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

by Susan Santangelo

  “I really need your help about the wedding. Especially if we’re going to do it here at home.”

  Motherly advice – well, advice of all kinds – is my specialty. But only when asked for it. Of course.

  Jenny made me a plate with small samples from four different casseroles. The aroma was heavenly. Lucy and Ethel immediately assumed their begging position, right next to my chair.

  “None for you, kids,” I said. “This is people food.”

  I tossed them each a biscuit, which momentarily satisfied them. “They’re all chicken recipes,” Jenny explained, pulling up a chair to join me at the kitchen table. “Mark loves chicken. But I don’t want to serve plain old boring baked chicken all the time.”

  Why not? It’s always worked for me.

  I didn’t really say that, of course.

  I flashed back to the early days of my marriage, when I was a young bride, eager to impress my new husband with my cooking prowess. That incentive wore off pretty quickly, after I figured out that Jim would eat just about anything as long as there was plenty of it.

  “All of these are delicious, honey,” I said after I’d sampled a little of each recipe. “Do you do take-out?”

  “Good one, Mom. I’ll leave you some of each for supper tonight.” Jenny said. “Actually, the food is a bribe, because I really need to talk to you.”

  Then, to my complete surprise, my usually level-headed daughter burst into tears. “I am so stressed about this wedding. And now, with Tiffani gone, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I wanted it to be perfect. Now all the plans are ruined. And if it’s going to be here, there’s so much to get done and not a lot of time to do it.

  “Plus, Mike and Marlee dropping out of the wedding was a real blow. I never expected that,” Jenny went on, drying her eyes with a napkin I handed to her. “I know how much seeing Mike renew his wedding vows meant to you and Dad.”

  “Maybe they’ll do it another time,” I said, trying to convince myself as well as Jenny.

  “I can’t be critical of their reasoning,” I said, proud of myself for appearing so selfless. Even if it wasn’t true. “They didn’t want to upstage you and Mark on your big day.”

  “That’s what they told us, Mom,” Jenny said. “But I think there’s a whole lot more going on there than any of us know about. I even called them when Mark and I got back to the condo to try and reason with them, but it was no go. Marlee wouldn’t even come to the phone. I thought that if we had a joint ceremony, it would make Marlee feel more like a part of our family. At first, I thought she was just shy. But now I think you could be right. She doesn’t want to be part of our family.”

  No way was I going to add my two cents to this conversation, even if Jenny was voicing a lot of my own feelings. Instead, I addressed the wedding itself.

  “First of all, Mike and Marlee will be here for your wedding. They’ve promised to still be your witnesses. And that’s definitely a family bonding time. So let’s see what happens then, ok?

  “And, sweetie, every bride gets stressed before the wedding,” I went on. “But it will be perfect. You’ll see. You and Mark must have talked about what kind of a ceremony you’d like. And, maybe, if it’s at home, we can invite some of our friends.”

  Oops. Freudian slip there.

  “I meant, invite some of your friends,” I said, hoping Jenny didn’t realize what I’d said. “And have you given any thought to a wedding gown? You’re right, there’s not a lot of time to spare if you still want to be married in early December.”

  And I have a beautiful wedding gown, worn only once by a bride named Carol many years ago, that’d look perfect on you, with only a few minor alterations.

  I didn’t really say that last part. Of course.

  But what mother doesn’t dream of having her daughter married in a family heirloom?

  “The dress is the least of my worries now,” Jenny said. “I’ll figure something out. And as far as getting input from Mark, he’s no help at all. I don’t mean to criticize him. He’s such a good guy and I love him so much. But he keeps telling me to do whatever I want and anything I decide will be fine with him.

  “And to calm down. In fact….Well, never mind about that.” “In fact, what?” I asked.

  “Well, he told me I was getting more like you every day.”

  At my outraged look, Jenny hastened to explain. “You do tend to let things get to you, and you overreact a lot, Mom. You can’t deny it.”

  “Well, it’s true that I’m very emotional,” I admitted. “Especially when it comes to the people I love. And I get angry when people try to spare my feelings because they’re afraid I’ll overreact. Just like I’m sure you’re doing right now.

  “Am I right? You’ve got something else on your mind, and you’re afraid to tell me.” I crossed my heart and held up my right hand. “I swear I’ll be good, and won’t interrupt or overreact. So, what gives? It’s more than Tiffani’s death and being stressed about the wedding, isn’t it? ”

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Jenny responded. “But I think two of my students have a crush on me. It’s really bothering me.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” I said. “Any why wouldn’t anyone have a crush on you? You’re pretty, bright, articulate, caring….What?” I asked as Jenny raised her hand to silence me.

  “You don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you, Mom. I think two of my students are taking turns stalking me.”

  Chapter 27

  I shrink from confrontation. That’s why I’m only two feet tall.

  “Stalking you? You mean, following you? My God, Jenny, you have to tell Mark about this. Who are they? Can you report them to someone at the college?”

  My mind was whirling with all sorts of possible scenarios, none of them good.

  “I think I know who they are,” Jenny admitted. “And when I say, ‘stalking,’ I don’t mean someone following me around the campus, or following me home. It’s much more subtle than that.

  “As a matter of fact, just saying it out loud makes me realize how crazy this is. You’re the first person I’ve said anything to, and you’ll be the last. I’m sure I’m just imagining things because I’m so stressed about the wedding.”

  “Jenny, you are the most level-headed young woman I know. In fact, sometimes, I wonder if you’re really my biological daughter! You think things through logically, just like your father does. You’re the last person I’d think of who’d imagine something like this. Now, tell me what’s going on, and don’t leave anything out.”

  “Honestly, Mom, I’m sure it’s all my imagination.”

  I glared at my daughter. “You’re too old for me to send you to your room without your supper. Especially since you brought supper, and don’t live here anymore,” I added, trying to lighten the situation a little.

  “But, honey, if you think somebody’s stalking you, that’s serious. Dangerous. Nothing to fool around with. Now, tell me everything. I’m not letting up on you until you do. Because I love you.”

  “I know you love me, Mom,” Jenny said. “And I love you, too.”

  She sighed deeply. “All right. But you have to promise not to talk to anybody else about this. Not Dad. And especially, not Mark. I’m a big girl now, and it’s up to me to decide what I want to do about it. Assuming there really is something going on. But there probably isn’t.

  “Oh, hell,” said Jenny, running her hands through her hair in a gesture of frustration.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she began again. “But since the new semester began in late August, I’ve had an influx of older students in my Intro to English Lit class. That’s the basic one every Humanities student has to take.”

  I nodded my head, encouraging her to go on.

  “Alternative students can audit the class, too. I’ve often had folks from the Lifelong Learners program attend, and the mix of ages usually works out great. There are two men from Lifelong Learners in my morning class this semester,
Bert Johnson and Ernie Smith.”

  “Bert and Ernie?” I questioned. “Like on Sesame Street?”

  I could tell from the look my daughter gave me that I should have kept my stupid remark to myself. This was no time for making jokes.

  “I’m sorry, Jenny. Sometimes my mouth has a mind of its own. If you know what I mean.” I gave her a hug. “Go on, sweetie.”

  “Well,” Jenny said, “I guess Mr. Johnson and Mr. Smith must be well over seventy. Honest to goodness, even though they have different last names, they look enough alike to be twins. They even dress alike. And they’re both bald.”

  “Mike used to call that ‘a center part gone wild,’ remember, Jenny?” I interjected. “That was funny until your father started to develop one.” That remark got a quick smile from Jenny, but then she got right back to her story. “It’s really weird how both these guys make such an effort to look alike,” she said. “If you saw them together, you couldn’t tell them apart, either. Except for the fact that Ernie always wears a blue tee-shirt and Bert wears an identical one in red.”

  “I get the picture,” I said. “They sound eccentric to me.”

  “They’re odd, Mom, not eccentric,” Jenny countered. “But they seemed harmless. At least, that’s what I thought when the class started. But as the semester progressed, I realized that they’d started competing with each other to see which of them got to sit in the first row, closest to my desk. And every so often, when I came into the classroom, there was a little gift on my desk. The first one was a bottle of water. I didn’t think much about it. But later, I remembered that the day before, I’d forgotten to bring water and I had a real coughing fit while I was teaching.”

  “A bottle of water doesn’t sound threatening,” I said. Then, a terrible thought struck me.

  “The seal wasn’t broken, was it? You hear so much about things like that being tampered with these days.”

  Jenny looked at me like I was crazy. “No, Mom. The bottle was brand new.

  “Anyway, I figured it was either Ernie or Bert who’d brought me the water, but didn’t want to point them out in front of everybody. So I gave a sort of ‘general thank you’ to the whole class. And then I forgot about it. Until the next class, when I found a fresh bottle of water and a yogurt on my desk. With a plastic spoon. And on and on. Every Intro class, there was a little anonymous gift on my desk. It began to make me uncomfortable.

  “I suppose none of this is making any sense.”

  “It doesn’t have to make any sense, honey. Go on,” I said.

  “Well, for a few weeks, nothing new happened,” Jenny said. “The gifts continued, but it was the same sort of stuff. Bottled water. Yogurt. Sometimes, even a candy bar. Harmless, I guess. Thoughtful, even.

  “But that all changed after I announced my engagement to Mark. I suppose you’re going to say I shouldn’t have done that, but I was wearing an engagement ring…” she flashed her ring finger at me…”and it was pretty obvious something was up. Plus, I was excited about it. I wanted to tell the world how happy I was. Do you know what I mean?”

  I covered her hand with mine. “Of course, I do, honey. Then what happened?”

  “All of a sudden, the gifts stopped. And the two old men…sorry, Mom, no offense, but they are old… anyway, the two old men stopped coming to class. Just like that. It was too bad, because I think they were really enjoying the learning experience. And being with the other students.”

  “And…” I prompted.

  “And, well, I have the darndest feeling that they’re watching me. Even though they’re not in my class any more. I go out to the parking lot, for instance, and I see one of them walking to his car, at the same time I am. It happens a lot. It certainly could be a coincidence, but it’s beginning to freak me out. I’ll bet you think I’m crazy.

  “And they may be watching me online, too. I’ve had a few creepy e-mail messages lately. In fact, ever since I hooked up with Cinderella Weddings, some of my messages have gotten weird. I delete them, of course.”

  “What kind of e-mail messages?” I asked.

  “Lots of spam messages that seem to be from other wedding vendors, for example,” Jenny said. “Florists, caterers, disk jockeys – you name it. They’re from all over the country. It made me wonder if Cinderella Weddings sells their client list.”

  “That’s outrageous,” I said. “Did you ask Tiffani about these e-mails?” Mentioning Tiffani’s name was enough to reduce Jenny to tears again. And I have to admit that my own eyes were damp, too. Spam e-mails turned out to be the least of poor Tiffani’s problems.

  “I feel so much better finally telling someone about this,” Jenny said, finally getting control of herself. “I’m sure all this wedding stuff is making my imagination work overtime. The more I talk about it, the crazier it sounds. Thanks for letting me sound off, Mom.”

  “I’m trying hard not to overreact, honey,” I said, proud of myself for not taking my usually sensible daughter by her shoulder blades and shaking some sense into her. “Like I sometimes do.

  “But.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes at me. “I just knew there’d be a ‘but’ coming.” “But,” I continued, “even though these two men may mean no harm,

  I think you should report them to the campus security office. Especially if you don’t plan on telling Mark about them.”

  Which I think is a big mistake.

  I didn’t say that last part, of course.

  Jenny flashed me a grin. “That’s a great idea, Mom. I thought of that myself, but I decided to talk you first. I’ll do it as soon as I get back to campus.”

  She gave me a hug, which was meant to be reassuring. I just wasn’t sure which one of us was reassuring the other.

  “Time to change the subject,” Jenny said. “What else is going on, Mom? Have you had a chance to talk to Nancy yet about Bob? How did she react?” She bent down and gave Lucy a small piece of chicken.

  “Don’t think I didn’t see that,” I said. “Now you have to give Ethel one, too, or she’ll make our lives miserable. You know that she’s really the worse beggar of the pair.”

  “I already did, Mom,” said Jenny. “You just didn’t catch me doing it. Now, what about Nancy?”

  “It was the strangest conversation I’ve had in a long time,” I said. “I was so nervous about telling her that Tiffani had died, and that Bob was suspected of causing her death. I still can’t bring myself to use the word ‘murder.’ But Bob had already called her. He’s in the Barnstable House of Correction, on Cape Cod.

  “According to Nancy, he spent a lot of the conversation crying over Tiffani’s death. And then he asked her to help him clear his name.

  He insists he’s innocent. And…you won’t believe this, Jenny…Nancy’s decided to let him cool his heels in jail for a while. I couldn’t believe it. The poor guy. I know he’s hurt her. Well, he’s been a real creep. I can’t imagine going through that myself. But to punish him by letting him rot in jail for a crime that he obviously didn’t commit, well, I can’t believe Nancy would ever be so cruel. Bob begged her to come to the Cape tonight. And she refused. You won’t believe why.”

  “I already know what Nancy’s doing tonight,” Jenny said. “She has a big date with some guy she met on Dream Dates.”

  I looked at my daughter in utter astonishment. “How the heck do you know that?”

  “Mom,” Jenny said with great patience, “it was on her Facebook page.”

  Chapter 28

  Has anyone seen my get-up and go? When I wasn’t looking, it just got up and left.

  Keeping tabs on Nancy’s dating life, despite its possible entertainment value, was at the bottom of my to-do list. Right up at the top was Jenny and her safety. So I didn’t let her leave without extracting a solemn promise that she would notify campus security immediately about her possible geriatric stalkers.

  Jenny swore to me that she would. And I swore back to her that I would check up on her to be sure she did. One look at m
e and she knew I wasn’t kidding. The guards may not have the clout of our Fairport police force, but they were better than nothing at all. (In my college days, we used to refer to them as rent-a-cops.)

  It was crystal clear to me how I’d be spending my time for the rest of the day. I had many things to check out, and using the Internet was the quickest way to do it.

  I also had to stop by Mary Alice’s – again – and pick up the dogs’ crates and other assorted slumber party gear. To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about that errand, but Lucy reminded me by pacing in the very spot in the kitchen where her crate usually stood. She would stop and give me that doggy stare, until she was sure I was paying attention. Then go back to pacing again.

  “I get the message, Luce,” I said. “And I promise I’ll get your stuff. But you’ll have to wait a while. You heard what Jenny said. We have to do what we can to keep her safe.”

  Lucy sighed deeply, gave me another doggy look, and went to lie in a patch of sunlight. I wasn’t sure if she was sighing because she was worried about Jenny, or if she was resigned to the fact that, for now, she and Ethel had to take a back seat to human needs.

  I decided not to ask her, because I didn’t want to hear her answer.

  I’m learning, slowly but surely, that I can find anything (or anyone) on the Internet, as long as I put in the proper search words. Of course, going through page after page of possibilities until I finally hit pay dirt can be very frustrating. And I’m not the most patient person in the world.

  But you already knew that, didn’t you?

  Anyway, I started my search for the Geezer Stalkers – in my mind, they were already in capital letters – with the Internet’s answer to the telephone book, Switchboard.com.

  Unfortunately, there were four listings for Bert Johnson in Fairport. Plus one listing for B. Johnson (I figured that one was a woman who didn’t want her identity revealed for safety’s sake), and two more for Bertrand Johnson.

  Rats. This wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.