Kiss and Tell (7 page)

The coroner looked at the others, and said, “You wait here.”

Dennis sucked in his breath as he looked down at the two bodies on the stainless-steel tables. He swayed dizzily and was grateful for the coroner's strong arms. Tears filled his eyes, overflowed, and rolled down his cheeks. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

The assistant coroner appeared with a clipboard. “Can you give us their names?”

“Names? Granny. I always called her Granny. Names? Shit. I just called . . . her Auntie.”

“They have names, don't they?”

“Oh yeah. Yes, they do. Gertrude. And Millie,” Dennis said, picking names out of thin air.

“Gertrude what?”

“What what?” Dennis said, stalling for time.

“Last name, Son,” the assistant coroner said gently.

“Oh yes, last name. Mercer. Gertrude Mercer.”

“And your aunt?”

“Millie. Millicent, I guess. Her last name is . . . was . . . is . . . Turner.”

“Do you want us to perform an autopsy?”

“Oh God, no! No, they . . . they wouldn't want to be carved up.
NO!
You need to put clothes on them. My granny and aunt were very modest ladies. Can you dress them up?”

“They'll do that at the funeral home once you tell me where to send the remains.”

“Remains? What remains? What does that mean?”

“The bodies,” the coroner said bluntly.

“Oh. Well, I don't know anything about funeral homes. Let me ask my friends what they recommend.” Dennis raced to the front of the morgue, and demanded in a whisper, “Give me the name of a funeral home.” He ran back to where the coroner waited. “The Dyal Funeral Home.”

“Son, would you like a few last moments with the deceased?”

God, no, that was the last thing he wanted. “Of course.” Dennis sucked in his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. Cop-out, his mind shrieked. He opened his eyes and stared down at the woman who had said she wished he was her grandson. His eyes filled again. “I'm sorry, Granny. And, Auntie, I'm sorry for you, too. I know this doesn't sound right, but I'm glad you . . . you went together. I could tell that you were best friends. Thank you for thinking I was worthy enough to be related to both of you.”

“What the hell is he doing over there?” Ted hissed to Maggie.

“I think he's praying. Leave him alone. Have some respect,” Espinosa said.

Ted looked ashamed. “You're right. Sorry.”

Dennis turned, swiped at his eyes, shook hands with the coroner, and asked. “Is there anything else I need to do?”

“No, Son. Just give me a phone number where I can reach you. I'm sorry for your loss.”

Dennis rattled off his cell-phone number and joined his colleagues. He swiped at his eyes again as they left the morgue. No one said a word until they were on the main floor.

“You did good, kid, you really did. That was quick thinking when the names came up. You handled that real good,” Ted said.

“I wasn't sure if we wanted them to know their real names until the Vigilantes get a bead on which way they are going to handle this.”

“You took the bull by the horns, so we can't second-guess now. It's done, and now we have time on our side. First thing in the morning, we'll go to the funeral home, but right now we're going to the impound lot to see if we can get their belongings. I'm not hopeful, but we can give it a shot,” Maggie said.

“I cried. It was sad,” Dennis said, his eyes filling up again.

“It's okay, Dennis. If you didn't cry, I'd wonder what was wrong with you,” Ted said.

“I really don't have a grandmother. I liked having one even if it was for just a short time. And it was nice to have an aunt, too. I feel really bad. Like I should do something. Like maybe go to church or something.”

“Tomorrow, Dennis. There are no churches open at this hour of the night,” Maggie said kindly.

“Okay, but I'm going tomorrow, so don't try to change my mind.”

“Don't worry, Dennis. We'll all go with you,” Espinosa said softly.

Dennis leaned back in his seat and sighed, the sound full of sorrow.

I
t was a bright, sunny, yellow kitchen, much like the person who was standing at the doorway watching the falling snow.

Mary Macklin Carmichael brushed her hair back behind her ears and sighed. She was wishing, and not for the first time, that she had a snowblower. It wasn't a problem, not really, since the neighbors always cleared her driveway with their blower because, as Pete Anders said, that's what one neighbor did for another neighbor. Still, she hated to impose on anyone. As a payback, all she had to do was bake Pete a strawberry rhubarb pie, and they were even. The pie was cooling on the counter as she stood by the door.

Mary turned around to look at the pie and smiled. It looked good, evenly browned, with just a touch of the filling leaking out of the slits in the crust. Her gaze swept around the kitchen. She loved her kitchen. It was sunshine yellow. When she'd come to this house all those years ago, it was a dark, gloomy room that her half brother walked through but never stayed in long enough even to boil water. A bachelor, Lowell Carmichael ate out three times a day. Tears puddled in Mary's eyes. Lowell had been so good to her; but then he'd always been good to her even though they had different fathers. They were blood, as he put it, and being older, it was his job to watch over his little sister. He'd given her free rein to transform his dark, gloomy house to her liking, knowing she was there to stay. He liked that she was a good cook, and the fifteen pounds he put on the first year was a testament to her cooking.

Mary poured coffee and sat down at the table with the pumpkin centerpiece. She smiled through her tears. Lowell was gone. She'd nursed him right up to the end of his life and cried for weeks after he was gone. She missed her older brother something fierce.

Then she'd cried for months when his lawyer told her that Lowell had left her his charming little house, his substantial 401K, his new Jeep Cherokee, and some way, somehow, his Social Security came to her, too, along with two very nice-sized insurance policies. When she'd timidly questioned the attorney, he'd smiled and said not to look a gift horse in the mouth. So she didn't. Lowell had seen to it that she was taken care of for the rest of her life, bless his heart.

She'd come here to this little house on a day much like this one many years ago, with just her purse and the clothes on her back. It had been snowing that day, too, and it was bitter cold, her tears freezing on her eyelashes when she rang the doorbell. Lowell hadn't asked any questions, just took her in his arms, made her a cup of hot tea, and promised her that he would always take care of her no matter what. So many years.

While she was alone, she wasn't lonely. Some people just couldn't understand how that could be. There were days when she missed her husband. How could she not miss someone she'd lived with for twenty-two years? She missed her son and daughter, too, but she'd learned how to live without them in her life. She had friends she played bridge with one night a week. She went on senior bus trips with the senior group at her local church. She was active in the church activities, and she worked one day a week at the local bakery and volunteered at the local hospital two evenings a week. All in all, she was content with her life and had no financial worries.

A savory stew simmered on the stove, and a pumpkin pie was baking in the oven. She always liked to make comfort food on a snowy day like today, when her memories often rose to the surface of her mind. Though she felt sad, she knew from past experience that the memories would soon fade, and she'd get back to normal before the day was over.

Suddenly, coming out of her reveries, Mary heard the snowblower in front of the house. That meant she had ten minutes to slip the cooling pie into an oversize Ziploc bag for Pete.

While she waited for the knock on the door, Mary stared at the colorful calendar on the side of the refrigerator, compliments of the bakery she worked at one day a week. A succulent, gorgeous dessert always graced the page for the month. November's page had a pumpkin pie with a mound of whipped cream, with slivers of pumpkin dotting the snow-white cream. It looked too good to eat. She'd baked the pie, the owner of the bakery had taken the picture, and its placement on the calendar was the result.

November was Thanksgiving. How quickly it had arrived this year. It seemed, Mary thought, that the older she got, the quicker the time went by. All old people thought that for some reason. But it was true: time just literally seemed to fly by these days.

There was a time, a long time ago, when she loved the start of the holiday season. It was a time when the children were younger, and she still had some say where they were concerned. Then her husband had struck the mother lode, and suddenly they were rich. The kids went from saving for things for months on end to being given everything under the sun by their father. At sixteen, Adam drove a flashy sports car and had money to burn in his pocket. Ava had designer clothes, designer everything. She got manicures and pedicures, got her hair styled and dyed, and had a chauffeur to take her anywhere she wanted to go until she was able to get her own sports car.

When Mary had tried to rein them in, they had turned on her like two snakes in a barrel. They were mouthy, disrespectful, and downright ugly to her. They called her square, told her to get with it, said she was a dowdy frump and no help to their father, who needed a little class at his side. God, how that had hurt. Especially when Manny had agreed with the kids and said she should fix herself up a little. Try some fashionable clothes, get your hair styled, Manny had said. Then he asked if it would kill her to wear some makeup. After which he told her that she looked like a scrubwoman. The only thing he hadn't said was that she embarrassed him, but sometimes what wasn't said was what was the most important.

One day, after a particularly harrowing blowup with both her children and her husband, as a result of which all three stormed out of the house, she'd gone into Manny's office to try and figure out what was going on and where the unlimited money was pouring in from. She was no rocket scientist, but she knew how to read a P & L sheet and bank statements. What stunned her, though, was that there were two sets of books. It had taken her hours to compare them side by side. When she was finished, she walked out to the foyer, got her coat, a warm hat, and her galoshes. She put them on, looked around at the opulent surroundings, and walked out the door into the falling snow. In a daze, she'd taken two buses, then walked many miles, all the way to Lowell's house, and rang the bell.

Mary blinked away the tears. So many years ago. She'd never seen her husband again. Nor her children. She'd filed for a divorce. It was uncontested since she didn't ask for anything. She didn't even have to show up in court the day the divorce was granted. Manny hadn't shown up either.

Months after moving in with Lowell and after the divorce was final, she'd finally confided in Lowell, and it was his idea for her to take the name Carmichael instead of her maiden name of Richardson so that when the dark stuff hit the fan, she wouldn't get splattered. She had agreed and changed her name legally. It was doubtful if Manny or the kids even knew or cared where she was. Lowell had never been on their radar. There were never any calls, never any mail; she was never mentioned in any articles that were printed in the paper about the Macklins. As far as her ex-husband and children were concerned, she no longer existed. For all she knew, they might not even know whether she was alive or dead.

The front doorbell took that moment to ring. Mary picked up the pie in its Ziploc bag and went to the front door. “Lots of snow out here, Mary. You be careful if you go out, you hear?” Pete reached for the pie, gave her a sloppy salute, and turned to leave.

“Thanks, Pete. I'll call you when the stew is ready. Another few hours, okay?”

Pete nodded as he gave an airy wave and made his way next door to his own house and his invalid wife, who had good days and bad days. On her good days, she was able to sit in a wheelchair. Nan would be so happy with this pie. No one baked pies like Mary Carmichael. Pete knew that later, the succulent stew that was cooking on the stove and smelled so good would find its way to his house near dinnertime. He smiled at the thought. Mary was what he and Nan called good people, that was for sure.

Back in the kitchen, Mary gave the stew a quick stir, sniffing appreciatively at the delectable aroma. Later, a few hours from now, she'd slide a pan of homemade bread into the oven. Perfect crusty bread with warm, melted butter to go with the stew. What could be more perfect? Nothing, was her answer. Absolutely nothing.

A fat yellow cat appeared out of nowhere and brushed against Mary's leg. “Well, Miss Winnie, you finally woke up,” Mary crooned to the animal as she picked her up and cradled her close. The tabby purred louder. Mary smiled. The cat loved her. She had been a present from Lowell years after she'd moved in with him. She had just been a scrawny skin-and-bones kitten at the time. Now, to her dismay, Winnie weighed fourteen pounds. She loved unconditionally, and she was loyal. Tears pricked at Mary's eyes when she remembered the long months when Winnie stayed on the bed with Lowell, refusing to move except to hop off to run to the litter box or to eat. She'd been more of a comfort to Lowell than she herself had.

Winnie purred louder, licked Mary's cheek, then jumped from Mary's lap and scooted to the litter box.

Time to get a move on. There was laundry to do; today was the day she changed the bed linens and tidied up the house with a light dusting. She was a creature of habit and comfort. It all worked for her. Now, if she could just get rid of the bad dreams she'd been having lately and the feeling that something was wrong, she'd be a happy camper. She'd always paid attention to her feelings, and they rarely led her astray. This time, though, for some reason, she hoped her feelings were just because of the inclement weather, which would probably keep her housebound for a day or so.

Mary shook her head to clear her thoughts. She knew in her heart that inclement weather had nothing to do with her thoughts. She knew as sure as she was standing in her kitchen here that her ex-husband's day of reckoning was about to come. And her children's, too, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

As Mary went about her household chores, her thoughts stayed with her ex-husband and the early years of their marriage. Although they had been sweet and pleasant there had always been something off about the whole thing. Not that Manny wasn't a good, kind husband; he was. He was a good provider, but he was obsessed with money even at the beginning of their marriage. Oftentimes, he would work around the clock, waving to her from time to time if he had some deal cooking. Once, over too much wine, he'd told her the story of his two friends from the orphanage and how his biggest disappointment in his life was that he wasn't able to locate them after a fire had destroyed the apartment building in which they lived and the phone booth at which he had called them every night. He'd been sketchy on those details, but she had figured out that there was more to that particular relationship than just friendship. She knew that somewhere deep in his heart was a love for a young girl whom he could never forget. She even remembered her name after all these years. Marie. The other young girl was Sally. How weird that she should not only remember that but be thinking about it today.

Maybe what she needed was some music or some noise; the house was just way too quiet. Television or music? She opted for the television—not that she was going to watch it, but the background noise would be helpful. And hopefully she could get caught up in some program and forget her melancholic, dire thoughts.

Would it work? Probably not. Things would, as always, just have to run their course. Mary sighed heavily as she gathered a load of towels to put into the washing machine.

Time. Time was the answer to everything. She just had to accept that.

Mary burst into tears. I should have done something, gone to the authorities, the SEC, someone. But she hadn't. That was the big sin on her shoulders. She had disclosed that sin so many times in confession, done her penance, and still she didn't feel the slightest bit better. She was just as guilty as her husband for not telling someone in authority that he was bilking his clients. At the time, she didn't have a name to put to what he was doing, but in recent years she had learned what it was called. It was a Ponzi scheme, the same sort of criminal enterprise that Bernie Madoff had been found guilty of. And her children were part of the whole scheme, aiding and abetting their father. All for money, so they could sail in yachts and fly in private planes and live in palatial estates.

Money truly was the root of all evil.

Three hours later, the front doorbell rang. Mary turned down the volume on the TV and went to the door. “Pete! I was just going to call you. All I have to do is ladle out the stew and take the bread out of the oven. Oh dear, what's wrong? It isn't Nan, is it?” she said, alarm ringing in her voice.”

“Can I come in, Mary? No, it's not Nan. Well, yes, in a way it is Nan. Today was a good day, so she was in her wheelchair in the kitchen. When the mail came, I took it into the kitchen and left it on the table and forgot about it. Nan opened it. This . . . this is what came in the mail today. God, Mary, I . . . We're wiped out. It's all gone. Unless I'm crazy, and I'm not reading this right. Will you look at it and tell me what you think?”

Mary stared at her neighbor's face, which was as white as the snow outside the door. “Of course, Pete. Come along into the kitchen. I just made some fresh coffee. Is Nan all right?”

“No, she isn't. I got her into bed, gave her an extra pill, and she was asleep when I left. I can't stay. I just . . . just needed to talk to someone. Here?” he said, shoving his brokerage statement into her hands.

Mary looked around for her reading glasses but couldn't find them. Pete reached up and removed them from her gray curls. Mary just shook her head at her own forgetfulness. She sat down and smoothed out the two-page statement. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest when she saw