Class Reunions Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story; A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery

by Susan Santangelo

  Nancy and I were inseparable from first through third grade. And then a new family moved in next door to the Kendricks. The Bennetts. And they had a little girl, too. Mary Alice. The Bennetts enrolled Mary Alice in Mount Saint Francis Grammar School, too.

  Nancy and Mary Alice became fast friends. And began walking to school together. Leaving me out of their new, tight friendship. At least, that’s how it seemed to me. Boy, was I hurt.

  Most of fourth grade was terrible for me. Until another new girl transferred into our class in the middle of the year – Claire Monahan. And I befriended her.

  Somehow, over that summer between fourth and fifth grade, the four of us became a group. I don’t remember the details. But we all just clicked, and the old hurts (on my part) were put aside.

  Thank God.

  I know how special it is to make friends in grammar school, strengthen the friendship bonds in high school and college and be even closer now that we’re all adults. We’ve shared just about everything with each other over the years – broken hearts, broken bones, weddings, funerals, children’s births, the death of a spouse. And lots of laughter and love.

  Sometimes I think that Nancy, Claire and Mary Alice understand me better – and know more about me – than my own family. Except Lucy and Ethel, of course.

  But as long as I’m being honest with you, I’ll admit that, for some reason, Claire is the only member of our foursome who intimidates me. I say that in a loving way. But she’s always been…perfect. Even when she gained some weight in her fifties. She’s very tall, so she carried the extra pounds like an Amazon goddess. (Not that she saw herself that way, of course.)

  And when Claire’s hair turned white, every strand was gorgeous. Not that she thought so. That’s why she went through a brief stage as a redhead. Maybe some of you remember that.

  Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that Claire can intimidate me. It’s not that I don’t love her as much as my other best friends. But, everything she does, she does brilliantly.

  Oh, well.

  I resisted the urge to bang the phone down in her ear. My mother raised me to be polite. But this was not the way I wanted my Monday to start.

  “Nobody mentioned a trip to check out the school,” I said, searching my rusty memory bank to be sure I was correct. “Nancy was trying to strong-arm me into helping her organize our class reunion. Which I absolutely refused to do.”

  Silence from the other end of the line.

  “As far as visiting Mount Saint Francis, I never said I wouldn’t do that. I haven’t had the urge to go back… well … ever. Not since we all graduated. But I’ll think about it,” I said. “This is the first time anyone’s bothered to mention this idea to me.”

  Considering that I was caffeine-deprived, I felt that was a major concession on my part.

  “Great,” said Claire. “Be ready at eleven-thirty.”

  “Today?” I said. “You mean, we’re going today?”

  “No time like the present,” Claire said. “I’ll pick you up at eleven-thirty sharp. I told Nancy that I’d have much better luck talking you into this than she or Mary Alice would. And I was right! See you later.” She clicked off.

  “I’ve been had, Lucy,” I said, directing my comment to the dominant English cocker in the house. “I bet you knew about this all the time and didn’t have the decency to warn me. And you probably hid all the coffee, too. Just to weaken me.”

  Lucy gave me a reproachful stare, telegraphing as clear as anything that neither she nor Ethel would stoop so low. Especially because she knew that if she hid the coffee, I’d retaliate by hiding the dog biscuits. Swear to God, that’s what she said.

  Chapter 6

  I wanna hold your hand. If I don’t, I might fall down.

  “This is going to be so much fun,” Claire said. She gave me a quick glance to see if I agreed with her Pollyanna description of our upcoming adventure.

  “It’s a nice day for a ride,” I said, choosing to ignore the point of her remark. “And I’m glad you’re driving, not me. It’s good to be a passenger for a change. I love your new car.”

  “I always wanted a red convertible. And I figured, there’s no time like the present, right? We’re not getting any younger.”

  “The truth hurts,” I said. “But coming from someone who’s my own age, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much. Don’t you just hate it when some smart-alecky twenty-something calls you ma’am? It makes me feel like somebody’s grandmother.”

  “I thought becoming a grandmother was your next career goal, Carol,” Claire said. “Especially now that you’ve finally managed to get Jenny and Mark married.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears, Claire,” I said with a laugh. “But this is one project that I can’t organize. Oversee. Control. You can pick whatever word you want.”

  I sighed. “I just hope they don’t wait too long before they decide to have a baby. They’re both so wrapped up in their careers.”

  “Like that’s such a bad thing?” Claire questioned. “Mark’s been promoted to detective in the Fairport Police Department. And Jenny’s finally gotten her master’s degree and is well on her way to her Ph.D. in English. She’s a natural teacher, and Fairport College is thrilled to have her as an adjunct. You should be proud of both of them.”

  “I am proud of both of them,” I said in my own defense. “Very proud. But this generation seems to be prone to getting all wrapped up in their careers and putting off starting a family until the woman is in her forties. And then there can be all sorts of problems conceiving. I don’t want that to happen to Jenny and Mark.”

  Claire took her right hand off the steering wheel, just for a second, and gave me a slap. It was a gentle slap. But a slap nonetheless.

  “Carol, knock it off. For heaven’s sake, they’ve only been married a few months. Stop imagining problems where they don’t exist. You really are too much.”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said, trying my best to sound convinced that Claire’s theory about me was correct. Oh, heck, I knew Claire was right. But that didn’t mean I’d let the subject drop without one parting shot.

  Except, for once in my life, I couldn’t think of one. How about that?

  Well, there is a first time for everything.

  “It looks like the street has been widened,” I said as we drove up Hilltop Avenue toward the school. “The last time I was here…uh, oh…”

  Claire swiveled her head toward me so fast I was afraid it was going to snap off her neck.

  “What do you mean, ‘the last time you were here,’ Carol?” she asked. “Have you been up here recently? You swore to us that you never came back to Mount Saint Francis after we graduated.”

  “Keep your eyes on the road, Claire,” I said. “And you misunderstood what I said just now.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” said Claire. “How come I don’t believe you?”

  Rats. I was trapped. And by my own big mouth, too.

  We turned into the driveway leading to our school. Claire pulled over to the side and killed the car engine. “We’re not going anywhere until you level with me,” she said.

  “It’s really no big deal,” I said.

  “It’s a big deal because you’ve made it one for forty years,” Claire said. “You said you’d never come back to school again after graduation. And every time the three of us tried to entice you into coming to an event to benefit Mount Saint Francis, you flatly refused to go.

  “So, what gives?”

  I thought fast.

  “I discovered a while back that Hilltop Avenue is a handy short-cut to get to the beach if the main roads are clogged,” I said. “I use it when the tourists are around. You know how Fairport gets invaded with all those summer people. That’s the whole story. Honest.”

  “And you
want me to believe that not once, in one of your short-cut adventures, you never had the urge to drive in and check out Mount Saint Francis? With your nosy nature? Oh, puhleeze. No way am I going to swallow that one. I bet that, knowing you, you probably got out of your car and peeked in the windows.”

  “Ok, ok. I’ve been back here before,” I said. “I admit it. I was curious about how the building looked after all these years. So sue me.

  “But I did not peek in the windows. I swear.”

  “Why didn’t you want any of us to know, Carol? I don’t understand about the secrecy,” Claire said.

  “Well, I’d made such a big deal out of never coming back here again, I guess I was embarrassed to admit that I had. I didn’t want everybody making fun of me.”

  “Honestly, Carol, none of us would have made fun of you. We’d want to know how the old place looked, of course. In as much detail as you could remember. But we wouldn’t have razzed you for going back. After all, we had four great years here. Even if you have trouble admitting it.”

  Claire turned the key in the ignition and the motor leaped to life. “Just wait until I tell Nancy and Mary Alice about this.”

  “Claire, I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. “I’m not worried about Mary Alice’s reaction, but Nancy will probably use it to strong-arm me into helping her organize our fortieth reunion. Which I really don’t want to do. Will you keep my secret? For old times’ sake?”

  “You’re a doofus, Carol,” Claire said. “But I love you and, if that’s what you want, I won’t mention it.” She turned the car into a parking space in front of the building.

  “We’re here. And I, for one, can’t wait to see how our old high school is being transformed into a senior living facility. Grab your walker and let’s go.”

  Ha! That Claire. What a kidder.

  I may be a teeny bit prejudiced, but I have to admit that Mount Saint Francis Academy is one of the most impressive and beautiful structures I’ve ever seen. The building was originally a mansion owned by the Carny family, who could trace their lineage back to the founding fathers (and mothers) of Fairport. In fact, not only was one of their ancestors a hero in the American Revolution, George Washington really did sleep at his house. At least, that’s what the family always claimed.

  The building is brick with limestone trim, designed in the style of many of the mansions on Newport, Rhode Island’s, famed Cliff Walk. Its imposing entrance topped by a curved portico is flanked by massive white marble pillars which have weathered to a dusty beige over the past century.

  Elizabeth Carny, the last of the family line, was a great believer in education for “young ladies.” A devout Catholic, she donated the mansion to the local order of nuns, stipulating in her will that the building be used primarily to educate and nurture young women.

  Mount Saint Francis Academy educated thousands of young women since it opened its doors in the early 1900s. Including me and my three best friends. And here we were, back again. And still together.

  “Where are Nancy and Mary Alice?” I asked, stalling for time before I went inside our high school after a forty-year year absence.

  It felt weird to walk up the front steps and stand under the portico for the very first time. When we were students at Mount Saint Francis, we were never allowed to use the front entrance. That was reserved for very important guests, like the bishop. I remember that all the nuns were in a tizzy every time he came by.

  Don’t get me wrong – the bishop didn’t just drop in unannounced. In fact, we always had at least a month’s advance notice that he was coming. But that didn’t lessen the nervous excitement that permeated the entire building when he was expected. In fact, it seemed to heighten it.

  There was even a special parlor, directly adjacent to the main corridor, reserved just to greet His Nibs. When he wasn’t around, the door was kept closed. I often wondered if anyone went in there to dust, or if there was cleaning frenzy just before his expected arrival.

  I couldn’t imagine what would have happened if the Pope popped in to say hi. Probably massive coronaries in the cloister.

  “Maybe Mary Alice and Nancy left their cars in the back parking lot,” Claire said. “Don’t forget, there’s another entrance off Shore Road. Where our parents used to drop us off for school, a thousand years ago.”

  “The place doesn’t seem to have changed that much,” I said. “At least, from the outside. I think adding two rocking chairs by the front door would be a nice touch. Or maybe two walkers would be better.”

  “Remember, the place isn’t open yet,” Claire said. “The management company is just beginning the transformation, so try not to be so critical.”

  I bit my tongue. I was just kidding, for heaven’s sake. I am the least critical person I know. In fact, a critical word never escapes my lips. But if a critical thought…or two…or three…should happen to wander into my head, well, that’s a whole different story.

  “Do we knock?” I asked. “Or maybe we should just walk in.”

  I stepped aside and pushed Claire in front of me. “You go first. You’re taller than I am.”

  Claire gave me a look of undisguised exasperation and reached for the front door. Only to have it fly open and reveal Nancy and Mary Alice, giggling like the school girls we used to be.

  “We were watching you from the window in the parlor,” Nancy said. “I bet Mary Alice ten dollars that Claire would never get you up the front steps, Carol. You actually made it, so I guess I have to treat you to lunch, Mary Alice.”

  “You can treat me to lunch, too, Nancy,” I said, only slightly miffed at having my very best friend make fun of me. “And Claire, too, for that matter.”

  “It’s odd to be back here after all these years,” Mary Alice said, giving me a quick hug. “The place looks the same, but it feels different. That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

  I looked around and nodded in agreement. “I think you’ve made perfect sense, Mary Alice. It’s the same, but different. For instance, what happened to the statue of Saint Francis that used to be next to the door? Remember that?”

  “I remember that one Halloween night we sneaked up the hill in the dark and put a lighted cigar in his hand,” Nancy said. “Then we rang the front doorbell and ran away when one of the nuns came to answer it.”

  Claire looked shocked. “I don’t remember that at all. You’re making it up. I’m certain I was never part of that adventure. My God, you could have burned the whole place down. ”

  “Nancy and I were the ones who put the cigar in Saint Francis’s hand,” I said. “And Mary Alice rang the doorbell. You were the first one to get a driver’s license, so you drove the getaway car, Claire. Whether you own up to it or not.”

  I paused for maximum effect. “But first, Nancy had to get the darn cigar to light. And since we were all non-smokers, that took some doing. And lots of puffing.” I mimed Nancy lighting the cigar, puffing on it, then doubling over, coughing.

  That did it. We all shrieked with laughter as the memory of that long-ago night surfaced with such clarity in our late-middle-aged brains that it might have happened yesterday.

  “Get a grip,” Nancy said, trying to bring us under control. “We’re supposed to be grown-ups now.”

  “Fat chance,” I said, and we started hooting all over again. “Maybe we should organize a search party to find Saint Francis. I wonder if we can file a missing statue report with the Fairport police. Is that the same as a missing person’s report? Can we be considered next-of-kin because we’re graduates of Mount Saint Francis?”

  “Carol, you are too much,” said Mary Alice.

  “Thank you. I think.”

  I looked around what appeared to be a deserted lobby. “I hope nobody overheard us.”

  “Relax, Carol. I think the statute of limitations has expired,”
Nancy said. “Or maybe I should call it the ‘statue’ of limitations. At least we have an in with a good lawyer. Assuming Claire will put in a good word for us with Larry.”

  I rolled my eyes, and Mary Alice said, “I’m not the least bit worried.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Nancy said. “Ringing the doorbell on Halloween night was probably the only thing you ever did wrong in the whole four years we were in high school.”

  Now it was Mary Alice’s turn to roll her eyes. “If that’s what you think, I’m not saying another word. Or confessing anything else. I have secrets, too.”

  Hmm. This was turning into a pretty surprising day.

  “Where’s the person from the management company who’s supposed to show us around?” Claire asked. “I thought we had an appointment.”

  “We’re waiting for Sister Rose to get here,” Nancy said.

  I had my usual knee-jerk reaction. Emphasis on the word “jerk.”

  “You didn’t tell me Sister Rose was going to be part of our tour group.”

  “I thought you and she were best buddies now, Carol,” Claire said. “Especially after you loaned your house for her to use as a fundraiser for Sally’s Place. I know that party raised big bucks for the domestic violence victims program.”

  “And let’s not forget about your volunteer gig at Sally’s Closet,” Nancy said. “Although your motives for being there may not be exactly pure. I know what a great shopping opportunity it is for you, to be able to scoop up some great bargains before they even hit the sales floor.”