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

by Susan Santangelo

  “So she knew the identity of her stalker?” I asked. “If I’m right about Jenny, and I pray I’m not, there’s no way we could figure out who the stalker is.”

  Even though Bert Johnson paid an unexpected visit to me this morning.

  “None of the members of the book club used real names, Carol. They all assumed the pen name of their favorite writer. So it was very difficult for the authorities to track down the stalker.

  “And just when my client thought the stalking was over, she’d get another threatening message from another e-mail address. These cyberstalkers are clever. They change their addresses frequently so they can’t be traced. My client did figure out that her stalker had a pattern, though. He or she used book titles to stalk her. Under the guise of suggested books she should read. And as the stalking went on, the titles got more and more pornographic and violent.”

  Deanna had progressed to the haircut part of my appointment, and I was trying hard to sit still while she worked. But it wasn’t easy.

  “There sure are a lot of weird people in the world today,” I said, trying to process all I’d learned without scaring myself to death. “What happened with your client?” I asked, praying that there was a happy ending to this story.

  “The book club dissolved,” Deanna said. “And once that happened, the stalking stopped.”

  I pondered this information in silence while Deanna finished cutting my hair. I didn’t want to disturb her concentration.

  “I’m the one who’s come up with the theory that Tiffani was mistaken for Jenny, and that’s why Tiffani died,” I confessed. “But Tiffani was being stalked at one time by a dissatisfied client, and it escalated into cyberstalking. I could be completely off base about this.” I admitted. “You know how I can get.”

  “You’re a mother, Carol,” Deanna said. “It’s natural to worry about your kids. No matter how old they are.”

  “Jenny’s worried about two elderly men in one of her classes,” I said as Deanna reached for her hair dryer and prepared to blast me with it. “She told me that every time she goes out to her car, one of them seems to be there. Watching her. She said it’s creepy. I told her to report it to campus security immediately. I hope she’s done that. She didn’t want to tell Mark, even though he’s a police detective, because she knew he’d get upset.

  “I think that was a mistake.”

  I wasn’t telling Deanna the whole truth. I was embarrassed to admit that Jenny didn’t want to tell Mark about the possible stalkers because she was afraid he’d tell her she was overreacting.

  Just like her mother.

  “You can’t force her to tell Mark,” Deanna said. “But I agree with you. He should know. Especially since he’s on the police force. And keeping a secret like that isn’t a good way to start out in marriage. Believe me, I know about that.”

  I looked at her, surprised.

  “I’ll tell you about that some other time,” Deanna said. “My next appointment is due any minute now, so I have to finish you up.”

  She picked up the styling brush and the dryer. “Does Jenny know who the two old men are?”

  “She said their names are Bert Johnson and Ernie Smith. I actually met Bert, and he seemed very nice. And our dog Lucy really loved him.” “I don’t know Ernie Smith, but Bert Johnson is the absolute salt of the earth,” Deanna said. “There’s no way he could be a stalker. He’s one of the truly good guys. He was so helpful to me when the salon was broken into. You remember when that happened, right Carol?”

  I searched my memory bank and came up empty.

  “Nope,” I said. “I didn’t realize you’d had a break-in. When did it happen?”

  “It was over five years ago. You must have been going to that other hair salon at the time.”

  Point taken. I was properly chagrined. “I’m so glad I switched to you when I did, Deanna,” I said, proclaiming my loyalty loud and clear. “But I don’t understand why Bert Johnson was so helpful. Did he have a store near here?”

  “No, silly,” Deanna said, looking at me like I was the stupidest person in the world. “I’m sure Mark knows Bert, too. He’s a retired Fairport police officer.”

  Chapter 40

  Chocolate won’t solve anything, but it’s a good place to start.

  Deanna had given me so much to think about that I don’t remember much about the drive home. I was chewing over the surprising information that Bert Johnson had been a Fairport policeman when my cell phone sprang to life.

  Mindful of the Connecticut traffic laws – police can ticket someone for texting or talking on a cell phone while driving, and it would be just my luck to be the only person in the state to get caught – I cruised over to the curb and put the car in Park. I didn’t want to take the chance that Mike was calling me and I missed him.

  Instead of the voice of my darling son, I heard Nancy shrieking at me. “Are you there? Pick up, Carol. This is important.”

  I had to excuse her tone. I knew from personal experience that having one’s husband in jail tends to put a person on edge.

  “I’m here. What’s up?”

  “Four sets of eyes are definitely better than one, don’t you agree?” Nancy said. “Especially at our age.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?” I asked.

  “I’m on my way to your house right now. Claire and Mary Alice are going to meet me there, so I hope you’re home. I have a sketch Bob made of the person he swears he saw leaving the Grey Gull Inn the night Tiffani died. We’re all going to look at it and figure out who the hell it is.”

  Then she clicked off, leaving me holding a dead cellphone.

  Rats. If Jim was home, he’d read me the riot act over this. And he’d be right. Besides, I had pressing things of my own to do, like protecting my daughter, for example.

  “That Nancy!” I said, putting the car back into Drive and making the four-block drive to my home in record time. “She thinks everybody should drop everything just because she needs help.”

  I conveniently overlooked the fact that I am guilty of the same sin. Much more often than Nancy.

  I barely had time to get into the kitchen myself before Nancy arrived. “I know we’re all going to figure this out,” she said, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go into the office and I’ll show you what I’ve got before the others get here.”

  “Hold on, Nancy,” I said. This was still my house, after all, and I wasn’t going to let her steamroller me, even if she was my very best friend. “I need to find out if Jim’s home before we get going on this sketch of yours.”

  Nancy snatched a sticky note off one of the kitchen cabinets and waved it under my nose. “He says he’s at a Board of Ed budget hearing that’ll probably go late tonight so go ahead and eat without him.”

  Sheesh.

  “Thanks for telling me where my husband is,” I said, grabbing the note and reading it for myself. I scanned the rest of it quickly. “What a sweetie Jim is. He fed Lucy and Ethel before he left.”

  “Perfect,” said Nancy, propelling me toward the office. “Nothing to interrupt us. Let me show you the sketch.”

  “As long as we’re having a crime-solvers meeting,” I said, “I have a few things to put on the agenda myself. Like the possibility that Jenny was the intended victim, not Tiffani.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Nancy shot back. “Bob would never hurt

  Jenny.” She paused. “Of course, he didn’t harm Tiffani, either. But I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Who’d want to hurt Jenny, for heaven’s sake?”

  “I have no idea,” I said truthfully, “but it occurred to me this afternoon that maybe we were looking at this all wrong. Remember, I told you about Tiffani and Melody the cyberstalker? ”

  Nancy nodded. “But I still don’t see what that has to do with Jenny. Besides, Bob swears the person he saw leaving the Grey Gull Inn was definitely a man. So it couldn’t have been Melody. Unless she had a pretty good disguise, which is ridiculous.”


  This whole thing was getting ridiculous, if you asked me. In a very scary way. Any normal mother-of-the-bride had to contend with seating charts and dress colors. I had to contend with murder and mayhem. (Only a slight exaggeration.)

  I was starting to explain my theory in more detail when I heard Mary

  Alice’s voice. “We’re in the office,” I called out.

  “Claire’s right behind me,” Mary Alice said. “What’s the emergency? I almost got a speeding ticket on the way over here.”

  “Nancy wants us all to look at a sketch that Bob did. It’s of the person he claims he saw leaving the Grey Gull Inn just before he found Tiffani’s body.”

  “He doesn’t claim he saw this person, Carol,” Nancy huffed. “He saw this person.” Whatever.

  I was focused on my daughter’s safety, so while we waited for Claire, I booted up the computer and went to Jenny’s Facebook page. Maybe looking at the Nantucket pictures she’d posted would jar something loose in my brain.

  “I’m here,” yelled Claire. “And I have chocolate ice cream sundaes with extra fudge sauce. A sugar high always makes us think better, especially since we don’t have to worry about blemishes anymore.”

  “No, just extra girth around the middle,” I said, snatching one of the sundaes before it melted. I licked my lips. “Dinner tonight.”

  “Nothing better,” agreed Nancy. “Now, can we get down to business, please? Here’s the sketch. What do you think?”

  She smoothed out the paper and the rest of us gathered around to take a close look.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever seen before,” said Claire. “Sorry.” “There’s something familiar about his eyes,” said Mary Alice. “But I could be wrong.”

  I squinted and stared at the face. “Mary Alice is right. There’s something about the eyes. But I just can’t figure out what it is.”

  “Let’s take an ice cream break and then come back and look at it again,” Claire suggested. She patted Nancy’s hand. “We’ll figure something out to help Bob. Don’t worry.”

  Time to get to the topic that was uppermost on my mind.

  “While we’re having our ice cream…thanks, Claire, for bringing it….”

  I cleared my throat and began again. “What if the intended victim wasn’t Tiffani at all? What if it was really Jenny? I’ve been doing some research on cyberstalking, and I found out it’s much more common than most people realize. And a lot harder to trace. Deanna told me it happened to one of her clients, and the client was scared to death.”

  Everybody started talking at once. One of the disadvantages of an all-female detective team.

  “Hold it,” I said. “Before you all tell me I’m overreacting, again, let’s take a quick look at Jenny’s Facebook page. She posted a few pictures of our Nantucket trip on it. Maybe there’s something there.”

  I clicked on the first photo, which showed Nantucket Airport with a laughing Jenny standing in front of the building. She was pointing to the “Welcome to Nantucket” sign. The next few shots were of the Grey Gull Inn.

  “What a lovely place,” Claire said, leaning over my shoulder for a better look.

  “With delicious food,” I added. “And it’s in a terrific location, right near the center of town.”

  I realized I was getting off track again.

  “There are a few more pictures to look at. Humor me, ok?” I asked. Lucy and Ethel chose that moment to make an entrance, and I scurried to move the chocolate sundaes out of their reach before they could help themselves to a few licks. Chocolate is very dangerous for dogs.

  Lucy gave me a dirty look, and attempted to climb up on my lap. “Oof,” I said, lifting her up, “we need to cut down on the dog biscuits, kid. You’re getting too heavy.”

  Lucy settled in my lap, and I swear she was looking at the computer screen. Who knows? Maybe she and Ethel go on line when Jim and I aren’t home. Then she sighed, and closed her eyes.

  “Here’s one of all of you in front of the Whaling Museum,” Nancy said. “Tiffani is on the far left,” she added for the benefit of Mary Alice and Claire. “Looking at her in this photo, and knowing that in just a few hours she’ll be dead, makes me feel so sorry for her.

  “Even though she ruined my marriage.”

  “It’s a good picture of all of you,” Claire said. She squinted a little more at the computer screen. “Too bad there’s some strange man in it. See him, just around the corner? Maybe he can be cropped out of the photo. And what the heck is he doing?”

  Instead of focusing on the picture in front of the Whaling Museum, my own eyes were riveted to at least 25 posts on Jenny’s page that hadn’t been there the last time I checked. All the posts were song titles from someone who called himself DeeJay Daddy, and were suggested songs that Jenny and Mark could dance to on their wedding day:

  “Silhouettes” (On The Shade) (The Rays); “You Belong To Me,” (Carly Simon); “Private Eyes Are Watching You” (Hall & Oates); “One Way Or The Other” (Blondie); “Every Breath You Take” (Police); “Can’t Stand Losing You” (Police); “Can’t Get Used To Losing You” (Andy Williams); “Run For Your Life” (The Beatles); (I Would Walk) “500 Miles” (The Proclaimers); “Girl Watcher” (O Kaysions); “I Will Follow” (U 2); “I Want You Back” (N’ Sync); “Creepin Up On You” (Darren Hayes); “Never Gonna Give You Up” (Rick Astley); “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head” (Kylie Minogue); “Follow You Home” (Nickelback); “Two Steps Behind” (Def Leppard); “Stalker” (Goldfinger); “I’m Gonna Love You Forever” (Jessica Simpson); “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do” (Neil Sedaka); “Right Here Waiting For You” (Richard Marx); “Cherish” (The Association); (Everything I Do) “I Do For You” (Bryan Adams); “Don’t You Forget About Me” (Simple Minds); “Happy Together” (The Turtles); “Hopelessly Devoted To You” (Olivia Newton John); “Can’t Smile Without You” (Barry Manilow). “My Eyes Adored You” (Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons); “I’m Walking Behind You” (On Your Wedding Day) (Frank Sinatra.).

  “I love these songs,” Nancy said. “I remember dancing to some of them when we were in high school.”

  I had a completely different reaction.

  Individually, each of the songs was innocuous. I even liked most of them. But, put together, they sent a horrible message. A message that someone was threatening Jenny by sending her a list of stalking songs.

  I felt as scared at that moment as I’d been that terrible night on Nantucket, when I thought the dead woman was my daughter.

  I forced my heart rate to slow down, and looked at the picture Claire was talking about. She was right. There was a man directly around the corner from us, flattened against the wall of the Whaling Museum. He was leaning forward, in our direction. It looked like he was trying to overhear what we were saying.

  I must have shifted in my chair and woke up Lucy, because the next thing I knew, I heard a low growl.

  Then, all hell broke loose.

  Lucy started pawing at the computer screen, barking and growling. She was completely out of control.

  “What’s the matter with you, Luce?” I said. “You’ve never acted like this before.”

  Mary Alice and Nancy backed away from her. “She won’t hurt you,” I said. “But she certainly is upset.”

  The next thing I knew, Ethel – that’s right, Ethel, who never makes a move without Lucy’s permission – began tearing around the house, running from room to room like a nut case.

  “Stop her,” screamed Nancy. “She’s got Bob’s sketch in her mouth. I don’t have any copies.”

  Lucy jumped off my lap and took off after Ethel, barking her fool head off. It was like the canine version of the Keystone Cops.

  And the four of us took off after the dogs. I finally cornered them both in my bedroom, where they were hiding under the bed.

  “All right, you two,” I said, “out of there. And give me that paper.” Ethel gave it up, but not without a growl. Lucy just sat there and looked at me.

  Now, her
e comes the really crazy part. I knew, beyond any doubt, that they were both trying to tell me something important. And, doofus that I was, I didn’t understand what it was.

  Lucy took off again and headed toward the office. She hopped up in my chair and faced the computer. The Whaling Museum picture was still on the screen. And she began to growl. Then howl. Then growl again.

  I was stumped.

  “I guess we all needed a little exercise,” said Claire, collapsing onto the sofa. Mary Alice and Nancy were too out of breath to speak. But at least Nancy had the sketch back, intact. Thank goodness.

  Ohmygosh. I suddenly got it.

  There was only one person in the world who made the dogs react that way. Jenny’s old boyfriend. Jeff.

  Chapter 41

  I plan to live long enough to be an embarrassment to my grandchildren.

  It’s time to set the record straight, especially for those of you who may have read the front page story in The Fairport News or saw the dogs and me on Wake Up New England. By the way, that old saying that the television camera adds five pounds to anybody is a complete lie. In my case, it was at least 25. And in all the wrong places. The only thing that looked good on television was my hair, because Deanna insisted on coming to the studio with me to be sure of that.

  She did draw the line at primping Lucy and Ethel, though.

  It’s true that my faithful posse and I, in our haste to get to the Fairport College campus to warn Jenny (I knew that she was teaching a night class and would have her cell phone turned off), we accidentally clipped the statue of the school mascot that (until then) was positioned at the school’s main gate. Claire insisted on driving, and her night vision isn’t very good.

  I’m sure that the stag statue can be repaired, and I always thought it was an eyesore, anyway. Maybe nobody will notice that he’s now missing his right front leg. I think he looks better that way.