Eating Cupcakes in a Cemetery

by Shelley Dawn Siddall

  Why Margaret didn’t consider the gun in the shoe to be evidence was a mystery known only to her and her mostly pickled brain. Her plan was to clean her prints off the gun and get rid of it later. She had a pleasant stroll back to the motel where she poured herself a celebratory drink. Unfortunately, she forgot she had roofied the whole bottle just in case Serafino had wanted a second drink.

  Margaret started feeling wobbly and barely made it to the cot. She passed out. When she woke up the next day, the shoe and the gun were gone, and she heard Bev had ended up sleeping next to Serafino. She didn’t know what the hell had happened but at least Bev took off.

  In the ensuing two weeks, it seemed everybody and their dog was after Bev.

  “I’ll confess if need be,” Margaret said to the television. Her game show was on again and the host still didn’t hear the answers she shouted out to him.

  ***

  “I went to congratulate Maggie, you know, for killing Serafino, but she was passed out in the back of the office. So I took the shoe with the gun and hid it in the trunk of my car so she wouldn’t get in trouble.”

  “That was really nice of you,” Belinda said. “But why were you sleeping next to Serafino in the cemetery?”

  “Boy that would be a great title for a song!” Bev cleared her throat and started composing. “Oh I found him all alone and dead, and it made me happy but sad, so I said, even though you were a jerk and I’m in love with Gary, I’ll keep you company that’s how I wound up sleeping with Serafino in the cemetery!”

  Belinda was overjoyed with her sister’s creativity. “That’s great Bev, just great! You should copyright that.” Bev then dropped her voice to a much lower register. “Now, I want to get serious for a minute.”

  Belinda also wanted to hold both of Bev’s hands, for two reasons. One, to show just how serious she was and two, so Bev wouldn’t run away. Unfortunately each twin was holding yet another cupcake.

  Belinda put her cupcake on the top of her head, but it slid off. Surprisingly, she was able to catch it.

  “Just turn it upside down, the icing will make it stick.”

  Belinda looked at her cupcake, nodded and turned it upside down and stuck it to the top of her head. Bev did the same with her dessert.

  “Now Bevy, I need to have a serious talk with you,” Belinda began as she grabbed her sister’s hands. “This is very serious. I have money saved. I think we should buy a beautiful tombstone for your daughter.”

  Bev looked at the crying angel. “Yes. We should.”

  “And if you want, we can get an angel like this one.”

  “Can we write stuff on it?”

  “Sure Bevy.” Belinda looked at her sister and smooshed down the cupcake on her head, as it looked like it was going to slide off.

  Bev knew exactly what she wanted. She had thought of this epitaph for years and could never forget it no matter how much she tried to drink some of her memories away.

  “I want it to say, “Here lies Beth-Anne Butterfly Petunia Nichols, who was loved every single second of every single minute of every single day by her Mommy and her Auntie. She was the most beautiful toddler that every existed.”

  “She was, wasn’t she?”

  The two women drank several toasts to Beth-Anne Butterfly Petunia Nichols and then decided to walk home.

  As they started to climb up the stairs to Belinda’s place, Bev put out her hand and stopped Belinda.

  “There’s something else we need to do. Sssh. I don’t want Gary to hear this.”

  Belinda still had her cupcake stuck to her head but when she turned quickly to listen to her sister, it fell off and splatted on the stairs. Belinda sniffed back a tear. “I loved that cupcake,” she said mournfully.

  “It’s okay, Bell. I’ve got something that’s going to cheer you up and make you forget all about the little cake whose guts are splattered all over your stairs.”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re going to kill Melvin.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Do you see the picture? Right there, beside you?”

  “Sir, that’s $4.98 for the chocolate bar.”

  “I said look at the picture Son,” the elderly man ordered.

  The cashier, Scott, did not want the old man to put another chocolate bar in his pocket so he was keeping an eagle eye on him, despite the man trying to distract him. The old fart was getting belligerent. Not only did he skip the line-up and just walk up to Scott and grab a large chocolate bar; he had the audacity to wink and say, “This one’s on the house.”

  “Do you value your job, Son? You better do what I say or that will be the end of your time here at Mansion Decorating Discounts.”

  Scott was shook. Did this man just threaten his life? Scott spoke into his headset microphone.

  “I have a code white at check-out number four; I repeat…oh hell, Danielle get up here as soon as possible. A whack job is threatening me.”

  In order to cut down on nuisance calls, staff calls and people requesting taxis; Mansion Decorating Discounts had a firm policy; no outgoing calls from the frontline. The in-store phones could only receive incoming calls.

  It also helped to drive sales as their cashiers were not bothered with pesky requests to use the phone; they just said “No” and focused on ringing customers through.

  All staff were not allowed to carry their own cell phones upon threat of termination of employment. This meant that all employees, except management could not dial 911 if they needed to. It left the staff feeling more than vulnerable. Especially nervous staff like Scott.

  The old man reached inside his suit jacket.

  Scott did not handle stress well. He let out a yelp and squatted down behind the counter. Danielle and some of the sturdier warehouse employees surrounded the old man.

  “Sir, if you could come with us, please,” she said, grabbing his arm. She had called the police prior to approaching the man. Even though Scott was a bit dramatic at times, she trusted his instincts.

  The old man stayed rooted in his spot. “No,” he said icily, “I have a tee time and I am going to make it.” He pulled his arm out of Danielle’s grasp and accidentally caught her lanyard on his cufflink. It yanked Danielle forward. The more the old man pulled his arm, the more the lanyard twisted. Frustrated, he straightened out his arm to shake off the lanyard.

  The old man’s fist connected with Danielle’s nose and she went down like a clothesline.

  When the police arrived, the old man was still entangled with the unconscious Danielle on the floor. He was bent over her saying, “Miss? Miss are you alright? Miss, talk to me.” He dropped the chocolate bar finally and with that hand reached over to unhook his cufflink from her lanyard.

  Scott remained sitting on the floor, trembling violently, mere inches away from the drama. When he heard the police were on the scene, he lifted his head. The old man now looked like he was going to choke Danielle.

  Scott screamed, “He’s choking her! He’s trying to kill her!”

  A nervous policeman, almost as nervous as Scott, drew his service revolver and shot the perpetrator. Despite being nervous, it was an excellent shot; there were now two unconscious people on the floor.

  I will not get sick, Scott said to himself. He looked away from the blood all over Danielle’s face and away from the freaky old man. He raised his eyes to the stupid picture the man wanted him to look at.

  It was a picture of the old man. Under the frame was a large brass nameplate that said, “Our founder and CEO, Mr. Vincent Millar.”

  As Scott passed out from this new shock, he heard someone say, “The guy was bonkers. He threatened Scott and then said he wanted to make him some tea. What a weirdo.”

  ***

  Nella watched as her mother opened her laptop.

  “Did you put a password on here?” Carmen asked suspiciously.

  “No, I told you, Dad did.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me young lady.”

  Carmen knew S
erafino was fond of using the same four digits for his passwords. How her children didn’t know this was amazing. She typed in two, four, six, eight and the screen unlocked.

  “Thanks mom,” Nella said as she grabbed the computer.

  “Not so fast girly, I’ve got to go through this. You go downstairs and wait for the pizza.”

  Carmen couldn’t wait until after supper, let alone after work to unlock Nella’s computer. She had a sinking feeling that Serafino had hidden something on it and the more she thought about it, the more she had to act. So as soon as she dropped off her parcels, she had raced upstairs.

  The icons looked innocuous. She clicked on them anyhow, one by one.

  “How can Nella play these stupid games?” she said as monsters roared and then shoes danced across the screen. Frustrated, Carmen rubbed her eyes. What am I not seeing? She continued to open games. With each game she had a growing determination to buy a trampoline or a volleyball net or something that took place outside where Nella and her boys could play an actual physical game.

  Nothing.

  Carmen could hear her kids arguing downstairs in the kitchen and something like a plate breaking and then sudden silence. Then more arguing. She really didn’t feel like arbitrating, so she kept clicking on icons.

  When she clicked on the calculator, numbers popped up. Cute little numbers in red bathing suits or in nothing at all. Attached to each photograph was a link to a name, city and address, cell number and measurements.

  Carmen put her hand over her mouth and squeezed her eyes tight. She was not going to cry. No she was not.

  Carmen said to her belly. “You will never know your father and it will be a good thing.”

  A wisp of an idea floated into her brain. It twirled and twirled and grew into a fully formed plan. She locked down the laptop and practically ran downstairs with it under her arm.

  “Who’s up for an adventure?” she asked.

  Four pairs of eyes looked at her with apprehension.

  Carmen shook her head and explained, “An adventure after we eat pizza.”

  Four children shouted, “Whoohoo” and danced around the kitchen island.

  As they munched on their super-duper deluxe pizza with the stuffed crust and the bread sticks and dip, Carmen was happy.

  It was simple. After dinner they were driving to the airport. They were flying to Palermo Italy. Tonight.

  In a week, Serafino would have his funeral. Maybe one or two or all of his numbers would show up. Maybe none. Either way, Carmen didn’t care. She was done with everything. She had more than enough money in the Cayman Islands. A few minutes ago, she had checked to make sure Serafino hadn’t drained those accounts; and so she would just leave the whole damn charity scam behind and all the money.

  She didn’t need it. She didn’t need anything but to get her children out of Eureka and into the warm Sicilian sun.

  ***

  “Maybe one of you could stay sober for one week, and the other one, the next week,” Gary suggested.

  The twins were back on the couch, babysitting their bottles. They hadn’t even thought to question Gary’s current look.

  Belinda nodded. “Yup; one of us should stay sober while we plan how to kill Melvin.”

  Bev punched her in the arm. “You told Gary. You weren’t supposed to tell him. Now he’s going to think we’re reprobates.”

  “Reprobates!” Belinda echoed and burst into gales of laughter.

  “It’s okay Bevy,” Gary said as he scratched around his fake nose, “You told me all about it.”

  Bev was surprised. “I really wish my memory would behave,” she said. “Just when I think I remember everything you go ahead and tell me I told you something and I don’t remember doing that. Does that make sense?” She leaned forward. “But more importantly, are you turning red?”

  “He’s got spots. And his fake nose is somehow bigger.”

  Gary started clearing his throat. “I’m feeling like my throat is closing up on me.” He kept scratching and clearing his throat.

  “Maybe it is!” Bev said. She reached into her bra and grabbed her phone. She dialed emergency services.

  “We need an ambulance to 1104 Wayfare Road stat. We have a thirty-two-year-old male with difficulties breathing; a possible allergic reaction to cosmetic adhesive. He does not have an epi-pen.” She covered the phone with her hand when she saw her sister and Gary staring at her.

  “What?” she said.

  Gary gasped out. “This is what I was telling you Bev, at the Tipsy Leprechaun weeks ago. You don’t have to always be the clown; you’re smart. Don’t hide yourself.”

  “And boom! My drinking problem is cured. Well thank you Dr. Gary.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t be the clown if you wanted to be. And if you want to drink; well, I love you no matter who you want to be.”

  Gary started coughing in earnest.

  “You could dial back the sarcasm a bit before I die though,” he managed to gasp.

  ***

  She was bored. It was the first time in years that she didn’t have reports to read or paperwork to file. Sitting on a bed in a motel room was not her idea of fun.

  Sean’s question surfaced in her mind; do you still want to be an FBI agent?

  Hailey liked the challenge of finding the bad guy by using her brain. Of course, the ultimate desire was to keep the US safe, but it was the investigation that she loved; getting random facts and putting them together; searching for leads, and yes, the thrill of hunting down the bad guy or gal.

  Hailey looked around the room she had lived in ever since she was transferred to Eureka a couple of months ago. Why didn’t she rent an apartment? Or even consider buying a house?

  Jakob Kim had warned her about her now incarcerated partner and he had warned her about Jamal as well.

  Why didn’t she listen? Was she subconsciously trying to sabotage her career?

  She phoned Sean.

  “Miss Hailey; I was waiting for your call!”

  “Hi Sean. Look, I’m kind of bored. Do you want to go out for a meal or go see a movie or something?”

  “If by something you mean the knocking of boots, I must respectfully decline. I am saving myself for our marriage.”

  “Well thank you for that Sean. No, I have an idea and it’s a little crazy. Look. How about if I come over and pick you up at your motel?”

  Hailey could hear a car starting to honk outside and went to the window.

  “It is me, Miss Hailey! After you dropped me off, I followed you back to your place.”

  Hailey grabbed her purse and locked her door. She didn’t get in Sean’s car but went to the driver’s side of his reasonably priced Malibu, Nightfall Gray in color.

  Sean unrolled his window and reassured her. “Don’t worry; I am not a stalker-type person. I am thinking to myself that Miss Hailey is likely to get bored in five minutes, so I will be there already.”

  Hailey smiled and looked at her watch. “Well, it’s been about twenty minutes. Still, I like your instincts.” She got in the car.

  “And now, please be telling me your crazy idea.”

  “Put Kingston Street in your GPS.”

  “Of course Miss Hailey.” Sean opened the glove box and pulled out a map.

  “Okay, I’ll navigate. We are going to A-1 Storage where Tony Taylor rented a unit. When I was still on the case, we knew that Serafino and Carmen and then Tony were bringing the mail to unit thirty-five at that facility. Turn here.”

  “And once we get there, we will break in and see how the hell is going on?” Sean asked.

  “What the hell,” Hailey corrected.

  “We will see what the hell is going on. Yes, very good. Perhaps we will discover that my Grandmother’s advice is the best.”

  “We might. It’s a mystery. Jakob said the Napoleone’s would bring the mail bags in full then bring them out empty the next day. The FBI wanted to watch the storage place over twenty-four hours, but it’s pretty clos
e quarters, so the couldn’t set up the surveillance.”

  Hailey looked up from the map and over to Sean. “Are you serious about everything you said to me?”

  Sean pulled over. “As sure as my name is Darvesh Sean W. Johnson Singh.”

  “Pleased to meet you Darvesh Singh.” Hailey pointed to the buildings up ahead. “I think that’s it.” She then became quite focused on folding the map.

  Sean looked in his rear-view mirror and saw a huge truck coming up behind him. As it passed them, he noticed it was hauling a dumpster. When they arrived at A-1 Storage, the truck was blocking the driveway.

  He parked on a side road and they walked in. A very tall couple was busy talking to the driver of the truck.

  “I’m thinking it would not be advisable to have witnesses as we break in.”

  “I tend to agree; especially since they are pulling stuff out of the unit beside the one we want to break into.”

  ***

  Tony and Luna were frazzled. The dumpster finally arrived but was blocking traffic. Fortunately, only one car had tried to drive into the storage place, but still, they wanted to make the transfer of the duffle bags as quickly as possible. When the man and woman walked up to them and offered to help, it further added to their anxiety.

  “Thank you for your kind offer, but I think we can be out of your way soon,” Luna said as she gave Hailey and Sean a fake smile.

  Tony kept throwing duffle bags up into the dumpster. He didn’t bother to stop and be friendly; he wanted to get gone as soon as possible.

  Hailey pulled Sean to one side. “I recognize him from the photos at the office. That’s Tony Taylor; I don’t know who the woman is.”

  “Did you get the unit number wrong? They are pulling bags out of thirty-six.”

  “No. Thirty-five because that’s how old I am.”

  “An excellent child-bearing age.”

  “Well Sean, it looks like our dream is getting thrown in the dumpster.”

  “We will not give up hope, Miss Hailey. The big man, Mr. Tony is looking very tired. Perhaps he will accept some help soon.”

  Tony was indeed getting tired. Each bag of mixed denomination bills weighed about forty pounds, but he was carrying it from inside the unit and then lifting it up and over his head. He wasn’t used to physical labor. His work with Serafino had simply involved standing like a brick wall.