A Grave Situation

by Libby Howard

  That had to have been her.

  Firing up J.T.’s computer, I hunted for anything I could find on Cindy Weiss. She hadn’t gone to the same college as David, but perhaps DeLanie had been wrong about that. She was cute, with dark hair and a bright smile, the sort of girl I could see David dating. Nothing about her online presence sent up any alarm bells, but people sometimes hid their true selves well.

  But it quickly became clear that Cindy Weiss wasn’t the murderer. Right after college she’d gotten a job at an IT firm out in California and moved there. And there she’d remained, marrying, having two children, and joining the local Rotary Club. It couldn’t be her.

  I went back to the high school records, expanding out a few years, but unable to find another CW. Maybe DeLanie had been wrong about the high school? Perhaps this on-again, off-again girlfriend had gone to Milford High instead?

  Feeling like I was searching for a needle in a haystack, I prepared myself to search through half a dozen county high schools when the computer dinged, announcing that my friend request had been accepted.

  Picking the less onerous of the searches, I hopped over to my new friend, Eileen Mack’s page and scrolled back to the time when Mary Allen was still among the living. Two cups of coffee later, I found what I’d been looking for, although it wasn’t what I wanted to find.

  Mary had commented on one of Eileen’s pictures that she’d probably be announcing an engagement soon. Eileen had replied that Mary needed to announce hers first, if only they could get rid of Crazy Woman.

  CW. Crazy Woman.

  My heart sank, realizing that CW wasn’t the ex’s name; it was short for Crazy Woman. I picked up David’s phone again, frustrated that they’d never named this woman, that I’d have no way to find her. There was no sense in digging through Milford High or other school records. I no longer had a name to search.

  But maybe I didn’t need a name. David had said in a text to Mary that CW had called him five times in one day. Scrolling back, I made note of that day and went over to the section of David’s phone that held the records of incoming and outgoing calls.

  Thankfully the man had bought a phone with a ton of memory and never seemed to bother deleting anything, because the number was right there, clear as day. It was assigned to a contact in his phone listing, making me wonder if he’d deleted CW from his phone when the relationship was over, or if the ex had gotten a new phone. I jotted it down, started to type it into the computer to search, then decided to take the bull by the horns.

  You can imagine my shock when a female voice answered the phone—a calm, sympathetically cheerful, detached voice.

  “Windy Oaks Cemetery.”

  Chapter 20

  “Um, hi.” I stuttered, my mind whirring. “This is Kay Carrera. I’m just… I’m just checking to see if the Branch funeral tomorrow…if the interment is going to be as planned? I mean, did the police clear the crime scene, or is the family holding off on the interment?”

  I thought of Melanie as I’d made arrangements for Eli’s funeral, thought about how calm, sympathetic, and detached she’d seemed. A smiling automaton that said all the right things, but never seemed to actually feel for the client in front of her. At the time I’d thought it an admirable trait, her way of coping with a job that landed grief at her desk twenty-four/seven. Now her demeanor seemed a bit off.

  And at David’s gravesite she’d had that same unemotional, vaguely sympathetic expression. I frowned, trying to recall her expression when Mary’s body had been discovered. No shock, certainly. No, that calm demeanor had never once cracked even after the body was found.

  Maybe because she knew it was there all the time.

  Oh, God, the ring. She’d had on a necklace, been fingering the chain— the only sign of emotional distress she’d shown. The pendant hanging might not have been a pendant, it could have been a ring.

  “Yes, the police have cleared the grave. We’re preparing it this evening and I’m happy that it will be ready for the Branch funeral tomorrow.” Her voice oozed with cool kindness and flat cheer. I shivered.

  “Did…Was David Driver moved?” It was odd that Olive or DeLanie hadn’t called me about that.

  “We’ve just gotten the okay to move him. Mrs. Driver is coming down this afternoon to watch over the re-interment. It’s all on a very short timeline, but we’re so happy we could accommodate our clients in their time of need.”

  “Yes. We’re so happy. You all are wonderful. Thank you,” I babbled, hanging up the phone and staring at it for a moment.

  Could I be mistaken? This just seemed so farfetched, that the manager at the cemetery was a murderer. She certainly had opportunity to dispose of the body right there where she worked. But did she even own a gun? And motive? I had no proof that she’d had any contact with David or Mary beyond her professional duties.

  I checked the high school graduation and saw that Melanie had been the year behind David. But so had hundreds of other women. Maybe she’d had a good reason to call him that day. There were no voice mail messages for me to check. Maybe David had been getting a price on cemetery plots? Or maybe she was in one of his recovery groups?

  I picked up the phone again and called DeLanie, confirming that she had indeed received word that David’s remains would be moved this afternoon. Olive would be there, and I eagerly accepted her request that I also attend. Then I got down to the question spinning around in my brain.

  “Melanie Swanson, the manager at the cemetery, did she know David before his death? Were they in sports together, or friends, or did he have some reason to be in contact with her at the cemetery?”

  DeLanie thought for a second. “Well, I’m sure he did know her. A couple of years ago when that mess started over the extra grave plot, he went down to the cemetery to see if they had anything documenting who it should have gone to in the family. Why?”

  “She went to Locust Point High School the same time he did, and there were some calls from her office at the cemetery to David a little over a year ago.”

  “That could have been her following up on the grave plot issue. I mean, I’m sure David knew who she was. Locust Point High School isn’t very big. I don’t remember them being friends when he was in school, or them dating or anything, but maybe after. David met a lot of people through rehab and his meetings, too. I’ve got no idea if she was one of them, but I’ve been surprised by some of the people who were in recovery from drug or alcohol addiction and kept it all secret.”

  I told DeLanie I’d meet her at the cemetery, sat back to think through my “evidence.” Of which there was pretty much none. I had no proof that Melanie had ever dated David or harbored any sort of secret, psychopathic crush on him. They’d gone to school together. She had a legitimate, non psycho reason for the phone calls last year. All I had was a series of what could be coincidences, and the fact that as the cemetery manager, she’d be perfectly positioned to dispose of a body in an open grave.

  I made a call and dumped the entire thing in Detective Norris’s lap. As I went over my research process, and my suspicions to his answering machine, I began to feel like a fool. I should stick to skip tracing and the occasional divorce case. This sort of thing was way beyond my abilities. It was slow methodical police work that would eventually, hopefully, uncover Mary’s murderer, and as much as I wanted to be the one triumphantly revealing the solution to this crime, I wasn’t Jessica Fletcher or Miss Marple. Or even Nancy Drew.

  I got back to work on the few remaining skip traces, texting Judge Beck to let him know that I might be late getting home tonight. At three o’clock I wrapped everything up for the weekend and headed to the cemetery. Olive and DeLanie were already there, standing by David’s gravesite. The police tape was gone, but the canopy was still there as were the chairs, the digger, and the apparatus to haul the liner and casket up to transport it to the new plot. Three men with shovels stood next Melanie over by the truck.

  The ghosts were still there. It felt like their numbe
rs had grown since last Saturday. They were like a disapproving mob, hovering all around the open grave. I hoped Olive was right and that they’d go back to wherever they normally were once David’s remains were relocated, but having them here was unnerving.

  “I hope you’re not waiting on me,” I told DeLanie.

  “No, just some final instructions for the workmen,” she replied. “There’s not much more digging to do, then they’ll bring up the entire liner and put it on that vault truck there. We’ll follow it to the new gravesite that’s prepared and ready, then watch them lower it in. That Melanie woman said it shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

  I put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not easy watching people dig up your son, knowing his body is inside a casket in that big chunk of cement. I’ll be glad when it’s all over.”

  The excavator started up, the two men with shovels standing by as the man began to scoop out dirt with the careful precision of a surgeon. Melanie walked over to us after a quick glance down in the grave plot, her usual calm, unemotional expression in place.

  I looked at the chain around her neck, at the hint of a circular pendant I could see just under the collar of her blouse. She shifted and a bit of silver flashed into view. It was a ring. I could tell it was a ring, but was it the ring? How could I get a better look at it without being too obvious?

  The excavating part of the disinterment was quickly over and the workmen moved the digger to the side, pulling the vault truck up and lowering the claw-like apparatus into the plot. Two men jumped down with straps to secure everything in place, then hopped back up to give the go-ahead. Slowly the liner emerged from the grave—a large concrete rectangle pitted and covered in dirt. As it rose, the workmen at the graveside came forward to secure the straps and guide it onto the waiting truck.

  The whole time I kept glancing over at Melanie, trying to see her necklace without seeming like some weirdo looking down another woman’s shirt.

  We followed the vault truck in a procession to the newer part of the cemetery, only fifty feet or so from where Eli was buried. There another plot had been prepared, a second canopy in place as well as chairs. This Melanie might be a murderer, but she was a very effective cemetery manager.

  We stood a safe distance from the plot while the workmen carefully lowered the concrete liner into the opening, removing all the straps and bringing in the digger to close the grave. I glanced over at Melanie again, at her necklace. Could I comment on it and pull the pendant into view before she jerked away? What in the world could I possibly say to excuse such an action? “Oh, I just love silver chains. Let me see your necklace?” Yeah, because that was just the sort of thing someone would do after witnessing the relocation of someone’s remains.

  DeLanie took a deep breath and gave us a watery smile. “He’s home. And I feel so much better now that it’s done. Thank you both for coming. And thank you, Miss Swanson, for making this such a smooth process.” She reached out to shake Melanie’s hand, then changed her mind and hugged the woman instead.

  There was an expression of sheer horror on Melanie’s face, as if she expected DeLanie to plunge a knife into her chest. She patted the older woman awkwardly on the back then stepped away. That’s when it happened. The silver chain caught on DeLanie’s scarf, extending in a line between the two women. And dangling from the end of the chain was a ring.

  The ring.

  DeLanie looked down, raising a hand to disengage the chain. She froze, her gaze locked onto the ring. Melanie grabbed it in a fist, yanking it and nearly ripping DeLanie’s scarf in the process, but before she could hide the ring back under the neckline of her shirt, DeLanie reached out and gripped the chain.

  “That’s my ring. That’s my mother’s ring. Where did you get that?”

  I’d never heard that tone of voice from DeLanie before. Melanie paled and tried to pull away, but Olive and I stepped in on either side of her.

  “What?” Olive asked. “What ring?”

  “The engagement ring,” DeLanie told her. “She’s wearing the engagement ring around her neck on a chain. It was my mother’s, and I gave it to David. He gave it to Mary, even had her initial engraved on it. I’d know it anywhere.”

  “It’s mine,” Melanie countered. “I bought it. I bought it at a pawn shop months ago because it was pretty and had my initial on it. It’s mine.”

  “Then let’s see it.” Olive had a steely edge to her voice.

  The workmen glanced over at us with some curiosity but didn’t interfere. Finally, Melanie’s fingers loosened, revealing the ring.

  “It looks like the one in your family pictures,” I told DeLanie. “And the one Mary was wearing on David’s cell phone.”

  “I’d recognize it anywhere,” she replied, picking it up and looking at the engraving inside. “DD and MD—David Driver and Mary Driver. That’s how David had it engraved.”

  “It’s mine,” Melanie insisted once more. “I bought it at a pawn shop. I’m sure I have a receipt for it somewhere. Maybe. It was months ago. I might not have kept the receipt.”

  “Well, hopefully you bought it on your credit card or have a cancelled check,” I told her as I pulled my phone out. “Because you’re in possession of a murder victim’s ring, and I’m calling the police.”

  A deputy took our statements while Melanie accompanied Detective Norris to the police station to give hers. We were all back at my house in time for Friday happy hour on the porch, which this week was our way of comforting DeLanie and celebrating David’s new home at Windy Oaks Cemetery. Everyone clustered around with their wine while the three of us lifted our glasses in toast to David and began to talk about the ring.

  “Maybe she did buy it at a pawn shop,” DeLanie commented. “I mean, we did speculate that the murderer may not have kept it, that he might have tossed the ring or sold it. If so, I’m glad this way I’ll at least be able to get it back.”

  “I think she’s lying,” Olive said. “She was always weird, even back in high school.”

  “You knew her back in high school?” I asked, astonished.

  “She was a couple of years younger than me, but yes. I used to feel a bit sorry for her. The kids made fun of her because her family owned the cemetery and that they were living in the caretaker’s house. Spooky Melanie, they’d call her. Or Lurch. She was kinda weird, though.”

  “But why would she have killed Mary?” DeLanie asked. “I don’t remember her having any connection with David.”

  Olive shrugged. “Maybe she knew the murderer, gave him a convenient spot to dispose of a body, and at the last moment, snatched a pretty ring off Mary’s finger.”

  “Or maybe she was obsessed with David and snapped when he got engaged,” I countered. “Friends of Mary’s say they were keeping the engagement under wraps because he had a psycho ex-girlfriend. Maybe Melanie was that psycho ex-girlfriend.”

  “Hopefully that detective will figure it out,” DeLanie said. “I didn’t find anything in David’s effects that would make me think he was dating her, or anyone really. He didn’t even have any pictures of Mary, just some of him and the dog, his fishing gear, and clothes.”

  “He had one of Mary as the wallpaper on his phone,” I told her. “It seems like no one actually prints out pictures anymore, they’re all either posted up on social media or on their cell phones.”

  “And David didn’t do the social media thing,” Olive commented. “I tried to do an announcement for our family reunion on Facebook a few years back, and I had to actually mail the man a paper invitation.”

  DeLanie chuckled. “Well, he sure seemed to print a lot of pictures of his dog. I must have found hundreds of them in his bedside table. Four years of pictures starting the day he adopted that dog from the shelter. He might have put a ring on Mary’s finger, but I think that bulldog of his was the real love of his life.”

  “How is Beau doing?” Olive asked. “He must miss David terribly.”
<
br />   “He’s doing better. He moped around for a few months after David died, but he seems to be happy with me. He’s such a good boy. I actually like having him around.”

  I knew how she felt. I’d gotten Taco right after Eli had passed and having an animal really made the house feel less lonely. And in DeLanie’s case, I’m sure the dog reminded her of her son.

  Happy hour was winding down by the time Judge Beck got back. I told Olive and DeLanie that I’d see them at tomorrow’s funeral, then went in to do some knitting while the judge and Madison fixed tacos for dinner.

  Tacos. The dishwasher. Crap, I’d completely forgotten about it. Taking out my phone, I dialed the used appliance store, thrilled that they weren’t closed yet.

  “Hi, this is Kay Carrera,” I told the woman. “I was in earlier this week, and I’ve made a decision. If I give you my credit card number, do you still think you can have my dishwasher installed Monday morning?”

  Chapter 21

  Judge Beck had headed off for Henry’s soccer game, making me promise once more that I wouldn’t confront any drug dealers or murderers at Olive’s uncle’s funeral. I lingered over coffee and muffins, let Taco in from his morning outdoor time and fed him, then went upstairs to shower and put on an actual dress for one of the few times in my life.

  Luckily, I had a nice subdued, long-sleeved, black knit dress that fit. I did my no-fuss hair, my equally no-fuss, minimal makeup, slid on a pair of modest-heeled pumps, and headed out.

  I was glad for the modest-heeled pumps because I had to park halfway down the road from the funeral parlor and walk there. It seemed Ford Branch had been a well-loved man. I waited in line to get in the door, waited in line to sign the guest book, then entered a huge room that was practically standing room only full of people. I promptly got in the receiving line to see Sarah behind a man wearing a baggy suit that looked like he’d had to pull it out of mothballs for this occasion, and a short, fat, striped tie.