I jumped up from the chair. Lucy growled at me. She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s sleeping. Until she heard the magic words. “Come on, Lucy. Wanna go for a walk?”
She looked at me. And clearly telegraphed, Are you crazy? Do you know what time it is? It’s dark out there.
“Lucy,” I whispered desperately, “I need you to go with me. It’ll be fine. I promise you. And when we get back, I’ll give you a treat.”
That did it. She jumped out of the chair and ran for her leash.
I clipped it on her collar and headed out the door. In my pajamas. Oh, well, no time to worry about making a fashion statement. And I was confident that my chances of running into somebody I knew were slim to none.
“Look casual,” I said as we snuck out the apartment door. Lucy sent me a look that clearly said, I’m a dog. What you see is what you get.
Naturally, Lucy took her sweet time on our late-night walk, stopping to sniff and investigate each blade of grass and bush along the way. At least, that’s how it seemed to me. And trying to get her to move once she found any interesting trash which had been placed along the curb in anticipation of the morning pickup was a challenge, no matter how much I tugged at her leash.
Oh, joy. We were finally in front of Sara’s house and – bummer – no trash can. Sara preferred trash bags, and there was one large one at the end of her driveway. That meant I either had to haul it back to the apartment and go through it there, or do a quick spot check and hope what I wanted was near the top.
Better get it over with. I knelt down, opened the bag and let Lucy take a good sniff inside. I was so intent on my task that when a police officer shone a flashlight on me and demanded to know what the heck I was doing, I was, well, surprised.
Who knew going through other people’s garbage at 3:00 in the morning could be interpreted as criminal behavior?
Some people just can’t take a joke, and sad to say, My Beloved is often one of them. So when the Fairport police called him to say Lucy and I had been taken into the station for -- Well, what exactly was the charge? Invasion of garbage? – he wasn’t pleased.
Of course, Jim immediately called Jenny (who was not the least bit surprised at her mother’s latest antics) and Mark, and they all hustled to the police station to spring Lucy and me. Lucy, by the way, was having a grand time, having won the heart of the arresting officer by turning on the charm and being extra loving and adorable. The fact that there were some doggy biscuits involved definitely helped.
I had not endeared myself to the officer, however, since I refused to get into the police cruiser without the bag of Sara’s garbage. I thought that was a reasonable request, since I’d always intended to give it to the police as evidence. Or possible evidence.
Anyway, by the time the sun came up over the Fairport police station, and I had shared my new theory 20 or 30 times about Jack Cartwright’s death with Jim, Jenny, Mark, Paul Wheeler, and the assorted police staff who were unlucky enough to be working that shift, I finally convinced them that it was worth looking inside the garbage bag for the meat wrapper.
They made me do it, of course. And I got lucky. Because Sara Miller was a complete neat freak, and the wrapper was inside another plastic bag marked, “For Show House.” Jeez, who labels their garbage? Was she expecting a tax receipt for a donation?
OK, so this wasn’t solid evidence that a crime had been committed. I knew that. But Mark went to bat for me – still again – and convinced Paul and the other detectives to at least examine the wrapper for traces of, well, you know.
All in all, a good night’s work. If it turned out I was wrong, well, I was wrong. But I’d given the Fairport police not one but two viable suspects, and after that, it was up to them.
After all, a private citizen like me can only be expected to do so much. (Smile.)
Chapter 35
The only reason I have a kitchen is because
it came with the house.
“I still can’t believe she labeled her garbage,” Nancy said. “How anal-retentive is that? It’s like she was begging to be caught.”
It turned out to be Sara Miller, of course, who was responsible for Jack’s death. She admitted to the police that there had been a fight in her kitchen between Alyssa and Jack that began as words but ended with Jack becoming violent and hitting Alyssa across her face again and again. Sara walked in on the abuse and let Jack have it with the first thing she could lay her hands on, the beef tenderloin defrosting on the counter. (Turned out that Sara had exaggerated about always ‘cooking fresh.’ But you figured that out already, right?)
Jack came to the house walk-through, complaining of a minor headache. But nobody suspected how seriously he was hurt. The theory is that, for some unknown reason, he stayed behind after everyone else left, collapsed in our living room, and died there. Just like I’d imagined.
Larry McGee, good guy that he is, took on Sara’s case pro bono and is currently negotiating for a dismissal of the charges based on Sara’s right to defend her daughter. I pray it doesn’t come to trial, especially for Alyssa and her children’s sake. They deserve some peace in their lives.
Two months had passed since the Great Garbage Caper, and it was almost Labor Day weekend. Where did the summer go?
Of course, I ask myself this same thing every year.
My article on domestic violence had been published by our local paper, and even though it wouldn’t be nominated for any awards, I was pretty proud of it. And Sister Rose was, too.
The show house was over, and Jim and I were still without permanent digs. We’d finally had another offer on our house, and I let My Beloved handle the whole transaction this time. I had such bad memories of the last deal, and one of us had to concentrate on finding a new home before we came to blows in our tiny apartment.
“You’re a fine one to criticize Sara about being anal-retentive,” I said to Nancy as we whipped along some country roads outside of Fairport’s town limits in still another house search. “I seem to remember that someone I know and love keeps closets in her home with clothes organized by season. And a journal of when she’s worn what outfit, where she’s worn it, what accessories she used, and who saw her in it. Not that I’m mentioning any names, of course.”
“Point taken,” said Nancy.
“Now, sweetie,” she said, leaning over and patting my arm, “I just know you’re going to love this house. You better, because, quite frankly, trying to find you and Jim a new home is getting to be a royal pain. You’ve found fault with every single property I’ve shown you. Nothing is going to be perfect. You’ve got to compromise. If you don’t love this one, I swear I’m giving up, and you’re on your own. In fact,” Nancy swerved her brand new silver gray Mercedes over to the side of the road and parked, “I have an idea. You’re going to complain this one is too far out of town, but it’s a gorgeous house. Put this on.”
She handed me a blindfold.
I gaped at her. “What the heck are you doing?”
“Put it on, Carol, or you’re going to have to walk back to town. No arguments.”
Sheesh. “All right, all right.” I covered my eyes and tied the blindfold on tight.
“No peeking,” Nancy said, and we took off again.
After about another twenty minutes – I’m guessing here because I couldn’t see my watch – we rolled to a stop.
“Sit tight. I’ll come around and get you. Don’t open the door.”
Nancy took my arm and pulled me from the car.
“Hang on to me. There are two steps. OK, we’re at the front door.”
“Can I look now?” I asked. “This is ridiculous.”
“Now!” Nancy said, whipping off the blindfold and pushing me into the foyer of my very own house.
Holy cow. Holy everything. I was back home. Not the show house, but my house. Only better. Newer. Wider doorways. No crooked floors. A new staircase with safer, less steep treads. And a banister that didn’t wriggle.
She l
ed me into the kitchen. Hello bead board cabinets. Hello black granite island. Goodbye red countertops. My kitchen. My kitchen.
“Nancy, I don’t know what to say. How did you do all this? I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t do much at all,” Nancy said. “But there’s a pretty wonderful guy in the family room who organized the whole transformation. Go in and say hello.”
Jim came toward me, arms open wide. “Surprised, honey?” he asked.
“Surprised? I'm in shock. And what about your heart. Jim? I don't want you to risk your health taking care of this house just for me.”
“I'm way ahead of you,” My Beloved said with just a hint of a twinkle. “I already hired someone to do the yardwork. He also does snow plowing, so we're covered for all seasons. When we need more help, we'll hire someone. I figure we'll be helping the economy in our own small way. This is where we belong, Carol.
“But I didn’t do this all by myself. Marcia Fischer was a tremendous help. She wanted to thank you for figuring out what really happened to Jack Cartwright.
“There are a few more folks here who wanted to come and say hello. Close your eyes again.”
“Jim, I don’t think I can take any more surprises,” I said.
“Welcome home, Mom,” said Jenny, throwing her arms around me and giving me a big kiss. “And you thought I couldn’t keep a secret.
“Well, here’s another one.” She waved her hand in front of my face to show off a beautiful diamond solitaire. Mark stood behind her, beaming.
“Oh, I’m so happy,” I said. “For you. For all of us. This is the best surprise anyone’s ever had.” I hugged them both so hard my arms felt like they were going to fall off.
“There’s one more surprise, Carol. In the hall. And this one’s a doozy. Wait a minute,” My Beloved said. “And close your eyes one more time.”
I stood there, eyes closed, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Open your eyes, Carol.”
“Surprise, Mom,” said my long-lost son, giving me a gigantic bear hug. Then he stepped away to reveal the adorable girl standing behind him.
“This is Marlee.
“My wife.”
I guess it was then that I fainted.
The Moving Quiz
Are you (and Your Beloved) having the Relocation Conversation? Should you stay in your current home, or strike out for someplace new?
To get the conversation started, here are some things to consider:
How do you rate the community where you now live? Include factors like public safety, property taxes (and the possibility of an increase), access to public transportation, availability of senior services, and trash/recycling collection.
Do you love your current home? Is it convenient to stores, dry cleaners, your faith community, and other things that are important to you? If you live alone, is there someone you can count on to check on you to be sure you are OK?
Does your current home have potential for a first-floor master bedroom and bath, with no stairs involved? Ditto a convenient laundry area? Are doorways wide, or could they be widened easily if necessary?
Could you close off some unused rooms and save on energy costs?
Is your mortgage paid off? Can you manage the property taxes, insurance and maintenance expenses?
Does the idea of cleaning out closets and packing up belongings overwhelm you?
Could you keep your house in “company” condition all the time? Could you tolerate showing your house to potential buyers at a moment’s notice?
Are you prepared to move away from family and friends? Your doctors and dentist? (Your hairdresser?)
OK, let’s say you’ve thought about all these questions and you’ve decided to move. Let’s think about where to go.
Do you have a bit of wanderlust, and want a complete change in lifestyle, climate or even country?
Do you prefer to live in a city, suburb, small town, or rural area?
Which of these appeals to you the most: a golf community, beach resort, over-55 development or a diverse, mixed-age neighborhood? None of these?
If you are a couple, do you both want to move, or is one of you doing it for the other? (Be honest with your answer. This is a big step and both partners should agree.)
How quickly do you think you’d develop friendships in a new location?
Do you have hobbies or other activities that will get you out of the house in your new community? Does your partner?
Realistically, could you have a change of heart, and want to move back home before too long?
Would you want to try a new location for a year or two, or make this a permanent move? If the former appeals to you more, perhaps you should consider renting for a while to be sure you really love your new location.
What happens if your partner dies, and you are on your own in a new town?
Everyone’s answers to this quiz will be different, of course. And there are many other factors which may play into whatever decision you make about where to spend the next part of your life.
If you decide to stay in your current home, here are some resources that can help.
CAPS is a Certified Aging-In-Place Specialist program developed by the National Association of Home Builders (NAHB) in association with AARP.
Check out www.nahb.com/caps.
The National Aging in Place Council’s website has information on all matters relating to safety and Universal Design. Check out www.aginginplace.org.
The American Society of Interior Design (ASID) also has an aging-in-place component on its website: www.asid.org/designknowledge/aa.inplace.
Good luck!
It’s time for Bunco!
Bunco is a game of dice requiring very little concentration and skill, which is fortunate because most of the time, players are talking, laughing, eating and imbibing. To learn how to play, check out www.buncorules.com. (The wearing of feather boas and tiaras is completely optional.)
Now, to the important things about a Bunco party – the food! To make things easy on the hostess, every guest should contribute an appetizer or a dessert. The Cape Cod Times ran a contest in December 2010 to choose a recipe for the Bunco party in this book. There were so many entries it was impossible to choose only one. So, here are the finalists. This first one I actually used in the…ahem…body of the book.
Grand Prize Winner – as seen on Pages 38, 222 and 226
Sharon’s Marvelous Meatballs
a.k.a. One Bag, One Jar, One Can
Ingredients:
One jar of chili sauce
One can of jellied cranberry sauce
One bag frozen Italian meatballs -- appetizer size
Combine first two ingredients and mix thoroughly to break up the cranberry sauce.
Add frozen Italian meatballs (Stop & Shop’s are a good choice). Cook on the stove or in a crock pot until the meatballs are heated all the way through.
In this book, Sara Miller prefers to make her own chili and cranberry sauces from scratch, and meatballs from a prime cut of beef she grinds herself in her own kitchen. But look at the trouble that got her into!
Thanks to Sharon Thompson from Falmouth Massachusetts for this terrific recipe, which is quick and easy but doesn’t look (or taste) it!
Crab and Brie Tartlets
Ingredients:
2 cans of Prince Edward Island crab meat, drained
2 medium wedges of Brie cheese, rind cut off
1/4 tsp. Beau Monde seasoning
1 Tbs. good brandy
3 packages Athens mini phyllo dough cups
Fresh or dried parsley
Paprika
In a medium sauce pan, mix first four ingredients slowly until melted.
Stir well.
Spoon mixture into phyllo cups.
Place on cookie sheet and sprinkle fresh parsley and ground paprika on top.
Heat in 350º oven for 10 minutes or until hot.
Melanie Garrison, Chatham MA
Oniony Cheese �
��Its”
Ingredients:
1 loaf rye or pumpernickel party bread
1 wedge of Parmesan cheese, grated (or make it easy and use shredded Parmesan)
1 small-medium onion, grated
1/2 cup mayonnaise
Black pepper
Mix cheese and onion with mayonnaise until moist. Add black pepper. Stir. Spread on bread rounds and place under the broiler until they are brown and bubbly – watch carefully so they don’t burn!
You can make these ahead of time, place on a cookie sheet, freeze, and broil later.
Marie Sherman, Brewster MA
Versatile Dip
Ingredients:
1 cup mayonnaise
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
Secret ingredient (creates a contrast flavor that accents the Parmesan - but you don’t really know it's there): mix 1 tablespoon sour cream with 1 teaspoon blue cheese, make into very smooth paste and add to mayo-Parmesan mix.
Moving Can Be Murder Page 23
