“Of course,” I said. “But I wonder if you could tell me, just between us, if you’ve ever had a request for two different services for the same person.” I laughed at my own silly question. “I read a lot of romance novels, and I’ve always wanted to know what would happen if a person dies, and both the widow and the mistress want separate services. Has that ever happened here?”
I raised my pen expectantly and watched Melinda’s reaction. Her face was flushed.
“This is strictly off the record, of course,” I assured her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“As a matter of fact,” Melinda said slowly, “we did have a request exactly like that recently. For Will Finnegan.”
Was it my imagination that Melissa’s voice trembled a bit when she said Will’s name?
“We had to allow at least thirty minutes between the first wake and the second, so all the guests from the first wake could leave without being seen. The girlfriend didn’t want the widow to know what was going on. And since she was paying us, too, we had to do what she asked.”
Bingo! Thirty minutes was plenty of time for some unknown person to slip into Slumber Room A and plant the scissors in the guest of honor’s chest.
“But please, don’t mention that in your column, either.”
I made a zipping motion across my lips. “I won’t.”
After a few more minutes of lame questions, and a tour of the funeral home, including a side trip to the room where all the different styles of caskets were housed, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.
But then, I had another brilliant idea. “You’ve been so helpful, Melinda. I wonder if you’d mind if I took your picture. For the newspaper. I’m not sure if we’ll have room for it,” (or if the column will ever run at all) “but I’d rather have one. Is that all right?”
Melinda tried not to look pleased. But she fluffed out her hair and said, “Of course.”
I hadn’t planned to take a picture. But it had suddenly occurred to me that Maria might be able to identify Will’s regular dinner dates at the restaurant. And Melinda did fit the general profile—she was an attractive woman. A little young for Will, in my opinion, but if you know me well, you know that I’m never judgmental.
In the push of a button on my phone, I had my picture. And I was outta there. With more information than I ever wanted to know about planning a funeral.
I sat in the funeral home parking lot and made some notes. I tried to write legibly, because sometimes even I can’t make out my scribbles.
What were the most important things I learned? The Finnegan family did not know about the first wake. The funeral home cooperated in keeping the two sets of mourners separate. There was a half hour break between the two wakes—plenty of time for someone to slip in and plant the scissors. But where did the scissors come from? Did someone from the first wake hang around? Deanna? Lisa? Unknown person? Or did someone come to the second wake extra early and do the deed?
But Jenny and I were early, and we hadn’t seen anyone in Slumber Room A except the guest of honor. Unless the person planted the scissors, and then hid.
AARRGH. I was making myself nuts, and my notepad was now a mass of illegible scrawls.
And what about Melinda Mallory? Did she know Will? Did she have a romantic relationship with him? I put a big red circle around that question.
Lots to ponder. More questions than answers.
I sighed, then put my car in gear and headed for my next stop, the grocery store. I had a dinner party happening tonight, and the guests were arriving in less than four hours.
Carol Andrews, Super Sleuth, would have to go on temporary hiatus, replaced by the rarely seen Carol Andrews, Domestic Diva.
Chapter 36
I don’t trust anyone under fifty.
“This is so nice, Carol,” Mary Alice said. “The men look like they’re getting along very well.”
I gazed out my kitchen window at the three chefs. “There’s nothing like standing outside around a gas grill watching a piece of meat cook to form lifelong friendships,” I said, laughing.
“Especially if they all have their hands in their pockets,” my daughter added. “I always wondered why they do that.”
“In this case, it’s probably to keep their hands warm,” I said. “You know how guys are. They never admit that they’re cold.”
I handed Mary Alice a stack of my second-best china. “Your choice on where to set the table. We can eat supper in the kitchen, or step it up and eat in the dining room.”
“I think a barbecue calls for eating in the kitchen,” she said. “It’s more casual.”
Then, to my complete amazement, Mary Alice put down the plates and gave me a big hug. “You can’t know how much this means to me, Carol,” she said.
I was confused. “It’s just an informal supper, Mary Alice. We’re glad to have you and Isaac come. Besides, you’ve had supper here many times over the years. You know you’re always welcome, no matter how meager the menu may be.”
“You don’t understand, Carol. This is the first time since Brian died that I’ve been here as part of a couple. Just think how long that’s been. This night is very important to me. I feel like I’m finally closing the chapter on the sad part of my life, and starting a brand new, happy one.”
Impulsively, my daughter threw her arms around Mary Alice and me. “You’re like another mom to me, Mary Alice,” Jenny said. “I’m honored to be part of this night.”
I wiped my eyes with my apron—I do keep one around for appearances only. “I’m such a jerk,” I said. “I never realized everything you’ve been going through all these years.”
“How could you, Carol?” Mary Alice replied. “You have all this,” and she gestured around my kitchen, including my beautiful daughter. “I’ve had a good life, all things considered. It’s only recently that I realized how much I’ve missed being part of a couple.”
She picked up the plates and headed toward the table.
Jenny and I made eye contact, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. Isaac Weichert better not break Mary Alice’s heart, or he’d have us to answer to.
A few more minutes and the table was set, the vegetables were ready, the rolls were piping hot, and the salad was tossed. Everything was done, except for the main course.
My cell phone beeped, indicating an incoming text. It was from Jim.
“For God’s sake, Carol, open the kitchen door. U locked us out!”
Ooops.
“A person can’t be too careful these days, Jim,” I said as the chefs trooped into the kitchen. “But I guess it’s safe to let you three inside. Especially since you have the main course. And we three females are starving.”
“Thanks for not asking me for a password,” Jim said, heading toward the counter with the platter of meat. “We’ve been knocking on the door for five minutes. Didn’t you hear us?”
“We were talking, Dad,” Jenny said. “I hadn’t seen Mary Alice for a long time, and we had lots to catch up on.”
She gave her husband an affectionate hug. “Were you a big help out there, Mark? Did Dad share all his grilling secrets with you?”
Mark laughed. “I don’t think I’m a candidate for any top chef award. Not yet, anyway.”
“Practice makes perfect,” my daughter said. “And I’ll be glad to give you all the practice time in the kitchen you want.”
“Isaac was the expert,” Jim said, clapping our visitor on the back. “He gave me some new grilling tips. And I thought I knew everything.”
You always think you know everything, dear.
I didn’t really say that, of course.
Isaac blushed. I always think that’s a charming thing for a man to do. It shows he’s not ashamed to show his emotions. Or something.
“I had lots of practice back in the day,” he said, pulling
out a chair for Mary Alice. I noticed that he sat right beside her.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Jim said, placing the platter in front of him so he could serve everyone. “To old friends, new friends, and family, the ones who are here tonight, and the ones who are far away. Cheers.”
Jim’s toast made me miss our son so much that I felt an ache in my heart. Darn that Mike anyway, moving so far away. I made a mental note to text him later tonight and find out what was going on in his life. And tell him what was going on in ours.
Hmm. Mike was always good with Internet sleuthing. Now, that was a really good idea. I could contact my darling son, check up on him (not that I expected him to tell me much, but I have learned to read between the lines of his brief messages), and give him a new assignment—finding out all he could about Will Finnegan.
I was so lost in thought that I jumped when I heard Jim say, “Earth to Carol. Would you pass me your plate, please? Unless you don’t want to eat any of the beef we slaved over for you.”
“I was thinking about Mike,” I said defensively. “Mike’s our son,” I explained to Isaac. “He lives in Miami now, and we don’t get to see him very often.”
I suddenly realized how awkward this dinner could be for Isaac. He barely knew us—well, he knew Mary Alice a little better. I needed to make more of an effort to include him in the dinner table chatter.
I reached across the table and patted Mark’s hand. “But Mark’s like another son to us, Isaac. He has been since he was a little boy. And now, he’s officially part of the family.”
“Something Carol had been praying for, for years,” Jim added.
I shot him a look which Jim, of course, ignored.
Isaac saw an opening and jumped into the conversation. “So, what do you do, Mark? Do you work here in Fairport? We never got around to talking about that when we were outside.”
“He’s a detective on the Fairport police force,” Jenny said proudly. “And I’m so happy that he’s off duty tonight and was able to come to dinner. I haven’t seen much of my husband lately.” She gave him a loving look. “And I’ve missed him.”
Mark matched his wife’s look with one of his own. Ah, young love. There’s nothing like it.
“I don’t want to bore you talking about my job,” Mark said.
Which tipped me off right away that he was working on a very important case. Then I remembered—the burglaries.
Since Mark already knew how nosy I was, I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I asked him a little about his current case. Men usually like to talk about their work, right? As long as it isn’t confidential information.
That never stops me, of course.
“How are you coming with the break-ins, Mark?” I asked, passing him the salad. “I saw an article on the front page of this week’s Fairport News asking for the public’s help. The photos of the stolen jewelry were incredible. I still can’t believe people around here have so much money. And what they choose to spend it on.
“Unless you can’t talk about the case.” I looked at him questioningly.
Mark ran his hand through his hair in what I recognized as a gesture of frustration. “Normally, I don’t talk about what I’m working on. But the chief decided we’d never get anywhere solving these burglaries without the public’s help.
“The main problem seems to be that the houses being burglarized are second homes. So the owners aren’t there on a regular basis. Sometimes, the thefts aren’t discovered until months after they happened. By that time, the pieces have been fenced or pawned. There’s a lot of pressure to solve this case.”
He looked at Jenny. “Sorry if it’s meant that I haven’t been home too much these days. I promise, I’ll make it up to you when the case is solved. Because it will be. Eventually.”
“I often thought about being a policeman,” Isaac said. Mary Alice looked surprised. “You never mentioned that.”
Then, she looked embarrassed. “Not that you had to, of course.”
“I guess the subject hadn’t come up yet,” Isaac said. “Anyway, I signed up for the Citizens Police Academy to learn a little more about how the department works. At my stage of life, it’s too late to make a radical career change. But detective work has always fascinated me.”
Me, too.
“Isaac is a paramedic with Fairport Ambulance,” I said.
I suddenly realized I was treading on dangerous ground. What if Isaac inadvertently mentioned our vehicle encounter?
So I switched gears. “Tell me a little more about the Citizens Police Academy,” I said. “I’ve seen it advertised in the local paper, but I really don’t know much about it.”
“It’s an opportunity for Fairport citizens to see all the aspects of police work from the inside,” Mark explained.
“You’re not kidding,” Isaac said with a laugh. “We even got to sit in one of the holding cells at the station. Of course, the door wasn’t locked. But it was still an experience I’d rather not repeat.”
“Students also get to go along with a policeman on his regular shift,” Mark continued.
“Or her shift,” Jenny put in.
“Correction duly noted,” Mark said. “That’s called a ride-along.”
“I did that, too,” Isaac said. “That was some night.”
“What do you mean?” Mary Alice asked. “Was it dangerous?”
“Oh, no,” Isaac said. “I wouldn’t call it dangerous. Just an unusual experience. Even for me. And in my line of work, I thought I’d seen almost everything.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” I said. “What happened?”
“Well, I was on the ride-along with Paul Wheeler.”
“What a coincidence,” Mark said. “He’s my partner.”
He’s my nemesis.
I didn’t say that out loud, of course.
“After we cruised around town for a while,” Isaac continued, “a call came in from the police dispatcher about something weird that had happened at Mallory and Mallory Funeral Home. Since we were in the area, Paul radioed that he’d check it out.
“I stayed in the patrol car while Paul went inside. He was back in a few minutes and told me what had happened. There was a scissors in the chest of the deceased.”
I kept my eyes riveted on my dinner plate. I was afraid to make eye contact with anyone. Even though this conversation was not my doing.
“Then what happened?” Mary Alice asked. “Did you go inside?”
“Not right away,” Isaac said. “Paul ordered me to stay put while he conducted a preliminary investigation. I stayed outside for about fifteen minutes, and then I figured it couldn’t hurt anyone if I just went inside the front door and listened to what was being said. After all, interrogating possible witnesses is an important part of police work, right?”
He directed the last remark at my son-in-law, who, so far, had said nothing.
“I stayed out of the way. But when I saw the name of the deceased, I couldn’t believe it. My partner, Pam Augustine, and I were the paramedics who answered Will Finnegan’s nine-one-one call and took him to Fairport Hospital. I really thought he was going to make it.”
Isaac shook his head. “Someone must have really hated him, to do something as vicious as that to the poor guy after he was already dead.”
I snuck a quick look at Jim, whose face was like a thundercloud.
I shrugged and telegraphed, Don’t blame me. I didn’t bring up Will Finnegan.
Jenny’s face mirrored mine—complete surprise. Mine, of course, also had a huge dose of curiosity—all right, nosiness—thrown in.
And Mark, well, Mark had changed his expression from loving husband and son-in-law to that of Detective Mark Anderson of the Fairport Police.
I opened my mouth, but shut it immediately. I had a million questions I wanted to ask Isaac, but I didn’t dare. M
ark was in charge now.
Mark cleared his throat, then asked, “So, Isaac, what happened then?”
“I went home,” Isaac said. “Paul finally noticed me and told me he was going to be interviewing people for quite a while. I asked if I could stay and listen, and he said no, that it wasn’t proper police procedure, and he always made sure to do everything by the book. He suggested that I just go home. So, that’s what I did.”
“And did you tell Paul that you were one of the paramedics who responded to the Finnegan nine-one-one call?”
Isaac seemed surprised at the question. “Why, no, I didn’t. It never even occurred to me that I should. Why? Is that important?”
Mark pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “I can’t say if it’s important or not. But it’s information that the police didn’t have before, and may help in the investigations. Would you mind coming with me to police headquarters now so you can make an official statement?”
“Why, of course. I’d be glad to.” Isaac looked at Mary Alice. “If you don’t mind. I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to end our date early.”
“Don’t worry,” Mary Alice said with a smile. “That thought never crossed my mind.”
I couldn’t hold my mouth still any longer. “Mark, one question, please. You said ‘investigations.’ What did you mean by that? Is there more than one?’
“I should have known you’d pick up on that, Carol,” Mark said. “But since you asked, and not to be repeated,” he looked at me sternly, “the police are now investigating two different aspects to Will Finnegan’s death. The attack in the funeral home. And his sudden death. It’s possible that he did not die of natural causes.”
Mark shook his finger at me. “But this is none of your business, Carol. I know Paul has already called and told you to stay out of it. See that you do.”
Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5) Page 18
