4 Decoupage Can Be Deadly (31 page)

“Why?”

“To get me in trouble, of course. You know how they are, dear. And speaking of trouble, what happened to Zack’s eye?”

I glanced at the shiner that had turned from black and blue to yellow and green. “He walked into a door.”

“What am I going to do about the wedding pictures? They’ll be ruined. How can he be so clumsy?”

At least one Pollack woman bought into his flimsy excuse. “You can always have the boys walk you down the aisle the way they always do.”

“And ruin my plans? No, he’ll have to wear pancake make-up.”

Zack snorted as I hung up the phone.

“She could be telling the truth about Lucille,” I said. “I wouldn’t put anything past my mother-in-law and her zealots.” Since I hadn’t gone down the basement last night, I had no way of knowing if Mama and Lawrence had cleaned up or not. “The Daughters of the October Revolution may have created this mess today, especially since they knew Mama and Lawrence were here working yesterday.”

“Your Sherlocking skills need honing, Sweetheart. Take a look at the evidence.” He pointed to the bare spot in the middle of the table.
 

Duh! I smacked my forehead. If Lucille and company had tried to pull a fast one, the craft supplies would cover the entire table, leaving no delineated bare spot. “Told you I was tired.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Sleep or clean underwear? I stared down at the overflowing hamper later that night and realized as much as I would have loved to sleep in Saturday, I needed to rise early and tackle a few loads of laundry prior to leaving for the city.

By the time I heard the boys getting up at eight the next morning, folded piles of clean clothes covered my bed, and a mushroom and cheese breakfast frittata, compliments of Zack’s culinary prowess, baked in the oven.

“I’ll be home in plenty of time for the church rehearsal,” I said after giving Alex, Nick, and Zack my schedule for the day.

“That floozy’s getting married again?” asked Lucille. She shuffled into the kitchen and flopped into a chair at the table. “No accounting for some people’s taste, I suppose.”

Too bad we couldn’t find a geriatric commie with bad enough taste to sweep Lucille off her feet. Although, with my luck, he’d move in instead of moving her out.

I chose to ignore her as I started serving breakfast and continued to speak to my sons. “I need you boys showered, dressed, and ready to leave by four-thirty.”

“That’s going to be cutting things close,” said Nick. “We’ve got an away game today.”

“Where?”

“Phillipsburg,” said Alex.

I stared at my sons. “Are you serious?” Several counties and an hour’s drive separated Westfield from Phillipsburg. “Why on earth is Phillipsburg on your team schedule?”

Nick shrugged. “Beats me.”

“They better not,” said Alex.

“What if I pick you up after the game?” suggested Zack.

“Coach will have a cow,” said Nick. “We’ll miss the post-game analysis.”

“Mama will have a cow if we’re late,” I said.

Nick, a born athlete, had a shot at a football scholarship. Only a sophomore, he’d made the varsity team this year as their starting kicker. His coach had an in with college recruiters. When scouts came in search of prospects, we needed Nick to be high on his coach’s list. My son’s future far outweighed Mama’s sixth wedding rehearsal.

“It’s not like we don’t know what to do,” said Alex. “This is Grandma’s fourth wedding in twelve years.”

“Same church, same minister,” said Nick. “I don’t even know why she has to have a rehearsal.”

“Tradition,” I said. “Plus, the minister requires a rehearsal to make sure the ceremony runs smoothly. Do your best, guys. I’ll call her later. She’ll have to understand.”

She didn’t.

“You know how important this is to me, Anastasia. I don’t see why Nick can’t miss the game. They have other players, don’t they?”

“That’s not the point, Mama.”

“The point is my grandsons are putting a football game before their grandmother’s wedding. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“It’s only the rehearsal, Mama, and I didn’t say they wouldn’t be there, just that they might be late.”

“Which will throw everything off schedule.”

“We can adjust. Call the restaurant and push back the dinner reservation by half an hour.”

“On a Saturday night? What makes you think they can do that?”

“Try, Mama.”

She sighed heavily. “I’m not happy about this, Anastasia. It’s a bad omen. You know what terrible luck I have when it comes to husbands. I want this marriage to last.”

“We’re talking scheduling conflict, not bad juju.”

“What’s the difference? Something awful will happen now. I just know it.”

“Nothing’s going to happen, Mama.” At least, I hoped not. Given Mama’s track record with husbands, the odds were already stacked against her.

~*~

Trimedia had booked the theater at Madison Square Garden for Philomena’s private memorial service, with the tribute concert taking place afterwards in the arena. I took the escalator up from Penn Station and made my way toward the theater. In the lobby I found Cloris and Jeanie queued up at the end of a snaking line for the ladies’ room.

“If we’re lucky,” said Cloris, “the service will be over by the time we get to pee.”

“I don’t see why we all have to give up a Saturday for this,” said Jeanie. “I never even met the woman.”

“What about the consumer show?” asked Cloris.

“Were any of us introduced? I’d hardly call that a meeting. It was more like a dissing.”

“At least we now get comp days for things like this,” said Cloris. She nodded in my direction. “Thanks to Anastasia.”

Thanks to Naomi, actually. However, our editorial director had sworn me to secrecy last spring concerning her role in negotiating a settlement over my threatened lawsuit against Trimedia. I never planned to sue after another Trimedia employee tried to kill me, but when Cloris suggested to Naomi that I might, Naomi used the threat to leverage a sizeable check for me and better benefits for her entire staff.

Unfortunately, inching our way toward the stalls only took about fifteen minutes, and we made it into the theater with several minutes to spare. Even more unfortunately, we couldn’t slip into seats near the back. Each Trimedia holding had a designated section.

“The better to see who doesn’t show up,” muttered Cloris after an usher handed us programs and led us down the steps to the seats reserved for
American Woman
staff members.

“You think they’ll take attendance?” asked Jeanie.

“No need,” I said. “Big Brother is probably capturing us all on video as we arrive.” I looked around and saw the rest of our editors minus one. “I don’t see Tessa.”

“Maybe they’ll fire her for not showing up,” said Jeanie as we filed into the row with the other
American Woman
editors. I took a seat next to Janice with Cloris on my right and Jeanie to her right.

“Be careful what you wish for,” said Cloris. “We could wind up with another Marlys.”

“Tessa is morphing into Marlys,” I said.

“She’s surpassed Marlys,” said Janice. “Check out the stage.”

The three of us turned toward the stage. To the left sat Sue Evens and the entire, soon-to-be-laid-off
Bling!
staff. Gruenwald, his wife, Tessa, and a dozen Trimedia head honchos sat on the opposite side of the stage. “What’s she doing up there?” I asked.

“According to the program,” said Janice, “she’s giving one of the eulogies.”

“For a woman she hated?” asked Cloris.

“Maybe Uncle Chessie owed her,” I said. “I’m more surprised to see Sylvia Gruenwald up there.”

“Looks like she and hubby are back together,” said Jeanie. “Why else would she come?”

Why indeed?

“Maybe your hunky bodyguard stud knows something,” said Cloris.

Speaking of Tino, I scanned the front of the theater but didn’t see him. When the lights began to dim, I was forced to halt my visual search.

“Wake me when it’s over,” said Janice. She slumped down in her seat and closed her eyes.

The service dragged on forever. One by one members of the Trimedia board and the
Bling!
staff praised Philomena and spoke of the terrible loss of someone so talented, taken from the world too soon.

“A loss to the bottom line,” mumbled Cloris. “How many of them even knew her?”

“Not many. Sue Evens and her staff did all the work. Philomena strutted around the
Bling!
offices like some
prima donna
, looking down her nose at the hoi polloi.”

Jeanie laughed. “
Hoi polloi?
I’ll bet she didn’t even know what the term means.”

“Shh,” said Cloris. “Tessa’s about to speak.”

Our jaws dropped as we listened to Tessa, all teary-eyed, speak of her
good friend
and fellow fashionista, how the two of them bonded over a shared common vision of fashion.

“What a load of crap!” said Jeanie.

“She sounds like she’s applying for Philomena’s job,” said Cloris. “Doesn’t she know Trimedia’s folding the magazine?”

“Apparently not,” I said, “but it doesn’t matter. Check out the expressions of the board members.” Each and every one of them broadcast their displeasure with their narrowed eyes and downturned mouths. Tessa’s Uncle Chessie sported the angriest frown of all.

“Looks like Jeanie might get her wish,” said Cloris. “Tessa’s ploy to take over
Bling!
may have landed her a spot on the unemployment line.”

Gruenwald spoke last. By the time he finished, we had less than fifteen minutes to head over to the arena for the tribute concert. “They’re not going to feed us?” asked Cloris.

“Apparently not,” I said.

“Who holds a memorial service without serving food afterwards?” asked Jeanie.

“I’m starving,” said Janice.

“We’ll have to grab something at the arena,” said Cloris.

“The hell with that,” said Jeanie. “I’m not paying ten dollars for an overcooked hot dog.”

“What do you suggest?” I asked her.

“We pop into one of the delis on Eighth Avenue and buy some sandwiches. No one will notice if we slip into the arena a little late.”

“They won’t let us bring outside food into The Garden,” said Janice.

Jeanie grinned. “Ladies, we’re all wearing coats with pockets. Security only glances into handbags. They won’t pat us down.”

“Even for a concert to honor a rap star?” I asked. I expected extremely tight security to prevent any of Philomena’s homies showing up with weapons.

“They’ll use metal detector wands like they do at the ballparks,” she said.
 

Half an hour later we slipped into our seats. While the darkened arena pulsated with laser lights and the deafening beat of rap music, and three dozen scantily clad dancers gyrated on the stage, I wolfed down my half of the corned beef special on rye I shared with Cloris.

There’s nothing like a New York deli corned beef special, but they’re hard to eat without something to wash them down. We hadn’t bought beverages at the deli, knowing they’d be too hard to conceal. “I’m going for a Coke,” I told Cloris. “Want something?”

“Same,” she said.

I squeezed past the others in our aisle and headed up the stairs to the concession area. The lines snaked back and forth through roped-off areas in front of each stand. I glanced around. At least twenty people stood waiting in each line. Too thirsty to wait, I decided to find a water fountain before buying the sodas.

Knowing water fountains are usually located near restrooms, I checked the overhead signs and began walking, only to find the water fountain out of order when I arrived. Rather than continuing to walk around the stadium, I headed for the stairwell off to the left of the restrooms, figuring the stadium had been designed with the restrooms on each floor situated one above another.

I began to descend the stairs when I stopped short at the sound of angry voices floating up from below me. Maybe they thought no one would hear them because of all the noise coming from the arena, but the acoustics of the stairwell amplified their voices to the point where I heard them as clearly as if they stood before me. And one of those voices sounded very familiar.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to do that for you,” said Tino.

“You’ve already proven you’ll do anything if the price is high enough.”

“Not that.”

“You’ll do it, or I’ll go to the police and tell them you killed those two women.”

“I didn’t kill anyone. You did. I only cleaned up your mess.”

The woman laughed. “And who do you think they’re going to believe?”

I inched forward to peek over the railing to the landing below and spied Sylvia Gruenwald. Unfortunately, at that moment she glanced up and saw me. “Get her!” she yelled.