Moving Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  “Nancy’s been keeping us in the loop about your house sale,” Claire said, “and the buyer’s death. And your finding him. It must have been so terrible for you, Carol.

  “But this,” Claire said, waving her hand around the family room, “shows that every cloud has a silver lining, right? You’re going to get top dollar for your house this time, move to one that’s easier to maintain, and you’re helping a great cause at the same time.

  “I couldn’t believe it when Nancy told me you had re-connected with Sister Rose,” Claire went on. “You certainly weren’t good buddies when we were in high school.”

  “Believe it or not, we’re getting along well,” I said. “Of course, it helps that Jim and I have loaned out our house to be used as the major fundraiser for Sally’s Place. I may be Sister Rose’s new best friend.

  “But enough changing the subject,” I said, looking Claire straight in the eye. “At the risk of repeating myself, what the heck happened to you in Florida?”

  “Waist Watchers,” replied Claire.

  “Waist Watchers?” echoed Jenny. “I’ve heard of Weight Watchers. But I’ve never heard of Waist Watchers. What is it? Some kind of new diet thingy?”

  “It’s much more than that,” said Claire. “It’s a whole new way to embrace, and live, your life. Diet and exercise are important components, of course. But so are yoga and meditation, Pilates, guided imagery, journaling, and, gosh, so many other things. It’s just phenomenal.”

  Jeez, it sounded like a lot of work to me. And, well, weird. Not the kind of thing that would ever appeal to someone as staid as Claire.

  Claire has always been able to read me pretty well.

  “I know it sounds kind of New Age,” she said. “But it isn’t. Waist Watchers is such a joyous experience when you really get into it, like I have. And I made some terrific new friends through the program. I just hope I can keep my motivation going now that I’m home.”

  “And I hope that you won’t replace your old friends with your new ones,” said Nancy, sidling into our little group. “If you need motivation to exercise, I’ll be glad to take you to the new gym I’m going to. You’ll just love it.”

  “Say Carol,” said My Beloved, eyeing my middle, “maybe you should join this trend, too. Your waist could use a little watching.”

  I ignored him. Something I’ve had lots of practice doing over the years. But just wait until I got him back to the apartment. Then I’d let him have it, the big jerk.

  “I will if you will, dear,” I said sweetly. Jenny raised her eyebrows. She’d witnessed her parents’ sniping before, and knew sometimes it wasn’t pretty.

  I gave Jim a kiss on the cheek. To show him I’d forgiven him for his tactless remark. But, of course, I wouldn’t forget it too soon.

  Like never.

  “Where’s Bob tonight?” I asked Nancy. Sightings of my very best friend’s husband had been few and far between in the past few months. Not that that was a problem for us. We females generally preferred to get together sans spouses as often as we could.

  “Oh, you know,” Nancy answered vaguely. “Since his company merged with Tyson Financial, he’s traveling all over the place. I tell him that if he doesn’t come home more often, I’m going to put our house on the market and move. It’d serve him right.” For a millisecond, her eyes took on a hard look, and I realized that she wasn’t kidding.

  “What does Sister Rose look like now?” asked Claire, stepping in to change the subject.

  “You can check her out right now,” Nancy said. “That’s her standing by the fireplace with the microphone in her hand.”

  Claire gaped. “That’s her? She looks better than I do.”

  “There’s a story there,” I assured her. “I’ll tell you later.”

  Sister Rose was trying to quiet the guests, but it wasn’t working. Then, suddenly, she put her fingers to her lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. The kind that brings New York City cabbies screeching to a halt. Jeez. It almost punctured my ear drum.

  The crowd quieted down immediately. I mean, who wanted to hear that sound again?

  “Thank you, everyone, for coming tonight to this wonderful preview party for the show house to benefit Sally’s Place,” Sister said. She then went on to highlight all the wonderful things Sally’s Place did for victims of domestic violence.

  It was a great speech, but I have to admit, I kind of zoned out. The excitement of being in my own home again, plus the crowd of guests at the party and the stress of the last few days, must have ganged up on me. I thought I was going to faint.

  Then I heard Sister say, “We owe this wonderful night, and the upcoming show house, to my good friends Carol and Jim Andrews. Let’s bring them up here and give them a big thank you for all they’re doing to help Sally’s Place and the victims of domestic violence we serve.”

  Huh? Jim pushed me forward to join Sister Rose by the fireplace. I felt like I was sleepwalking. Nothing seemed real.

  Then I turned, and saw Mark coming toward our group, along with Detective Paul. My first thought was, “I’m glad Mark finally got back with Jenny’s drink.” My second thought was, “Why is Paul here? He wasn’t on the guest list.”

  The pair stopped in front of Mary Alice. Paul whispered something in her ear, and Mary Alice turned toward the sliding glass doors and lurched forward toward them. The two men took her by the arm and guided her out of the room. Mary Alice was struggling in their grasp. Larry, propelled by Claire, followed them. They both looked upset.

  I heard Mark say, “Mrs. Costello, all we want to do is ask a few more questions. There’s no need to be afraid.”

  Then I heard Detective Paul say, “You have the right to remain silent.”

  Chapter 30

  You know you’re getting older when it takes you longer to pack your medicine than your makeup.

  “Here, drink this,” said My Beloved, handing me a cup of steaming black coffee. “It’ll wake you up. And maybe even help you feel better.”

  I gingerly opened one eye, then the other. Lucy, who was lying at my feet, stirred, gave me a dirty look, then settled back down. I took the coffee, drank deeply, then gave the cup back to Jim. “Thanks for this, but it’s going to take more than caffeine to make me feel better after last night’s debacle.”

  I sank back into the lumpy pillow and closed my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever used the word ‘debacle’ in a sentence before. Sister Rose would be proud of me for broadening my vocabulary at this late stage of life.”

  I opened my eyes again and looked at My Beloved. “Do me a big favor and tell me that last night didn’t happen. Mary Alice is snug in her bed, or hard at work at the hospital. Lie to me if you have to.”

  Jim carefully placed the coffee on the relic that served as our bedside table. “I wish I could, Carol. But it happened, all right. Just like you remember it. I was on the phone early this morning with Larry. He said that the police finally let Mary Alice go home last night after questioning her for several hours about her connection with Jack Cartwright. The only evidence they have against her is circumstantial, but it still doesn’t look good for her. Apparently several people heard her say that if she ever met the person who was responsible for Brian’s death, she’d kill him. That’s pretty damaging. And she’s already admitted being at our house the night before the closing, when Jack Cartwright died.”

  I sat up in bed like I’d been poked with a cattle prod. “That’s just ridiculous, Jim. I was one of the people who heard Mary Alice say that at our last Bunco party. She was very upset at the time. But she wouldn’t ever do such a horrible thing. She’s a nurse, for God’s sake. Her whole life has been devoted to helping people, not harming them.”

  “You know that,” Jim said. “And I know that. Because we both know Mary Alice very well. But you have to admit, it doesn’t sound good.”

  I sank back on the pillow again. Even lying on lumps was preferable to the way this conversation was going.

  “One
more thing, Carol,” said My Beloved.

  I reached for the coffee and took a healthy swallow. Something in Jim’s tone told me I needed the extra fortification.

  “Yes, Jim,” I said. “What?”

  “I have one very important item to add to your Honey-Don’t List. Not just for today. For the future, too. And you better not argue with me about it.

  “Do not interfere in the police investigation into Jack Cartwright’s death. No matter how much you want to help Mary Alice. Under. Any. Circumstances. Understand?”

  “I understand, Jim,” I said meekly. “I won’t.”

  Which was, of course, an easy promise for me to make. Because I’d already decided to investigate Jack’s death on my own.

  Jim left the apartment shortly after his ultimatum, undoubtedly headed toward the newspaper so he could work on another column without interference from me.

  I scrambled for the phone. Time to make calls and assemble my team of very private (as in, “If our beloveds knew what we were up to, we’d be in big trouble, so mum’s the word”) investigators: Claire, Nancy, Jenny, Deanna, and Maria Lesko. We arranged to meet at Maria’s Trattoria at 10:00 this morning, before the restaurant opened for business, so we could talk privately and come up with a plan.

  I deliberately left Sister Rose out of the group. I figured I could always call on her if I needed to. And she might not approve of some of the methods we might have to use to get Mary Alice out of the fix she found herself in. Nuns tend to frown at things like little white lies, right?

  Nancy had already positioned herself at the head of the table by the time I’d arrived. For a minute – OK, two minutes – that annoyed me, because it was, after all, my investigative team. Ah, well. In the interests of harmony, I let that pass.

  Maria had thoughtfully provided coffee and a plate of freshly baked muffins to jump start our brain cells. Nothing like the combination of caffeine and sugar to get the mind going.

  As usual, everybody was talking at the same time. At first, we all had to vent about how terrible it was that Mary Alice had been dragged (Nancy’s word – she always tends to overdramatize) out of the preview party by Mark and Paul.

  Jenny immediately took offense at that, and pointed out that Mark was not on duty last night. According to her, Paul had enlisted his help on the spur of the moment. We all peppered her with questions about whether Mark would now been assigned to the case he’d inadvertently become involved in.

  Jenny threw up her hands in frustration. “I tell you, I don’t know.”

  I let it go. If Jenny and Mark were together again, their private life was (mostly) none of my business. Though I suspected she knew more than she was saying.

  “OK, everybody,” I said. “It’s time for us to get organized. I bet if we put our collective heads together, we can come up with a sure-fire plan to clear Mary Alice of any possible police suspicion.”

  My baby blues honed in on Claire.

  “Before we get serious, I have to say I can’t get used to you as a redhead.”

  “Well, you better get used to it,” my hitherto meek, mild and white-haired friend retorted. “I plan to stay this way for a long, long time.”

  “I think you look terrific,” Deanna said, “and I’ll do everything I can to keep your hair as red as you want.”

  Claire beamed at Deanna, and I thought, “Of course you will. Think of all the money you’ll make at the hair salon giving Claire touchups.” Then, I mentally slapped myself. Deanna was a good friend, and never charged me for trimming my bangs between haircuts.

  “I think you’re gorgeous, too, Claire,” I said. “But I always thought you were.”

  I cleared my throat. “Anyway, since Larry has committed himself to representing Mary Alice, can you find out from him what defense strategy he’s planning, should it come to that?” God forbid.

  Claire looked hesitant. “I don’t know about that, Carol. One of the reasons Larry and I have been married so long is that I don’t stick my nose into his legal cases.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you did,” I snapped back. “After all, this is Mary Alice we’re talking about. One of our dearest friends in the world. You want to help her, don’t you?”

  Claire nodded her head. “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now, Nancy, remember last year when Jim was in so much trouble? You and your Realtors’ network were terrific getting information on that phony retirement coach, Davis Rhodes. Do you think you can use the network again to find out some background stuff about Jack Cartwright?”

  Usually Nancy jumps at opportunities like this without hesitation, but this time she didn’t look as gung ho as I expected.

  “I don’t know what I can find out this time, Carol,” she said. “The reason I was helpful before was that both Davis Rhodes and his ex-wife had rented property in Fairport. The only Fairport property the Cartwrights were involved with was your house.”

  I was getting exasperated. We weren’t getting anywhere.

  “Look, Nancy,” I said with as much patience as I could dredge up, “so many mystery stories have the detective investigating a murder by first finding out everything he can about the victim. That usually leads to the motive for the crime, and then to the guilty party. I think we have to start by finding out everything we can about Jack before he and his family moved to Fairport.”

  “OK, Carol,” Nancy said. “I’ll poke around and see what I can do. Maybe Dream Homes Realty has a partner agency in the town he came from. Wherever that was.”

  “I think I can help you there,” said Maria. “The Trattoria catered the ‘welcome to the neighborhood party’ that the Millers gave for their daughter and her family. I couldn’t help but overhear Jack talking about his college days in Boston. That’s apparently where he met Alyssa. When they got married a few years ago, he and Alyssa moved to Cape Cod. That’s where they started their family. I don’t think he mentioned what town, though.”

  “That’s great information,” said Nancy. “How many towns can there be on Cape Cod? I’m sure I can find out where they used to live.”

  I started to get excited. It looked like we were finally starting to roll.

  “Now, Deanna,” I said. “Yes, sir,” she snapped back at me, giving me a salute. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  “Very funny,” I said. Then I realized I better be extra nice to her. I didn’t want to come off as too high-handed and have her turn my hair green.

  “Deanna,” I said, “you’re in a special position because of the hair salon. By any chance, is Sara Miller or any member of her family a customers of yours?”

  Deanna beamed at me. “I just knew you were going to ask me that, Carol.”

  Then, her face fell. Well, not actually fell. But you know what I mean.

  “As a matter of fact, Sara’s not a customer. Neither is her daughter. But I do volunteer at Sally’s Place, doing hair for the clients for free. If I pick up any information I think would be helpful, of course I’ll tell you. That goes for the salon, too. You never know who’s going to walk in and need a touchup.”

  “Ditto,” said Maria. “You never know who’s going to come into the restaurant, either. It’s amazing what people will talk about in a public place. They have no idea how many others overhear their most private conversations. Or maybe they just don’t care. I’ll alert all the servers to keep their ears open and their mouths shut.”

  “Well, I guess that’s all of us,” I said. “We each have a job to do. Let’s get back together at the end of the week and report in. But if anyone finds out something important, share it right away, OK?”

  “What about you, Mom?” asked Jenny. “What’s your job?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I have plenty of leads to track down.”

  And I knew exactly how I was going to start, by e-mailing my wandering son, the Internet super sleuth, and having him research Jack Cartwright. His e-mail wouldn’t dare give me that automatic “Out of offi
ce on a special project” response.

  “Maria, all right if we meet here?” I asked.

  “Works for me,” said Maria. “Friday morning, eight-thirty?”

  “Let’s get to work, everybody,” I said, and dismissed the troops.

  When I arrived back at the apartment, I was greeted by two very grumpy English cocker spaniels. They were right to be grumpy. In my haste to get to Maria’s to rally my sleuthing team, I had completely forgotten to give Lucy and Ethel their breakfast. Which they let me know in no uncertain terms.

  Let me tell you, if you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, you’ve never met two English cockers who’ve skipped a meal. It’s not a pretty sight.

  Fortunately, they were easy to placate. A quick bowl of kibble for two, a brisk walk around the neighborhood, and all was forgiven. They soon settled back into a post-breakfast nap.

  “OK, girls,” I said. “We’re going to get online now and contact Mike. We need his Internet research skills.”

  No comment. Just a lot of heavy breathing. The kind that happens when someone is in a heavy sleep, not the other kind.

  “And we’ve got to get this done before Jim comes home. You know that he won’t approve of my meddling…I mean, helping clear Mary Alice.”

  We were lucky our computer was hooked up, but, alas, no high-speed Internet service here. Jim didn’t want to invest the money – big surprise. It was good old “dinosaur dial-up” for us. As he’d pointed out, we were only going to be in these temporary digs for a short time. Which, under the current circumstances, was now an indefinite time.

  We were also sharing a single computer. With agreed-upon hours as to when it was available to each of us without interfering with the other. But since Jim was out of the house, even though it was his “time of day,” I logged on without feeling guilty that I was encroaching on My Beloved.

  I fired off an e-mail to Mike, giving him the bare facts about what was going on here in Fairport. I didn’t want to alarm him, but I did want to get his attention and make him respond to me, the woman who endured 19 hours of horrific labor to bring him into the world.