Murder Under the Covered Bridge (22 page)

“I thought she was being helpful.”

“Only so long as the promise that Robert Irvine would arrive held out. Now that there's no guarantee he'll be here, she's less interested. In fact”—Mary Ruth's voice dropped to a whisper—“she's being a pain.”

“We're just wrapping up here.” Francine checked the time. She and Jonathan would make it back in time for her to try to solve yet another of the mysteries she'd encountered. “Tell Charlotte I'm taking her to a funeral.”

“Is it someone we know?”

“No. But tell her it's the woman I thought I saw Zed crying for, and who might have been poisoned. Tell her it's a mystery yet to be solved.”

“I'm sure she'll love it.”

twenty-six

Francine had not thought
to bring clothes suitable for a funeral visitation, mostly because a funeral had been the last thing on her mind when she'd packed for the Covered Bridge Festival. She had several bright pink Mary Ruth's Catering t-shirts that would not do, along with turn-of-the-century clothes she'd rented for the photo shoot. Ugly fall-themed sweaters weren't going to cover it, either.

With that, she had set aside nearly everything in her suitcase. The only things left were black jeans that looked kind of dressy and a white
long-sleeve
shirt that buttoned up the front. She thrown them in on a whim, thinking that if Mary Ruth had needed her for something a little more formal than the food booth, she'd at least look the part. They, and the scuffed black flats she wore often to keep from looking so tall, would have to do. As she checked herself in the mirror before leaving the room, she noticed scarves on a shelf that the owner of the house had left behind. Several of them had subdued colors that would help dress up her outfit. She selected one and tied it around her neck as was fashionable nowadays.
I'll put it back when I'm done and no one will be the wiser
, she thought.

She was grateful William's funeral had been scheduled for the day after the Covered Bridge Festival was over. Either she'd have time to run back to Brownsburg and prepare for it, or she would have Jonathan bring the clothes the next time he came back. For this visitation, he would be able to get by much better than her, since he had his business casual clothes.

Francine knocked on the bathroom door. “Charlotte, how are you coming in there?”

“Fine.” The answer was brusque.

Francine glanced at her watch. “Please be ready in five minutes. The visitation is only an hour, and I don't want us to be there long enough to have to stay for the actual funeral.”

Charlotte opened the bathroom door. She was dressed in an
electric-blue
sweatshirt with a photo of the Bridgeton Bridge on it, and words that screamed
I Shopped Bridgeton! Parke County Covered Bridge Festival.

“Looks like someone went shopping yesterday in Bridgeton,” Francine remarked.

“Don't stare, Francine. It's the best I've got.”

“I wasn't staring.”

“You're also a bad liar. Is Jonathan ready? Let's get this over with.”

Charlotte grabbed her cane and they proceeded down the stairs. “I hope there aren't too many people there.”

Francine reached the bottom of the staircase well before Charlotte, who took the stairs one step at a time, and turned to make sure her friend didn't fall. “I imagine there will be a few nurses from the memory care unit, and then Dolly. We need to keep our eyes peeled in case we spot Zed lurking around, but if Merlina is right, he's gone.”

“Merlina had to have had some long conversations with Zed if she prepared that irrevocable trust,” Charlotte said. “We should ask her more questions.”

“You're right, but she seemed short on time yesterday. The whole thing came as such a shock that I didn't have time to even formulate questions.”

“That's why you should have brought me along. I'm quick on my feet.” Charlotte finally reached the bottom of the stairs and realized what she'd said. “To use a cliché,” she added.

Francine knew Charlotte could move decently without the cane. She'd seen her do it many times before. But for whatever reason, Charlotte liked to appear more handicapped than she was. “Maybe we'll go see Merlina tomorrow. If she's doing her day job and not holding séances.”

Jonathan was waiting for them in the front room, seated on one of the leather couches. He stood when they entered. He was wearing tan chinos and a black sweater. “Ready?” he asked.

“Is there never a time when you don't look good, Jonathan?” Charlotte asked.

He laughed. “You can be so sweet sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Francine echoed.

Charlotte looked up at her. “I only let my friends see me at my worst. So you know this is hardly my worst. I may look like I'm more ready to roast wieners at a bonfire, but at least I'm clean and have makeup on.”

The women flanked Jonathan, each taking one arm, as they made their way down the sidewalk to the Langley Funeral Home. As expected, there was not a crowd.

Francine's phone rang before they went in. Francine looked at the phone number. “Caller ID says it's Roy Stockton.”

“Let me answer it,” Jonathan said. “I'll tell him you're not here once you're inside. Then I won't be lying.”

The two women went in.

Dolly stood at the front of the room, talking with a young woman Francine guessed to be a nurse from the ward. Dolly wore a
long-sleeved
black dress and her makeup and nails looked perfect as always. Francine wondered if it didn't say something about the relationship with William that Dolly didn't even have bags under her eyes from being awake all night or mascara running down her cheeks from crying.

The casket, to her surprise, was open. There were a few pictures of the woman who had died, all of them fairly recent. They were in small black frames. A couple of stands of flowers were there. Francine checked the names on them as she and Charlotte waited for Dolly and the nurse to finish up. One was from Dolly, another from the nursing home. A third, which was larger than the other two modest displays, was filled with white roses intertwined with fall flowers. Francine read the inscription.

She pulled Charlotte over. “This card says it's from Doc Wheat.”

“Doc Wheat, really? You'd think he'd be pretty old by now.”

“Stop it! You know he's dead.”

“It's a bad practical joke.”

The two stared at the flowers. “Pretty elaborate display for a practical joke,” Francine said.

Dolly and the nurse finished talking. The nurse left. Dolly turned and saw them. At first Francine thought the look she gave them was one of dismay, but then she wasn't sure. It might have been one of puzzlement.

“Charlotte and I wanted to stop by and express our condolences,” she said, nearing the casket. “I know you said you and William were close to her. It's difficult to lose a good friend, especially at a time like this.”

“She was a sweet lady,” Dolly said. The words sounded hollow to Francine.

“Had she been sick long?” Charlotte asked. “Or did she go suddenly?”

The question made Dolly visibly uncomfortable. “She had Alzheimer's for years, but when her time came, she went quickly. Which in many ways is a blessing.”

“So did you know her before she had Alzheimer's?”

Francine worried that Charlotte was being too direct in questioning Dolly. She wanted Charlotte's help in solving this mystery, but not to the point that she alienated Dolly. She glanced in the casket at the dead woman.

“We knew her when the Alzheimer's had finished settling in. That was when her husband brought her to the memory unit of our nursing home. I think it's been about ten years.”

“So she had lost her
short-term
memory by then? Did she still remember things from way back, or had she lost that too?”

Without looking up from the casket, Francine gripped Charlotte's arm.

Charlotte pried her arm loose and didn't skip a beat. “I was only wondering because I had a friend who was like that. No
short-term
memory but thought I was her mother and used to tell all kinds of stories. Only some of which I thought were true.”

But Francine had not gripped Charlotte's arm to stop her. She'd been surprised. The woman in the casket was wearing a necklace with a charm. The charm was a duplicate of the
heart-and
-arrow graphic she'd seen on the diaries. In fact, it was really an echo of the one on the bridge, because it had the further inscription below it,
You are the key to my heart
. And then there was another charm, a bit larger than the
heart-and
-arrow. It was a key. Small enough to fit the lock of the diaries. Sturdy enough to fit the lock on the box she had inherited from Zed.

Francine pulled Charlotte close.

“Ouch, you're hurting me,” Charlotte whispered. “I thought you wanted to me to help question her.”

“Never mind that,” Francine hissed. “Look at the necklace.”

Charlotte's eyes lit up. “It's the same thing we saw on the bridge.”

“Yes, and I need that key.” Francine glanced back to see what Dolly was doing. Dolly had edged away from Charlotte and was looking at the flowers that were supposedly from Doc Wheat.
Thank goodness for Charlotte's questioning, however direct it might have been.
“My guess is, it unlocks the box Zed left for me.”

“What box? You didn't tell me about a box. You only told me you inherited the land.”

“I was
going
to tell you, but I didn't exactly have much to say about it until I could open it, and there was no key. But if that is ‘the key to my heart,' then it should open the box.”

“But who is Belinda? How did she get it?”

“I don't know. But right now that's not as important as how we're going to get it.”

“Oh, boy, that's going to be a tough one. You can't just reach in and get it.”

A group of elderly people shuffled in, accompanied by a middle-
aged woman with a strict face. “Please sit here,” she said, a little louder than custom would have dictated. She directed them into the front row. She and Dolly huddled in the back of the room.

“I need you to create a distraction,” Francine said.

“I'll give it a try.” Charlotte sat in the chair next to the last of the seven people to have been brought in. She looked to be in her late eighties, a good fifteen years or more older than the Summer Ridge Bridge Club group. “Do you watch Food Network?” Charlotte asked. “Have you heard of Mary Ruth's Catering? I have one of her famous corn fritter donuts.” She opened her cavernous bag and pulled out a donut wrapped in a bakery sheet. “It's yours if you want it.”

The woman had a blank look on her face, but she tentatively took the donut from Charlotte. She sniffed it suspiciously. Then she bit into it, taking a big mouthful. She began to chew.

The amount of donut didn't fit well in her mouth. Crumbs began to fall from her mouth onto her lap.

“Here's a napkin,” Charlotte offered, pulling one from the bag.

“What's that you've got there, Biddy?” asked the woman next to her.

“It's a donut,” Biddy said. Her mouth was so full the words were almost unintelligible. A large piece tried to escape from her mouth, but she used a finger to shove it back in. “Cake of some kind.”

“Is it good?”

“Better than good, Cassie. They never let us have donuts any more. Do you remember donuts?”

“I loved donuts.”

“It's so good. Did you bring your teeth?”

“Sure did.” Cassie had a small purse sitting on her lap. She pulled out a case that presumably had her dentures in it. She rustled around and came up with a tube of Fixodent. “But I need to find a bathroom so I can put them in first.”

Charlotte dug into her purse and pulled out another donut. She waggled it back and forth. “It's yours when you get back.”

Cassie got up and darted for the exit.

“Where's she hustlin' off to, waving that tube of denture cream?” the man next to Cassie asked.

“Going to put her teeth in,” Biddy said. “Though this cake donut is soft enough she probably don't need it.”

“Can I have one?”

“You'll have to ask this nice young lady here, Eddie.” Biddy indicated Charlotte.

“I'm not Eddie,” he said. He turned to the woman to his left, who was wearing a heavy blue sweater button up to her neck. “At least, I don't think I'm Eddie. Am I Eddie?”

Francine hoped this would all play out quickly, though she couldn't remember the last time any of them had been called “young lady.”

Charlotte made eye contact with Francine. It was a look of alarm. “This is my last donut,” she mouthed.

“Find something else,” Francine mouthed back.

Charlotte dug through her purse.

The blue sweater lady stood up. “I want a donut too.” She bypassed the man who may or may not be Eddie and stood in front of Charlotte.

“I called dibs on it,” he said.

Biddy stood up and elbowed Blue Sweater out of the way. “Actually, it's Cassie's. You'll have to call dibs on the next one she pulls out.”

Charlotte dug faster.

“I'll just take that half donut you're waving around,” Eddie told Biddy.

Biddy swallowed whatever was left in her mouth and shoved the rest of it in. She held up her hands triumphantly.

All six of the remaining seniors were now out of their seats clustered around Charlotte trying to shove each other out of the way, like little kids. Dolly and the strict nurse rushed to separate them. They were a handful, though.

Francine knew she'd have no better time. She reached into the casket and pulled on the necklace, looking for the clasp. She brushed against Belinda's skin. It felt tight and cold. As a nurse, Francine had been around dead people before, especially right after they died. But this was different. This person had been dead for days and went through the embalming process. It made Francine not want to touch her.

“I've got something you'll like better,” she heard Charlotte say. “You like hot women?”

Francine fumbled around the dead woman's neck, trying not to touch her again but still get the necklace undone so she could grab the key. She leaned closer in.

“Hot dog! I love hot women!” Eddie said. “Harry, look at this.”

Francine heard pages rustling in the background but she tried to focus on the necklace. Her bifocals were in the wrong spot so she was squinting at the same time she was feeling around the chain. She found the clasp.