Old people, holding hands like lovestruck teenagers? I would have been grossed out if I wasn’t so busy wondering what it meant and if it could have anything to do with my case.
Ray had mentioned that he was dating someone new, but I never expected it to be Doris, and talk about a new perspective! Suddenly, ideas weren’t just niggling at the back of my mind, they were jumping up and down, shouting out the possibilities. Here’s pretty much the way my thought processes went:
Marjorie made Doris cry. Marjorie made Doris think about leaving the cemetery. And Doris loved her volunteer work at the cemetery.
This told me there was no way Doris could have been all that fond of Marjorie.
Marjorie blackmailed Ray into taking her to concerts and movies and parties. Marjorie demanded his time and his attention. She dangled the promise of a get-rich scheme in front of him like a fat worm on a hook, and because of it, she expected him to jump at the drop of a hat. She had not only stolen Ray’s time—time he could have been spending with his new honey, Doris—she’d also humiliated him and played him for a chump.
This meant that Ray wasn’t a big fan of Marjorie’s, either. In fact, I knew this to be true, because Ray had gone to her place that night I visited to throw that wedding invitation back at her.
Could old-folk love run deep enough to spark jealousy? The kind that resulted in murder?
I didn’t know, but I did remember that both Ray and Doris were in the cemetery the morning Marjorie was killed. If I recalled correctly (and yes, I usually do), when I ran into them, they both looked a little flustered. And I hadn’t forgotten that back at Big Daddy Burger after all the flipping and the squirting was done, Ray lied to me about something. Nobody was that jittery when they were telling the truth.
I tucked all this away for further consideration, and since the minister was now saying something about Marjorie’s dedication to always looking her best (yikes!), I continued to study the crowd. I’d gotten there a couple minutes before the service started and talked to Ella, so I knew the man standing closest to the minister was Marjorie’s nephew, Nick. He was in his thirties, and not bad looking, considering he was related to Marjorie. He had eyes that were a soft shade of blue, mousy brown hair, and a high forehead. He was wearing a dark suit that was just outdated enough for me to think he only pulled it out of his closet for weddings and funerals. Ella said he was a software engineer, and I wasn’t surprised. I pegged him as a geek.
Nick’s wedding was the one Marjorie had tried to browbeat Ray into attending, so I assumed the petite blonde who stood at Nick’s side was his fiancee. She, too, was wearing a dark suit. Every strand of her shoulder- length hair was in place and her nails were perfectly manicured. One look, and I knew that Marjorie and her soon- to-be niece-in-law did not share the same good taste, especially when it came to shoes. No alligator green platforms for this woman! She wore a pair of Dolce & Gabbana pointed-toe slingbacks made from a combination of earth-toned patent, suede, and snakeskin, and I experienced an instant pang of shoe envy.
“Amen!”
I was jolted out of my thoughts when the minister finished his prayer and the folks all around me mumbled, “Amen,” in response.
Before the mourners scattered back to the cars parked along the winding road, I knew I had to talk to Nick. For one thing, I had a trunkful of Marjorie’s Garfield memorabilia I was anxious to get rid of. For another . . .
Well, experience has taught me more than just what’s what where men are concerned. I knew that when it came to murder, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility to suspect the victim’s nearest and dearest. I also knew it would be stupid not to take this opportunity to question Nick. After all, if anybody knew Marjorie, it was probably her only living relative.
I was all set to close in on Nick when I saw him approach Ella. I didn’t want to butt in. He might have been doing something sappy like thanking the staff on behalf of the family for all their concern and support. Or he could have actually been as nutsy as his aunt and eager to talk about President Garfield and his supposed connection to the family. Either way, I wasn’t taking any chances. I waited until Ella walked away before I made my move.
“I’m Pepper,” I said by way of introduction. “I’m the one who—”
“Found her. Yes, of course.” Nick’s expression softened. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am—” He stopped short and glanced at the woman at his side. “I can’t tell you how grateful Bernadine and I are for all you did for my poor, dear Aunt Marjorie.”
I carefully avoided pointing out that by the time I found her, there was nothing I could have done for Marjorie even if I’d wanted to. She was that dead. I sloughed off his gratitude. “All I did was call the cops. It was nothing.”
“It was the final act of kindness for a woman who was nothing but kind herself.”
See? I was right. He was getting all mushy. Funerals do that to people. I knew this for a fact when this total stranger reached over and gave my arm a squeeze. I guess it was a good thing I was so distracted by the gesture, since it kept me from saying what I was thinking, and what I was thinking in relation to this horse hockey about Marjorie being kind was, “Huh?”
Instead, I tried to keep myself—and my investigation—on track. “Speaking of cops . . .” We weren’t, not exactly, anyway, but I wanted to, and this was my perfect opportunity. “I’ve been wondering if you have any theory about what might have happened to your aunt?”
“Theory?” Nick and Bernadine exchanged glances. “It seems pretty obvious what happened. She went over the railing of the balcony. The police say she was pushed.”
The
Nick’s nose scrunched. His eyes scrinched. If I didn’t know that Quinn had already asked him the same question—and believe me, I knew he had; there was no way a guy as thorough as Quinn would let something so obvious get away from him—I would have said that Nick was surprised by the very thought.
“You work here,” Nick said. “And Aunt Marjorie spent so much of her time here. I have to imagine you knew her well. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise when I tell you exactly what I told the police when they asked me that question. No one disliked Aunt Marjorie. How could they? She was sweet and compassionate. She truly cared about other people, about their interests and their ideas and their feelings.”
“Right.” I hoped I looked more enthusiastic than I sounded, and when I was afraid I didn’t, I settled for hoping Nick wouldn’t notice. “But someone did throw her off that balcony,” I reminded him. “If we could figure out who—”
This time, he patted my arm. “Aunt Marjorie was a big believer in law and order, and so am I. I have faith that the police will find the real murderer. Until then, all we can do is wait, and hold Marjorie in all our hearts.”
Actually, there was something else we could do. “Speaking of that . . .” I hoped I wasn’t stepping into something I couldn’t easily get out of, and braced myself in case Nick started babbling on about the long-gone president and I had to make a quick exit. “I was at Marjorie’s the other night, and she has all that memorabilia and—”
“Of course! Aunt Marjorie told us all about that commemoration she was in charge of for the cemetery, didn’t she, Bernadine?” His fiancee’s nod was a reflection of his. “I just told Mrs. Silverman . . .” He looked back to where Ella was chatting with the minister. “None of her collection means anything to me. I don’t want any of it, and we certainly don’t have room for it, do we, Bernadine? I’ll be liquidating every bit of it as soon as I’m able. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The minister had turned toward his car and I knew Nick had to catch up with him so I backed off. Good thing I did, too, or I would have missed out on the most interesting thing that happened that day.
Well . . .
I remembered Jack, and now that the funeral service was over, I allowed myself a smile at the same time I corrected myself. This was the second most interesting thing that had happened that day.
Because just as I turned around, I saw Ray head toward his car.
And as soon as his back was turned, I watched as sweet, fluffy Doris kicked dirt on Marjorie’s grave.
Just for the record, one o’clock is a lousy time for a funeral. By the time it was over, it was too early to head for home, and too late to get much accomplished back at the office even if I was inclined to go over there. My wisest course of action seemed to be to head back to the memorial. After all, it was officially closed for the rest of the day, and that meant I could officially take my time, free of the gawkers, and try to get a line on my investigation.
I parked and walked around to the front of the building, and it wasn’t until then that I second-guessed my
