main course.”
“How about if I take care of that, Carol?” my husband asked.
I laughed. “I know you’ll take care of the ‘eating’ part. It’s the ‘cooking’ part I’m talking about.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, too, smarty,” Jim said. “Since you want me to get to know Isaac better, how about if we do something on the new gas grill?”
I was absolutely shocked. But not for long.
“Do you mean you’ll take over cooking the whole meal?”
“Not the whole meal,” Jim said. “How about if you take care of appetizers and any side dishes, and I take care of the rest. How does a nice London Broil sound?”
“It sounds great, Jim. I could do baked potatoes, and make a big salad. And a cheese and cracker tray. Maybe some shrimp cocktail.”
“I’ll even go shopping and get the beef,” Jim said. He mentioned a local specialty shop whose meat prices were so high that I never dared cross its threshold. Especially after Jim retired.
“You’re kidding. It’s so expensive. You’d shop there?”
“Of course. The store is part of the Business Association, and give a member discount.”
I should have known there’d be a discount involved.
I gave my hero a big smooch. “This dinner will be a piece of cake!”
“Not so fast, Carol,” Jim said.
Uh oh. I knew there had to be a catch to this.
“You have to promise me that you will not, under any circumstances, bring up Will Finnegan’s death tonight. Remember the trouble you caused the last time Jenny and Mark were here. Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard from them for a while. Is it a deal?”
Rats. Well, what could I do?
“It’s a deal, Jim,” I said. A really, really rotten deal.
I didn’t say that last part. Of course.
Chapter 35
I serve three meals: frozen, microwave and take-out
My day had suddenly opened up, thanks to Jim. I mean, how long does it take to throw a salad together and prep potatoes for baking? Even I can handle those chores in about fifteen minutes. And if I were really clever, I might be able to talk Jim into roasting the potatoes on the grill, along with the meat.
Of course, I did have to give the house a cursory cleaning. A lick and a promise, as my late mother used to say.
I decided that house cleaning should be first on my to-do list. Cleaning is so mindless that, on the rare occasions I do it, I use the time to figure out solutions to any problems I may be wrestling with at that particular moment.
Plus, cleaning is a form of exercise, right? So it burns calories. Gotta love that bonus. Maybe I should attempt it more often.
Nah.
I started by doing my least favorite household chore—cleaning the bathrooms. I had the whole day to sleuth around, and I better not waste it. Especially since my dear husband had laid down the law to me that I was not to bring up the Will Finnegan death at dinner tonight.
The cell phone Deanna had given me turned out to be a dead end, pardon the pun. I could send her a quick text and tell her that, but if she were busy with customers, I figured it was best to leave her alone.
Jim’s mention of the Fairport Business Association brought me back to my original plan, interviewing local merchants on my suspect list for a possible newspaper column. I had no desire to go back to Fancy Francie’s again this soon, although I still hadn’t figured out why Helen K. had made such a speedy exit yesterday.
I was using glass cleaner on the faucets in the guest bathroom—who knew they could be so shiny?—when it suddenly occurred to me where I should start my interviews. The single place in town that every person will have to visit, eventually.
Mallory and Mallory Funeral Home.
“I’m Carol Andrews,” I said to the young woman who greeted me. “I guess I should have called ahead for an appointment.”
I recognized the woman right away from the night of Will Finnegan’s wake. But I decided not to mention that.
“That’s perfectly all right, Mrs. Andrews,” the woman said, ushering me into what appeared to be her office. “We’re used to people arriving in moments of crisis, without phoning ahead first. In fact, we expect it.
“I’m Melinda Mallory. Please accept my sincere sympathy on your loss. We’ll try to make this experience as easy as possible for you and your family.”
That threw me completely off. In fact, for just a tiny minute, my eyes filled with tears. Because I realized it was only a matter of time before I would be at Mallory and Mallory making final arrangements for, well, you
know. Or, he would be, for me.
“I’m not here to make final arrangements for anyone,” I said. “I apologize. I should have made that clear.”
Melinda nodded. “I understand. I can see that you’re a person who plans ahead.” She reached in her desk drawer and pulled out some brochures.
“This is basic information on all the services we provide. It’s very common for people your age to make arrangements in advance for their last journey. In fact, some people even ask for music and dancing. A farewell party, if you will. It’s a little unusual, but we have done it.”
Well! I tried not to be offended by Melinda’s remark about “people my age.” It wasn’t easy.
But I certainly was intrigued by the idea of a farewell party instead of a memorial service. Sort of a last sock hop, if you’re old enough to get that reference. I filed that idea away, for now, and got down to business.
I whipped out my reporter’s notebook (I’m old-fashioned) and said, “That’s very interesting, Melinda. I’ll add that to my notes. I’m here to interview you for a new column I’m writing for the local newspaper.”
Melinda gave me a huge smile, probably at the thought of all that free publicity. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Could you wait until I call my father? I know he’d be thrilled to be part of this story, and he is the founder and guiding light behind our business.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Melinda, but my editor has given me a tight deadline to hand in this column. I need to wrap this up as soon as possible.”
I reached for the brochures and pretended to look at them. “Of course, I’ll take these with me. For background information. But I’m very intrigued by what you said about unusual funeral arrangements. You mentioned farewell parties, I believe. How many of those have you done?”
Melinda shifted in her chair. “Only two, in the five years I’ve been here. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t include that kind of information in your column. We don’t want to get the wrong kind of reputation in town. We are, after all, a traditional funeral home offering traditional services for the deceased. But if a client requests something a little unusual, well, we can do that. I hope you understand what I mean.”
Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5) Page 17
