In the Dog House

by V. M. Burns

  “I’m rather surprised myself.” David glanced at me as he backed out of the driveway. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I didn’t have to separate my mom and my grandmother from a physical fight.” He smiled. “But I can’t help wondering—”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with our mother?” Stephanie poked the back of my neck.

  “Ouch! What are you doing?” I yelped.

  “Checking for pods. You must have been taken over by alien spores and become one of those pod people,” Stephanie said.

  We all laughed at the reference. I remembered going to a drive-in movie with the children to watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Albert and I had argued over whether the film would frighten them. I thought it might cause nightmares. Fortunately, they found the 1956 film hilarious, rather than scary.

  “I’m not an alien.” I sighed. “I’m just tired.” The emotional burden of the divorce and the stress of waiting to be arrested had weighed me down. “Besides, this will be over in a few hours, and I will never have to deal with any of these people again—unless Nonna Conti or Bisnonna get put in jail.” I attempted to lighten the mood.

  No one laughed.

  “Oh, come on. My joke wasn’t that bad,” I quipped.

  I looked from face to face, but no one would make eye contact with me. “What’s wrong?”

  After a pause, Dixie reached underneath the seat and pulled out a newspaper. On the front page, my own face stared back at me. The headline read “Lighthouse Dunes’ Merry Widow Visits Casino Night before Husband’s Funeral.”

  I didn’t bother reading the article. I had already lived through the ordeal once. The last thing I needed was a reminder. The picture of the waitress from the casino bar assured me that the story wasn’t written in my favor. “Good grief, that picture of me was from a community fund-raiser ten years ago.” I tossed the paper back to Dixie. “I was having a bad hair day.”

  Dixie’s smile never made it to her eyes.

  I sighed. “I almost wish they’d just lock me up already and get it over with.”

  Dixie gasped, and from the rearview mirror, I saw Stephanie and David exchange looks that reminded me I needed to be strong for them. I wasn’t deliberately trying to be morbid. I wasn’t enthused about the idea of getting arrested, but the anticipation of waiting for it to happen was worse. I hated walking around under a cloud of guilt and suspicion. I glanced out the window and couldn’t help wondering if every car I saw was an unmarked police car waiting to pick me up. I had to remind myself, I’m not that important, several times before I developed a twitch.

  We arrived at the church, and David pulled up to the front door. One of the funeral home attendants scrambled to open the doors and provide a hand for us as we dispersed. As we lined up, the funeral director, a short, balding man whose name I couldn’t remember for the life of me, and Father Dominick were waiting in the vestibule. After paying respects to Bisnonna and Nonna and Lorenzo Conti, he motioned for Stephanie, David, and me to come closer.

  I walked around the Conti family, rather than waiting for them to part and permit me to move forward.

  Father Dominick spoke in the soft “Holy Father” voice he used at times like this—gentle yet firm. “I will lead the processional into the church. The immediate family will be behind me and will sit on the first row. Spouses, children, and close friends of immediate family members will sit in the rows directly behind them.”

  Mrs. Conti looked as though she wanted to say something, but Father Dominick gave her a “Holy Father” look, which managed to silence her.

  Frankly, I was impressed. I’d never seen anyone who was adept at silencing my mother-in-law, and certainly not with a mere look.

  Dixie whispered into my ear, “Do you think they teach them how to do that in seminary?”

  I shook my head. “I have no idea, but if they ever decide to market the secret, it would be worth a fortune.”

  Dixie gave my hand a squeeze and then stepped to the back of the line.

  Father Dominick asked if everyone would bow their heads for a brief prayer. He prayed for peace and comfort for the grieving family, and then reminded us of the love of our heavenly Father, which he freely gave to us all. It wasn’t a long prayer, but it was effective. In a very few words, he prayed for compassion and forgiveness. He reminded us of God’s commandment to love. When he was done, he turned and led us into the sanctuary.

  The funeral mass was beautiful in its simplicity and ritual. The time-honored hymns spoke comfort to my soul. Father Dominick chose scriptures to read that provided reassurance and hope, rather than remorse. As I sat on the front row and listened to the mass, I watched the light filter through the stained-glass windows onto the altar. Something about the light through those windows left me feeling loved as I’d scarcely felt before. Apart from Mrs. Conti’s tears and an occasional wail from his grandmother, the mass proceeded without incident. Thankfully, David sat on one side of me and Stephanie on the other, so I felt surrounded by the love of my children, despite the frost coming my way from the rest of the Conti family.

  When the mass was over, there was a brief ceremony to take place at the gravesite. Father Dominick led a prayer and blessed the grave and coffin with holy water that had been sanctified by the archbishop of the diocese. Dixie skipped the graveside ceremony and bummed a ride back to the house with one of the parishioners to help with the repast, which would follow the graveside ceremony.

  Two obstacles down and one to go. I released a heavy sigh as David helped me back into the car. I wasn’t sure if Albert’s family would come back to the house or not. None of them had spoken one word to me since the limousine had left for the church and the strain of trying to maintain an appearance of companionship was draining, especially without a good night’s sleep.

  Unfortunately, when David pulled up to the house, it appeared that Albert’s family had not decided to skip the repast and were already at the house. I sighed and got out of the car, reminding myself it would be over in just a few more hours. Well, mostly over.

  I went in through the front door. The majority of people inside were Albert’s family members. Brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, and nephews filled the living room. Mrs. Conti sat in a position of prominence on the sofa, flanked by her husband and sons. When I stepped inside, the atmosphere altered. From the front porch, I heard the hum of conversation. Once I stepped inside, the hum ceased. Nearly everyone in the room turned to stare at me. I felt their judgment in the silence that followed and in the cold stares they bestowed on me. Thankfully, Stephanie came over and hugged me tightly. That hug froze the silence, and the masses returned to their whispered conversations.

  “Thank you.” I hugged Stephanie in return.

  Stephanie handed me a small plate of food and a glass of wine. “I thought you might need this.”

  “Thank you.” I took a sip and placed the glass on a nearby console table. The ham, macaroni and cheese, and green bean casserole, along with all of the other comfort foods Stephanie had given me, smelled delicious. I was hungry and prepared to take a few bites. Before I had ingested my first forkful, however, I looked around and noticed my neighbor watching me as though she was trying to memorize my every movement.

  Bradley Hurston was sitting in a wheelchair near the front door, with a plate of food on his lap and his binoculars around his neck. Unfortunately, I made eye contact with Marianne Carpenter, and she took that as an invitation to come over.

  She grabbed the handles of her brother’s wheelchair and pushed him in my direction so suddenly, his plate of food slid to the floor. Unnoticed by Marianne, she rolled the wheels of his chair right over the plate, compacting the food into the carpet as efficiently as those large asphalt rollers flattened hot tar.

  “I wanted to be the first to give my condolences.” She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me into an embrace that nearly spilled my own plate
onto the front of my shirt.

  I pulled away and placed the plate behind me onto the console table. “Thank you, Marianne.”

  “I’ve been meaning to come over sooner, but with all of the police and the reporters roaming all over the place day and night, it’s been hard to find a time when you were alone,” she said anxiously.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She looked positively elated. “Well, I mean, those men who keep coming around the house looking for things.” She leaned close and whispered, “You know…evidence.”

  “I know what you did. I saw you,” Bradley Hurston said from his wheelchair.

  I smiled at him. “You dropped your plate. Let me get you another one.”

  I turned, and instead of one plate on the console table, I saw there were two. I hadn’t remembered anyone else leaving a plate there, but then, there was a lot going on. Both plates looked untouched and contained virtually the same items. I looked around and didn’t see the other plate’s owner. It must have been Stephanie. I took one of the two plates and handed it to Bradley Hurston.

  When I looked up, I saw my brother in-law Gino in an animated conversation with Albert’s attorney, Charles Nelson.

  “I saw what you did.” Bradley Hurston took a bite of chicken.

  I heard a crash and turned back around. On the console table, the plate of food that had been there moments ago was now covered with glass shards and wine from a shattered wineglass.

  “I’m thirsty,” Bradley Hurston said to his sister.

  Marianne looked as though she would have liked to throttle her brother for a brief second, until she glanced over and saw David near the drink table. She smiled at me and then wheeled Bradley over toward David.

  Gino’s face was red with rage. He glared at me and then stomped away, leaving me wondering what had gotten him so upset.

  While Gino was red with fury, Chip looked as white as a ghost. Charles Nelson in his tailor-made suits always looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and today was no exception. If he was angry, upset, or furious, he had apparently trained himself not to show any emotion. His wife, Marilyn, on the other hand, was nothing but emotion.

  If Marilyn Nelson’s eyes were a measure of alcohol consumption, she was well on her way to inebriation. The police wouldn’t need a breathalyzer to tell she was in no shape to walk, let alone drive.

  “Lilly, please accept our condo…console…condolences.” Marilyn kissed the air next to my cheek and sloshed her glass of wine down the front of my blouse.

  Marilyn Nelson was a thin, well-preserved woman in her late forties. However, the years and bouts of alcoholism hadn’t been kind, and up close, she looked older. Despite a ton of makeup, her skin looked horrible. Her eyes were almost as red as her lipstick, and her bobbed hair looked dull and lifeless. Her dress was expensive and bore the unmistakable signs of one of the most expensive designers, but she’d lost a lot of weight and it hung loosely off her frame. She had removed her three-inch heels, and they were now sticking out of her purse. The red-soled Louboutin shoes made me drool for a few seconds, until her thin, bony fingers, adorned with diamonds, grabbed my arm. “Lilly, I’m so sorry,” she whispered in a voice that carried so that anyone standing nearby couldn’t help but overhear. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Thank you.” I tried to steady the tottering woman.

  Charles’s eyes narrowed, and a vein on the side of his head pulsed. He removed the wineglass from his wife’s hand and took her around the waist. “That’s enough.”

  Marilyn placed her head on his shoulder. “Yes, Charles,” she said meekly.

  “As you can see, my wife isn’t well.” He grimaced. “I wanted to talk to you about the will, but I really need to get her home.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

  Charles nodded. “Chip, help me get your mother to the car.”

  Before he left, Charles Nelson took out a handkerchief and wiped up the broken glass and wine. Albert used to refer to Charles Nelson as the “Cleanup Man.” He had always been there to clean up after Chip, and apparently Marilyn. Now I understood what he meant.

  Chip Nelson, slightly bleary-eyed and nervous, snapped out of his trance. The blood drained back into his face, and he got on the other side of his mother. Between the two of them, they helped Marilyn outside.

  “One thing you have to say about Charles Nelson, he is one fine dresser.” I took a deep breath and looked.

  Christopher Williams, my own lawyer, was standing nearby. “How’re you holding up?”

  I shrugged. “I’m tired, but I haven’t been arrested yet, so I guess that’s good news.” I looked around. “Unless you’re here to tell me the ‘thing which I greatly feared is come upon me.’”

  “Job, right?”

  I nodded. “Job three twenty-five.”

  He smiled. “I guess I do remember some things from Sunday school.” He took a sip of his wine and then shook his head. “Not yet. They’ve agreed to give you until tomorrow to turn yourself in, but if you don’t turn yourself in by noon tomorrow, then they’ll issue a warrant and you’ll be arrested.”

  I nodded, grateful I wouldn’t be dragged out of my house in handcuffs in front of my husband’s family. Something told me that was the main reason my mother in-law had even bothered to come to the house after the service. She would have taken pleasure in seeing me humiliated.

  I received condolences from friends and Albert’s business associates for close to an hour. When the funeral director thanked me for entrusting my husband’s remains with his company and announced they would be leaving, I breathed a sigh of relief. The end was in sight.

  Stephanie shared the news of the limousine’s impending departure with Albert’s family, and they made their way outside to load into the vehicles.

  Albert’s grandmother had to be helped outside. Mrs. Conti started to wail. It took her husband and both daughters-in-law to help her out. She made an elaborate production of not looking at me as she left. Just when I thought her performance couldn’t get any better, she stopped at the door, turned toward me, and uttered what sounded like a curse in Italian, then she spat on the ground and finally allowed herself to be dragged outside into the limo.

  I hadn’t heard Dixie’s approach until she whispered in my ear, “And the Oscar for best performance at a funeral goes to Camilia Conti.”

  * * * *

  I honestly didn’t expect to sleep. Between finding the gun that was most likely used to murder my husband, getting stopped by the police and almost being arrested for DUI, my husband’s funeral, complete with crazy in-laws, oh, and having to turn myself in for arrest, I thought my mind would be running 90 miles per hour and sleep would be the furthest thing from my mind. Fortunately, exhaustion and fatigue won out, and I slept like a toddler. In fact, I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow. No dreams, at least none I remembered, haunted me. I woke up refreshed and invigorated.

  I showered and dressed while Aggie waited anxiously in the small, pink pet carrier Dixie had bought after the funeral yesterday. She’d said she was in need of retail therapy. I spent extra time cuddling Aggie, partly because she’d been neglected a bit with all of the chaos I’d been through lately. However, if I was honest with myself, I snuggled with her more because I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to do it again. Between Christopher and Stephanie’s help, I realized it was unlikely that I’d immediately be taken to prison. In fact, they assured me chances were good I’d be home this afternoon. Yet, as I scratched Aggie’s belly and cooed at her, I wondered if I was doing her a disservice. She deserved a stable home where she didn’t have to wonder where her next bowl of dog food was going to come from. Aggie took that moment to lay her head on my chest and looked up at me with her trusting brown eyes.

  Before Christopher had left the previous night, we’d arranged for him to meet
me here today at ten. That would give us plenty of time to get to the police station before the noon deadline. I smelled coffee and suddenly realized I was famished.

  Downstairs, Dixie, Stephanie, and David sat at the kitchen table. If the dark circles under Stephanie’s eyes, the red, bleary-eyed gaze from David, or the makeup-streaked tissues next to Dixie were used to measure sleep, it didn’t appear any of them had gotten much.

  “Good morning.” I poured myself a cup of coffee. “I’m starving. How about breakfast?”

  They each looked at me as though I’d just asked for arsenic or a cyanide tablet.

  After a few seconds, Dixie hopped up and rushed around the kitchen. “Good idea. Why don’t I make you something? What would you like?”

  “Why don’t I make breakfast?” I took a sip of coffee and placed my mug on the counter. I could tell Dixie was about to protest, so I forestalled it by adding, “It’ll give me something to do.” I smiled at my friend. “Would you mind taking Aggie outside? I think she could use a little exercise.”

  Dixie nodded. “Of course not. I’m sure Chyna and Leia could use a brisk walk around the block too.”

  David stood up. “Can I help? Three dogs is a lot to manage. Do you think either of the big girls would be up for a run?”

  “Actually, that sounds like a great idea. I’m sure either Chyna or Leia would love a romp around the block. My husband usually takes them for six-mile runs before the weather gets too hot.”

  “I could use a job myself.” Stephanie stretched. “I haven’t gotten any exercise since…well, in quite a few days.”

  “Great. Why don’t you all get out of my way and let me cook? Then, when you come back, I’ll have breakfast ready.” I put a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread on the counter and hoisted a bag of potatoes up next to them. I didn’t see any looks exchanged, but I felt them anyway. “I feel like hash browns.”

  Dixie put retractable leashes on each of the larger dogs and handed one to each of the kids, along with a couple of plastic bags for waste cleanup. She took the tiny pink leash she’d bought for Aggie and headed outside.