To Love and to Perish

TWENTY-FIVE


THINGS WERE NO BETTER at our house Tuesday night or Wednesday morning. Danny complied when Ray asked him to mow the lawn after dinner on Tuesday, but he broke the weed whacker. Ray thought he did it intentionally. I wasn’t so sure, since the machine had been tricky at best for me to use in the past. Wednesday, Danny’s cereal bowl slipped from his hand and smashed on the floor, sending shards of white Pfaltzgraff everywhere. Danny apologized immediately. Ray wanted him to sweep up the remains and wash the milk splashes off the surrounding floors and walls, but Danny would have missed his bus. I cleaned it up instead, which seemed to irritate Ray more. It was a relief to have them both out of the house. I ran off to work as quickly as I could to escape the negative vibes they left behind.

The phone rang as soon as I finished poking the code into the shop’s alarm keypad. I picked up the extension on the conference table.

“Asdale Auto Imports. This is Jolene. How may I help you?”

The caller hung up.

I walked toward my office.

The phone rang again. I reached my desk, sat, and answered on the fourth ring.

Again, I heard a click after my greeting.

Cory sauntered through the front door, donuts in hand. He carried the bag into my office and deposited it on the desk with a theatrical flourish. “I remembered today.”

That was good, especially since it was my turn and I’d forgotten. Ray and Danny had addled my brain.

The phone rang again. I made no move to answer.

Cory laid his jacket on the back of the chair. He eyed me. The phone continued to ring.

“Is this a new sales approach, Jo? Cuz I gotta tell you, I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Someone hung up on me twice today already.”

“Then allow me.”

He picked up the phone and said nothing, listening. After a moment, he set it down. “It’s probably kids playing. They won’t call back.”

I didn’t bother to remind him all the kids were in school, or at least, they should be. This trick was juvenile, but I doubted a kid was behind it.

The phone rang again. Cory snatched the receiver from the cradle and reeled off his standard greeting. He closed his eyes and held out the phone. “That’s really annoying.”

“It sure is.” We sat and watched the phone for a moment or two, waiting for it to ring again. “We’ll let it go to voicemail this time.”

It didn’t ring again.

Cory unfolded the bag of donuts and held them out to me. “Why would anyone waste time with that kind of behavior?”

I extracted a cinnamon fried cake and broke it in half. “Maybe they want to know if we’re both here.”

“Who would care?”

“I’m not sure.” I took a bite and chewed slowly. “Erica and Maury were going to Wayne Engle’s funeral this morning. It starts in an hour in Binghamton.”

Cory swallowed a gulp of his coffee. “We can’t get there in an hour. It would be over if we left now.”

“That’s my point. I wonder if someone was calling to see if we were here instead of on our way there.”

“You think they’re afraid we’d be forward enough to show up at the funeral and ask more questions?”

“Either that or someone is going and doesn’t want us to see them there.”

“Who would that be? I’m sure they’ve all cooperated with the sheriff’s department by now.”

“We never met Suzanne Gleason or saw that fourth woman who works in Wayne’s office. What was her name?

Cory closed his eyes, probably trying to picture the nameplate on her desk as was I. “Silvia something.”

“Silvia Porter. That’s what Catherine said.”

“I don’t see how she could be important, but I did think it was weird Matthew’s mother never called to thank you for the cookies after he made such a point of writing your number down. What number did you give him?”

“My cell. I didn’t think she’d call. She doesn’t know us, and we asked a lot of questions. Besides, I’ve given wedding presents and never received any acknowledgment. Cookies for a grieving family are relatively insignificant.”

Cory swallowed his donut in two bites. “I guess. Still, I was pretty impressed with Matthew’s manners. At least he made the effort to write your number down.”

“True. Maybe he takes after Brennan, just like you said.”

Cory stared at me. I feared I’d inadvertently said the wrong thing, but after a moment, he nodded. “I think you’re right. The phone calls this morning were just a coincidence.”

I tipped my head and held his gaze. “How many years have you worked here?”

“Between you and your dad, around fifteen now.”

“How many times in all those years did this shop receive hang-up calls?”

“I can’t think of any, but I’m sure we’ve had them.”

“Four in a row?”

Cory ran his finger under his neckline. “Okay, not four in a row. What’s that phone company code you dial to call the person back?”

“I don’t know.” I started pulling out my desk drawer, searching for the white pages. “I think they explain about it in the front of the phone book. Here.” I yanked the book out of the desk and laid it flat, ruffling through the pages. “*66”

I lifted the receiver and dialed the code. A message responded. I hung up and repeated the words, “The caller was not in our area code.”

“So they were in Binghamton?”

“Or Albany. Or Alaska, for that matter.”

Cory shook his head. “You may be right. Someone does want to make sure we’re not at the funeral. The question is ‘why?’”

_____


Around ten minutes to five, Cory shut off the lights in his garage and unplugged the coffee machine in the showroom, carrying the remains of the pot into the bathroom to dump in the sink.

I put away my files and stood up, ready to call it a day.

The showroom bells jingled, announcing a new arrival. It was Erica with Maury in tow. She had a huge smile on her face as she practically skipped across the showroom to greet Cory and me.

Her attire caught my attention next. A black dress and black shoes, appropriate for a funeral except for the amount of cleavage peeking through the bodice, the thigh-skimming length of the hem, and her five-inch stilettos. Her image was more appropriate for a porno video—although after seeing the women who worked in Wayne Engles’ office, Wayne might have applauded her choice.

Maury’s black suit said “undertaker,” but the red rose with babies breath in his buttoner said “wedding.”

Cory wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I ignored him.

“Jo, what a funeral. There were two hundred and forty-seven people at the service. The receiving line took forever. It’s such a shame. That Wayne was a looker. The funeral director did a great job masking the gash in his forehead. I’d have never known if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

Cory’s lips twitched.

I frowned in his direction. “How do you know it was two hundred and forty-seven people? Did you count?”

Erica waved her hand. “Oh, no, they were milling about everywhere. I never would have gotten a correct count.” She reached in to her glossy vinyl shoulder bag and whipped out a black book. “I counted the names in the guest register.”

I gasped. “You stole the register?”

She made a face. “Of course not, Jolene. We waited until everyone except Matthew and his mother had left. The funeral director offered them the book. They didn’t want it. So I said I would take it.”

“And they gave it to you?”

Maury spoke up. “They seemed to think she had worked for Wayne. I think that’s because she offered to send out all the thank you notes, too. We have them in the car.” He grimaced.

Erica tossed her blond hair and grinned. “I’m unemployed. What else have I got to do?” She handed the guest register to me. “Take a look. I tried to meet everyone at the lunch afterward. Go ahead, just ask me about any of them.”

I scanned the pages. Cory sidled over next to me and read them over my shoulder. “I don’t see the Potters. I don’t see any names from the sheriff’s department—”

“Max and Gumby were there. They didn’t sign the book.” Erica glanced at Maury. “Gumby tried to hit on me. Can you believe it?”

Maury’s fists clenched but his face remained expressionless.

I could believe it. Sheriff’s Deputy Steven “Gumby” Fellows was the only local man I knew taller than Ray, and the first man to hit on me after Ray and I split. He wasn’t successful with me, but he had a lot of notches in his bedpost. A few years ago, he married a stripper. Neither one of them seemed to be taking the “forsaking all others” portion of their marriage vows very seriously.

I tipped my head to acknowledge I’d heard her, hoping Erica would let the subject go instead of upsetting Maury further. “The only names we recognize are Suzanne and Matthew Gleason—”

Erica cut me off again. “Suzanne Gleason was a nervous mess. Every time Gumby or Max even glanced in her direction, she shook. I asked Gumby if she was a suspect in Wayne’s death. He wouldn’t tell me, but after I asked, he kept a closer eye on her, which just made her that much more jumpy. She spilled coffee on her pants, poor thing. Matthew’s girlfriend rubbed ice cubes on her leg to make sure she didn’t get scalded. I felt sorry for Suzanne.”

“I wished we’d met her. She wasn’t home when Cory and I went to Binghamton.” I sighed and continued reading the register. “We can name the women who really did work for Wayne: Pam Sullivan, Missy Temple, Silvia Porter, and Beth Smith.”

“Oh, Beth Smith.” Erica rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner at Maury, who grinned in reply. “She’s something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her hair is freaky, but she had a big pear-shaped diamond on her finger that caught the light. It was gorgeous.”

I couldn’t believe I’d missed it when she and I shook hands outside her townhouse. “Do you know how long she’s been engaged?”

Erica nodded. “Since Sunday. The other women she works with were whispering about her. They said she’s a cradle robber. Apparently she’s talking about eloping.”

I thought back to her mother’s statement that she’d been married twice already but was dating a boy. Evie had said she was dating a young man, too. I’d just thought their descriptions were the quaint wording of an older generation, not an accurate description of the man. “Any idea who he is?”

Erica jumped up and down, squealing. “Don’t you know?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. “I have no idea.”

“She’s engaged to Matthew Gleason.”