Blessed Is the Busybody (14 page)

“You two run upstairs. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“My mom’s not home,” Carlene said. “This is her hair day.”

I nodded and smiled and bit my lip. The moment the girls clattered up the stairs I got on the telephone. By the end of the afternoon I had organized a gathering here on Saturday afternoon for the mothers of Deena’s friends. I hadn’t been able to reach Crystal, of course, but I had left her three separate voice mail messages, each more strongly worded than the last. I had stopped short of offering to shop for clothing that was more Carlene’s size.

Ed arrived home just as I was ladling vegetable soup into bowls and setting them on the table. He’d left a cryptic message on our answering machine, so I knew he was alive. Since there’d been no ransom demand, I had survived on hope.

I stopped before bowl number four to give him a quick hug and kiss. “You look beat. Where have you been?”

“Roussos wanted to talk to me. Then I had an appointment with Tom.”

Neither boded well, particularly since he was home so late. “Were you arrested or fired?”

“You like to get right down to the nitty-gritty, don’t you?”

“I believe in getting the worst over fast.”

“No to both.”

I exhaled gratefully. “Start with Roussos.”

“Let’s wait until the girls are in bed.”

“Basics now, please? It’s only vegetable soup, but I’d like to be able to digest it.”

“Nothing new. Roussos wanted to know what Jennifer Marina and I discussed. He applied pressure and made threats.”

I knew I was talking to a brick wall, but I tried again. “Why are you being so stubborn? She’s dead. What’s left to protect?”

He ignored me. “Roussos mentioned that the ex-husband’s not a suspect anymore. His alibi finally checked out. Now they’re looking harder at everybody else.”

At least I didn’t have to worry about Rico skulking around the church anymore. I bet he’d gotten out of town now that he was no longer a person of interest.

Ed stroked his beard. “Tom says a petition is circulating. He doesn’t know who’s signed it, or how many. We decided what to do about it.”

I swallowed a surge of anger. “What did you decide?”

“Tom’s going to get out the word that this is not the way things are done and that he won’t accept a petition now or anytime. When and if the board decides to call a congregational meeting, that’s what he’ll do.”

“Tom’s a good president.”

“He’s under the gun.” Ed shook his head. “Not the best expression to use, I guess.”

I heard the girls at the top of the stairs. We were about to be invaded. “You win the bad day award. You get a back rub after the girls go to bed.”

“How about a three-week vacation in Hawaii?”

Didn’t I just wish?

10

There were no Weiss-Bitmans at the Weiss-Bitman Funeral Home, but on Friday a Mr. Sawyer called me. This was the same man who had conducted Jennifer’s funeral service at a gallop. A few sentences into the call it was clear he hoped to make short work of our conversation, too.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, when he paused for a breath. I pictured him gasping for air and a fresh onslaught. “You want
me
to take Jennifer Marina’s ashes?”

“That’s right.”

“No way.”

I waited through another torrent of speech, buffing my fingernails on my sweatshirt until he was gasping again.

“Look, I didn’t know the woman. I was there to pay my respects, but I never met her in person. Not exactly,” I added, to be fair.

“Maybe your husband—”

This time I cut him off. “My husband left town this morning for a wedding in the country, and he won’t be back until late. But I can speak for him. Our church doesn’t have a memorial garden or any place appropriate to inter them.” I wondered how Ed would like me speaking for him. Not so much, I was afraid.

“I’ve done everything I know,” Mr. Sawyer whined. “Her husband paid for the funeral, but he didn’t want them. He said I could give them to anybody, he didn’t care what happened to them. Then he gave me a phone number, but it’s been disconnected.”

I perked up. “Phone number?”

“Somebody in Pennsylvania. Mrs. Foster or something like that. He only told me as he was heading out the door.”

“Did you try calling him to see if you got the number right?” Going on what Ed had told me about Rico, I already knew the answer.

“He left town.”

Score one for ESP.

“Why don’t you give me the number and I’ll see what I can do,” I told him. “I’m not making any promises, but I have some time today. Maybe I can track this down.”

“We can store them here. We would certainly prefer not to.”

I could just imagine what storing Jennifer’s ashes might do to the sanctity of the Weiss-Bitman home.

It was just as well Ed hadn’t been here to intercept this call. He would not approve of what came next. I took Mrs. Foster’s number and went to the phone book. The area code Sawyer had given me was for Pittsburgh. Before I did any further sleuthing I tried the number, and also got a recording that said it had been disconnected.

I dialed directory assistance and explained my problem to the operator. I told her I thought the name was Foster and gave her the number. “If there’s a new number,” I said, “I would appreciate your help.”

I hung up a few minutes later, a little wiser. The operator had gone the extra mile for me. The number I had given her had never been registered to a Foster. And searches of Fosters in that area code hadn’t turned up any numbers that were remotely similar.

This wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. I decided to call Lucy, who chases leads for a living. Six months ago when an old woman passed away in one of the mini-mansions of Emerald Estates, Lucy found the heir camping in a remote fishing village in Portugal. It took Lucy two days and three hundred dollars in long distance bills, but her persistence earned a valuable listing and the undying gratitude of the probate attorney, who was both rich and single.

Of course, he turned out to be a workaholic whose ideal Friday night date was a trip to Blockbuster and a nap in front of the television. But you see my point.

I explained my problem as Lucy listened.

“Do you know where Jennifer was living?” she asked.

“With Sax.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Lucy was quiet, but I could hear her thinking.

“You should tell him the problem,” Lucy said at last. “See if he knows anything, or if he still has the bills for any long distance calls Jennifer made. Maybe she called this Mrs. Foster and you can get the number that way.”

“Oh sure. Sax strikes me as a man who would help me out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Just call him. You don’t have to go back to the bar.”

I hung up. In the middle of our conversation I’d had a revelation. Mrs. Foster.
Foster
mother. Rico had probably told the funeral home to give the ashes to Jennifer’s foster mother or the foster mother caring for her children. And Sawyer, busy vaulting up the steps of the mortician career ladder, hadn’t bothered to get this little detail correct.

Now I had no name to go on, and I was pretty sure that child welfare in Pittsburgh wasn’t going to give up information easily.

If I had to, I would try to track down the caseworker for Jennifer’s kids, tell her the problem, and turn it over to her. But first, I decided to try Sax Dubinsky. I called our local directory assistance and got his phone number. For the record, the man’s real name is Saxony, which probably explains a lot of his pathology.

Since Sax didn’t strike me as an early riser, I waited until noon. Then I dialed the number. Just to be on the safe side I blocked my own number first. I didn’t want Sax breathing heavily on the other end of my line every time he got lonely.

He answered with a growl. What a cutup.

I explained quickly why I was calling. “So I’m trying to help,” I finished. “And since Mr. Marina gave the funeral home the wrong number, we’re hoping you have the right one.”

He unleashed a stream of noontime profanity. I got the feeling it was more or less a warm-up for the day.

“You oughta stay out of what don’t concern you,” he said at last.

I’d pretty much had it with good old Saxony. “Listen, buster, I was the one they called because I cared enough to go to her funeral. And I didn’t even know her. So don’t lecture me. I’m trying to do the right thing here for Jennifer and her kids. You can help or you can hang up. Surprise me.”

“I don’t have time to go through a bunch of damn bills.” He really
had
surprised me by not slamming down the phone. “I think the phone number belonged to her foster mother, or maybe the foster mother of her kids. Maybe she kept it handy?”

“You think she’d need to look up something like that?”

Bested by the bartender. He was right. If this was such an important number, Jennifer would have memorized it.

“I’ll look through the bills if you want,” I said. “If there’s a similar number I’ll know it’s the right one.” I was sure he’d say no, considering that his calls would be listed there, too. But Sax surprised me again.

“I guess I’ve got Jenny’s cell phone bill somewhere.”

“And you’ll let me look at it?”

“I’m going into work now. I’ll bring it with me.” He hung up.

Don’t Go There seems different in the daytime. The serious drinkers are just getting started. The trash in the parking lot is newer, fresher, almost hopeful. Inside the smell is more homemade chili than backed-up plumbing.

I marched up to the counter where Sax was washing glasses. “Did you find the phone bills?”

He pulled a wad of paper out of his pocket and shoved it at me. “Don’t say I never gave you nuthin’.”

A poet and a comedian. I thanked him and looked around for Keely, but there was no sign of her. I left while I could.

It didn’t take long to locate the number. The one Sawyer had given me was off by two digits. A one where a three should have been and vice versa. I made myself a cup of Earl Grey with a dollop of half-and-half, then I settled on the living room sofa to make the call.

The woman who answered had a lovely, mellow voice. She sounded like she was in her late fifties, maybe older. I told her who I was and why I was calling.

“Yes, I know about Jenny,” she said softly. “The social worker informed me. I’ve told the children.”

“Then you’re the children’s foster mother? I thought that might be the connection.”

“I was Jenny’s, too. She came here when she was sixteen. She only stayed a year. Then she took off to live on the street. When the state said they were taking her children, she asked me to keep them. I was still licensed, and I’ve had them ever since. My daughter helps. She and her husband would like to adopt them.”

“How are they?”

“Cindy, she’s ten, well, she’s about the brightest, sweetest little girl in the world. A good student, too. Randy, he’s eight. A little rebellious, but I think that’s because he’s so smart. My son-in-law knows how to keep him busy and out of trouble. They went off camping together a few weeks ago. Before, well, you know.”

“I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maude Stingle.”

I liked Maude Stingle. And I thought Jennifer had showed good judgment in asking this woman to take the children. I told her exactly what Mr. Sawyer had said and explained that Rico wanted her to take the ashes.

“Of course we will. There’s a park not far away where Jenny liked to take the children. There’s a stream and a pond with ducks and woods. We’ll take the children there one evening and scatter her ashes. It will help them say good-bye.”

I was liking her better and better. “Why don’t I get them from the funeral home, then you can come here and we can talk. When do you think you can come?”

We made arrangements to meet that evening. Jennifer’s children were going to spend the weekend with Maude’s son and daughter. Maude said she could get here by seven.

I hung up, aware that I’d asked her here because I wanted more information about Jennifer. I was sure Ed wouldn’t approve. On the other hand, if I figured out why Jennifer had been in Emerald Springs, then perhaps he and I could discuss it. He would not have violated her trust, and maybe I could help him figure out what to do next.

With Ed gone, the girls and I made pizza just the way they like it, dripping with cheese and nothing else. I was feeling particularly mushy after the conversation with Maude. Jennifer had loved her kids. She had taken them to the park to feed ducks. She found them the best foster placement she could.

I gave Deena and Teddy Ben & Jerry’s for dessert, which seriously shot a hole in our food budget for the month.

I was washing dishes and they were finishing homework when the telephone rang. I thought it might be Ed or Maude, telling me she couldn’t make it after all. In fact the woman on the other end was unfamiliar, a fact she sought to change over the next ten minutes by talking nonstop.

By the time I hung up, I had something brand-new to consider.

“Who was that?” Deena asked. “You just stood there. Wasn’t anybody on the other end?”

“It was somebody from a church in Boston, nobody you know.”

“She was calling you?” She sounded incredulous.

“Hard as this is to imagine, I am considered dazzling company by many. My opinion has been sought by kings and Democratic presidents.”

“She wanted Dad, didn’t she?”

“Of course she did.”

Deena went back to studying synonyms. I slid the phone conversation in the “things to discuss with Ed” file and went to help Teddy learn her spelling words.

By the time Maude arrived Deena and Teddy were upstairs watching
Wheel of Fortune
in my bedroom. I hoped Pat and Vanna kept them occupied long enough that Maude and I could have an uninterrupted conversation.

The woman on my doorstep was not my vision of a Maude. This Maude was thin and fit, with brown hair that was only slowly going gray and more fashion sense than I’ll ever have. I told her I loved her pistachio sweater, and she told me where to find a clone online. I did not explain why this was a bad idea.

She settled on my sofa and I served coffee. The polite chitchat ended quickly. I told her that Jennifer’s body had been placed on our porch. She was horrified and suddenly a little weepy.

I put my hand on hers. “Jennifer’s death must have been hard for you. You must have been close to her if she asked you to take her children.”

“Jenny wasn’t close to anyone but her kids. She was suspicious, wary, hard to love. It’s just so sad. She had so much potential, but by the time I got her, the damage was done.”

“She obviously felt some affection for you and some trust.”

“Not in the last few months.”

I sat back and waited. She took a tissue from her purse and wiped her eyes.

“We argued,” she said at last. “I feel so badly that the last things we said to each other were in anger.”

“It must be hard to be a mother to someone else’s children without some disagreements.”

“Oh, that wasn’t it. She approved of the way I took care of Cindy and Randy. I let her have as much say as I could, and for the most part, she made good choices. No, it was . . .”

I waited without prodding, but it was tough. As if she needed time to compose herself she rummaged through her purse and pulled out her wallet. She unsnapped it to show me a photograph of two adorable children. Both were dark-haired, like Rico. Cindy’s hair was a mass of ringlets. Randy’s was as straight as a board. They had huge dark eyes and button noses.

Maude put the wallet back. “My daughter already has three children to put through college. As much as she and her husband want to adopt Cindy and Randy, I don’t know if they’ll be able to afford to.”

“I hope you’re not beating yourself up for arguing with Jennifer.”

“Coming here caused the trouble.”

“You wanted her to stay closer to home so she could see more of the children?”