Moving Can Be Murder (13 page)

As I repeated my story for what seemed like
the umpteenth time, I realized how unbelievable it sounded.
Middle-aged (OK, late middle-aged) housewife returns to visit her
about-to-be-sold home alone, late at night, and discovers the dead
body of her home’s buyer in her living room. I didn’t think Home
and Garden Television had a program that covered those
circumstances.

“Were there any signs of a fight?” Jenny
asked. “Mark is always talking about how important it is to notice
every detail at the scene of a suspicious death, no matter how
small it may seem.”

“I didn’t notice anything except Jack,” I
said. “Of course, at first I didn’t know it was a person. I thought
one of the movers had accidentally dropped some clothing.”

I shuddered. “I can’t talk about this any
more. Let me make us both a cup of green tea.” I jumped up and
headed in the direction of the kitchen. After opening and closing
the three small cupboards, I gave up. “I can’t find a tea kettle.
How’s that for stupidity. I’m going to have to use a pot to boil
the water. I don’t think I can find any tea either.”

“Forget the tea, Mom,” Jenny said. “I
promise I won’t ask you any more questions about last night. Girl
Scout’s honor. I have to leave for campus in about fifteen
minutes.”

“I hate green tea, anyway,” I said. “It
tastes like medicine. Yuck.” I wrinkled my nose for emphasis.

“Do you think Mark would know anything about
the investigation?” I asked hopefully. “I have to go to the police
station today and give a formal statement about what happened last
night. It’d sure help me if he was there.” It’d be even better if
he came here and with a fill-in-the-blanks statement for me to
sign. Or, better yet, tell me that a formal statement wasn’t
necessary at all. He’d certainly been helpful to My Beloved in the
past.

Not that I was pushing my luck.

“Even though Mark and Paul both joined the
Fairport police, they don’t always work on the same cases,” Jenny
reminded me.

“But he couldn’t be involved in this, no
matter what. Because Mark and I are, well, because he and I are.
You know what I mean. So you won’t be able to pump him for
information.”

Humph. The implication that I would take
advantage of Mark’s and Jenny’s relationship was totally out of
line. And exactly what did Jenny mean by the phrase, “Mark and I
are.” Are what? Good friends? A couple? Neighbors with benefits?
Engaged? If nothing else, Jenny had successfully distracted my
thought process.

“What do you know about Alyssa Cartwright?”
I asked. “Was she in your class? Or Mike’s? Of course, she would
have been Alyssa Miller then. I don’t seem to remember much about
her.”

“Alyssa didn’t go to school with either Mike
or me,” Jenny said. “She was home-schooled until eighth grade, and
then went away to some boarding school in Massachusetts. I always
thought that was odd.”

“Now I remember,” I said. “She’s an only
child, and Sara and Chuck were very protective of her.

“God, I can’t imagine what that family must
be going through today. Do you think I should call and see how
everyone is?”

“It might be better to wait a while, Mom,”
advised Jenny. “You can’t predict what kind of a reception you’ll
get.”

“Why, sweetie, that’s just plain crazy,” I
said, conveniently disregarding the very opinion I had asked my
daughter for. “Sara and I are friends. We’ve been neighbors for
over twenty years. She’s even part of our regular Bunco group. We
may not be as close as Nancy and I are, but we’re friends. I’m sure
she’ll be glad to hear from me. Maybe I can even arrange for some
food to be delivered.”

I felt better. I had a plan of action. Plus,
I was doing a good deed.

“Yes, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll call Sara
first and express our condolences. Then I’ll call Maria’s Trattoria
and have food delivered to the family. I know Sara’s a gourmet
cook, but everyone loves the food at Maria’s.”

“I’m not sure calling the Millers is a good
idea, Mom,” said Jenny. “But I know you when your mind’s made up.”
She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I have to go. For God’s
sake, don’t get into any more trouble today.”

She threw her arms around me and gave me a
crushing hug.

“Mom, I love you so much. I’m sorry if I
yelled at you before. But I can’t imagine my life without you in
it.” Then, she was gone.

“How about that?” I said to Lucy and Ethel.
“I don’t think she’s ever said that to me before. At least, not for
a long time.” We are not an overly demonstrative family.

I hesitated, mulling over Jenny’s words of
caution. To call, or not to call. That was the question. Heck, I
knew Sara. She probably thought it was odd that I hadn’t called
already.

Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six
rings. Then, the Millers’ voice mail kicked in. I realized it was
possible they were screening calls, and perhaps they hadn’t
recognized my number, because I was using a cell phone.

“Sara, it’s Carol. I’m calling because I
wanted you all to know how terribly sorry Jim and I are about this
tragedy. You must all be beside yourselves.”

I hear a click, then a high-pitched female
voice which I identified as Sara’s.

“Sorry, Carol? You called to say you and Jim
are sorry about this tragedy,” she said, mimicking me and throwing
my words back at me.

“Because of you and Jim, and that awful,
rundown house of yours, my beautiful daughter…” her voice cracked.
“My beautiful daughter is now a widow. And my two precious
grandchildren will grow up without a father.

“Sorry? You bet you and Jim are going to be
sorry. Chuck and I are going to see to it personally. That old
wreck of a house was full of accidents just waiting to happen.
We’re going to sue you for criminal negligence. And if I can
convince the police, you’ll be charged with manslaughter, too.

“You’ll be hearing from our attorney. And
don’t call here again.”

Then she banged the phone down in my
ear.

Chapter 15

I can do anything with the right shoes.

I’m not going to lie to you. My first
reaction to an outburst like this has always been to burst into
tears. I bet you’re sick of hearing me admit this by now. But I
just hate it when someone is mad at me. Sometimes I think my tear
ducts are on automatic pilot, like a sprinkler system set to water
the lawn at a certain time of day.

This time was different, though, because I
finally realized I’d shed too many tears in the last twelve hours.
And I wasn’t going to be a cry baby any more.

So, I got angry.

Damn it, I sold my beautiful house out of
selfless love for My Beloved. To protect him and his health. To
ensure that “Till death do us part” didn’t come earlier than
absolutely necessary. And what did I get for thanks? A dead
body.

Wasn’t it bad enough that I had discovered
Jack’s body in my house? Didn’t anyone care how traumatic that was
for me? And then to be cross-examined by that little pipsqueak of a
detective, like Jack’s death was my fault.

And finally, having my good friend -- well,
that was stretching it just a bit – having my neighbor Sara Miller
accuse Jim and me of criminal negligence, which resulted in her
son-in-law’s death. How dare she?

The more I thought about it, the madder I
got.

Well, after that phone call, I certainly
wasn’t going to send any food over to comfort the family. In her
current frame of mind, Sara would probably think I was trying to
poison them.

But then, I realized this wasn’t really Sara
talking. Who could blame her for lashing out at me under the
circumstances?

I needed to talk to Mary Alice. She was the
only one of my friends who could give me advice on dealing with
Sara, since she’d had so much experience as a nurse counseling
grieving families. Plus dealing with her own personal
heartbreak.

When her voice mail came on, I hesitated. I
wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t upset her. Probably telling
her that I had discovered a dead body in my living room wasn’t the
best message to leave.

I forced myself to sound normal. “Hi Mary
Alice. It’s Carol. A little problem has come up that I really need
to talk to you about. Could you call me back as soon as you get
this message? Thanks.”

I hoped that would do the trick. But I knew
Mary Alice wasn’t nearly as anal as I was about checking either
voice mail or e-mail messages.

“Let’s give her an hour,” I said to the
dogs. “If we haven’t heard from her, we’ll call her again.
Meanwhile, we’ve got some unpacking to do.” I knew I also had to go
to the police station sometime today and give a formal statement.
But I was in no rush to do that, and certainly wouldn’t go without
My Beloved as moral support.

I was on my hands and knees searching
through a box labeled “Emergency Supplies” when the phone rang. I
scrambled to my feet and, as I did, felt a searing pain shoot
through my lower back. Rats. It would probably take at least two
weeks before I was back to “normal.”

I dropped back onto my knees and willed
myself to ignore the pain as I grabbed for the phone.

“Hello, hello. Mary Alice? Thank God you
called me back so quickly.”

“This is Detective Paul Wheeler of the
Fairport Police,” said the voice at the other end of the phone.
“What time this morning will you be at the police station to answer
more questions about last night’s incident at your home? I expected
to see you by now.”

I started to speak, but he interrupted
me.

“I’m sure you want to cooperate with the
police. Unless you have something to hide, of course.”

Give me a break.

A variety of responses flashed across my
mind in a millisecond, ranging from smartass to sniveling and
pathetic. He’s just trying to goad you, Carol. Don’t let him get to
you.

“Why, Paul, I’m so glad you called,” I said
in what My Beloved refers to as my saccharine voice. “I’m looking
forward to answering your questions and getting any confusion
straightened out as soon as possible.” Yes, sirree. I can’t wait
until you shine a bright light in my eyes and put the thumbscrews
to me.

“I’ll be there by eleven-thirty, if that’s
convenient.”

“Be on time,” he said. And then I heard the
dial tone.

“He is unbelievably rude,” I said to the
dogs. “And to think that Jim and I are taxpayers and pay his
salary.” Hmm, that was an interesting thought. Maybe I could get
the little twerp fired. A pleasant fantasy, but there was no time
to dwell on that now.

“If I can find bath towels and soap, I’m
going to take a shower and get down to police headquarters,” I
announced to the dogs. “And if Jim doesn’t show up by the time I
leave, I’m going alone.”

Lucy and Ethel gave me doggy stares. They
know me too well.

“You’re right,” I said. “I can’t go alone. I
need support. I’m dreading this.

“You can both come with me.” I swear, Lucy’s
tail began to wag. “But you can’t come into the police station. The
way my luck is going, one of you might accidentally nip a policeman
and I’ll be thrown in jail.”

As things turned out, My Beloved arrived
back at our temporary digs just as I was loading the dogs into the
car.

“Nice television appearance, Jim,” I said.
“How did you get trapped into it? I didn’t know you were going back
to the house this morning.”

Jim became defensive. “I didn’t think it
would do any harm to go back to the house and see if the police
were still there. When that college kid came with his camera crew,
I didn’t think it was a big deal to answer his questions. After
all, I’ve prepped lots of clients for television appearances over
the years. How did I know the kid would turn out to be so
aggressive? He must have taken interview lessons from Jerry
Springer, for God’s sake.