Framed for Murder

by Cathy Spencer

  Chapter 17

  Amy phoned me back that evening to confirm that Jessie was called for the shoot on Thursday evening, and we made arrangements to drive to the set together after supper. She also told me that Jessie had not been working on the night that Jack was killed.

  “But that doesn’t mean much, Anna. After all, I wasn’t working that night, and you don’t suspect me.”

  “But you were working. You had a customer at six thirty.”

  “Oh, right, I forgot about that. Wait a minute! Anna Nolan, do you mean to tell me that if I hadn’t had a client that evening, you would have suspected me of shooting Jack?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have. You’re just not the murdering type. But, as it turns out, you did have a client.”

  Amy sniffed. “I’ll pick you up at your house at six. I’m supposed to be in make-up by six thirty, so don’t be late. Make sure you wear something plain so that you don’t draw attention to yourself. I don’t want Jessie noticing you. I asked the assistant director about bringing you, and she said that she didn’t have a problem with it because you’re Jack’s widow. She thinks you want to see the last film Jack worked on because you’re being sentimental. But let’s not push our luck.”

  “Uh, Amy, do you know if either Karen or Connie will be on set Thursday night?”

  Amy snorted. “No, of course they’re not. Do you think I’d let you anywhere near them if they were? There’s a second location in the mountains about seventy kilometres away. Connie and Karen are filming out there until Friday.”

  “That’s good, but you shouldn’t worry about them. They don’t know that I was in their house yesterday.”

  “Well, I just think that it’s a good idea to keep the three of you separated. You’ll get in less trouble that way.”

  I smiled into the phone. Poor Amy, she really was spooked. I said, “I’ll be waiting for you on Thursday. And thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, swiftly cutting the connection.

  As I drove to the university the next morning, I decided to concentrate on nothing but work for the whole day. I‘d been distracted and letting things slide lately, which wasn’t like me. I was usually the picture of efficiency. Tomorrow I’d be taking the day off for Jack’s funeral, and there was still some fine-tuning to be done on the schedule for next year’s winter classes before I could turn it over to the Scheduling Office. When I arrived at my desk, however, I found a sympathy card signed by everyone in the department. This token of support brought emotions best buried back to the surface, and I started to feel weepy. Hurrying to the ladies’ washroom, I hid in there for half an hour before getting a grip on myself. People were very kind to me for the rest of the day, dropping by my desk to offer their sympathies and to see how I was holding up, and I kept my emotions in check as best as I could before scurrying home at four thirty.

  I had trouble sleeping that night and woke up early feeling both tired and sad the next morning. It was time to say goodbye to Jack, and to the happiest and most miserable parts of my life. I crawled out of bed and took Wendy for a long walk, hoping that the exercise would help me to feel better. It did – it gave me time for a good long think. I shed some tears along the way, but by the time I got home, showered, and changed into a simple black dress, I felt ready to face the funeral with some degree of serenity.

  I drove over to the church and parked on the street half an hour before the funeral was scheduled to start. Ferguson’s hearse was already parked out front. The neighbourhood was quiet; no one was out for a walk at nine thirty in the morning. St. Bernadette’s Elementary School was located right across the street from the church. The playground was always lively before and after school and at break times, but the children were all inside at their lessons. It was an overcast day, and I felt cheerless as I pulled the church’s back door open and let myself in.

  Father Winfield, dressed in a black robe with a purple stole, was standing beside the front pew talking with a man I didn’t recognize. There was a tall wooden stand draped in white linen in the aisle beside him. The stranger, wearing a proper grey suit, held a brass urn in his arms. He had to be from the funeral parlour. Both men turned to look at me as I walked up the aisle.

  “Anna, how are you this morning?” Father Winfield asked, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Father.”

  “Let me introduce you to Ferguson’s funeral director, Mr. Albert Ferguson.”

  Mr. Ferguson placed the urn upon the stand and turned to take both of my hands. “How do you do, Mrs. Nolan? I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said in a well-modulated voice.

  “Pleased to meet you, and thank you for looking after Jack.”

  He patted my hand. “You’re very welcome. I hope that you’re happy with my choice of urn for your husband’s remains?”

  I looked down at it and had the crazy notion that if I rubbed it three times, Jack might pop out like a genie. Death can have a strange effect on people. “Yes, it’s very . . . handsome.”

  He released my hand. “Since we will not be progressing to the cemetery after the service, I’ll remove the urn then and take it back with me. Tomorrow I will send the deceased’s ashes to the funeral home you specified in Ontario.”

  “Thank you. Jack’s mother and I both appreciate that.”

  “You’re most welcome.”

  I glanced up at the altar stairs and saw a beautiful spray of spring flowers in a tall white vase placed beside my arrangement of roses. “How beautiful. I wonder who sent them,” I said.

  “They were delivered half an hour ago. The card that came with them says that the flowers are sent with the best wishes of Chinook University’s Kinesiology Department,” Father Winfield replied.

  I was touched. I was usually the person who arranged for the delivery of flowers and sympathy cards on behalf of the department. Magdalena must have sent them herself.

  “Would you like to take the flowers home with you after the service?” Father Winfield asked.

  “Oh no, you keep them for the church, please.”

  Two giggly pre-pubescent girls burst through the sacristy door out onto the altar. Father Winfield waved at them before turning back to me.

  “Please excuse me, Anna. The altar servers are here from the grade school.” He climbed the stairs to the altar. “Good morning, Sherry and Jessica. Thank you for volunteering to assist us today. Please go get yourselves ready.” The three disappeared back into the sacristy, Father Winfield herding the girls before him.

  “I’ll let you have a few moments to yourself before your guests arrive, Mrs. Nolan,” said Mr. Ferguson, nodding and retreating down the aisle.

  I turned back to the urn to take a closer look. Jack’s name, and his birth and death dates, were inscribed upon it in a fine script.

  “Well, here we are, Jack,” I whispered, laying my hand on the sealed lid. “Neither of us saw this coming, did we? Funny how things turned out. We were so crazy in love when we got married, so thrilled the day that Ben was born, but it all ended in divorce. And then someone took your life.” I paused, my eyes getting filmy. “We haven’t figured out who did it yet, but we will, and we’ll bring your killer to justice. Maybe you don’t even care about that, wherever you are right now. Anyway, have a safe trip back to Ontario and your mother, and rest in peace. Hey, if you make it to heaven, say hello to my mother for me, will you?” I patted the jar and smiled.

  The door opened at the back of the church and I turned to see who was coming in. May and Erna came down the aisle, Erna’s hand tucked into May’s arm, with Betty following behind them. I hurried forward to greet them.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here this morning,” I said, delighted that they had come.

  “Well, of course, doll,” May replied. “Couldn’t let you handle this all on your own. My son is looking after the store this morning.”

  Betty leaned in. “Sorry that Jeff couldn’t be here. He had an emerg
ency auger first thing this morning, but he said to tell you that he’s thinking of you.”

  I gave her a hug. “That’s okay, Betty. Thanks for coming, and tell Jeff that I said thanks, too.”

  Erna said, “Shall we take our places?” I nodded, and the four of us sat down together in the front pew. We chatted quietly, and then I knelt to say a prayer. My heart felt at peace now that I was surrounded by friends.

  I heard the door open and close again, and Frank, Judy, and Mary came in together. Frank had on a brown tweed sports coat over his white shirt and jeans, and Judy wore a forest green silk blouse with black tailored trousers. Even Mary had on a sedate navy blue skirt that reached all the way to her knees. The women eased into the pew behind us as Frank stopped to grip my shoulder. I looked up into his face.

  “Thanks for coming, Frank. You must have closed The Diner for this,” I said, covering his hand with mine.

  “No problem, Anna. We’re sorry for your loss,” he said gruffly. I turned and smiled at Judy and Mary.

  The organist arrived and began playing generic classical musical. The interior lights flipped on. We sat together in silent contemplation, Erna patting my arm from time to time. The door opened again and I heard Clive Wampole shout, “See, Mr. Andrews, we made it with time to spare!”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Clive, wearing a brown suit and muddy boots, and Mr. Andrews, also in a suit, hurrying up the aisle. They both nodded to me, and I smiled and waved.

  “Shove over, Frank,” Clive said, and the new-comers joined the group from the restaurant.

  The organist stopped playing, flipped through a few pages, and began the first hymn. We stood and watched the two young alter-servers process up the aisle, looking angelic in white surplices over their black robes. Father Winfield followed, swinging an orb that wafted incense before him. They passed our pew and paused to intone a prayer over Jack’s ashes. As they climbed onto the altar, Ben suddenly appeared in the aisle beside me. He was wearing his only suit, a charcoal grey, with an open-collared white shirt. He bent to kiss my cheek and I gave him a quick hug, beaming up into his face. The ladies and I moved over to make room for him, and Ben genuflected and took his place beside me. He reached for my hand, and we turned to listen to the service.

  When the congregation joined together in prayer, Ben leaned over to whisper, “Did you notice Tremaine? He’s sitting in the back.”

  I looked over my shoulder to see Tremaine standing alone in a rear pew. His eyes met mine and he nodded. I nodded back at him and smiled. Our relationship had had its rocky moments, but I appreciated his kindness in coming today.

  “I suppose he’s here to see if the murderer is at the funeral,” Ben whispered. I rolled my eyes and poked him discreetly in the side.

  Father Winfield spoke mostly about forgiveness and redemption in his sermon, although he did talk a little about Jack, describing him as a loving husband and father. I glanced at Ben, who kept his eyes focused forward and his face blank. Finally, the funeral service came to an end and we sang the recessional hymn. Mr. Ferguson came forward to carry out the ashes with Father Winfield joining in behind him, followed by the altar-servers. Ben and I filed out of our pew with the rest of the mourners following us. I looked for Tremaine at the back of the church, but he had already slipped out. We walked through the lobby and out the back door, pausing in the grey morning light at the top of the stairs. I thanked Mr. Ferguson and Father Winfield for their services, and we all watched silently as the funeral director placed the urn into the hearse and drove away.

  I sidled over to Frank. “Frank,” I whispered, “I’d like to take us all out for an early lunch at The Diner. Is that okay with you?”

  “No problem, Anna. We can handle that.”

  “Thank you.” I turned to my friends and smiled. “You’re all wonderful for coming to be with Ben and me this morning. It’s good to be surrounded by friends at a time like this.” People nodded, or ducked their heads and smiled. “Please join us for lunch at The Diner.”

  Everyone thought that lunch would be very nice, so, after sorting out our cars, we formed a procession and drove the short distance to Main Street with Clive and his tractor bringing up the rear. As we cruised along at about twenty kilometres an hour, Ben in his car behind me, I thought myself lucky to have found this small town and all of these dear friends. I felt very happy on what had promised to be a sad and lonely morning.