Chocolate-Covered Crime (5 page)

Or fashion sense. I checked my tote bag to make sure the names I’d written in a new notebook still nestled in the bottom. A person never knows when they might stumble upon a clue. And every one of my crime-solving books suggests a detective be prepared for anything.

A heavily made-up woman with teased hair greeted us in a soft, comforting voice when we entered through the double-glass doors. She motioned us into a room to choose a coffin, and Aunt Claudia immediately ran her hand over the polished woods and stainless steel surfaces. She oohed and aahed and finally motioned to her choice.

I peeked at the price tag. The Spring Rose. Moss pink, velvet interior. Price tag, three thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars! I gulped, then reassured myself it could have been worse. I had to admit it was beautiful. When I die, just fry me. Save the money for something that won’t be stuffed into the ground.

We exited the showroom and entered a plush office in green velvet and brass. The three of us squeezed onto the sofa, with me sandwiched in the middle. I was wedged in so tight if someone yelled fire, I was a goner.

A thin man, complete with a pencil mustache, peered at us over his steepled fingers. The nameplate on his desk identified him as Lewis Anderson. He placed a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses on his nose and curled his hand around a silver ballpoint pen. “I’m sorry for your loss.” His deep voice rumbled through the room. “I have a few questions for you, then I’ll handle the rest.”

We nodded in unison. Aunt Claudia blurted, “We’ve chosen the Something-Rose casket.”

Mr. Anderson raised his eyebrows. “The Spring Rose? Excellent choice.” He made a note. “Religious preference?”

“Christian, of course. There ain’t no way my daughter is going to partake in any heathen ceremony.”

“Ah, the mother.” He scribbled something else. “Burial, selected plot out back, pastor of attending church will preside?” He widened his eyes. “Am I being too presumptuous?”

We shook our heads again. I gnawed my lower lip. Something about this guy bothered me. What did he mean by a selected plot?

“Have the authorities released the body?” A sheen appeared in his dark eyes. Were those tears?

I shifted my weight, trying to squeeze from my prison. “Not yet. Possibly tomorrow.”

“All right then.” He flipped through his calendar. “We could do the viewing on Wednesday. That gives the medical examiner an extra day, and the funeral service can be held on Thursday. I’m assuming you want a traditional service?”

“Of course we do!” Aunt Claudia rose, almost taking me with her. “Nothing is too good for my Mae Belle.”

Mr. Anderson gave a thin smile and blinked his eyes. He definitely appeared to be struggling not to cry. I detected a faint quiver to his chin. He handed Aunt Claudia a sheet of paper. “This is what’s included in our traditional service. Mountain Shadows Funeral Home is honored to help you during this difficult time.”

Aunt Claudia handed the paper to me without glancing at it. My stomach churned as my gaze rolled down the page. Moving the body to the funeral home. Cosmetology. Dressing the body. Pallbearers. The final line almost stopped my heart. Nine thousand dollars, including the casket.
Catch me, Lord. I’m going to faint.

“Ladies, have a wonderful day.” The man actually grasped my aunts by their elbows and steered them through the door. He turned to me.

I stopped. “Mr. Anderson, how well did you know Mae Belle?”

“Excuse me?”

“You seem overly affected by her death and the funeral arrangements. Are you this personable with all your customers?”

He straightened his shoulders and shifted his eyes. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the honor of making her acquaintance.”

If I’ve learned anything from reading my crime books, it’s that a liar often glances over the questioning person’s left shoulder. Just like he did. What could Mr. Anderson have to hide?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Soft music filled the quiet atmosphere in the viewing room. Mae Belle, wearing more makeup than I’d ever seen her wear, lay in the casket with hands folded across her stomach. We’d been sitting there for an hour before the first visitor arrived.

Sherry marched through the door and strode to stare down at Mae Belle. The former secretary of A Dream Wedding took a deep breath and said something I couldn’t hear. Her lips thinned into a tight smile, she whirled, glowered at me, then marched back out.

What did the woman have against me? I didn’t remember ever having met her before hiring Mae Belle. Had I wronged her as a kid?

Over the course of the two-hour viewing, less than ten people, spaced sporadically, arrived to pay their respects. Boredom overtook me. I picked at my cuticles and wished Ethan hadn’t been too busy to come with me. My aunts huddled in the first row of chairs and whispered together. Occasionally, Aunt Claudia’s wails drowned out w R the music.

Forgive me, Lord, but I’d had enough. I dashed outside to the parking lot where my uncles hid out beneath one of the magnolia trees. Smart men. I made my way over to them.

“Mae Belle looked beautiful, didn’t she?” Uncle Fred wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

“Yes, she did.”

“Not much of a turnout, but my little girl had trouble making friends. Too much like her ma.” I must have looked shocked because Uncle Fred shrugged and clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I might keep my mouth shut around the women in my life, but I’m not deaf or dumb. You just find out who killed her, okay?”

I nodded.

Thursday morning, Aunt Claudia thumped down the stairs wearing a black muumuu with pink flowers and silver flip-flops. I smoothed a hand down my own black dress, shook my head, and turned away to avoid her seeing my expression. Uncle Fred wore an outdated-looking but fitted gray suit, and Uncle Roy looked dapper in a navy one. Aunt Eunice appeared behind her sister, wearing a full black skirt and gray blouse. The only similarity between the two, other than their body shape, was the shape of their noses and the gray curls on their heads.

Aunt Eunice’s red-rimmed eyes, as befitted the day of grieving, met my gaze over her sister’s head. Aunt Claudia’s eyes were suspiciously bright and dry. They didn’t appear to be suffering from any lack of sleep.

I’d written her name at the top of my suspect list the evening before. It would have been impossible for her to make it here from Oklahoma and get home again before we called to tell her about Mae Belle, but I’d bet the candy store the woman was involved somehow.

We stepped out of the house into sunshine. The uncles escorted the aunts into my car, and I sat on the porch swing to wait for Ethan. I’d chosen not to squeeze in the back seat with the other women. Not after yesterday’s squashing experience.

And Mr. Anderson became my number-two suspect after that meeting.

A warm rush of confidence washed over me. Less than a week and I already had two suspects. This mystery should be wrapped up and tossed away before another seven days passed. My eyes would be open and peeled at the funeral this afternoon. In the movies, the killer always showed up to view the results of the evil deed.

Ethan’s truck rolled into the driveway, and I bounded from my seat. He looked gorgeous. The royal blue of his shirt set off his azure eyes and golden curls. The slow, sweet smile he gave me as I slid in beside him sent a flush of heat up my neck.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He reached over and squeezed my hand.

“Morning, Ethan.” If he didn’t stop looking at me with those smoldering eyes, we’d never make it to church. That reminded me of another fee I’d have to pay. Transportation back and forth from the funeral home. I sighed.

“What’s the matter, Tink?” Ethan’s large hand engulfed mine.

“I offered to pay half of Mae Belle’s funeral. I don’t regret helping. It’s just that Aunt Claudia spared no expense, and I’ve got the feeling her grief is all an act.” I proceeded to fill him in on her tearless sobbing.

“Have you mentioned your suspicions to Joe?”

“Of course not. He thinks I’m a doofus. Aunt Claudia is staying in our house—for way longer than we’d like. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Ditching the woman when I was investigating Mae Belle’s death would probably be the biggest challenge.

We arrived at church before the aunts and uncles exited my car. Ethan pulled into an empty space beside them. I glanced around the parking lot. Not a crowd. Less than twenty cars. Sadness engulfed me. Mae Belle’s sandpaper personality turned off many people. Today it showed.

“There’s a few of the names on your list here.” Ethan motioned toward the attendees milling in front of the building. “That little woman is Edna Mobley.”

Edna looked as if a strong wind could pick her up and move her fifty yards down the road. She’d pulled mousy hair streaked with gray into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A serviceable brown suit completed the stereotype of a librarian. Ethan continued talking as we slid from the truck.

“That man staring at her is Hubert Smith, Edna’s former fiancé and the local dentist. Edna works for him.” The man reminded me a bit of Mr. Toad. Skinny legs, round belly, balding head, and wire-rimmed spectacles that slid down a flat nose.

Ethan grasped my elbow and steered me toward the doors as he continued his commentary. “You’ve met Lewis Anderson. The man he’s speaking with is Larry Bell.”

Bell shuffled a sneakered foot in the gravel while listening to whatever it was Anderson had to tell him. Bell shrugged and disappeared into the small crowd, his plain gray slacks and shirt blending in with the surroundings.

It seemed considerate that Mae Belle’s disgruntled clients would come to the service. I hated to think of how small the crowd would have been had they not. I searched for the other two names on the list. One face I’d recognize if I saw her. Renee Richards. The head cheerleader and homecoming queen of my senior year. It had grated on my nerves to stand beside her as one of her ladies-in-waiting. I’d drooled over that crown for two years. No sign of the former queen.

Sherry, the “I don’t do blood” lady, sat on a marble bench, a cigarette clenched between her fingers. Her hunched shoulders showed she carried more burden than Mae Belle’s own mother.

Anderson announced it would be time to start in a couple of minutes, and the not-so-large crowd shuffled inside and filled the first two rows of the funeral room. I sat between the Meadows relatives and the Sweeneys in the front middle section of seats.

Mae Belle’s lovely bronze casket graced the floor in front. From my seat, the only part of her I could see was her nose, rising above the pink velvet interior like a smokestack.

Aunt Claudia fidgeted in her seat, glancing over her shoulder. “Ain’t many people here, is there? That’s what happens when you have a funeral in the middle of the day. Otherwise, this place would be packed. Nothing draws the curious like a funeral of someone murdered. Which of them do you think killed her?”

My gaze scanned the group. Not a likely looking murderer in the bunch. Joe rushed in and took a seat in the back. He met my gaze and shook his head as if to signal me not to let on he was there. Did he think the same thing I’d thought earlier? That Mae Belle’s killer would be here?

Aunt Eunice elbowed me, eliciting a grunt, and forced me to turn around. Maybe I could study people more at the grave site.

The pastor spoke of how Mae Belle came from humble beginnings to business owner. He went on to speak of how much the only child was loved by her parents. Then he shot my idea out of the sky. Graveside services were for immediate family only. Now why would Aunt Claudia agree to that? She seemed to seek attention. Her wails threatened to drown out the pastor’s words. I flashed Aunt Eunice a look. She shrugged.

Service completed, everyone stood and filed past the casket. I paused and laid a hand on Mae Belle’s hard cold one. The cosmetologist had made her look almost pretty— different, but pretty. Again, I promised to find her killer and blinked away tears of remorse. If I’d thought to check on her earlier, I might have spared her this. Instead, I’d chosen to finish my coffee and give her time to show up at the bookstore.

Once through the line, I made a beeline to Joe. “Who do you think it is?”

“What?” His gaze flicked to mine then back to the crowd.

“The killer. Isn’t that why you’re here? Because you think he is?” I tried to determine where he looked.

“I can’t discuss that with you. I’m here because Mae Belle was my cousin.”

“Then I won’t tell you what I’ve discovered.” I folded my arms.

“You can’t withhold information, Summer.”

“Humph.” I marched away. There was no new information, and I knew he wouldn’t believe my suspicions about our aunt. I’d just have to investigate her myself.

Ethan and I drove two car lengths behind the hearse. The early autumn fo FHuliage rolled past the slow-moving vehicles in a kaleidoscope of olive and forest green while the sun’s rays shot dapples through the colorful tree branches.

Mountain Shadows Cemetery waited just outside town. Four cars pulled to a stop. Ethan, Joe, Uncle Fred, Uncle Roy, and two men I didn’t know hefted the casket from the back of the hearse and carried it to the grave site. Aunt Eunice sniffled background music to her sister’s sobs. As the casket was lowered into its new home, the back of my neck prickled.