by Morgana Best
I nodded. “I came to enough of these with him.”
“It’s so sad, isn’t it? It’s never easy, but a young girl like this…” my mom said, shaking her head.
“It’s terrible,” I agreed.
“Is that her boyfriend?” Mom pointed to Danny.
I nodded my head slightly. “Yes.”
“Next to the woman wearing all the makeup?”
I was horrified. “Shush, Mom!”
“They can’t hear me,” my mother said in a booming voice. “I tell you, that woman’s makeup is too thick!”
People turned to look at us. I hurriedly walked away from the gathering, so that my mother would follow me. She often spoke too loudly. I had been embarrassed more times than I could remember by her pointing out the faults of others at the top of her lungs, while at the same time insisting that they couldn’t hear her.
I took Mom back to the funeral home to prepare the coffee, tea and light lunch for the funeral attendees. Mom complained about the pastor’s funeral sermon the whole way. “Pastor Green should’ve invited all those people to my church,” she said.
“Mom, I’m sure most of those people do go to church.”
My mother shook her head. “Not my church,” she said.
“Does it matter which church they go to?” I asked. “Or do you think your church is the only one that’s right?”
“Of course not, Laurel,” she snapped. “That’s a terrible thing to say. How could you be so hurtful?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed, and then listened to her berate Pastor Green for the remainder of the drive back to the funeral home.
Scott followed us back, and parked in the garage next to the funeral home. I was on the porch when he came out. “Do you need anything else?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, but you could stay if you wanted. I know you knew Tiffany.”
Scott looked as though he was thinking it over for a moment, but his face darkened and he shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said, and he headed for the sidewalk. For a guy who drove our hearse for a living, I thought it was strange that he didn’t have his own car. I watched him go for a moment and then went inside.
I was hoping to see Tiffany, but Ernie was the only one I saw. He was standing just inside. My mother was in the small kitchen of the funeral home, getting dishes down from the cabinets.
“How was it?” the old man ghost asked.
“Sad,” I said.
“I don’t know why she didn’t go to her funeral. I went to mine to see which of my friends had a smile on their face. I haunted those jerks—you better believe it!”
I laughed. Ernie had somehow managed to get on my good side. He was obnoxious, but endearing at the same time.
“Where is Tiffany?” I asked quietly. I didn’t want my mother to hear me talking.
“I don’t know,” Ernie said. “I haven’t seen her since this morning.”
“Maybe she’ll show,” I said hopefully, and the old man raised his bony shoulders. I went into the kitchen, where my mother was unwrapping a platter of finger sandwiches.
“You know, John was asking about you at church,” she said.
“John who?” I asked.
“John Jones,” she said with a tone of annoyance in her voice. “He came for dinner last week.”
I had forgotten about him, in spite of how terribly sexist he was, given the fact he was so boring. “Oh,” I said.
“He’s a nice, proper man,” my mother said.
“His name sounds like a super hero’s name,” I said. “Clark Kent, Peter Parker, John Jones. Except he wouldn’t have a neat color costume, it would just be beige or something.”
“Why do you have to be so rude?”
I spent a moment thinking about the times I had heard my mother be rude to someone, even in just the last day, but the memories kept coming so I had to do something else. I made coffee in the machine, filled a couple of urns with water and then set about organizing the tea.
When guests began to arrive, my mother went out to greet them, and I set up the food and drinks in the small dining room. I put down a platter of sandwiches and turned, surprised to see Basil Sandalwood, the accountant, there.
“Oh hello, Basil,” I said.
“I’m sorry to intrude. I know you’re busy, but I wanted to show you this.” He handed me a newspaper. Our fingers touched and sharp jolts of electricity coursed up my arm. “It’s the Sydney newspaper,” he continued. “It’s not a celebrity funeral, but it’s along the same lines.”
I took the newspaper and unfolded it, moving to the side of the room along with Basil as some guests came in, no doubt drawn by the alluring aroma of the coffee.
“Wow,” I said. Basil had handed me just one section of the paper, and he had opened it to the right page. A man from the outback had died and had requested that he be buried dressed as a crocodile. The picture showed a man wearing a crocodile mask and a crocodile suit. The story had made page three of the paper, and a Sydney paper at that.
“This is perfect,” I said.
“Well, except that a man died,” Basil said, frowning.
“Right, sure, yes, other than that,” I hastened to agree. “But it says here that he even had a green coffin painted as a crocodile.”
“I knew they sold customized coffins,” Basil said, shaking his head, “but I never thought someone would actually buy a crocodile one.”
Chapter 10
I stood off to the side of the dining room, smiling when people met my eye, and nodding my head softly. It was another page out of Dad’s book. He was always present in the small gatherings we hosted, but he never made himself the center of attention. As I was remembering him in his suit, his hands clasped in front of his waist, and friendly but appropriate smile on his face as he watched the mourners, my mother flew into the dining room, her face twisted into anguish as she cornered Tiffany’s mother.
I had to fight to keep from rolling my eyes as my mom slipped her arms around the other woman, and held her close. She patted the back of Tiffany’s mother’s head as she forced her face into her bosom.
“I can’t get over this,” my mother wailed. “What a good, sweet girl she was. She went to my church! It just isn’t fair. If there’s anything you need, anything at all…”
It was obvious that my mother hadn’t learned anything from my father when it came to the gatherings. She had never done anything like this when he was alive, but now with him gone, she figured she had full run of the place. My father had explained over and over to her that the best in the business made their clients feel as though they weren’t there, while remaining available should the clients need anything.
I hurried over to the two women and put my hand on my mother’s arm. “Mom, I need your help with something,” I said.
My mother glared at me. Her thin mouth parted and she practically hissed at me when she spoke. “Can’t you see I’m consoling this poor woman? Can’t it wait?”
“Mom, I really need your help,” I said. “I can’t do it by myself.” I knew that if I played up to my mother’s sense of superiority, she would come with me. I was right. She stepped back from the other woman in a flash.
“Please excuse me,” my mother said, and she turned to follow me out of the dining room. There were people all over the funeral home, so I opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.
“I knew your father made a mistake,” my mother started. “What can I help you with?”
“I lied,” I said.
Her face contorted. “Lied?” she asked. “Why would you do a thing like that, Laurel?”
“I’m sorry,” I lied again. “I just thought you were being a bit overbearing in there. That woman lost her daughter, and you were practically holding her hostage.”
“I was comforting her!” my mother said way too loudly, sending three birds that had been sitting in a shrub in the front yard shooting into the air.
“I know, but that’s not our job,”
I said.
My mother waved her hand at me. “Oh, you’re too much like him,” she said, implying that I was too much like my father.
“Mom, if they need something, they’ll ask,” I said in a soothing tone.
“Oh hush, Laurel,” my mother said. “I can’t believe you’re so ungrateful.”
I sighed. I knew she wasn’t taking me seriously. My father had been able to keep her reined in, but she didn’t see me as an equal. I was an adult, but I figured that was just how child-parent relationships worked. The problem was that I was now her boss. She held the mother card over me, but this was my business now. And that put me in a very awkward position.
“Mom, please leave her alone. I’m trying to keep this place running the same way that Dad ran it.”
My mother looked at me, and I could see she was having an inner debate, trying to figure out if she wanted to argue with me. Thankfully, she decided not to pursue the matter, and simply frowned. “I’ll go make more coffee.”
“Thank you,” I said, and I watched her go. Just as I reached for the doorknob, a voice called out behind me.
“Hey, Laurel, hold on a minute.”
I spun around to see Tara hurrying up to the porch, her car parked at the curb behind her.
“Hey, I didn’t even notice you pull up,” I said, but it was obvious that Tara wasn’t in a chit chat mood.
“Is this Tiffany’s thing?” she asked, motioning to the other cars.
I nodded. “Her funeral was earlier, and the family and mourners are inside having tea and coffee,” I said.
“Okay, I won’t stay. I’m sure you’re busy, but I have something to tell you.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Well, I know you were doing a bit of digging into this, the case, or whatever we’re calling it, the murder. Duncan mentioned that the detectives had gotten Tiffany’s phone records back, and she had been talking to her boss a lot. Like, a lot.” Tara stopped talking to me and looked at me, waiting for my reaction.
“She did work for him,” I said, somewhat unimpressed.
Tara frowned. “Yes, but how often do you call your boss?”
“I am the boss,” I said, smiling.
“Well, before you moved back here. Did you call your boss?”
I shook my head. She did have a point. “I didn’t have his private number,” I said.
“Right,” Tara said, clearly pleased with herself. “And this was his personal cell phone, not even his work cell. He had two.”
I bit my fingernail. “Did Duncan say what the detectives are going to do?”
“He only said they’ll speak to her boss. Is her boss here?”
I shook my head. “He went to the funeral, but he and his wife didn’t come back here after. It’s mostly just family now.”
Tara nodded. “All right. I should go, but it’s certainly something to think about, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, it sure is something to think about.”
Tara hurried off, and once more I turned to the door, and once more I was interrupted. Tiffany was standing right in front of the door. “Can we speak?” she asked.
I looked around quickly. “In the house,” I said. “I don’t want someone seeing me talking to the air.”
We walked across the lawn together. I opened the front door and stepped in, needlessly holding the door open for the dead girl to enter before I shut it. “I can’t be too long,” I said.
Tiffany sighed. “I know. I was in there. It hurt seeing my mom so upset.”
“How come you didn’t go to the funeral?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
“I don’t know. It was just too weird, I guess. I might regret it some day, but for now, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t go.”
I cut straight to the point. “So, I’d like to ask you about your boss.”
Tiffany nodded. I saw at once that she looked guilty. “Were you were having an affair with him?”
Tiffany looked away and nodded again. “Well, he was having an affair with me. I’m not married, so I don’t know if that can be called me having an affair.” Her tone was defiant.
“You have a boyfriend,” I said gently, “but hey, I’m not judging. I’m trying to solve your murder.” We had moved into the living room. I was sitting on the couch, and Tiffany was still standing, near the doorway of the room.
“Had a boyfriend,” she said sadly. “My boyfriend cheated on me. Well, I think he was cheating on me. There was a girl he met at our church. He said they were just friends, but I wasn’t so sure. I would see him texting on his phone, but he wouldn’t tell me who he was talking to, and sometimes he’d get calls and leave the room and stuff. It was just weird.” She stopped and took a deep breath, or at least that’s how it seemed to me, as I didn’t think that ghosts could breathe.
“I was sure he was cheating on me, and it made me mad,” she continued after a moment. “My boss is just a nice guy. I don’t know. I know he’s older, but he’s so handsome and he always made me feel good, and it just happened. His wife didn’t know. I wanted my boyfriend to find out, though. I guess I wanted him to be hurt. I wanted him to be jealous, but I don’t think he ever found out. I left my phone around. I wanted him to pick it up and go through my texts, but he never did. He just didn’t care, I guess. And I wanted him to ask me to marry him, but he never did. I think I really messed up.”
Tiffany was crying, her phantom tears bright and silver, almost shining. I wasn’t sure if she could wipe them away, and she didn’t make an effort to do so. She kept talking. “And I was embarrassed. I know I should’ve told you about all of this before, but I just couldn’t. It was embarrassing. I know you’re trying to help me, and I wasn’t up front with you. I just… I go to church, you know? I messed up, and it’s embarrassing. I keep saying that, but it’s true.”
She looked at me. I didn’t know what to say. The whole story was sad. I was searching for the right words when Tiffany spoke again. “You should go back,” she said. “I’m going to go somewhere else. I need some time.”
I nodded and watched her float out of the living room, by way of the far wall. I stood and took a minute to gather my thoughts, and then I headed for the door. As I walked across the yard, back to the funeral home, I saw two people talking over by the side of the building. One was Danny, Tiffany’s boyfriend, and the other was a young woman. They were talking and laughing, and it was obvious to me that they were flirting.
I was most upset. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. I didn’t. I simply moved around the corner. “Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” Danny said, winking at the girl. “We’re just getting some air.”
“Tiffany was your girlfriend, right?” I said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
By the look on the girl’s face, I could tell she didn’t know that Danny had been dating Tiffany.
“You were dating Tiffany? You’re disgusting,” she said. She slapped Danny and hurried for the front of the funeral home. Danny glared at me and rubbed his cheek, and then he followed the girl.
As I made my way back to the funeral home, I thought about Tiffany. I still was no closer to figuring out who had killed her. Danny was still my number one suspect, but Tiffany’s boss had certainly risen a few notches. Maybe his wife had come close to figuring things out, and he needed to clean up the loose ends. I shook my head. No, people weren’t like they were on TV, or in the movies. You didn’t just kill someone, right? Just to get what you wanted?
No, that was a foolish thought. The only concrete thing I actually knew was that someone had murdered Tiffany. I just didn’t know how to go about uncovering who it was. I didn’t even know their motive. Nevertheless, I was determined. I wanted Tiffany to have closure.
I sighed, and then walked back into the funeral home.
Chapter 11
A couple of days after Tiffany’s funeral, I was out to dinner with Tara and Janet. The dinner was Tara’s suggestion, a girl’s night out. Tara had
invited me at work, while I had stocked supplies. Janet, the cosmetician, had overheard us, and since she was around our age, we had felt obligated to invite her as well.
Janet seemed nice enough, although I thought her a little strange. Nevertheless, I had been looking forward to getting to know her better. Yet as we sat over drinks waiting for our food to arrive in a restaurant, I was starting to regret that.
“People turn blue,” Janet said, “and they get bloated. I make them look their best, but you just can’t hide that fact that dead people are rotting. Gasses leak. Organs turn to…”
“All right,” Tara said, lifting her glass up and interrupting Janet. “How about a toast?”
“To dead people?” Janet asked.
“How about to the living?” I said, exchanging a furtive glance with Tara. We clinked our glasses and drank. When we put them down, Tara started up a conversation. I suppose she was keen to do so before Janet had the chance to get going again. So far we had learned about Mr. Gregory, a man who had been killed by a golf ball and needed an eye replaced, and Samantha Lyle, a woman who had died last year after choking to death on a chicken bone. Neither had been entirely pleasant conversations.
“I have some good news,” Tara said. “Duncan and I have decided to try for a baby.”
I clapped my hands together and beamed. “Oh, that’s awesome!” I said. “What changed his mind?”
“I think he just got tired of hearing me whine about it,” Tara said. “I don’t care why he changed his mind, but I’m glad he did.”
“You’ll be sorry if you have a kid,” Janet said unhelpfully. “You don’t really want one. Kids are a lot of money.”
I glared at her.
“I know they are,” Tara said, taking it in her stride. “But that’s okay, we’ll figure it out.”
“Kids, that would’ve been nice,” a voice said, and I turned my head to see Tiffany sitting in the empty chair we had at our table. I resisted the urge to keep looking at her. Instead, I looked at the other two women at the table. Janet had her head down and was scratching the table with the nail of her right index finger. Tara, on the other hand, appeared to be looking at Tiffany out of the corner of her eye.
