by Lynn Bulock
“But why did she come back to the house to kill herself?”
Ray was looking down at the letter, and the surface of the coffee table. Anywhere, it seemed, but into my face. “That’s the part I didn’t want you to see. She said she was going back to the house to try and take you with her. Even though she took responsibility for Dennis’s death because she gave him the tea, she was sure you were the one who’d put the drug in it and left it in the family waiting room as bait so that either she or Becca would drink it. And if you were dead, the only one who would benefit from the insurance policies would be Becca.”
“Wait a minute. Insurance policies? I thought we were just talking about this one policy taken out on me. And even that one probably isn’t valid.”
“It isn’t, but apparently she didn’t know that, or at least pretended she didn’t. And there’s another policy taken out at the same time, on Dennis. She had it in the front seat with the rest of the papers, and some lawyer is going to have a field day with this one.”
Now I was even more confused than before. “Why is that?”
Ray sighed. “Well, things are going to get awfully convoluted trying to sort all this out. Your husband’s policy looks legitimate. But his mother is the beneficiary, and her note admits to killing him. So the insurance company would never have paid out the fifty thousand dollars on his policy to her.”
I had to break in. “Fifty thousand? He insured me for half a million and himself for fifty thousand?”
Ray shrugged. “I have no idea. Maybe because he was cheap and would pay lower premiums on less insurance. Maybe he thought he was never going to die.”
“That sounds like Dennis. And I guess we have to consider the possibility that you’ve been pushing all along. Maybe he was so intent on killing me after he insured me that the policy on him was just taken out to make mine look more legitimate.” It was hard to suppress a shiver thinking about all this. “Why did you say there would be lawyers involved?”
“Because of one of the other pieces of paper Mrs. Peete had in the front seat. She basically cleaned out a file folder someplace with all her important papers, and put it next to that purse. The stack included her will, which left everything to Dennis, or if he did not survive her, his one and only daughter.”
The light was beginning to dawn. “So Becca could have a lawyer argue that she should be entitled to the proceeds of her father’s policy, since she didn’t have anything to do with his death, and she is now the beneficiary by default.”
“Exactly. And depending on what mood the court is in the day they argue this one, she could get her way.”
I leaned back on the sofa, trying to digest all of this. “Do you think that’s part of why Edna killed herself? I know she thought the world of Becca, and she would have done almost anything for her, I’m pretty sure.”
Ray shook his head. “Hard to say. It’s certainly possible that the insurance money could be a motive in her death. I imagine that, at the least, the papers we found in that front seat mean that this is going to be a matter for the courts from now on, not just a homicide detective.”
He took another sip of his coffee and made the same face I would have made while drinking cold coffee. “I’ll know more for sure once the full autopsy reports are in, but that will be several days. If there’s a plus to any of this, it’s that Mrs. Peete was also thoughtful enough to provide the paperwork she had concerning her funeral and Dennis’s. She’d signed her copy, and Mr. Dodd says that’s good enough for him to absolve you of most of the financial responsibility for tomorrow. And it gets her granddaughter out of paying for whatever services the family decides to have for Mrs. Peete, as well.”
I felt tired and drained. “So does this mean the case is closed?”
Ray shook his head. “It means I can’t do anything else until all of Mrs. Peete’s autopsy reports are in.”
That was certainly an enigmatic answer. It didn’t sound like I was going to get anything clearer out of him. At this point, I wasn’t going to try and push for more, either. “Will you be at the services tomorrow, Ray?”
“Definitely. I don’t subscribe to the theory that says startling revelations are likely to happen there, and in this case that’s a good thing, because I think we’ve had all the revelations we’re going to get right here.” He tapped the papers resting on the coffee table. “Still, I need to put some closure on all this for myself. And for you, I expect, and Ms. Taylor and the rest of that group you’ve gotten involved in.”
“The Christian Friends,” I told him. “And maybe you might even want to say a few words to Ms. Taylor.” Like an apology, I felt like saying, but didn’t. I’d started calling the detective by his first name. No sense in losing ground again.
He got up from the armchair, and I got up, as well. “I just might want to do that, as long as it waits until tomorrow,” he admitted. “Seems like I’ve been spending way too much time today admitting I was wrong. I can save a few of those confessions for another day.”
He gathered up his paperwork, thanked me for the coffee and left. And I sat in the mostly empty apartment and thought for a while, wishing I had my computer to instant message with Ben for a while.
Instead I took Dot up on her offer of taking a dog for a while. In the end I settled for Hondo, because Dixie didn’t want to leave Dot’s side, and her sister was too heavy with pups to make it up the stairs to the apartment. Hondo, however, would go anywhere that someone was willing to scratch behind his ears and tell him what a grand guy he was, and I had plenty of time for that.
So I sat for a couple hours, thinking a lot and scratching behind Hondo’s ears while he moaned in pleasure as only a happy dog can do. It gave me plenty of time to consider the way Dennis’s death had happened. It struck me as incredibly sad that Edna had been the one to cause his death. It was even sadder that she’d stewed over that knowledge for a week and then killed herself, trying to kill me in the process. And for a reason that I knew was false. Had she drugged that tea and blamed me, or did someone else?
Hondo listened while I talked about some of this out loud. It was one of those funny conversations, half prayer and half just trying to work things out for myself. Only when it had gotten dark that evening did the two of us head for the main house to have dinner with Dot and Buck.
I stayed at the main house for quite a while after dinner, not wanting to go back to be alone. Buck and Dot suggested I take Hondo back with me, but he looked so happy where he was by Buck’s feet that I didn’t want to move him. So in the end I went back to the apartment by myself. At least I slept there by myself. Buck insisted on checking things out before I settled in for the night.
It was really weird waking up Saturday morning in yet another strange bed. For a moment I panicked, trying to figure out where I was and what was happening. Then I lay back down against the pillows, telling myself that everything was okay. For a change I could believe that God was really in control. It was definitely much better compared to yesterday morning, even though this apartment was a strange place I wasn’t used to being.
I looked at my watch on the bedside table, and was surprised to see that I’d slept through until eight in the morning. I got up quickly then so that I could get ready for the long day ahead.
Some of the things from the last tenants were still here, like a little plaque on the bathroom wall that said, This Is The Day The Lord Has Made…Rejoice! I had to admit I didn’t feel much like rejoicing right now, but when it came down to it there was plenty to rejoice about. I was still here, and after today my life was likely to get much better by leaps and bounds.
Of course there was still today to get through, and as I got the shower water going, it was difficult to decide which part of today was going to be the most challenging.
I went out for coffee once I was dressed and ready for the funeral, being careful that I didn’t spill any part of my latte on the pewter-gray dress and jacket I’d chosen for the day. The only black ensemble in my clo
set back at the house had been a pantsuit that looked a little too trendy for my husband’s funeral, so I decided that cut was more important than color and went with the more conservative dress.
The jacket that went with the sheath had one more advantage: it had good-sized, well-cut pockets that didn’t bag out when I loaded them with plenty of tissues and my cell phone. I didn’t expect calls today, but at the same time I’d gotten to the point where I felt kind of naked without the silly thing. Maybe I really was becoming a Californian, after all.
“You rubbed off on me in a lot of ways, Dennis,” I said, talking to him for the first time since he’d died. I’d done it all the time in the months when he’d lain comatose in the care center. It had become a habit, whether I was really there or not.
When he was in the care center, the nurses had said that he could probably hear most of what was going on, even though he was far from communicating back. Now that he was dead I hoped he couldn’t hear anything I said to him. And in the most perverse way, I really hoped he was with Jesus, even though I was far from happy about the myriad situations he’d left here on earth for me to clean up. While I knew now that Dennis had lived an entirely different life here on earth than the one I’d known about, I hoped there was a third life, as well, one that included the Lord in ways the rest of us just couldn’t see.
I was at Dodd and Sons now and had to stop conversing with dead people. It just wasn’t done in some places, unless one wanted to be looked on as downright dotty, as Granny Lou would have said. And though I’d been through a lot in the past few weeks, I was hardly to that point yet.
It was early for anyone else to be there, so it wasn’t surprising when Scott Dodd and another gentleman in a dark suit were the only ones near the door of the chapel. “I’m glad to see you, Ms. Harris,” he said, coming up with hand outstretched. “And I have to tell you that I’m so sorry about Mrs. Peete. Detective Fernandez told me all that he could about the situation. I fully understand why we had to postpone things until today.”
That was good. The last thing I needed was aggravation from the funeral director. I hadn’t seen any cars in the parking lot that looked familiar, but I thought I’d ask. “Is anyone else here yet in the way of family or friends?”
“Not yet. I understand that Mr. Peete’s daughter should be here soon, along with her mother. We spoke to his daughter last night and she had some suggestions on family seating.” He ushered me into the chapel, where I could see that the front row on both sides of the chapel had been roped off in heavy purple roping and had Reserved signs.
Every effort had been made to set things up in the exact middle of the front of the chapel with flower arrangements flanking the pedestal where a simple urn sat. I had a feeling I knew what was coming even before Scott pointed it out. “I suspect that Becca doesn’t want to sit in the same pew with me, and especially not with Ms. Taylor. Am I right?”
Scott unconsciously ran a finger around the collar of his white shirt. “That’s about the size of it. Do you mind if she and her mother sit on one side of the aisle and you and Ms. Taylor sit on the other?”
“Not at all. If Mrs. Peete were still with us, I suspect she might have suggested this, anyway. As long as we’re all in the front row, I don’t think it matters where in that front row we sit. This will make things much calmer on an already-uncomfortable day.”
Scott looked visibly relieved. “Good.” He motioned toward the display at the front of the chapel, back to being efficient and in control of the situation. “We took the liberty of adding a few floral displays to what was ordered. And I appreciate the picture that you gave us. I had it blown up slightly so that our guests could remember Mr. Peete at his best.”
It had been a good photo of Dennis, and looked even better expanded and in an eight-by-ten frame positioned on a stand near the pedestal with the urn. There wouldn’t be any collage of snapshots like I’d seen at some funerals where folks had chosen cremation or a closed casket. There just weren’t enough candid photos of Dennis, or Jack, or whatever he called himself in different situations, to make a collage. I don’t think he’d gone in for candid shots in about twenty years. Definitely I’d never seen any, making me muse again about how little I’d known about this man when I married him. For that matter I didn’t know that much more about him now that our relationship was at its finish.
The one flaw in the plan to keep the “families” separated became apparent shortly after Becca and her mom came into the chapel. Heather and I had parked ourselves in front of the pew we’d be occupying, and Carol and Becca, juggling Ollie between them, had done the same. Heather had beaten them to the funeral home by about ten minutes, her mother apparently having driven her there. Sandy hung near the back of the room and Heather came up to the front with me. She hadn’t said much, giving me curt answers to my questions about how she was feeling. I decided not to press things. She’d been through quite a bit in the past twenty-four hours and probably felt like most of it was my fault.
Soon others began coming in and I watched each group stand at the back of the chapel, trying to figure out where to go first so that they wouldn’t offend anybody but talk to both sets of people. Anybody who knew both Becca and me was faced with a little social dilemma here that wouldn’t be easy for them to solve: how to greet both of us without offending anybody by going one place first.
I thought about just sidling over next to Becca to solve the dilemma, but knew it wouldn’t work. The one time I got even three feet closer to her, beginning to bridge the gap across the main aisle, she slid over the same amount of distance without even looking at me. So much for that move.
Finally I shrugged it off, telling myself that this was only for an hour, and there wouldn’t be that many people involved to begin with. The Christian Friends members, even Paula, filtered into the chapel and came over to hug both Heather and me. Heather was a little more outgoing with them, but still somewhat more reserved than usual.
The church folks were perfectly pleasant to Becca, as well, making me proud of all of them. After a few minutes Carol sat over to the side, taking care of her wiggly grandson. Ollie was having a good time standing on the carpet in stockinged feet, wanting to spend most of his time balancing with help from an adult. Soon he’d be standing alone and then walking, and I didn’t envy his mother and grandmother the task of keeping up with him then.
Pastor George came in shortly after Carol and Becca, and spent most of his time in discussion with one or another of us. I imagined he was gathering last-minute information so that he could say all the right things about Dennis. I saw him pause several times to add to notes he had taken on cards he put in a front pocket of his black suit. How, I wondered, did a minister preach a funeral for someone like Dennis, who hadn’t been a church member and presented so many challenges? I didn’t envy the good pastor a moment of the task ahead of him.
The room filled slowly over the course of an hour. It was going to be a fairly sparse service, but I didn’t expect anything different. Besides the Christian Friends and Heather’s mom, there were a few people I remembered seeing from Conejo Chapel on “our” side of the room, and a few I didn’t recognize who spoke with Becca or her mother and slipped into seats on “their” side afterward.
Sam Blankenship from the newspaper showed up, being as discreet as possible with his notebook and pen. He came up to talk to everyone, and I thought he looked nicer than I’d seen him before. His shirt and tie might have come from a thrift store, but they were clean and pressed. A small delegation from the Conejo Board and Care came in, mostly not speaking to anybody in the front of the room but finding seats midway back or farther in the pews. Among one group I noticed Adela Rodriguez and the young woman who’d gone with her to the sheriff’s department. I was a little surprised to see her at first, but not when I really thought about it. She probably went to the funerals of most of the people who died at the Board and Care. I would have, given her job, and she struck me as a caring person much like
the Christian Friends members.
When the music had started, a few minutes before eleven, I noticed Ray Fernandez slide into one of the pews near the back. He caught my eye and gave a curt nod. In his dark sport coat he looked like one of the doctors from the care center or any of the other men there, and fit right in.
I started needing my tissues just moments after Pastor George got up to speak. He did a great job of relating to everybody there without saying one compromising thing about Dennis. I knew how difficult that was, and so did quite a few people there. A few of them would probably have been happier if he’d let rip and said all the compromising things he could about Dennis, but today I wasn’t in that camp.
Looking down the aisle at the women assembled there, it was another reminder of Dennis and his choices. Carol was farthest from me, holding her grandson. The baby had even paler blond hair than his mother, and I wondered again what Becca’s husband, Brandon, looked like.
Looking at them and then at Heather on my other side, who was getting pretty upset by now, it could have been some slightly odd family reunion where I fit right in. We all were wearing shades of gray or dark blue, and our build and hair coloring certainly could have made us relatives. Instead, we were all related by our odd relationships to this man we were putting to rest today. Pulling my concentration back to the pastor, I listened to his sermon.
He was really making me think about things in a new and different way while he spoke about Dennis, and Edna, and why so much happens that is totally beyond our control and our understanding. He talked about the pain in my husband’s life, that he’d made mistakes but still his family cared for him. Edna had cared the most, but in light of recent events, the pastor didn’t bring that up. It still made me hurt to think that she’d been the one to give him the drink that had killed him. She would never have done that intentionally, and it pained me to think she couldn’t live with the knowledge of what she’d done. It stung even worse to know how much anger she tried to vent on me because she thought I was responsible for Dennis’s death in the first place.
