Retirement Can Be Murder

by Susan Santangelo

  Retirement Can Be Murder

  Every Wife Has A Story

  A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery

  First in the New Series

  Susan Santangelo

  Retirement Can Be Murder

  A Baby Boomer Mysteries Press Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Baby Boomer Mysteries trade paperback edition/First Printing, April 2009

  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 2009 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.

  ISBN 978-0-615-27314-3

  I’d like to thank the following...

  My Personal Beloveds: Joe, Dave, Mark, Sandy, Jacob and Rebecca.

  This one’s for you.

  First readers and cheerleaders: Rhea Marrison, Judy O’Brien, Penny Griffith, Sandra Pendergast, Marianne and Bob Laska, Nina Marino, Marti Baker, Jan Fable, Donna Schaefer, Jeremy Katz, Barbara Pearson-Rac,Vivian Watts, Sue Schwarm, Sister Beth Fischer, Frances McCarthy, Denise Hall, my pals from the Cape Cod Hospital Thrift Shop, and all my siblings from Sisters in Crime, Guppies and the Breast Cancer Survival Center.

  Joan Casinghino for the chapter headings.

  Agnes Seiwell for the ice cream bread recipe.

  Joyce and Ron Elliott for the use of their beautiful porch and furniture.

  For the past twenty years, my life has been enriched by the unconditional love of English cockers: Tuppence, Tessa, Tillie, Tucker and Lucy. Thanks for the memories.

  And a special thank you to Carla Gisolfi. You are the bravest woman I know, and I am privileged to call you my friend.

  A portion of the proceeds from sales of Retirement Can Be Murder will be donated to the Breast Cancer Survival Center (breastcancersurvival.org), a non-profit organization which provides post-treatment education and support for breast cancer survivors and their families.

  * * *

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  The hardest years of a marriage are the ones following the wedding.

  Here’s an amazing weight-loss tip for all the women in America: an out-of-body experience makes you look thinner. Forget about vertical vs. horizontal stripes. I’m telling you, an out-of-body occurrence does the trick. Plus, it can be quite a pleasant sensation to look down and see a movie starring…you. What’s not to like?

  Of course, there’s a down side to my weight-loss tip. Out-of-body experiences are triggered by a traumatic event, like the panicky phone call I’d just gotten from Jim, My Beloved Husband of 36 years, telling me he’d found his retirement coach, Davis Rhodes, dead at his kitchen table. When Jim said that the police were grilling him like he was a prime suspect in a crime, rather than an innocent person who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, I could feel my mind and body separate. This was immediately followed by an overwhelming sense of guilt.

  Because the whole rotten mess Jim found himself in was my fault.

  Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t murder Rhodes, although I will admit I’d often harbored dark thoughts about the guy because of the havoc he caused in our lives. However, I was responsible for hooking up My Beloved and Davis Rhodes in the first place. Well, to be honest, I manipulated Jim into consulting Rhodes about his impending retirement. The thought of having my dear husband around the house 24/7, with little to do except sit in his recliner with the television remote clutched in his fist, appealed to me as much as a root canal without Novocain. On second thought, I’d definitely take the root canal.

  I made the decision to stall Jim’s retirement as long as I could. By whatever means I could come up with. I admit I was pretty desperate, but I told myself I was doing it for his own good. Jim was too young to retire and have his mind turn to mush from lack of use. Any other well-meaning, loving, slightly devious wife would do the same thing. Right?

  How was I to know that the chain of events I’d innocently set in motion a few weeks ago would end up this way?

  Four Weeks Earlier

  “I’m really getting worried about Jim.”

  There was no response from my luncheon buddies, who also happened to be my three best friends.

  I figured they hadn’t heard me, so I raised my voice to be heard above the lunchtime din. The patrons at Maria’s Trattoria were extra loud today.

  “I said…”

  Before I had a chance to finish my sentence, Mary Alice interrupted me. “I don’t know why we came here for lunch. It’s always so noisy. You can’t even carry on a decent conversation. And the food is so high in cholesterol and calories, it can’t be good for us.”

  I rolled my eyes at Claire and Nancy, silently telegraphing, “There she goes again.” Mary Alice, being a nurse, often went into graphic detail about high cholesterol, osteoporosis, cancer risk, high blood pressure, hot flashes, menopause, the benefits and risks of soy, and other assorted topics that are part of the natural aging process we’re all going through.

  Guaranteed to kill the appetite, although I doubt that was her intention.

  “Why don’t you pick the place for next month then, Mary Alice?” snapped Claire. “You always complain when I pick it. And you know we like to come to Maria’s because she taught all our children before she retired and opened this restaurant.” She rummaged in her purse for her glasses so she could read the menu. “Damn it. I always leave the reading ones at home.” She held the menu out as far as her arm could reach and squinted. “Are there any specials today?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” My very best friend Nancy waved her perfectly manicured hand to get the attention of a passing waitress, who ignored her. “You know we’re all going to get salads anyway. We always get salads. I think I’ll have the Caesar salad this time.

  “Did you hear about the new facelift technique?” Nancy continued, changing the subject as usual. “It’s called a contour thread lift. Supposedly it’s the ideal procedure for forty-to-fifty-five-year olds with premature sagging of the upper neck and jowl area.”

  She checked her face in a small mirrored compact that cost as much as one week’s worth of groceries for the average family. “It’s being touted as a way to look younger without the risk and recovery period of traditional face lifts. And it can be adjusted when the face starts to sag so the results are constant. I’m thinking of going for a consultation. Anybody want to come with me?”

  “Can we forget about face lifts for just a second?” I pleaded. “I’m really worried about Jim, and you’re the only ones I can talk to about it. I need help. I think he’s losing his mind.”

  “You’re always complaining about Jim,” Claire said. “Every time we get together, you have something new to add to his ongoing list of sins.

  What’s he doing now? Still getting up at five in the morning to watch The Weather Channel and obsess about when the next major storm will disrupt his commute to the city?”

  “Let me guess,” said Mary Alice. “I bet he’s into his manic coupon-clipping phase again. What was it you called it, Carol? Obsessive Coupon Disorder?”

  “Very funny.” I was getting more and more aggravated. “This time it’s serious. Jim’s behavior is becomi
ng weirder and weirder. He’s impossible to deal with.” I paused, then raised my voice again to be sure they heard me.

  “He’s driving me nuts. I think he needs to see a shrink.”

  Unfortunately, when the word “shrink” popped out of my mouth, it was at one of those quiet times that can happen in very noisy places. Now, everyone in the restaurant was staring at our table.

  “Don’t look now,” said Nancy, “but Linda Burns just walked in the door.”

  Great. The one person in town who loved to lord it over everyone about her perfect life, her perfect family and her perfect career as a college professor.

  “Oh, God, do you think she heard what I said about Jim? That’s all I need.”

  “Well, she’s seen us all sitting here so we have to be nice,” replied Claire, always the Goody Two Shoes in our group. She gave Linda a friendly wave, and the rest of us pasted false smiles on our faces.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages, Linda,” Claire said. “Can you join us for lunch?”

  Nancy’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Thanks, but I can’t. I have just enough time to pick up a takeout meal in between classes. Plus, I have office hours this afternoon. So many students depend on me for advice. Even some who don’t take my classes.”

  Linda checked her watch. “I must get back to campus. Enjoy your leisurely lunch. You’re fortunate to have so much spare time. Ta for now.”

  “She is such a pain in the you-know-what,” said Mary Alice, once Linda was mercifully gone. “‘Enjoy your leisurely lunch!’ She just couldn’t resist a chance to stick it to us. Claire, don’t you ever invite her to have lunch with us again.”

  “You know” Nancy said, “the only time Linda was even remotely human was when her cocker spaniel was sick a few years ago. She and Bruce nursed that dog for months before they had to have it put down.

  It was like the dog was their child.”

  “That’s because they had that nutty idea about starting a new dog breed,” Mary Alice reminded us. “They were going to breed their cocker spaniel to a poodle, and call it a ‘cockerdoodle.’ Then Bruce found out there already was a cocker spaniel/poodle mix, the cockapoo, so they gave up on that idea. You know it’s all about money with them. Money and status.”

  “I heard a rumor that Linda’s going to be named chairman of the college history department this fall,” added Claire. “I hate to say it, but if we think she’s obnoxious now, she’ll be even more unbearable then.”

  “Look,” I said desperately, “can we get back to Jim, please? Nobody else but people our age can understand what I’m going through.”

  “Actually,” teased Nancy, “I believe I’m almost a year younger than you are, Carol.”

  It’s true that Nancy is nine months younger than I am, but because of the arbitrary cutoff dates which determined when a child was eligible to start school back in the 50s, we had ended up in the same class. I had other things on my mind today, however, so I let her comment pass.

  “Well, you certainly have our attention now,” said Nancy with a laugh.

  “Anytime I remind you that I’m younger than you are, you never let me get away with it. What’s going on?”

  “Ok,” I whispered. “Come a little closer to me. I don’t want to have to say this too loud.” And have everybody in the restaurant staring at us again.

  “Jim’s obsessed about retirement. He talks about it all the time. He even bought himself a retirement countdown clock. He’s figured out the earliest date he can retire, and programmed the clock to keep track of the time remaining until his big day. It’s on our nightstand, ticking away like a time bomb.

  “I guess what I’m looking for from all of you is a reality check,” I continued. “Have your husbands ever been as consumed as Jim is with retirement? Do they obsess about it, even during those intimate moments we all have? Oh, God, I’m sorry, Mary Alice.” My friend Mary Alice had been a widow for more than fifteen years. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t offend me, Carol,” responded Mary Alice. “I’m actually starting to think about taking early retirement myself.”

  “You’re kidding!” said Nancy. “What would you do if you stopped nursing? Wouldn’t you be bored?”

  In response to the “empty nest” syndrome Nancy went through after her children left for college, she’d begun a career as a local Realtor. I think her success in business surprised even her. I know it surprised the rest of us.

  “Well, I’d still need to make some money,” admitted Mary Alice. “I couldn’t completely retire from nursing. But the everyday hospital stress is really beginning to get to me. And the hours are so long. I went into nursing years ago because I wanted to help people. Nowadays, I seem to spend most of my time at the hospital doing mounds of paperwork. The time I get to spend with patients is very limited. It’s so frustrating. I was thinking I could sign on with a nurses’ registry and maybe do some private duty cases.”

  “That’s a great idea, Mary Alice,” I said supportively. “But could we get back to Jim for a second?”

  “Hi, I’m Sally. I’ll be your waitress for today. May I take your order?”

  Our waitress had finally arrived, and the lunchtime crowd was starting to thin out. “Sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

  “I’ll order for everybody,” I said. “We’ll all have the Caesar salad with chicken, no anchovies, dressing on the side. And iced tea with extra lemon. Be sure the lemons are cut in wedges, not slices. Ok with everybody? Fine. Now, can we get back to Jim?”

  “Carol, you really do have our undivided attention now and thanks for placing the order. Does that mean you’re picking up the check, too?”

  “Very funny, Nancy. All right. Claire, you’re our role model in this,” I said. “When Larry was first thinking about retirement, did he get, well, nutty about the idea? It’s been three years for you guys, right?”

  “Larry is so easy-going,” said Claire with a smile. “He doesn’t stress about anything. We’ve always been pretty much in sync with one another.

  Not that we haven’t had our share of arguments over the years. But when it comes to the really important stuff, we usually agree. I don’t remember him getting worried about retirement. But remember, I left my teaching job a year before he started thinking about retiring himself. I sometimes kid him that he retired because he saw how much fun I was having. And he still has a license to practice law, so he keeps busy taking on a few cases every now and then.”

  “You know, Carol, this restaurant is a perfect example of someone who re-invented her life when she retired,” said Nancy. “Remember when Maria was Miss Lesco, and she taught all our kids in sixth grade? When she retired from teaching, she re-did her kitchen and started offering take-out meals from her home. We all thought that she’d never make a go of it. But one thing led to another and she eventually opened this restaurant. It’s been a huge success for her. Retirement doesn’t have to mean you stop being productive. Maybe it means you finally get to do the things you really want to do. It sure worked for Maria.”

  “Yeah, Carol,” added Claire. “Remember all those back-to-school nights and parent-teacher conferences we went to over the years? I used to be petrified of Maria back then. She seemed so demanding and cold.

  Never tried to coddle the kids, that’s for sure. But she was a damn good teacher. Who could know that underneath that starched exterior was an artistic soul yearning to express itself through food?”

  She turned in her chair and managed to catch Maria’s eye. As usual, Maria was front and center in her open kitchen, a huge area which had been expanded during the restaurant’s renovations a few years ago so guests could watch the food being prepped and cooked. Food prep was a major source of entertainment these days, and Maria, smart enough to sense the trend, had positioned her work area so she was the visible star of her own show.

  “So what exactly are you worried about, Carol?” asked Mary Alice, returning to what was, I
felt, the main subject of our luncheon conversation.

  “You all know how Jim’s hated his job at the agency ever since the new boss was brought in, right?” Jim was a senior account executive at Gibson Gillespie Public Relations Agency in New York City, an easy train ride from our home in Fairport, Connecticut. The agency founder had died last year and his widow, Cherie, who had inherited ownership of the agency along with everything else in the estate, had brought in a 36-year-old whiz kid, Mack Whitman, to run the operation.

  “Every night Jim comes home with more complaints about Mack,” I continued. “How he conducts staff meetings and does yoga exercises at the same time. Or how he has no real vision for the agency. Jim says that all Mack’s doing is pumping up his personal expense account while the agency is floundering. I think what really scares him, though, is that everybody who’s been hired since Mack came on board is under thirty-five.

  Jim’s beginning to feel like an old man, and he talks about leaving his job all the time. But then I ask him what he’d do if he left, and he has no answer. You know that his whole life has been that job. He has no hobbies or interests at all. What’s he going to do if he retires, stay home all day and drive me crazy?”

  “Bingo,” said Nancy, aiming an imaginary gun at my head. “That’s the real problem. You’ve got this nice little life here in Fairport, with a home office setup you can use to do occasional freelance work. Your kids are grown and out of the house, and you have a few volunteer activities to make you feel worthwhile. You get to go out to lunch with friends, and go shopping whenever you feel like it. Between seven a.m. when Jim leaves for New York and seven p.m. when he comes home, you’re free as a bird to do whatever you want. Your only real responsibility is to be sure to let the dogs out a couple of times a day. You don’t want Jim underfoot rocking your boat.”

  I sat back in my chair. I was stunned that Nancy could be so harsh.

  “Did anybody read the Sunday Times Magazine last weekend?” asked Mary Alice. “It had a huge feature on retirement, because so many baby boomers are retiring now. There’s a whole new industry to deal with it.