Murder Most Mellow (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (21 page)

I turned back to Ellen. Even if I hadn’t been told her name, I would have guessed she was Sarah’s sister. Although she was taller than Sarah, probably close to six feet, heavier and older-looking, that Howdy Doody smile was so close to Sarah’s it was spooky. She wore a navy blue suit and a red blouse which strained over her massive bosom. Her upper torso tilted forward as she looked at me with Sarah’s direct stare.

“Oh boy! Are we gonna have some fun today,” she boomed out.

“Fun?” I mumbled nervously. “What exactly are we going to do?”

She leaned her head back and laughed. It was a good laugh, full and resonant. “You and your friend Peter are sure uptight about the details,” she told me. “I thought you Californians were supposed to be mellow.”

“I—” I began.

“Hey, Teala!” Ellen shouted, cutting me off. “Over here!” Now we had everyone’s attention. Peter was glaring ferociously. Other mourners were staring at us with expressions ranging from shocked and appalled to amused.

Myra and Tony came in the door just as Teala and three other women dressed in brightly colored robes walked toward us with serious expressions on their faces.

“I am Teala of the Trancenjoy Foundation,” the leader announced in deep rhythmic tones. “And these are my assistants, Sonia, Neva and Tasha. We will release Sarah with joy today.” She paused. Her assistants murmured approval. “The purpose of the Trancenjoy Foundation is to promote joy in all transition, transformation and transcendence,” she continued. “Today we will release Sarah with chantings of love and thanks.”

Peter, Tony, Myra and Craig had joined us during Teala’s speech. Linda Zatara chose to stand a few feet away with her back to us. I guessed she wasn’t interested in participating in Teala’s program. I wasn’t sure I was either.

“What, specifically, are we supposed to do in this ceremony?” asked Peter, his voice tight with impatience.

“All of those assembled here today will be asked to join in the chanting,” she declared. “You who knew Sarah so well will each stand when I call your name and tell the group what you have received from Sarah. Then you will affirm that you release her from this earthly plane.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that,” protested Myra.

“Only say what sincerely comes to your mind,” Teala advised her. “I can leave you out if that’s what you really want,” she continued, her tone stuffed full of disgust over Myra’s cowardice.

“Yes, please. Leave me out,” Myra begged.

I didn’t have the audacity to stand up to Teala’s glare, so I began desperately searching my brain for something sincere and profound to say. Sarah had been inspiring, funny and irritating. But none of that sounded good enough to say in public. I decided to simply wait and say whatever came up when I was called on. Not that this approach had ever worked very well in school.

Peter had been eyeing his watch nervously throughout Teala’s instructions. It was after eleven o’clock. Teala announced that it was time to begin and Peter led us to our chairs. Those of us involved in the ceremony were given front-row seating. I was seated between Ellen and Craig, with a view of the closed coffin. I turned my head away from its black presence. It wasn’t time for that yet.

After a brief introduction, Teala began the chanting. “Sarah, we love you. Sarah, we thank you. Sarah, we release you.” Soon her assistants joined her. “Sarah, we love you. Sarah, we thank you. Sarah, we release you.” Teala nodded toward the front row and we chanted the words with them. Then she spread her arms wide in a gesture that included the whole audience and everyone began to chant the three phrases. My mind shifted into an altered state of consciousness as the chanting increased in volume and tempo. It was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. Sobbing broke out from somewhere behind me. Then Teala brought her arms down in a gesture to stop.

“Peter, what do you thank Sarah for?” she asked.

“I thank you, Sarah, for your constant challenge to the rigidity of my thinking,” Peter said. “I release you from this earthly plane.” Peter spoke in an unusually gentle tone. His eyes were glistening.

Teala raised her arms and we chanted again. Then she asked Tony what he thanked Sarah for.

“I thank you, Sarah, for showing me the positive and divine purpose in any and all situations,” he announced clearly and released her.

The pattern continued. Craig thanked Sarah for telling him that success is a state of mind. I thanked Sarah for showing me that I always had choices, and Ellen thanked Sarah for the ability to laugh in any circumstance, and then proceeded to laugh maniacally. A sprinkling of nervous laughter from the mourners echoed through the room. Then we chanted for a seemingly infinite amount of time the same words of love, thanks and release over and over again. Toward the end, Teala increased the pace of the chanting until we sounded like a room full of crazed auctioneers. I was dizzy by the time she brought her arms down again.

Then one of Teala’s assistants opened the lid of the coffin. Teala stepped up to Ellen and led her by the hand toward the now open coffin. Peter acted as a sheepdog and herded the rest of us in a line behind them. Ellen and Teala looked down at Sarah. Teala said, “I release you.” Ellen repeated her words.

It was my turn. As I moved forward I felt a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Wayne’s hand. I whispered a thank you and looked down at Sarah. Her skin had an orangish cast which I attributed to the makeup, although it might have been the lighting or even the aura of all those years of orange. The bones of her face were more prominent than ever. She was sunk into the coffin in her favorite orange and purple jumpsuit. Nestled in her hands was one of Nick’s sculptures, the little ivory one. I stared down and finally knew that she was really dead. As I felt my tears sneaking out and down my cheeks, I remembered what the ritual was for. I said, “I release you” and moved on and back to my seat. Soon we were all chanting words of love, thanks and release for the last time.

Outside, the air felt crisp as those of us who were going to the cemetery climbed into the cars Peter had assigned us. I was in Craig’s car. Barbara and Felix sat up front with him. I sat in the back between Ellen and Wayne. I speculated upon the malicious intent that might be behind Peter’s assignment of cars as we slowly drove in a procession to the cemetery.

“Hey, are you guys all dinks?” Ellen asked, her raucous voice breaking into the somber mood.

“What’s a dink?” asked Craig.

“Double Income, No Kids,” she replied.

“We’re all single,” I said pointedly.

“But at least you’re yuppies, right?” she steamrollered on. “I mean, this
is
California. I read in
Newsweek
where you guys had a government task force to promote self-esteem!”

“Did we?” chuckled Barbara. “Far out. You know more about California than I do. Where are you from?”

“New Jersey”

“What exit?” wisecracked Craig. Ellen broke into a roar of laughter. I leaned against Wayne without looking at him. But I could feel his body heat, even smell it. I put my hand on his knee, then felt his hand cover mine.

“Where’d you dig up old Teala and the Trancenjoys?” Felix asked Ellen. A bad choice of words when driving to a cemetery, I thought. But no one else seemed to notice.

“I looked through Sarah’s address book,” Ellen explained. “It was the only entry resembling a religious organization, right? Anyway, Nick said she went there a few times and liked them, so I called them up.”

“Why isn’t Nick here?” I asked.

“He couldn’t handle it,” Ellen said, her voice a little softer. “Cute kid, but he doesn’t go out much.”

“How about Vivian and Jerry?” I asked. “I hope they were invited.”

“Oh, they were,” Ellen boomed. “Vivian’s Information Central, right, the mouthy cleaning lady? She said the ‘hired help’ don’t go to funerals. And Jerry the gardener, right? He said he was working.”

“How long are you going to be out here, Ellen?” Barbara asked.

“Oh, a coupla weeks,” she replied. “I’m calling this a paid vacation.” Was she talking about her inheritance?

“Would you like to come over for dinner tonight?” I offered. I had interrogation in mind.

“What’ll you feed me, tofu burgers?” she rasped. She laughed loudly for a while at her own wit. “No offense. Sure, I’ll come over,” she said finally.

We pulled slowly into the cemetery and parked. Once the rest of the procession had arrived, Peter led us to the gravesite, which was set off from the rest of the neatly trimmed graves by a brightly striped canopy of orange and white. The attendants had already lowered the coffin into the grave. A neat pile of dirt was on a tarpaulin by its side. We still had most of the crowd from the funeral chapel, with the exception of Teala and her assistants, who had mysteriously vanished. Apparently, they were only hired to play the Serenity Room and their contract did not extend to the graveyard. We all stood around expectantly, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Ellen stepped forward.

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, laughter is healing, so laugh we must,” she proclaimed. Then she began telling a joke about a donkey as she threw some dirt onto the coffin.

The gathering around the grave was temporarily immobilized.

Mouths gaped as we all stared at Ellen. She finished that joke and began another.

“What do you get when you pour boiling water down a rabbit hole?” she asked. There were no takers.

“Hot cross bunnies,” she answered herself. There were a few scattered snickers.

I dropped my now wilted and crushed chrysanthemums onto the coffin as she asked, “What do you call a row of rabbits walking backwards?” A few more people stepped forward to drop dirt or flowers on the coffin.

“A receding hareline!” Some people were laughing aloud now. The attendants were smirking. But Peter was not amused.

“The time has come to take leave of Sarah,” he announced, his voice bursting with reproach.

“May the divine spirit continue to guide her,” Tony offered more gently.

“Amen,” I said. Not that I meant to use the word in its religious sense. I just wanted to end the event. A few more “amens” were spoken and Peter shepherded everyone back to the cars.

“Hey, Sarah, remember where you’re parked,” Ellen shouted as we left.

I turned to see Wayne’s reaction. But he had disappeared.

When we got back to the mortuary I snagged Linda and invited her to the seance. Her eyebrow lifted infinitesimally. For her, I guessed that this was the equivalent of a gasp. I wondered what it might mean. She recovered herself quickly and agreed to come.

Felix stood close by, drooling for an invitation. But Barbara headed him off easily, kissing him every time he opened his mouth until it was finally time to leave.

The minute Barbara and I were alone in her Volkswagen, I asked her what she thought.

“I think Wayne is hurting,” she replied seriously.

“Not Wayne, goddammit!” I cried impatiently. “Who’s the murderer? Did you get anything?”

“Not really,” she said, swerving the car a little as she pondered. “I got all sorts of mixtures of anger, sorrow, fear. Nothing that I could exactly say was murderous energy. But a person can consciously or unconsciously shield themselves…” Her voice trailed off.

“Who was angry?” I asked hopefully.

“Peter was the angriest,” she said. “But you can tell that by looking at him. Anyway, his anger is really more impatience than anything else.”

Suddenly I felt tired. I had wanted something conclusive, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get it. I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes.

“Myra is some confused woman,” Barbara went on. “And Linda is as blank as she looks.”

I sat up straight. “Do you think she’s shielding on purpose?” I asked.

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. The car sidled gently into the next lane, then floated back.

“I guess I don’t know how to calibrate a murderer,” she admitted. “Sorry, kiddo.”

“Thanks for trying,” I said. I kept my voice cheerful. I didn’t want Barbara to know how disappointed I was. “Anyway, there’s still the seance.”

We rode along in uncharacteristic silence. Poor Barbara. I knew she felt guilty for having failed me.

“I do miss Wayne,” I offered softly.

“I know,” she said. Then she turned the full force of her smile on me as she swerved in front of a gasoline truck.

- Fifteen -

Barbara regained her proper lane amid blaring horns and screaming brakes.

“Isn’t one funeral enough?” I demanded.

“You know I never hit anyone,” she replied calmly. And then, without any transition, she asked, “Why don’t you marry Wayne?”

I groaned.

“Well?” she prodded.

“You’re the psychic,” I snapped. “You tell me.”

“I just might,” she said, grinning my way. The car began sidling up to the next lane.

“I’ll tell you what,” I bargained quickly. “If you stay in your lane all the way home, I’ll explain why I don’t want to get married.”

“Done,” she agreed and looked straight ahead.

I took a breath and began. “Here’s the worst-case scenario,” I told her. “I marry Wayne. I become dependent on him. I get used to having money. I don’t put in my sixty hours a week on Jest Gifts. Jest Gifts withers from neglect. And then the marriage goes bad—”