Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  “Jack Cartwright did that for me. And for lots of other kids, too. He was a stand-up guy, and I’ll miss him every day of my life.”

  Wiping tears from his eyes, Luke went to the family pew and gave Alyssa a wordless hug, then took his place in the row behind her.

  Wow. “I had no idea,” I whispered to Jenny. “He must have been quite a guy.”

  The next person to speak was one of Jack’s fraternity brothers. He, too, extolled Jack’s virtues. I had never heard anyone spoken about in such glowing terms, living or deceased.

  Two more young men, former neighbors of the Cartwrights, also spoke about Jack. How he coached the local Little League team, what a wonderful husband and father he was, etc. etc.

  Finally, the tributes were over. I heard muffled sobbing from the front of the church in the direction of the family pew.

  Then Reverend Donaldson introduced the youth choir director from the Cartwrights’ former church in Massachusetts, who led a chorus of angelic-looking children in a beautiful rendition of “Amazing Grace.” From his brief remarks at the end of the hymn, I gathered that Jack was also the volunteer assistant director for the children’s choir.

  Uncharitably, I wondered if Jack had any time to hold down a job and provide for his family with all his other activities. Then, I slapped myself. Figuratively speaking. The poor guy was dead, after all.

  Jenny poked me and we all rose as the family filed out of the church.

  “Do you want to go to the collation, Mom?” Jenny asked me.

  “Collation? What’s that? I haven’t heard that term before.”

  “That’s when the people who’ve attended the memorial service meet the family and express their condolences. The church ladies usually serve tea, finger sandwiches, and desserts.”

  No way was I pressing my luck. So far Sara Miller hadn’t noticed my presence, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “We’d better skip that,” I said. “I think we’ve done our duty.”

  “Let’s go out the side door,” Jenny suggested. “Everyone else is headed the other way.”

  We made our way through the throng of people with several muttered “Excuse me’s” and eventually found ourselves outside, at the back end of the church, near the meditation garden.

  One other person had left the memorial service the same way. She looked just as surprised to see us as we were to see her.

  It was Mary Alice.

  I shook my head just a tiny bit as we hugged and said our hellos, and hoped Mary Alice got what I was hinting at – that Jenny had no idea about her connection to Jack. After all, it wasn’t my place to share that information with anyone, even my daughter.

  “It was so nice of you to come to support me,” I babbled. “Jim didn’t think I had any business being here, but I felt it was something I had to do. If I’d known you were coming too, we could have all sat together.”

  Jeez. Was this making any sense? Even I thought I sounded pretty stupid.

  Mary Alice, smart cookie that she is, picked up on my words immediately. “I figured you’d want to be here out of some misplaced sense of responsibility. Me, too. I’ll always wonder if I could have saved Jack that night. If I’d just looked in the window and seen him lying there.”

  “It’s very interesting to hear you say that, Mrs. Costello,” said a male voice from behind us.

  I turned around and …good grief. It was Detective Paul.

  “You mentioned a misplaced sense of responsibility. I wonder if you meant to say, a sense of guilt.

  “The medical examiner has determined that Jack Cartwright’s death was not an accident. Somebody smacked him on the head and left him there to die.

  “I hope neither of you ladies,” Paul said, glaring at Mary Alice and me, “have any travel plans in the near future. We’re definitely going to want to talk to you both again.”

  “Don’t look at me that way, Mother,” Jenny said to me, peering at me over her Maria’s Trattoria menu.

  Mary Alice had developed a major migraine after our confrontation with Detective Paul and begged off having lunch with us. No wonder. Talking to Paul was liable to give anybody a pain in the head, neck, and various other body parts. He certainly was a cop who enjoyed lording it over people any time he got the chance. And when you coupled that with my fear that he’d discover the connection Mary Alice had with Jack Cartwright, well, there wasn’t enough Advil in the world to relieve that stress unless I wanted to risk a massive overdose.

  I ignored my daughter’s comment and concentrated on the menu.

  “I’m going to have the fruit salad with baby greens and gorgonzola cheese,” I said. “No point in having a heavy lunch when we’ll be eating at the preview party tonight. Maria’s doing the catering, you know.”

  “Don’t try and change the subject,” Jenny said. “I know what you’re plotting. And I’m not comfortable doing it.”

  I opened my baby blues as wide as I could and feigned an innocent expression.

  “It makes me nervous when you call me Mother,” I said. “Like I’m in trouble or something. What happened to good old Mom?”

  “You were very quiet on the way over here from the church,” Jenny said, “and I could tell the wheels in your head were turning. I know exactly what you were thinking. And I’m not comfortable with what you’re going to ask me to do.”

  She sighed. “But I’ll probably do it anyway. Go ahead, spring it on me. I’m ready.”

  “Honestly, Jenny, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I protested. “What do you think I’m going to ask you to do?”

  “Call Mark and see if he’ll tell me anything about the police investigation into Jack Cartwright’s death. Without putting him into a conflict of interest situation. And don’t deny you didn’t think of it. I know you too well.”

  Actually, I hadn’t gotten that far in my plotting and planning process. But it was a good idea. A very good idea.

  “And I’ll bet you also e-mailed Mike and asked him to start an Internet search on Jack Cartwright, just like he did last year when Daddy was in trouble.”

  “You may not believe me,” I said, handing my menu to the waitress after placing my order, “but I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  “You’re slipping, Mom. Just so you know, I already e-mailed Mike and asked him to check out background info on Jack. I got an automatic out-of-the-office response, saying that Mike was temporarily away from Cosmo’s and would be back in touch soon. Any idea what that’s about?”

  Thank God, I was back to being Mom again.

  “No clue,” I said. “I haven’t heard from him. But I’m sure he’s fine. At least, I hope he is. He’s been known to maintain radio silence for a few weeks, and then get back in contact. I refuse to worry about that.”

  Liar, I thought. You will worry about it. Just not right this instant. Too many other things preceded Mike on my current worry list.

  I frowned, remembering my recent conversation with Mark. “As far as Mark is concerned, when he stopped in to see me…”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute,” Jenny interrupted. “When did you see him? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “There’s been a lot going on,” I said in my own defense. “I intended to tell you. Mark stopped by the apartment a few days ago to apologize for what he said about Jim and me. And also to ask for help in getting you back.”

  Jenny’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “He really asked you for help? What did you tell him?”

  “I suggested to him that the best way he could win you over would be to get me off Detective Paul’s suspect list. He said that since it wasn’t his case, he wasn’t sure how much he could do.

  “Maybe you should follow up with him, Jenny. What do you think? If you want to call him, it’s a perfect excuse. Especially now that it looks like Jack was, well, you know.” I couldn’t bring myself to use the word murdered.

  “I don’t need an excuse to call him, Mom,” Jenny said.

  “As a matter o
f fact, we’ve already made up. I couldn’t stay mad at him for long.”

  Jenny grinned. “Mark’s so easy to be with. Even our fights are fun. He’s so different from Jeff. What a control freak he was.”

  My maternal antenna immediately went up. Take it easy. Don’t push her.

  “Did I tell you that I’ve decided to write a piece on domestic abuse in Fairport?” I asked. “It seemed like a natural, since the show house is benefitting Sally’s Place. I’m hoping the local paper will run it as part of the show house publicity.

  “I interviewed Sister Rose about the problem, and some of the things she told me came as a huge surprise. And I talked to one victim, who’d suffered abuse from her boyfriend when she was only a teenager. I guess I’m pretty naïve. I never realized it could happen to someone so young.”

  I paused and took a sip of water. The question I wanted to ask required very delicate phrasing, something that’s definitely not my specialty.

  I decided to risk it.

  “I don’t mean to be nosy, sweetie, but, well, you’ve mentioned several times that Jeff was kind of a control freak. Did he…well…did he ever…?”

  “I see where you’re going with this, Mom. And the answer is no. He was a jerk, and always thought he knew more about everything than I did, including what I should do with my life. But I wouldn’t call it domestic abuse.”

  I sat back in my chair. Phew. I would hate to think I was as stupid as Marcia Fischer’s parents.

  “Sorry if you think I’ve overstepped my parental boundaries, Jenny. I guess after some of the things I’ve heard from Sister Rose, I see domestic abuse possibilities everywhere.

  “Now, tell me, what’s up with you and Mark? That is, if you want to tell me.”

  Jenny laughed. “Talking about Mark and me isn’t off limits for you, Mom. As long as I get to stop the conversation whenever I think you’re getting too nosy. Deal?”

  I nodded my head. A little info is better than none, right?

  “We’re not completely ‘back together’ yet, but we’re going to the show house preview party as a couple tonight. It’ll be our first official date since our fight.”

  “I’m glad you two are working things out,” I said. “And if you can find out any information about the Cartwright case at the same time, that’d be great. I didn’t care for Paul’s suggestion to Mary Alice and me about not having any travel plans in the near future. We’ve both been above board and completely honest with answers to all the questions he’s asked us.” Thank God he hadn’t asked Mary Alice more pointed questions. So far.

  “I hope Paul won’t be at the preview party tonight.”

  “The police weren’t on the official guest list,” Jenny said. “Why should they be? This is a party, not a trial. Don’t worry about Paul showing up. The only reason Mark will be there is because he’s my date. I heard the event’s a sell-out.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Everyone wants to get a peek at the scene of the crime. Now that it’s officially a crime.”

  The server had just given us our lunch, and it looked delicious. My fork was about halfway between the plate and my mouth when a young man approached us and said, “Excuse me. Aren’t you Carol Andrews?”

  I squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Rich Reynolds from Channel Seventeen. The police have just made a statement calling the death of Jack Cartwright a homicide.

  “I’m wondering if you have any comment about that? Since you discovered the body. In your house.”

  Good grief.

  Chapter 29

  When life gives you lemons, turn it into lemonade

  and mix it with vodka.

  “Who the hell are all these people and why are they parked in front of our house?” Jim groused as our car crawled up Old Fairport Turnpike. “I can’t even get into my own driveway. If you hadn’t dithered so long about what to wear, we would have been early.”

  “Until the show house is over, it isn’t our house,” I reminded him for the umpteenth time. “And if things had gone the way they were supposed to, it’d be the Cartwrights’ house now.”

  I decided to ignore his dig about my taking so long to get dressed, because he was right, darn it. I had limited wardrobe choices since most of my “good clothes” were in storage. I finally settled for wearing the same black suit I’d worn to the memorial service, but I jazzed it up with some sparkly jewelry I was lucky enough to come across in one of my suitcases. And everybody in the New York metropolitan area knows that black is THE official party color, no matter what season it is.

  “Stop being so grumpy. At least you don’t have to wear a tux, because I didn’t have time to find you one. It’s a good thing you saved your navy suit from going into storage. You look very nice.”

  Jim tightened his lips, which I chose to interpret as a smile.

  “And we got our deposit money back from Eden’s Grove, so we’re not destitute any more. Homeless, yes. Destitute, no.”

  I was determined to look on the bright side, despite everything. And My Beloved wasn’t making it easy.

  “Oh, look. Phyllis and Bill are waving at us. It looks like they want us to park in their driveway,” I said.

  Jim slammed on the brakes, almost causing the car behind us to smash into our rear bumper. “I wish you’d noticed that before, Carol. You could have caused an accident.”

  Jeez. This was going to be a rotten night if My Beloved continued in his present, miserable mood.

  Fortunately, when he got out of our car and headed toward our (former) neighbors, he had a smile on his face.

  “Isn’t this thrilling?” Phyllis said, giving us both a hug. “Bill and I decided to wait till you two arrived before going over to the party. The police didn’t remove the yellow scene of the crime tape until late yesterday afternoon. I wonder if they’re going to allow guests to go into the living room, where you found Jack Cartwright’s body.”

  Good grief. I shot Phyllis a look to see if she was serious. Unfortunately, she was. In fact, she was positively quivering with excitement.

  “It’s going to be quite a night,” I said. “Just look at the line of people waiting to get into our house.”

  I spotted Nancy in our driveway, talking to what appeared to be a reporter for the local television station. She caught sight of us and motioned us around the side of the house to our kitchen door.

  “Follow me,” I said. “Nancy wants us to go in the kitchen way, probably to avoid the crush at the front door. And the press.”

  Phyllis looked disappointed, probably hoping to get another five minutes of fame through an interview with the local paparazzi. “Bill and I will go in the front way, Carol. We don’t mind standing in line for a few minutes. You and Jim go ahead.”

  Humph.

  The inside of our house was chaos. There were people everywhere. It was a good thing all our furniture was in storage. “We never had this many bodies packed into the house before,” I said to Jim as we fought our way to one of the bars, which was set up in what had been our family room. “I hope the fire marshal doesn’t shut the party down because there are too many people in the house.”

  “At least all the bodies are alive,” said My Beloved. He squinted at the couple who had just pushed their way in front of us in their haste to get to the booze. “Excuse me. I hope we weren’t in your way.”

  The couple ignored him.

  “Who are all these people anyway?”

  “I guess they’re supporters of Sally’s Place,” I said. “At this rate, the program is going to make a bundle on the show house.”

  “Just goes to show you that crime sometimes pays,” said My Beloved.

  I shot him a look. “Not funny, Jim. Especially since Detective Paul made it clear this afternoon that he still wants to talk to Mary Alice.” And me. I didn’t add that, though.

  “Look, there’s Jenny. She’s talking to Mary Alice, and someone I don’t recognize. For a second I thought it was Claire, but the hair col
or’s wrong. And she’s about twenty-five pounds thinner. It’s probably just wishful thinking on my part.”

  Jenny waved us over. “Isn’t this something? There sure are more people here tonight than there were at my Sweet Sixteen party.” She gave us both a kiss.

  “Where’s Mark?” I asked, always the nosy mother. Jenny pointed toward the line at another bar. Which used to be my kitchen counter a short time ago. From the length of the line, it looked like Mark would be waiting a while.

  “Mary Alice,” I said, “you look fabulous in that navy dress. Very dramatic. Is it new?”

  “I just got it. And you’ll never guess where,”

  “I bet you got it at Sally’s Closet,” I said with a laugh. “It’s my new favorite boutique, too. Gotta support the cause.”

  “Aren’t you going to welcome me home?” asked the third member of the group, a stunning redhead. She threw her arms around me and gave me a big hug.

  Good grief. It was Claire.

  “My God,” I said. “I can’t believe it’s you. You look fabulous. What happened to you in Florida?”

  I clapped my hands over my mouth, realizing how that came out. “I don’t mean to imply that you ever looked bad, Claire. But now, you look like…”

  “A hottie,” said My Beloved, giving Claire a smooch on her cheek. “Larry better keep an eye on you.”

  The lawyer-in-question was working his way through the crowd toward us, holding two drinks aloft. When Larry reached our small group, he handed off a white wine spritzer to Claire and gave me a peck on the cheek.

  “Nice of you and Jim to throw this big shindig to welcome us back,” he said. “How do you like my new trophy wife? Isn’t she something?”

  I had so many questions I hardly knew where to start.

  “When did you get back? Why didn’t you let us know you were coming?

  “With everything going on up here, we decided to cut our Florida stay short and head home,” said Larry.