Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery)

by Susan Santangelo

  Jim’s mouth dropped open, and he elbowed me in the ribs. “Carol, do you see who the guy is in there?”

  Jim knows that if I’m not wearing my glasses, I can’t see that well at a distance. I can see objects – like large glass coaches, for example – but details like a person’s features frequently elude me. (I always wear my glasses when I’m driving, though, so don’t worry.)

  I peered inside the coach for a closer look. But not too close, I didn’t want to embarrass them.

  Good grief. The guy nuzzling the neck of the woman in the coach was Bob Green, the soon-to-be ex-husband of my best friend, Nancy. At least, I thought it was. The Bob Green I remembered had thinning salt and pepper hair and wore tortoise-shell-framed eye glasses, whether they were fashionable or not. And he always – whenever we saw him, anyway –wore a starched shirt and necktie. I suspected he slept in them, too, but I never had the nerve to ask Nancy about that.

  This new and improved version of Bob Green sported a black turtleneck sweater, black corduroy blazer, and jeans. Gone was the thinning hair, replaced by a completely bald look that was surprisingly sexy. And there was no sign of the tell-tale tummy bulge that had earned him his nickname “Bob the Blob.”

  Of course, with the position the pair was in, this last part was hard for me to confirm.

  But it was Bob Green, all right. The creep. And the female he was all over had to be Tiffani the Home Wrecker.

  Their display of “affection” disgusted me. I grabbed Jim’s hand to pull him away. “Let’s get out of here. I have nothing to say to him. What a creep. Nancy is well rid of him.”

  Jim stood his ground. “We’re not going anywhere now, Carol. Let’s wait until they get out of the coach and say hello.”

  I looked at him like he was crazy.

  “Trust me, Carol.” And he tapped on the coach window.

  Bob disengaged himself from his sweetie and turned toward the window. Honest to God, it was worth the wait, just to see the shock and mortification on his face. I almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. His face turned beet red, and he whispered something in Miss Home Wrecker’s ear.

  Jim waved and said, loudly, “Hello there, Bob. Long time, no see. Why don’t you come out here and introduce us to your friend.”

  Well, what could Bob do? He opened the coach door, slowly, turned around to be sure his coach mate’s dress was in proper alignment, and pushed her out ahead of him.

  She put her arm around his waist, possessively, and said, “Robby, how nice. I’d love to meet your friends.”

  Robby? Since when? He always was “Bob” to us.

  “Tiffani, these are two old friends of mine, Carol and Jim Andrews,” Bob said, clapping Jim on the back.

  “I haven’t seen you two in such a long time. We have a lot to catch up on.”

  I pursed my lips. I wanted to smack him. And I cursed myself that I wasn’t wearing my bifocals, so I could check out Tiffani and report back to Nancy later.

  I pasted a fake smile on my face and moved in as close as I could to her. Ah ha! Even without glasses, I could tell that Tiffani wasn’t a sweet young thing of twenty-eight. Her streaked blonde hair was definitely dyed (not that I know first-hand about that sort of thing, of course), and I saw tell-tale signs of a few nips and tucks behind her ears and around her jowl line. She was pretty well preserved, though. I had to give her that. If we had met under other circumstances, I’d probably ask her to give me the name of her doctor.

  But not today.

  “Hello, Tiffani,” I said. “What a surprise to meet you.” (My mother raised me to be polite, under even the most difficult circumstances.) Turning to Nancy’s creep of a husband, I said, “Apparently a lot has been going on in your life since Jim and I saw you last. Nancy has filled us in on the details.”

  Awkward silence.

  I plunged ahead. “We’re here because Jenny and Mark Anderson are getting married. You remember him, I’m sure. I think he was a year ahead of your daughter Terri in school,” I said, throwing in the family connection for good measure.

  “I love weddings,” I went on. When in doubt, babble away, that’s my mantra. “We’re just thrilled about it, aren’t we, Jim?” I asked, tossing the conversational ball to my husband and hoping he wouldn’t fumble it.

  “Yes, weddings are a joyous occasion, most of the time,” Jim said, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You know, it seems like yesterday that I was an usher in your wedding to Nancy. Carol and I were just looking at your wedding pictures a few days ago, weren’t we, Carol?”

  Huh?

  “So, Tiffani, I guess you and Bob are here to get ideas for your upcoming nuptials?” Jim asked. “Of course, he has to be divorced first.” Turning to me, he grabbed my hand and issued a parting salvo. “We were at your first wedding, Bob. I don’t think we’ll be attending your second.

  “Come on, Carol. Let’s go find the kids.”

  Chapter 9

  The first fifty years of a marriage are the hardest. It’s best to get them over with as quickly as possible.

  When Jim and I peeked in the entrance of the Westfair Country Club ballroom, it was organized chaos. And I say that kindly. There were vendors, and people, everywhere.

  “We’ll never find Jenny and Mark in this crowd,” I said, scanning the room for familiar faces. “I never realized that so many people in Fairfield County, Connecticut, were planning weddings.”

  Jim answered by grabbing my hand and propelling me into the mass of people. “We won’t find them if we just stand here,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  I pulled my husband’s hand to slow him down. “To tell you the truth, after meeting Bob Green and his new…whatever…I’m not sure I’m in the mood for this anymore.”

  “You’d better get in the mood right away, Carol,” said Jim. “Jenny and Mark are headed this way.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Meeting Bob and whatshername was rough, but we’re here for our daughter. And the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”

  Jim was right, of course. When did he get so smart?

  “Isn’t this fabulous?” asked my darling daughter, giving Jim and me big smooches. “I never thought there’d be so many wedding options under one roof. We’ll be able to get all the details finalized today. I want you to come with me to meet Tiffani Blake, the wedding planner. She’s fabulous. You’ll just love her. She had to run to the lobby a few minutes ago to meet someone. I’m sure she’ll be right back.”

  I couldn’t look at Jim. I knew what his reaction was. In fact, it was identical to mine. But there was no way to get out of this situation.

  “Thanks for coming,” said Mark, giving Jim a hearty handshake. “I’m a little out of my element here. I’m glad for the moral support.”

  “Tell you what, Mark,” said Jim. “Why don’t we let Jenny and Carol get started with the wedding planner, and we’ll head off to the bar. I noticed on the way in that they’re offering free tastings of champagne. And the women really don’t need our opinions right now, anyway.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” said Mark, his relief at being spared looking at flowers and wedding favors evident on his face. “Unless Jenny has some objection.”

  “You go ahead with Dad,” Jenny said, giving her fiancé a loving look. “I think he’s the one who’s feeling overwhelmed right now.”

  “Traitor,” I mouthed to Jim as he and his son-in-law-to-be beat a hasty retreat toward the bar. I could have used a champagne sample, or two, myself, at that exact moment.

  “Here comes Tiffani now, Mom,” Jenny said, waving at a woman wearing the telltale Cinderella pink blazer who was headed our way. The same woman Jim and I had caught making out with Bob the Blob just a few minutes before.

  In that split second, I thought of Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, when he catches sight of his old flame, Ingrid Bergman, after a long absence. Remember? “Of all the gin joints in the world, you had to walk into mine.”

  No way was I going
to allow Tiffani’s sordid private life affect my daughter’s wedding. So I pasted a big smile on my face. And shook my head slightly, hoping Tiffani was smart enough to catch on to the message I was sending her.

  I’m not saying anything, you bimbo. And you won’t, either, if you know what’s good for you.

  Tiffani’s eyes widened as she realized what was going on (I wondered briefly how hard that was for someone who’d had a nip and tuck), then matched my broad smile with one that was equally phony and said, “You must be Jenny’s mother. I can certainly see the family resemblance. Although you look young enough to pass for Jenny’s sister.”

  Liar, I thought. Jenny and I look nothing alike. Except for having similar hair color. (As far as my looking young, well, I’m far too modest to comment on that.)

  Shape up, I told myself, echoing Jim’s warning. This is the person who’s going to be intimately involved in our family until after the wedding. You’d better make an effort to be nice to her. Before she takes your name off the guest list.

  “I know we’re going to be great friends,” I said to Tiffani, giving her another toothy smile. Ok, that was stretching it a bit. But if she could stand there and lie to me, I could give it right back.

  Fortunately, just this once, Jenny didn’t pick up on the signals Tiffani and I were sending each other. She was much too excited about planning her dream day.

  “Cinderella Weddings has a space outside the ballroom for private consultations,” said Tiffani. “It’s fun to be in the middle of all the excitement, but it takes a quiet space to get the actual planning started. “Why don’t you both follow me?” she said, talking over her shoulder to us as we navigated through the crowd. “We’re headed to the Rendezvous Lounge, in case we get separated. It’s on the second level.

  “Oh, excuse me for bumping into you,” Tiffani said, startled at an unexpected collision with a guest. “I’m so sorry.”

  I blinked. Tiffani had no idea how sorry she was going to be.

  She had just careened into my best friend, Nancy, a.k.a. The Wronged Wife.

  Chapter 10

  My husband’s idea of dining out is eating in the yard.

  I have a theory that if a person tries hard enough to pretend everything is all right, everything will be all right. I was about to test that theory, because there was no way I was going to allow a potential cat fight to erupt between Nancy and Tiffani.

  “Sweetie,” I said, throwing my arms around Nancy and giving her a big hug. “What a surprise. I had no idea you were coming. Why are you here?”

  “The wedding show is open to the public, Carol,” said Nancy in the snippy tone I’ve heard on more than one occasion. “Mary Alice and Claire said I’d be butting in, but I thought you and Jenny would be happy to have me here. After all, I’ve been like a second mother to her. And you know what I’ve been going through lately. I need to be involved in happy things right now.”

  She turned her back to me and gave Jenny a kiss on the cheek. “You’re glad to see me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” said Jenny, returning Nancy’s kiss with one of her own. “Mom was just surprised to see you here. You know how she sometimes speaks before she thinks.”

  Moi? Never! Sometimes? Ok, often. So, sue me.

  “Don’t worry about bumping into me,” Nancy said to our wedding planner. “It was just as much my fault as it was yours. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  She offered her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Nancy Green, a dear friend of the Andrews family.”

  Tiffani’s cheeks flamed, just a little. But she recovered herself quickly and started to speak. I, of course, interrupted.

  “Nancy, this is Theresa. Am I right?” I asked the wedding planner. “Sometimes I’m not so good at remembering people’s names when I’ve just met them.”

  I hoped Tiffani would pick up on my hint.

  Jenny looked at me with a question in her eyes, but I plowed right ahead. “I always thought Theresa was such a beautiful name. At one point, when I was expecting Jenny, Jim and I talked about that as a possible name for the baby. But Jim liked the name ‘Jenny’ better.

  “I bet I never told you that before, Jenny. Am I right?”

  My daughter looked at me like I was crazy. But she figured out that I had a reason for spewing out this nonsense.

  “I’m sure I never heard that story before, Mom.”

  “For this appointment, ‘Theresa’ will do just fine,” Tiffani said and flashed me a quick smile. “Let’s all head to the Rendezvous Lounge and talk about Jenny and Mark’s wedding.”

  You owe me, Tiffani. You’d better be the best wedding planner on the face of the earth. And by the way, don’t you dare tell me to keep my opinions to myself, and just show up at the wedding wearing a beige dress.

  Of course, I had no way of knowing whether Tiffani was the best wedding planner on earth, since she was the only one I’d ever met. But she sure impressed the heck out of the three of us. She was unbelievably knowledgeable and professional. There wasn’t a single question any of us had (including Nancy!) that she didn’t have an answer for.

  Once she heard that Jenny and Mark wanted to be married on Nantucket, she really went into overdrive. “Nantucket is my very favorite place for a wedding,” she said.

  “The island is so beautiful, and there are so many quaint venues to hold the ceremony. I’ve done weddings all over the world, and Nantucket is my number one choice.”

  She beamed at Jenny, then turned to me. “Let’s talk budget. What were you thinking, Carol? Or would you prefer that I discuss that with Jenny’s father? Cinderella Weddings has several different plans, and we bill either by the hour or as a flat fee. It all depends on what the bride and groom choose.”

  She mentioned an hourly fee that would have stunned a corporate magnate.

  I shifted in my chair. “I think a flat fee would work best for us. I’m sure Dad would agree. Jenny, what do you think?”

  “Mark and I have talked a lot about this,” she answered. “We’ve both put some money aside to pay for most of the wedding. You and Dad are pretty much off the hook.”

  I started to protest, but Jenny interrupted me. (I wonder where she gets that trait from.)

  “No, Mom. It’s our wedding. And we’re going to pay for as much of it as we can. If we need more help, we’ll ask you. I promise.

  “And don’t forget that we have two other people pitching in to help with the expenses. You and Dad are going to have two weddings for the price of one. Mike and Marlee are going to renew their vows at our wedding, so you and Dad’ll be able to see them married. We Skyped about it last night and they’re really excited. Mike is my brother,” Jenny explained to Tiffani, who was looking slightly confused.

  “Mark and I will be Marlee and Mike’s witnesses, and they’ll be ours, Mom. How cool is that?”

  My eyes brimmed. “Cool isn’t the word for it, Jenny. But what’s Skype?”

  Tiffani, Nancy and Jenny started to answer at the same time. “It’s like videoconferencing, Carol,” Nancy said, shaking her head at my lack of technology expertise. “I’ve used it myself for out-of-town real estate clients.”

  “Will this work?” I asked Tiffani. “How difficult will it be to plan a wedding for two different couples? Especially since one couple lives in Florida.

  “As a matter of fact,” I continued without waiting for an answer, “what about Marlee’s family? We’d certainly have to invite them. And we don’t even know where they live.”

  “No worries, Mom,” Jenny replied. “Marlee’s not in touch with her family at all. I gather there was some sort of falling out years ago, but she hasn’t given me any details. All she said is that she doesn’t want anyone from her family invited to the wedding.”

  That was good news. I guess. But mysterious, too. I filed that tidbit away to think about later.

  Tiffani was making rapid notes on her tablet computer. “I want to be clear about this. We’re
talking about two couples being married in the same ceremony. On Nantucket. Do you have a date in mind, Jenny? It’s September now. Summer weddings on Nantucket are lovely.”

  Jim would like that. Especially if the ceremony was on the beach. No tux, remember?

  “We don’t want to wait that long,” Jenny said. “We’d like to be married the beginning of December, during the Nantucket Stroll Weekend. Our marriage will be the only gift we’ll give each other for Christmas. And the only one we need.”

  A brief word of explanation may be in order here, in case any of you jump to the conclusion that Stroll Weekend consists of throngs of people crammed on Nantucket’s picturesque Main Street dancing wildly to that popular 50s song (and dance), “The Stroll,” by The Diamonds. Let me assure you no such activities are part of this annual event.

  Nantucket Stroll is held the first weekend in December, and is the official beginning of the island’s holiday season. There’s a holiday house tour, craft shows, Victorian carolers who serenade visitors all over town, the Festival of Trees, and a community carol sing. Santa and Mrs. Claus arrive via Coast Guard vessel at Straight Wharf, then parade up Main Street to the delight of children and adults alike.

  Tiffani and I reacted at the same time. “But that’s only three months away,” I protested. “I’ve always wanted to go to Stroll, but….”

  “I’m not sure I can pull something together that quickly,” Tiffani said. “Most brides plan at least a year ahead. Give me a minute to think.” My mind was whirling with all the things that had to be done. But I remained quiet. I hope you’re all proud of me.

  I snuck a look at my daughter, and her mouth was set in that stubborn line I know all too well. Which meant that her mind was made up, and that was that.

  Tiffani finally spoke. “The only way that we can make this work is to go to Nantucket this weekend and make decisions. We’ll need Mike and Marlee there, too. Is that possible?”

  Without waiting for an answer (I do like that trait in a person), she continued, “Meanwhile, I’ll send out some e-mails and make some calls. I think I can pull some strings and book rooms for everyone at Grey Gull Inn. The owners are colleagues of mine.”