Nobody's Sorry You're Dead: A Hadley Pell Cozy Mystery (2 page)

Will they let me bury you in your stocking feet?

Don’t they know that black is my worst color?

A hundred silly things, a thousand important things, and all of them tangling up in a knot inside her chest. She wanted to crawl right under a dark rock and never come out.

“Doc said he went quick. Didn’t suffer,” Bill said.

“Was he in the car when it happened?” Hadley managed to ask.

Why did she
want
to know? Why did she
have
to know? The details would only rip her to shreds. As if her heart wasn’t shredded enough.

But the knowing would be better than guessing.

She forced her mind to slow down, to pay attention to what Bill was telling her. The words pelted her like boulders, but she stood there processing them. And she felt very small and very numb and very helpless.

“He was sitting at the stop light. Light cycled through twice before the car behind Harry honked. When that got no response, the driver got out of the car and found him just sitting behind the wheel. He looked like he was taking a nap.

“Like I said, Hadley, Doc said Harry went fast.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Hadley noted, her voice strangely hoarse. It was almost as if she, and not her brain, had been screaming.

The funeral was a blur. She’d had the service at Foley’s. Foley’s had served Hope Rock County for decades. The funeral home was the original Foley family homestead. The family had added to it, renovating it over the years. The stately funeral home was one of the biggest structures in town. It boasted four white columns outside the front porch, three wide wooden benches, and several potted geraniums.

She and Harry had discussed funeral arrangements in the past. She had a general idea of what her husband wanted. Still, it was an ordeal she had to endure.

So many faces. So many hands to shake, hugs to give, and tears to shed. Someone was by her side constantly. Then, the long drive back home from the cemetery to her house.

The limousine was luxurious, but it might have been a buckboard wagon for all Hadley cared. She sat in the center of the back seat, her hands daintily folded in her lap. Her gray hair was immaculate, but the makeup failed to hide the pain in her eyes.

Alfred, the driver from the funeral home, helped her out of the car and up to her front steps. He was kind. Everyone had been kind.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Alfred asked.

Hadley slowly shook her head.

“No, thank you. It was a lovely service,” Hadley said. “Harry would have been pleased.”

“I’m glad, ma’am,” Alfred said. “It was. Beautiful, I mean. We are sure going to miss Mr. Pell. Well, if you don’t need anything else, I guess I’ll go.”

“I’m fine,” Hadley said. “Thanks, again.”

She stepped inside and closed the front door. Hadley kicked off her sensible Sunday shoes and walked in her stocking feet into the kitchen. Her counters were weighed down with casseroles, fried chicken, desserts, and enough food to host the church homecoming. All this bounty for one person.

Hadley sighed.

And then, the loneliness set in.

Those first few months were the worst, but slowly, Hadley began to breathe. Day followed day, and little by little, her spark returned. She sipped her coffee. It was her third cup this morning, and the caffeine was exactly what she had needed to help her whiz through the contest form.

A vice, Maury, would say.

Maury wasn’t into coffee, preferring herbal teas and weird natural brews that would pucker your lips and turn your mouth inside out. Maury was married to Bill Whittaker, who had been sheriff for three terms and, likely as not, would have an easy time winning a fourth term come next election.

He was a fair and honest man. He’d been a good husband and father. Bill would take care of Maury, Hadley decided. Let Maury seep and soak her leaves and sticks. She would stick with java.

She heard the ‘
thunk
’ of the newspaper as it hit her back door. Here in Hope Rock County, the local weekly edition still thrived. No online versions for Hadley Pell. No, sir. She liked the smudge of ink on her fingers and the sound of real paper crunching as she turned the pages.

With a start, she glanced at Onus.

“Daydreaming again,” she said.

The cat, startled by the noise, jumped from fridge to the counter, and bolted for the next room.

“You’re as jumpy as a kangaroo on a trampoline, Onus.”

She pushed her chair from the table.

“Pale Hadley rises to greet the day,” she muttered to herself, shuffling to the door in her trusty mules. Her hair was a riotous tangle on her head. Gray hair was terribly unruly, but toss and turn all night, and her thick waves wound up looking as if she slept between the mattress and the box springs while attached to a vacuum hose.

She was sure she would scare the daylights out of Randy, the paperboy, if he saw her. Fat chance. Rocket Randy was half-way down her street by now. His aim was off, sometimes, but Randy was faithful to deliver the paper like clockwork. Which was more than she could say for a few of the other boys who had run his route.

Hadley made her way back to the kitchen table, pushing the contest envelope aside. She opened up the papers and began to read. Her jaw fell.

Black, bold headlines stared her in the face.

Eustian Singlepenny’s latest lawsuits had been thrown out of court.

Nothing unusual about that. It happened all the time. Singlepenny was known for his frivolous legal disputes, for tying up the courts, and for wreaking havoc among his neighbors.

Hadley could still spit cinders at the thought that Eustian would have the gall to bring a lawsuit against the wildlife refuge in the first place. How dare he! That shelter had been her saving grace. Without it, she might still be in the throes of depression.

She had fought tooth and nail when her sister Maury suggested they volunteer. Maury had dropped by that day with a jumbo cup of piping hot coffee. She should have been suspicious when Maury entered the door.

“Hadley,” Maury said, “it’s time you rallied. Time you stopped thinking only of yourself. I know it’s tough, but you can’t just hide in this house and rot! You’ve got to get out. Stop this pity party! Pull yourself out of the ashes! You cannot stop living because Harry’s gone. He would have hated seeing you like this!”

Maury went on and on. Hadley had not paid much attention until Maury mentioned that Eustian was suing Ruth Elliot again.

The wildlife rescue center was in danger!

“Ruth needs us, Hadley,” Maury said as Hadley wallowed for the umpteenth time in the ebony pool of sadness and self-pity. “Jimmy’s sick, and he can’t go in today. Come on, Sis. Ruth’s a good friend. Get cleaned up and dressed. You and I need to go down there and help out.”

“Leave me alone,” Hadley said, wanting nothing more than to take another dip in that pool of despair.

Didn’t Maury understand that big sis was a widow now? Hadley had earned the right to mourn. After all those years of marriage, she was entitled to her pity party. A big one. A long one. Why couldn’t her little sister just go away?

“Come on,” Maury said.

There was a whine in her little sister’s voice.

“Grit my teeth to the gums,” Hadley said, knowing Maury would not leave her alone until she agreed to get up and shed her sackcloth and ashes and go to the shelter.

Maury smiled. She knew she was eroding Hadley’s resolve.

“It will do you a world of good. You need some fresh air. You’re pale as a ghost. I’m really worried about you, Sis. I know it’s tough, Hadley, but you can’t lock yourself up in here forever. Ruth needs us. The animals need us. They’ve been hurt or abandoned, and they won’t survive without some TLC.”

“But we don’t know anything about caring for wounded animals, Maury. Especially wild ones! I think this is a ridiculous idea. Ridiculous! It’s going to be nothing but a waste of time.”

“Oh, stop bellyaching,” Maury said. “It’s not like Ruth is going to hand us the keys to the refuge and go on a Caribbean cruise. It won’t be anything like that. We’ll only be filling water bowls or shoveling out cages. Simple stuff. The fresh air will do you good. Get dressed. I told Ruth we’d be there by nine.”

How typical, Hadley thought. Maury knew she had her big sister wrapped around her little pinky finger. Volunteering at the shelter was a done deal in Maury’s mind.

For her and for Hadley.

“How fresh will that air be, Maury? I know you. You’ll grab the hose, and I’ll be stuck with the shovel.”

“Oh, stop being such a grouch. Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

And that’s how Hadley Pell had become a regular volunteer at the wildlife shelter. As much as Hadley hated to admit it, Maury had been right.

Volunteering had done her a world of good. Watching those injured and orphaned animals of all descriptions heal had helped. She had given her heart to those wounded, frightened souls, but they had given her so much more in return.

And then, Eustian Singlepenny had started a one-man campaign to close it down! A lawsuit, of all things, against Ruth Elliott, one of the kindest women in the area! Hadley felt her blood pressure boil at the thought of such a travesty. Eustian had no heart! Stupid! Heartless! Foolish! There were a thousand other adjectives she could think of, at the drop of a hat, to describe Eustian Singlepenny. And none of them were complimentary.

How could one man be so cruel and self-serving?

Shutting down the shelter meant abandoning orphaned, sick, and injured wildlife – babies whose parents had been killed. Animals sickened by chemicals or injured by vehicles and accidents. Without the refuge, there would be no hope for those living creatures.

There was no sense in what Eustian was doing, Hadley brooded.

The old curmudgeon was forever snarling the judicial system with petty, mean-spirited, and outright outlandish legal battles. It incensed Hadley and scorched her sense of justice. How could one miserly, mean old man keep such a small community in an uproar for totally senseless reasons?

The wildlife rescue and rehab center was the dream of Hadley’s friend, Ruth Elliott, a veterinarian who saw the need to assist Nature when some of her most vulnerable creatures were down on their luck. The goal was to care and nurture the sick and injured animals, and if successful, release them back into their wild habitat. The refuge was located on land whose property lines were adjacent to Singlepenny’s.

That fact alone made the rescue shelter a target for litigation.

And Eustian was a one-man juggernaut when it came to legal feuds.

Ruth inherited the land from her uncle, an amusement park developer whose dreams went bust back in the 1970s. Eustian had never gotten over the fact that not one of his legal disputes had prevented Ruth’s uncle from building the park in the first place. That failure gnawed at his insides like a bad taco dinner.

It was bad enough that Singlepenny had to put up with the endless streams of visitors who flocked to the place when it was open, but when economic downturns forced Ruth’s uncle to close the park, Eustian was left with a view of rusting rides, neglected buildings, and abandoned ticket booths. The old man stewed and plotted and complained and made a general nuisance of himself. But his efforts were to no avail, and the property sat abandoned for years.

Then, Ruth’s uncle died, and she inherited the property. For Ruth Elliott, the old park was a godsend. She’d dreamed of setting up a wildlife refuge, and now she had the resources to see her dream fulfilled. It would take time and a lot of work, but Ruth was committed to the project. The community had gotten behind the idea, too. Much to Eustian’s chagrin.

Ruth immediately began to collect funds and set to work. Located in the center of the old amusement park was a nature area with a huge barn and outbuildings that Ruth converted into recovery areas for the injured animals. Eustian’s complaints were immediate. The old man voiced his objections to anyone that would listen.

His life was in danger from the snakes and treacherous wild animals that Ruth housed at the center. He claimed to have a medically documented phobia of mammals, reptiles, and birds.

“I’ll contract rabies,” Eustian said. “I’ll probably come down with the plague. The bubonic plague! Think about all the fleas! What about the ticks! Hot spots! What if I get hot spots. Hot spots will do in a man of my years!”

If those laments fell on deaf ears, Eustian had scores of others.

The sounds of sick and injured animals would disturb his overwrought nerves. The proximity of the refuge to his house caused him undue mental pain and suffering that only closure of the facility would alleviate. Having a wildlife ghetto would cause his property values to plummet. And on and on, he grumbled. His grievances against the shelter seemed endless.

And if one lawsuit wasn’t enough to keep him busy, Eustian filed another.

Sandy Miller had done some work for Singlepenny. Nothing unusual about that. Sandy Miller’s metal shop was known around the county for doing A+ work.

After the job was finished, Eustian railed that Miller had stolen valuable parts from an antique tractor in he had in his barn.

It was just another typical tactic from a man who had waged war on the people of Hope Rock County all of his adult life.

Sandy Miller’s mother, Maggie, was one of Hadley’s oldest friends. Hadley bristled at the thought of those two fine people whose reputations were taking such a beating. Eustian Singlepenny was nothing but a scoundrel!

Hadley kept reading.

Eustian Singlepenny had departed this life!

“Shut the outhouse door!” Hadley exclaimed.

Hadley devoured every word of the long article. Her cup of Joe was ignored. When she’d read the last sentence, she jumped from the table.

“Reeeoow!” Onus screamed.

He had slyly crept under the kitchen table when Hadley wasn’t looking.

“Sorry, old thing. Didn’t know you were under my feet,” she muttered to the indignant feline.

She scurried to the bathroom for a quick shower, threw on some clothes, and rushed to her car. Squealing the tires on the pavement, she barreled downtown. Lou Edna, her hairdresser at the Beauty Boutique, would have heard the latest.