I interrupted Deanna, who by this time was telling her own sad tale.
“Could I take a quick look at Louisa’s letter again?” I asked Mark. I really wanted to grab it off his desk, but I knew that wouldn’t win me any points with my son-in-law. He’d probably slap me in a jail cell for an hour or so for tampering with evidence.
Mark sighed, then handed over the envelope. “By this time, there’s no hope of tracing any prints. Go ahead.”
I think Mark rolled his eyes at that point. But, hey, I could be wrong. Maybe he had something in his eye and was trying to remove it.
Despite his long-suffering manner, I sensed that he realized I could be onto something.
I whipped out my bifocals and looked at the postmark on the envelope. It had been mailed two days before Will’s death.
“What if Will sent out more goodbye letters before he died?” I asked the group, although I was staring straight at Mark. “We’re pretty sure he had several other girlfriends.”
Deanna choked back a little sob, which made me feel bad for her.
“I’m sorry, Deanna, but you know that’s true. Maria Lesco told me Will brought women into her restaurant all the time.”
I soldiered on, picking my words carefully to be sure I was making myself clear. .
“The letters Will wrote to Louisa and Deanna led them to the jewelry. But what if the letters to his other girlfriends were just kiss-offs? Maybe one of those letters made a spurned girlfriend mad enough to knock Will off. And another girlfriend could have planted the scissors in Will the night of the wake, as a special parting gift of her own.”
I sat back in my chair, waiting for my brilliant reasoning to draw the applause it (I) deserved. And got nada. Zip. Nothing. No reaction at all from anyone.
Finally, Mark spoke. “There’s a lot of jumping to wild conclusions in your theory, Carol. And no way to prove any of it. As usual.”
Well!
Then my no-longer-favorite son-in-law rose to his feet. “I’m taking this jewelry to the chief right away. Thank you all for bringing them. I’ll be back in touch when we need you to make an official statement.”
I was shocked. Mark was dismissing us (me) without giving us (me) a chance to expand on my theory. And convince him that it wasn’t far-fetched at all. In fact, it made a lot of sense. Any woman alive would immediately understand that. Especially if she’d been dumped by a boyfriend sometime in her life.
And therein lay the problem. Mark was a guy. A terrific guy, yes. But a guy, nevertheless. He lacked the innate intuition that females are born with.
Plus, I was betting that Mark was a teeny bit embarrassed at having his mother-in-law one-up him still again. I wondered how he planned to explain to his boss how the stolen jewelry came into his possession.
I was down, but certainly not out. If that’s the way he wanted to play it, fine with me. So I bit back my usual smarty pants response and said, “I’m glad we could be helpful.”
And I was going to be even more helpful. Once I figured out how to do it.
Chapter 41
Senior Texting Code: BFF—Best Friend Fainted
“So, you see, girls,” I said to my usual canine cohorts, cuddled up next to me on the family room couch, “I’ve already solved the Fairport burglaries case. That wasn’t hard at all. And I still have plenty of time to crack the mystery of Will Finnegan’s death before I nuke last night’s leftovers for supper.”
Lucy opened one eye, decided it was too much effort to respond to what she obviously considered another example of my shading the truth, and rolled over on her back.
Ethel didn’t respond at all. Except to increase the volume of her snoring.
“If it hadn’t been for me,” I insisted, “Louisa and Deanna wouldn’t have taken the jewelry to the police. They would have kept it for themselves.”
At that outrageous comment, Lucy and Ethel both opened their eyes and gave me a hard stare.
I immediately felt guilty, so I rushed to explain. “What I meant was, they might not have made the connection between the gifts from Will and the Fairport burglaries. And kept the gifts for themselves.”
I sighed, remembering how gorgeous the gems were. In all my life, I had never seen such beautiful jewelry, except perhaps on the rare occasions I visit Tiffany and stroll around the main floor. Without breakfast.
I punched a throw pillow couch in frustration. “That Mark is so stubborn. I didn’t expect a brass band and confetti for what I did, but a simple, courteous, heartfelt ‘thank you, Carol, we couldn’t have solved this case without you,’ would certainly have been appreciated.”
I was so mad that I had a good mind to let the Fairport police—that would be that twerpy Paul Wheeler—try and figure out the riddle of Will Finnegan’s death without any help from me.
He couldn’t, of course. He just didn’t know it. And even if he did subconsciously know it, he’d never admit it.
Just to confuse myself even more, I wondered if I were just trying to show off. I hate to criticize myself, but I had to admit that could be my underlying motive.
Means, motive, and opportunity. Those were the keys to unraveling a crime, according to all the mystery books I’ve read.
There certainly was no lack of motive in this instance. Will Finnegan was a no-good rat who dumped his wife and kids, then cheated on his long-time girlfriend. At the same time, he also used his easy access to customers’ homes to rob them when the houses were empty. And then, he betrayed everybody and tried to sneak out of town. Motives galore for someone to bump Will off.
Means? Well, I wasn’t exactly sure about that part, yet. Because I still wasn’t clear on how many people were involved in Will’s death.
But in a moment of extreme clarity—rare for me—it suddenly dawned on me who had the best opportunity to plant the scissors the night of the wake. In fact, this was the only logical way it could have happened.
I noodled this scenario around for a few minutes, and decided I liked it. So I texted Maria Lesco, who responded immediately, in the affirmative.
Wahoo! I felt a surge of excitement. Maybe I was finally on the right track. But in order to convince the police—especially my cynical son-in-law—I knew I needed more information.
And a tiny, unimportant thing called proof.
“I was wrong,” I said aloud. “I can’t figure this one out all by myself.”
Lucy nuzzled my hand, reminding me that she was always available to be my partner-in-crime-solving.
“Not this time, Lucy,” I said, smiling. “But thanks for the offer. This time I need some human assistance.”
I tried to channel one of my all-time favorite mystery writers, Agatha Christie. I was sure that Dame Agatha would have figured out a way to get all the people involved in this maddening puzzle together at one time. She’d have the suspects lined up in one place, and then reveal how the crime was committed. And by whom.
Easy peasy.
I slumped back on the sofa. The only Agatha I’d known personally was a beautiful grey cat that the kids adopted many years ago. And who was now using that great litter box in the sky.
We never figured out what happened to our Agatha. One night, she just didn’t come home. We looked for her everywhere, but never found her. We even posted her picture all over town. But she just vanished from our lives.
Jenny and Mike were heartbroken. Jim and I had a difficult time consoling them, especially since they never had the chance to say goodbye to their beloved pet.
Hmm. There was a germ of an idea there. Will Finnegan had touched the lives of many people in Fairport, some of them in the biblical sense. And so far, he hadn’t had a proper wake or memorial service, due to what could be politely termed “extenuating circumstances.”
Maybe it was time he had that service. It was a perfect way to get everyone together for a grand goodbye.
I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Agatha—the mystery writer and the cat.
But I realized that, in order to pull this scheme off, I needed backup. You know what I mean, right? All those crime shows on television usually have a moment when the police detective radios headquarters and says, “Send backup to…” and he rattles off the address where he’s staking out a perp.
That’s another “official” crime term, by the way.
First, I called Louisa, and she didn’t take much convincing to go along with my organizing a second memorial service. Especially since I stressed that, the sooner we found out what really happened to Will, the sooner she, and Deanna, could get on with their lives.
Having accomplished my primary objective, I texted my personal backup team with an offer I knew none of them could refuse.
Emergency meeting. My house. 3:00 today. Chocolate ice cream with hot fudge sauce. Whipped cream optional.
And then I waited for the three instantaneous pings I knew were sure to come.
Nancy: Hope the ice cream is low fat!
Claire: Short notice, but I’ll be there.
Mary Alice: Want me 2 bring anything?
Notice that no one asked what the emergency was. They didn’t need to. Chocolate ice cream with hot fudge sauce was a private code from our high school days. We used it when we wanted to get out of the house for a date on a school night. It translated to, “Cover for me. I told my parents I’m going to study for a math test at your house.”
The police may have their codes, but ours is more fun!
Chapter 42
My husband says I shoot from the lip.
“So, what’s this all about, Carol?” Claire asked, licking ice cream from her fingers in lieu of using a napkin. “Or did you just use us as an excuse to have ice cream yourself? Not that I’m complaining.”
“What a treat,” Nancy said, helping herself to the tiniest possible portion of ice cream. “This is all I want. I’m on a diet.”
I looked at my very best friend, who is a size six on her fattest days. “You’re just ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“You’re not in the dating pool these days, Carol,” Nancy shot back. “Jim doesn’t care how fat you get. He loves you, anyway.”
“Now, just a minute!”
“I think Carol looks beautiful exactly the way she is,” Mary Alice said diplomatically. “And so do Nancy and Claire. We all approach beauty in a different way. We should be supportive of each other, no matter what.
“And speaking of supportive, thanks again for inviting Isaac and me to dinner last night, Carol. It was a lovely evening.”
That, of course, turned the conversation away from my waistline and onto the new man in Mary Alice’s life. Which I was sure was exactly what she had intended.
I gave the gang five minutes to interrogate Mary Alice about her current love life, then took my spoon and clinked it against my bowl.
“All right, everybody. It’s time we got down to business.”
Nancy looked surprised. “I thought we already had. There’s more?”
“Of course there’s more,” I said. “The ice cream was just a clever ploy to get you all over here. Aren’t you curious about what’s going on with Deanna? And the investigation into Will Finnegan’s death? Boy, do I have news for you.”
I tried not to look smug. And failed miserably. It’s one of my all-time favorite facial expressions.
Instead, I raised my hand to stop the barrage of questions coming at me and said, “It turns out that, not only did Will Finnegan desert his wife, he was cheating on Deanna, too. He had a string of girlfriends in his life. And if that isn’t bad enough, he was also responsible for all the burglaries we’ve had in Fairport over the past year. He was planning on leaving town last week. And instead of manning up and telling all his girlfriends goodbye personally, he sent them each a kiss-off letter. What a rat.”
I paused. “Will did leave both Louisa—that’s his wife’s name—and Deanna expensive pieces of jewelry as parting gifts. That’s what tied him to the burglaries. I, of course, figured that part out. And the jewelry was turned over to Mark today.”
There came that smug look again. I just can’t help myself sometimes.
“I might have known something was going on when I didn’t hear anything from you for the past few days,” Nancy said, looking a little put-out. “It seems like you’ve been having all the fun and leaving the rest of us out. I thought we worked as a team.”
My smug expression gave way to a guilty one. Something I’ve had years of experience with after all my Catholic school training.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “But everything was happening so fast. I should have let you all in on what was going on. Well, Mary Alice does know a little about it, because Isaac is involved, too.”
That did it. Major pandemonium. Questions from all sides.
Suddenly, I wished I could whistle through my teeth, the way some people in New York can whistle for a cab. It seems to work every time, but I could never get the hang of it.
So I clapped my hands together, like Sister Rose, our former high school teacher and new pal, used to do in English class to get us girls to stop jabbering. My palms were sore from repeating the exercise, but finally, I got the group’s attention.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, everybody. I have a plan. But I need all of you to help pull it off.”
“Somehow, I just knew you’d have a plan, Mom,” said a familiar voice from the doorway to the kitchen.
“Jenny,” I said as my darling daughter made the rounds of her three honorary moms and exchanged hugs with them, “what are you doing here? And what do you mean about expecting me to have a plan?” I narrowed my eyes. “Have you been talking to Mark?”
“Well, he is my husband,” Jenny said with a grin. “Of course I talk to him.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” I said. “Did you talk to him after I was at the police station today?”
Jenny nodded, then handed me a gift bag loaded with Godiva chocolates. “Here’s a peace offering from Mark. He said he was pretty hard on you today when you brought in some of the stolen jewelry and solved the burglary case for him. I think he was embarrassed. You figured it out when he was stumped. Chief Flanagan was very impressed.”
Jenny dimpled and said, “As a matter of fact, there’s some talk about making you an official member of the Fairport Police.”
“You’re kidding,” Nancy said. “You must be.”
“I am,” Jenny said. “But check out the look on Mom’s face. I think she believes me.”
Jenny helped herself to some ice cream, then asked, “So, what’s the plan, Mom?”
I was torn. This was my first-born child, whom I loved beyond reason. And she also was with me the night of the Finnegan wake debacle, so she was already involved in my sleuthing.
But she was also the wife of a Fairport police detective, and her first loyalty was now to him, not to dear old Mom and Dad. And I just knew that if I shared my brilliant plan while she was still here, she’d tell Mark all about it and he’d put an end to my sleuthing, once and for all.
The group looked at me expectantly. “Well,” Nancy said, “we’re waiting, Carol. And I have a client coming in approximately half an hour, so quit stalling.”
“I think Mom’s nervous because she figures I’ll tell Mark what she’s up to, and he’ll order her to leave the detecting to the professionals. I’m right, aren’t I, Mom?”
“Well….”
“Would it make it easier it I told you that Louisa already called Mark to tell him about the memorial service for Will? She wanted the police to know in advance, in case anything b
izarre happened at this one, too. She said it was your idea, and you were going to organize it.”
“Carol, that’s a great idea,” Mary Alice said. I flashed her a grateful smile.
“It was a great idea,” I said. “Emphasis on the word ‘was.’ I bet Mark doesn’t want me involved at all.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mom,” Jenny said. “Don’t forget, you’re the fair-haired girl around the Fairport police station right now. Chief Flanagan thinks you’re brilliant. He’s ordered Mark and Paul Wheeler to cooperate with you completely. The chief thinks you can crack this case, too. So, what’s our first move?”
“Now I know you’re kidding,” I said, immediately suspicious. “There’s no way the Fairport police chief would allow me—no, make that, ‘encourage’ me—to, as you so quaintly put it, crack an official investigation. Did April Fools’ Day come late this year? My calendar must be wrong.”
“Well, there are strings attached,” Jenny admitted. “You don’t exactly get free rein in all of this.”
“Aha!” I said, as it suddenly dawned on me that my darling daughter, whom I’d raised to tell the truth under any circumstances, might not be putting me on after all. “I knew there’d be a catch.” I narrowed my eyes. “And why are you here giving me this so-called legitimate assignment? Why not Mark?”
Or, heaven forbid, Paul?
Jenny checked her Cinderella wrist watch, a childhood leftover she refuses to part with. “Mark said he’d be over to talk to you around three o’clock this afternoon. Right now, he and Paul are mapping out specific parameters with Chief Flanagan. I asked if I could give you advance warning. Because if he contacted you first, you probably wouldn’t believe him.”
“Or you’d faint,” said Claire, who can never resist adding her two cents’ worth.
“What are the strings you mentioned, Jenny?” Mary Alice asked.
“Yes,” I echoed. “What are the strings?’
“That’s what the meeting is all about,” Jenny said. “But I’d guess that, at the very minimum, you have to let Mark and Paul know exactly what you’re doing at all times. No going off on your own with one of your schemes.”
Funerals Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 5) Page 21
