Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery
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Praise for the Baby Boomer Mysteries
“This is a fun chick lit investigative tale starring Carol Andrews super sleuth supported by an eccentric bunch of BBs (baby boomers), the cop and the daughter. Carol tells the tale in an amusing frantic way that adds to the enjoyment of a fine lighthearted whodunit that affirms that “every wife has a story.”
—Harriet Klausner, national book critic
“The over-50 crowd will love this….I love this lighthearted mystery. Susan Santangelo combines humor and mystery to create a great read. I am so glad to see a female lead character over 50….This is a must read!”
—Readers’ Favorite
“Not since picking up one of Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum books have I ever laughed or enjoyed a book so much as Susan Santangelo’s Retirement Can Be Murder.”
—Suspense Magazine
“Santangelo…captures well the anxiety of a wife who must face the reality of her life turning upside down. Good thing she has her friends to help.”
—Blog Critics
“Finally a cozy mystery with a heroine who’s middle-aged, married, and a mother….What really makes Retirement Can Be Murder special is the author’s uncanny knack for finding humor in everyday situations…. One of the funniest cozies I’ve ever read, and yet all of the humor flows naturally from the characters, the plot, and the dialogue.”
—Patricia Rockwell, Author of Sounds of Murder
“Moving Can Be Murder is jam-packed with Carol’s cast of best buds and signature Santangelo fun! The author has penned a magnificent cozy that will leave you panting from the excitement, laughing at the characters, and—no surprise here—begging for more.”
—Terri Ann Armstrong, Author of How To Plant A Body
“Susan Santangelo may be the next Jessica Fletcher, the mystery writer and amateur detective portrayed by Angela Lansbury in the award-winning television series Murder She Wrote…. Susan’s found a niche in the mystery-writing genre that just might find its way to the television screen, judging by the popularity of her first book, Retirement Can Be Murder.”
—Shoreline Times
“Not only is Moving Can Be Murder fun to read, it also includes valuable hints at the end if you’re thinking of moving. Thanks, Susan, for another excellent mystery!”
—Marie Sherman, Author of Say I Do! Tales of a Cape Cod Justice of the Peace
“Marriage Can Be Murder is filled with humor, interesting characters, and life’s complexities….It’s a winning selection to beat the blues or the blahs.”
—Technorati.com
“Marriage Can Be Murder, the third in a series by Susan Santangelo, is a clever and amusing story involving a couple who get tangled up in solving mysteries when they aren’t busy driving each other crazy as they get used to retirement. Pure enjoyment.”
—Carole Goldberg, former Books Editor, Hartford Courant
“Marriage Can Be Murder is hilarious, largely due to author Susan Santangelo’s masterly description of what life is like as a baby boomer. Since this is the third book in the series, readers have much to enjoy.”
—Readers’ Favorite
“Marriage Can Be Murder, the third Baby Boomer mystery, is a wonderful extended family affair as even canines Lucy and Ethel help in the investigation. The inquiry is fun as Susan Santangelo provides an engaging amateur sleuth.”
—Midwest Book Review
Class Reunions
Can Be Murder
Every Wife Has A Story
A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery
Fourth in the Series
Susan Santangelo
Class Reunions Can Be Murder
A Baby Boomer Mysteries Press Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Baby Boomer Mysteries trade paperback edition/First Printing, June 2013
PUBLISHED BY
Baby Boomer Mysteries Press
P.O. Box 1491, West Dennis, MA
www.babyboomermysteries.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. Copyright 2013 by Susan Santangelo
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews of a critical nature.
Cover and Book Design by Grouper Design, Yarmouthport, MA.
Cover Art: Elizabeth Moisan
ISBN 978-0-9857799-1-7
Publisher’s Note: The recipes in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher and the author are not responsible for a reader’s specific health or allergy needs which may require medical supervision. The publisher and the author are not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
This book is dedicated to all the usual suspects:
Dave, Mark, Sandy, Rebecca, and Jacob. And especially to Joe, who supports and inspires me every day.
To all my high school classmates, who bear no resemblance whatsoever to any character in this book, thanks for the memories. And, especially, for the love and laughter.
A big shout out to Lynn Pray, Courtney Cherico, and Pineridge English Cockers, for adding our boy, Boomer, to our pack. And, Boomer, thanks for being such a handsome cover model. Sorry that you had to pose as two females, though.
Thanks to Elizabeth Moisan for the terrific cover art, and Kimberly White from Grouper Design for the book design. And for letting me add her sweet Labrador Retriever, Porter, to this storyline. Porter crossed the Rainbow Bridge last year with our wonderful old dog, Tucker. There will always be a place in my heart for both of them.
Thank you so much to Paulette DiAngi for the creative and delicious reunion recipes, found in the back of this book.
To everyone at the Breast Cancer Survival Center, and breast cancer survivors everywhere, God bless! And to those who are continuing to fight the fight, never give up!
A big thank you to everyone from the Cape Cod Hospital Auxiliary, Barnstable branch, and the Cape Cod Hospital Thrift Shop, for allowing me to play with them. Which I do as often as I can.
Thank you to Ryan Carr, Dennis MA Police Department, for patiently answering my questions.
For Carole Goldberg from The Hartford Courant, and Melanie Lauwers from the Cape Cod Times, I appreciate your help more than you will ever know.
To my own First Readers Club, I couldn’t do this without your input. And Faith Scherer, thanks for the chapter heading!
To all my friends and cyber friends from Sisters in Crime, especially the New England chapter, thanks for sharing your expertise with me. I always learn something new, and the support is fantastic.
Thank you to the late Terri Ann Armstrong, my number one cheerleader, for her support. And to Shannon Raab, who helps me in so many ways.
And to everyone who’s enjoyed this series—the readers I’ve met at countless book events and those who have e-mailed me—thanks so much! Hope you enjoy this one, too.
Class Reunions
Can Be
Murder
Susan Santangelo
Fairport Manor Senior Living Community/a.k.a. Mount Saint Francis Academy
The Night Before The Reunion
“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” I said, huffing as I pulled my overnight bag up the marble stairs toward our third floor bedroom.
“Well, Carol,” said my very best friend Nancy, “if you weren’t such a nutcase about taking the elevator, we’d be in our room by now. I bet Claire and Mary Alice are already unpacked, lounging in their pajamas, and sipping a glass of cold chardonnay. While we’re pulling suitcases up these damn stairs. And probably overstressing our hearts. Which could lead to a stroke. And death. Not the way I pictured spending our fortieth high school reunion.”
I stopped in mid-stair and turned around to glare at Nancy. “It was your idea to stay here the night before the reunion lunch, in case you’ve forgotten,” I said. “I only agreed to this after you badgered me for a week. There’s absolutely no reason why we have to be here the night before. Even if we are running this event.
“Besides, I think it’s creepy, being here in a practically empty building that used to be our high school. And that’s going to open as a senior living facility in less than a week.”
I pulled my suitcase up behind me, being careful not to slip on the stairs. The same stairs that I had maneuvered with such agility to get to class on time all those years ago. “It’s more than creepy. It’s weird.”
“You’re weird,” Nancy shot back. “Let’s go, already.”
I bit back a sharp reply. Maybe I was weird. I’ve always been afraid of small spaces. Especially after I worked in New York City after college and got stuck in an elevator during one of the famous blackouts. For more hours than I cared to remember.
“We’re here,” announced Nancy. “Third floor, former cloister, and our home-away-from-home for tonight. And maybe tomorrow night, too.”
No way was I going to stay here more than one night. But I decided to fight that battle in the morning. Or maybe I’d just slink away after the reunion lunch and let Nancy figure it out for herself.
“Are Claire and Mary Alice right next door to us?” I asked Nancy, forcing myself to look on the bright side. “We always have much more fun when the four of us are together.”
Nancy frowned and looked at the key tag she had in her hand. “We’re in three-one-eight. I think they’re down at the end of the hall.”
She paused and clutched her chest dramatically. “Gracious me, that climb was too much. I need to catch my breath. ”
“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty about our taking the stairs, forget it,” I said, grabbing the key. “I happen to know that you have a much more strenuous daily exercise routine at the local torture chamber you call a women’s fitness center. Climbing three flights of stairs should be a breeze for you.”
I started to insert the key in the lock and the door immediately swung open. Without any help from me.
“That’s funny,” I said. “Why would our room be unlocked?”
“Maybe Goldilocks climbed in through the window and is waiting to share her porridge with us,” Nancy said.
“Very funny,” I said, going into our bedroom first and fumbling for the wall light switch.
“Oh.” I stopped so quickly that Nancy bumped into me.
Someone was sleeping in one of the beds. A quick glance revealed it was a woman with short white hair.
“Excuse me,” I said in my most take-charge voice. “I’m sorry to wake you, but you’re in the wrong room.”
“We all make mistakes as we get a little older,” Nancy said. “But she sure is a sound sleeper. She didn’t even stir when we came in.”
I leaned down and touched the woman’s right arm, which was peeking out of the bedclothes. Nothing. No response.
“Nancy,” I said as my stomach began to do unexpected flip-flops, “let’s get out of here. Now. I hope you have your phone with you.”
“I always have my phone with me,” Nancy said. “But who on earth do you want to call at this hour of the night?”
“The Fairport police,” I said, trying to remain calm even though I wanted to run up and down the hall, shrieking my head off. “Whoever this woman is, she’s not sleeping.
“She’s dead.”
Chapter 1
Mrs. Brown, you’ve got a lovely walker.
“Close your eyes, Carol,” said my BFF Nancy. “I can’t wait to show you what I found yesterday when I was cleaning out a closet.”
I leaned back in my kitchen chair and closed my eyes obediently, willing my mouth to refrain from the snappy comment that had sprung, unbidden, into my mind. If my eyes are closed, how can I see what you have to show me?
“You can open them now, Carol,” Nancy said. “Ta dah!”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Is that our old high school blazer you’re wearing?” I asked. “Good lord, where did you find that relic?”
“I told you, Carol, I found it when I was cleaning out a closet. I wanted to put together a bag of donations for Sally’s Closet. The thrift shop supports such a good cause, helping victims of domestic abuse. I know the shop always needs donations of gently worn women’s clothing.
“One of my New Year’s resolutions was getting rid of things I don’t really need or will never use again. Like my husband, for instance.”
I turned my gaze away from the navy blue blazer with the insignia of Mount Saint Francis Academy emblazoned on the breast pocket to stare at my best friend. “Are you trying to tell me something, Nancy? Have you really decided to divorce Bob?”
“Nah,” Nancy said. “Not so far, anyway. I’m having too much fun dating him. It’s much better than living with Bob fulltime and having to pick up his dirty socks off the bathroom floor and cook his meals. Now that we’re living separately, we’re getting along great. And before you ask me the next question on your mind, I’m not the least bit worried that he’ll cheat on me again. Because I already warned him that if he does, I’ll turn the tables and start dating, too. My Dream Dates profile is still active, and I get e-mails about potential dates every week. I make sure I let good old Bob know that.”
She twirled in front of me so I could admire her again. “I hope you’ve noticed that I can still button this blazer, Carol. And I’m not even holding my breath. ”
“I noticed,” I said. “I’m impressed. And jealous, too. Although I have no desire to put on my navy blue blazer ever again. I was so thrilled to finally get out of that place that I remember doing a cartwheel on the lawn after graduation. Unfortunately, I was wearing shorts under my graduation robe, not the required white graduation dress. And Sister Rose caught me.’
I grimaced at the memory. “She was pretty good at that.”
“I saw Sister Rose this morning when I brought my donations to the shop,” Nancy said.
I immediately stiffened. Mention of our former high school English teacher still made me do that.
“She mentioned you hadn’t been in to volunteer at the thrift shop for several months,” Nancy went on. “I told her you’d been very busy with Jenny and Mark’s wedding.”
A minor understatement. I’d been busy with the wedding, but even busier clearing Nancy’s cheating husband from suspicion in the death of our wedding planner.
You remember that, right?
I was sure Nancy did, so I didn’t bring it up and make her relive the nightmare all over again. Good friend that I am.
“I told Sister Rose that I’d found my old Mount Saint Francis blazer. We had a good laugh about it. You know, Carol, it’s been almost forty years since we graduated.”
“Don’t remind me,” I said. “Next you’ll be figuring out how long it’s been since we got out of grammar school.”
“What
do you think about Claire, Mary Alice, you and me getting together for a reunion lunch?” Nancy said. “For old times’ sake.”
“A reunion lunch? What are you talking about, Nancy? The four of us get together for lunch at least twice a month. I suppose you could call them ‘reunion lunches,’ since we all went to school together. But I just think of them as lunches with my three best friends in the world.”
“Actually,” Nancy said, “I was thinking it might be nice to add a few more people to a lunch sometime later this year. Just for the heck of it. What do you think? Aren’t there a few people from our high school class that you’d like to see again?”
I thought for minute, came up empty, and shook my head.
“I can’t think of a single person.”
“Oh, come on, Carol. Don’t kid me. How about Cynthia Perkins? You and she used to be great pals. I remember she even fixed you up with her brother for one of our fall formals.”
“That didn’t go well,” I reminded Nancy. “The cheapskate didn’t even buy me a corsage.”
“Well, you can’t hold Cynthia responsible if her brother turned out to be a jerk,” Nancy said. “What about Joanne Mitchell. She was a real brainiac. Don’t you wonder what ever happened to her?”