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

by Susan Santangelo

  If you’ve known me for a while, you probably remember that I have trouble falling asleep in a strange bed. As a matter of fact, I often have trouble falling asleep in my own bed, especially if Jim is snoring his head off beside me.

  So you’ll be happy to know that I fell asleep almost instantly. That’s the good news.

  The bad news is, I didn’t stay asleep. After about 30 minutes – I could tell by checking the lighted dial on my cell phone – I was wide awake. And regretting with all my heart that I had decided to forego my nightly ritual.

  Because my bladder was calling me. And demanding attention. More and more.

  Rats.

  Well, what’s a (late) middle-aged woman to do, but obey the siren call? Even if she has to tread ever so carefully to a bathroom at the very end of a darkened hallway, and pass by a circular staircase that scared the daylights out of her.

  So I eased my way out of the comfortable warm bed, found my robe and slippers, grabbed my zipper travel case with my toothpaste and toothbrush, and carefully opened the door. The hallway was dimly lit, but I could see well enough to inch my way, with my back to the wall, toward my salvation. And I tried not to think of that lovely young woman who had lost her life on this very staircase so many years before.

  Below me, I heard the sound of the inn’s front door open, then close.

  Odd. Who’d be leaving the inn at this late hour?

  I admit it, I’m very curious. Some people – not naming names, you understand – even call me nosy. I couldn’t help myself. I took a cautious peek over the railing of the staircase.

  At first, I thought I was seeing things. A ghost, perhaps? But, no.

  At the bottom of the staircase lay the inert body of a woman. I could see from the angle of her head that she was dead. And she was wearing a wedding veil.

  Oh, my God! Jenny!

  Chapter 19

  Loose lips sink (friend) ships.

  Do you remember the Old Testament Bible story about Lot’s wife? She and Lot were fleeing from their home, and the Good Lord told her not to turn around or He would turn her into a pillar of salt. Well, of course, she turned around and – presto – salt! And, of course, she couldn’t move. Forever.

  Anyway, that story pretty much sums up the way I felt, looking over the banister of that creepy staircase at the body lying below. And in case you think I’m exaggerating, imagine how you’d feel if you thought it was your child’s body you were looking at. A parent’s worst nightmare come true.

  I could not move. Could not react at all. Could not cry out, or scream. I was just… paralyzed.

  And then I heard a sound from the shadows, near the front door. At first, I couldn’t make it out. I thought maybe it was a cat. Then, I realized it was a person. A person in terrible distress. Not crying, exactly. Keening. A word I’d never thought of before. But it fit the sound I heard, like none other in all my life.

  “Tiffani, oh my God, Tiffani. I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me. Don’t be dead.”

  What? Not Jenny, but Tiffani? Relief surged through my body. Not that I willed Tiffani dead, you understand.

  “Who’s there?” I called out into the darkness. Stupid move, I realized a second later. If this guy’s a murderer, what’s to prevent him from running up the stairs and killing you, too?

  A man stepped into the middle of the hallway, near the inert body. He looked up at me, terrified. I could see him clearly.

  It was Bob Green.

  I opened up my mouth to speak again, and he ran out the door of the inn.

  Then I did the only sensible thing I could, under the circumstances. I ran back to our room and woke up Jim.

  The next few hours passed in a blur. I remember running down the hall in the general direction of our room. But before I reached our door, Mark and Jenny’s opened and a very sleepy Fairport police detective said, “What’s going on, Carol? Is everything ok?”

  I remember babbling about getting up to use the bathroom, taking a quick look downstairs, and then, well, I lost it. My self-control, I mean. I cried all over Mark’s pajama top when I got to the part where I thought it was Jenny at the bottom of the stairs.

  By that time, Jim had appeared beside me, and Mark wordlessly turned me over to him and went down to the bottom of the stairs, where poor Tiffani lay.

  Jim held me in a tight hug, cradling me and telling me everything was going to be all right. Then Jenny appeared – safe and sound, thank God – and I lost it all over again.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I thought it was you at the bottom of the staircase,” I said, sobbing. “Oh, God, I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  Jenny threw her arms around Jim and me, and for a good minute the three of us just stood there together, hugging each other, being the precious family unit that we are.

  When my sobs finally subsided, Jenny asked me, “Mom, why did you think it was me?”

  I remembered the wedding veil, and poor Tiffani. And that creep, Bob Green, practically admitting he’d killed her.

  “Oh, God, poor Nancy,” I said, sniffling. “How will she ever get through this?”

  This brought on another round of sobs. (From me.) And even more questions (from Jim and Jenny).

  I had a flash of who-knows-what, and didn’t mention seeing Bob Green. After all, I could have been mistaken. Maybe.

  I think that by this time both Skip and JoAnn were in the hall with us. But I can’t swear to it. I remember Mark coming back, wearing his detective poker face, and ordering us all to a small second-floor sitting area.

  JoAnn immediately bristled. “What the hell is going on? My brother and I run this inn, not you. What gives you the right to order us around?” “There’s been a terrible accident,” Mark replied, showing great patience in dealing with the angry innkeeper. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her toward a chair. Firmly.

  Then, he addressed Skip. “Are there any other guests in this part of the inn?” Mark asked.

  A brief look of annoyance darkened Skip’s handsome face, but he recovered himself quickly. It appeared he’d gotten the people skills in the family.

  “There are guests in the new section of the inn. But Tiffani is the only other one in this wing. Her room is at the other end of the hallway. Where is she?” Skip asked, belatedly realizing she was not part of our group.

  Without answering Skip, Mark addressed JoAnn. “I’ve put in a call to the Nantucket police. Someone will be here any minute to examine the scene downstairs and take everyone’s statements. As I said before, it appears there’s been a terrible accident.

  “Tiffani is dead.”

  The siblings both started talking at once, peppering Mark with questions he couldn’t answer, poor guy. I felt sorry for him – coming to Nantucket to find the perfect place to marry Jenny, and being drawn into another mysterious death.

  Which, unfortunately, I was involved in as well.

  We all sat in the inn’s hallway for what seemed like hours, but what was, in reality, less than half an hour. I wanted to check out the police activity directly below us, but Mark had warned me, in no uncertain terms, to stay put.

  So, I did. After a quick trip to the bathroom, which, as you may recall, got me into this mess in the first place. I swear, I will never go to sleep without doing my nightly ritual again.

  I snuck a look at Skip. Although he was making an effort to be stoic, I saw tears in his eyes which he was unsuccessful in hiding.

  JoAnn, on the other hand, looked…well, to be kind, let’s just say that she wouldn’t be shedding any tears for Tiffani. Though, to give her credit, at one point I did see her give her brother’s hand a quick squeeze.

  Finally, the initial examination of the…corpse…was complete, and Tiffani was placed on a gurney and moved to a waiting emergency vehicle. I didn’t know if Nantucket had a morgue – not something that would be on an ordinary tourist’s sightseeing tour. Maybe they’d take her off-island to do…whatever they were going to do.

  I
was so tired. I leaned back against the back of the chair and started to close my eyes and drift off to a wonderful place. And then I heard my name called.

  Lucky me. I was the first to be interviewed. Jim gave me a big hug before I headed downstairs. “Now, don’t be nervous, Carol. They’re just doing their job. I imagine they’ll spend a lot of time with you because you’re the person who discovered…ah…Tiffani.”

  Don’t be nervous, hah! That was easy for him to say.

  “Don’t volunteer any additional information,” Mark cautioned me. “Just answer the questions as clearly and briefly as you can. And above all,” he gave me a piercing look, “don’t start talking about your own limited experience solving murders, offer to help in the investigation, or ask the police your own questions.

  “Got that, Carol?” Humph. I was insulted.

  Of course, I wasn’t going to interfere.

  The Nantucket police had set up shop in JoAnn and Skip’s office, adjacent to the inn’s lobby. I knocked timidly, then heard a female voice call, “Come in.”

  Well, a woman. That boded well. I wasn’t as nervous now.

  “I’m Detective Sweet,” the woman said, gesturing me to a chair in front of JoAnn’s desk. “I just want to ask you a few questions about what you saw tonight. I’m sure you’re exhausted, and upset, and I don’t want to add to your stress. But it’s important for us to get your impressions right away, while the event is still fresh in your mind.”

  I tried not to be flippant, but I couldn’t help but respond, “Believe me, Detective Sweet, the event will be fresh in my mind forever. I was absolutely terrified. I was afraid I was looking down on my daughter’s body.”

  Detective Sweet remained silent. I guess she was waiting for me to continue my story about the night’s terrible events. But, if you know me, it won’t surprise you that I (stupidly) steered the conversation in another direction.

  “Do you have children, Detective Sweet?” I heard myself saying. Oops. I didn’t mean to do that. Ask her a question, right off the bat, I mean. But I just couldn’t help myself. I felt so much more at ease talking to another woman than a man.

  By the way, I should tell you that my first impression of Detective Sweet was of a no-nonsense woman in her late fifties. In fact, she reminded me of one of my very favorite actresses, Helen Mirren.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you look like that British actress, Helen Mirren? I just love her. I remember her in The Queen. She gave a wonderful performance. I think she won an Academy Award for that movie.”

  Detective Sweet gave me a look. The kind that I’ve been known to use to strike fear into my kids when they were small and had done something wrong.

  I got the message. Just the facts. ma’am.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Detective Sweet. I guess I’m nervous. Or maybe I’m in shock. Unfortunately, when I’m nervous, I tend to talk and make no sense whatsoever. I promise, I’ll just stick to answering your questions from now on.”

  She gave me a thin-lipped smile and addressed another detective who was sitting in the shadows behind me. “Do not write any part of this previous exchange down, Patrolman Bennett. We’re going to begin the official questioning now.”

  Then, to me, “Please, Mrs. Andrews, tell me everything you saw, even if you think it isn’t important.”

  So, I did. I started with meeting Tiffani at the bridal show, how she’d been hired by Jenny and Mark to organize their wedding, how we were here on Nantucket looking for a place to have the wedding, and so on. And so on.

  I didn’t share my observations about Tiffani’s busy love life, however. And I didn’t mention anything about Bob Green and his involvement with Tiffani. (I hope I get points for that.)

  I had to tell Detective Sweet that I thought I saw a man standing over Tiffani’s body. I had no idea who he was. And it was dark. I was upset. My eyes could have been playing tricks on me.

  I was so vague when I got to this part that I almost convinced myself

  I hadn’t seen anyone.

  I hoped Detective Sweet believed me, and wouldn’t ask me any more questions about that part. And I really hoped I wasn’t helping a murderer escape.

  I know. I was being stupid.

  By the time I reached the end of my story, I noticed that Detective Sweet’s eyes were glazed over. Well, she had asked me to tell her everything I saw. That took a while. I looked at my watch, and realized I’d been talking for half an hour.

  Detective Sweet leaned forward in the office chair and clasped her hands together. For a minute, I thought she was going to give me a round of applause for being such an observant – and thorough – witness.

  Instead, she said, with just a hint of irony, “You certainly don’t mince words, do you, Mrs. Andrews? I’m not sure Patrolman Bennett was able to keep up with your story.”

  I decided to take her remark as a compliment, although most of me knew she didn’t mean it that way.

  “Let’s go back to one thing that you said. Are you absolutely sure that you can’t identify the man you think you saw in the lobby tonight? I know you said he was in the shadows. It’s very important that you think back and remember if you got even a quick glimpse of his face. Whoever he is, he has to still be on Nantucket, unless he has his own boat or plane. Because the regular ferry and air service doesn’t start again for several hours. If nothing else, he could be a material witness to what happened here. We need to bring him in for questioning.”

  Rats. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching car. What could I do? I had to tell the truth.

  I cleared my throat, stalling for time.

  Ignoring the fact that I had been maid of honor at his wedding to my very best friend more than thirty years ago, I heard myself say, “It’s possible that I did get a quick glimpse of the man’s face. But everything happened so fast. I may be wrong.”

  Detective Sweet nodded at me, encouraging me to go on.

  “Well, the man looked very much like Bob Green, someone I know well. From Fairport, Connecticut. That’s where I live with my family. Bob is married to my very best friend Nancy. They live in Fairport, too. In fact, I was the maid of honor at their wedding years ago. But it was so dark, I can’t tell you for sure that it was Bob I saw, or if I really saw anyone.”

  I licked my lips. When did they get so dry?

  “In fact, I’m probably wrong. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to accuse anyone.

  “In case I’m wrong,” I repeated weakly.

  Detective Sweet looked at me like she knew exactly why I was waffling in my answer. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Andrews. We just want to talk to Mr. Green. It’s very possible that he saw something tonight that could help us in this investigation. I’ll need a description of him from you. We need to find him immediately and bring him in for questioning. He’s not being accused of anything.” Yet.

  I guess that Detective Sweet was trying to ease my conscience. But it didn’t work.

  I wondered if this was how Judas felt?

  Chapter 20

  If 60 is the new 40, is size 14 the new size 6?

  When Jim and I dragged ourselves into the Grey Gull Inn dining room the following morning – no, correction, later the same morning – just a few people were still having their breakfast. As we walked through the room, I could hear the other guests whispering about us.

  “That’s the woman who found the dead body,” said one man to his breakfast companion.

  “If I found a dead body, I don’t think I could face food for a year. How can she be hungry now?” was the rude response from his tablemate. “Ignore them,” Jim said, squeezing my elbow and guiding me toward a table in the corner of the dining room.

  I was surprised that he’d heard a whispered comment from the other side of the dining room. He never heard me when I asked him to take out the garbage, even when we were both in the same room.

  Skip came through the swinging doors from the kitchen. He was in even worse shape
than I was. In fact, he looked like he hadn’t gotten to bed at all. A day’s worth of stubble was on his face.

  On Skip, however, the scruffy look was attractive. Not like when Jim doesn’t shave for a few days. Of course, Jim’s unshaven look was usually paired with baggy sweatpants and a stained sweater with holes in the elbows. Clothes that most wives dream of throwing away when hubby isn’t paying attention. And usually get caught doing it.

  Skip arrived at our table bearing a coffee carafe in one hand and a plate of fresh muffins in the other. Everything smelled terrific and I could feel my taste buds – my whole body – perk up. (Sorry about the pun.)

  So, sue me. No matter what happens, it doesn’t diminish my appetite. As my waistline constantly reminded me.

  Skip plunked the carafe down in front of Jim, spilling a few drops of coffee on the snowy white tablecloth. I noticed his hands were shaking. “Helluva night,” he said. “Helluva thing to happen.” Skip’s eyes glistened. I could see he was having trouble keeping his emotions in check.

  Jim gestured for Skip to join us, and he smiled gratefully.

  “JoAnn and I are trying to keep things as normal as possible here at the inn,” Skip said. “We haven’t told the other guests too much about what happened to…Tiffani.” His voice broke when he said her name. “Just that there was a terrible accident, and someone died.”

  “Someone must have mentioned that Carol was the person who discovered Tiffani,” Jim said. “As soon as we walked into the dining room this morning, other guests started buzzing about her.”

  “It was very embarrassing,” I added. “And upsetting.” Normally, I enjoy being a center of attention. But not in this particular instance. “I’m sorry that happened,” Skip said in a low tone. “We tried to keep the details private. Detective Sweet insisted on discretion while the police investigate what happened. But we had to tell the other guests something, especially if the police are going to be around here asking questions.”