Authors: Leigh Selfman
I really didn’t intend to go to the memorial. I really didn’t.
It’s not that I didn’t want to go and pay my respects. I did. I was just a little worried that someone would recognize me and point me out as the rookie crisis center hotline worker who was responsible for the deceased’s…er…ceasing to be. After which I’d be driven out of town by the pitchfork-wielding-townsfolk.
Laila, Birdie and Nana, however, convinced me this was nonsense—or at least they almost convinced me— so we all decided to go together.
Sitting near the back of the crowded church, the priest spoke about what a wonderful and giving person Helen was. How she used to do volunteer work for the church and how she donated money, even in her death to pay for a new addition to the building in her son Sam’s name.
The pastor looked at the young man who was sitting in the front row and nodded to him. “I’m sure had your mother known you were coming home that morning she would have taken care not to do it that way. But sometimes, in our pain, we make mistakes. It is not for us to judge. Now let us pray.”
After a few more prayers, Helen’s husband, Chuck got up to speak about how impossible it all was to believe. How they were just celebrating their anniversary and now…now…
He broke into body-wracking sobs and couldn’t continue.
Helen's best friend, Diane, got up to speak after him. She was a stunning, wealthy-looking brunette who dabbed gently at her eyes as she recalled what a wonderful friend Helen was to her. She told us how Helen and Chuck had come to her office to buy life insurance policies on each other as soon as they found out she was pregnant, all those years ago. And how Helen came to work for her company for a little while after that and she was so nice and humble that Diane hadn’t even realized she was an heiress. How she wished she knew just how depressed Helen had been lately, so perhaps she could have done something for her.
Diane mentioned Sam and looked tearfully towards where he was sitting in the front row--at which point, Sam got up from his seat and ran out of the room.
Everyone turned to watch him go, murmuring amongst themselves, as his father Chuck got up and hurried after him.
“Wow, dramatic,” Laila whispered, looking towards the back of the chapel in appreciation.
And it was. But it was more than that.
I kept thinking about what the priest had said, about how if Helen had known that her young son Sammy was coming home that morning, she never would have killed herself that way.
But the thing was…she did know. I was sure of it.
I’d overheard her telling someone about Sammy at the party.
Helen had been talking to an older woman about how excited she was to see Sammy and about how she just wanted to give him a big hug. She even mentioned something about having made plans to take him to the air show. At the time, I had no idea who Sammy was, but clearly, it was her son.
Which made me wonder…if she was so excited to see him, why would she kill herself just before he got home?
***
I wondered about it again as we left the service and couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole drive back. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely even heard Nana, Birdie and Laila as they argued about where to stop for a bite,
après funeral.
“Funerals always make me so hungry,” Birdie sighed.
“Everything makes you hungry,” Nana smirked. “But I know what you mean. Eating…it’s like ‘life’ in the face of death. Oh I know! Let’s go to Carl’s Deli.”
I looked at the huge, tall pastrami sandwich on my plate. “This looks more like a heart attack on a bun,” I said as I tried to figure out how to fit it into my mouth. It seemed like I would have to unhinge my jaw if I wanted to get it all the way around the heaping, delicious-smelling sandwich.
I looked over to see Laila plucking some of the layers of pastrami out from between the slices of rye and piling them onto her plate so she could take a dainty bite. But somehow that seemed like cheating.
Taking a sip of my soda, I said, “Did anyone else think it was weird that Helen Wright killed herself right before her son came home? That he was actually the one that found her?”
“Well, like the priest said, in our pain we all make mistakes.” Birdie sighed.
“No, I think he said in our mistakes, we all have pain,” Nana corrected.
“No, I’m quite sure it was the way I said it,” Birdie said firmly.
I could see where this was going and decided to put a stop to it before their little argument lasted throughout our whole entrée and on into dessert.
“The thing is,” I interrupted. “She did know that her son was coming home. I overheard her telling someone at the anniversary party. And I really don’t believe that she’d kill herself in that case.”
“What are you saying?” Nana asked, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “That she was murdered?”
This got everyone’s attention and they immediately stopped bickering and stared at me with interest
I shrugged and picked up my sandwich. “Maybe,” I said. “It’s possible.” Then, for emphasis, I took a big bite of the delicious pastrami and practically swooned as I munched it.
“You’re just saying that because it’s your fault she killed herself,” Laila blurted out. “That’s all.”
I looked at her in shock, my mouth falling open.
“Don’t chew with your mouth open honey,” Nana chided, handing me a napkin. “And Laila, don’t accuse your cousin of murder. It’s not nice.”
“And…it might not even be true,” I said when I was over my shock and finally able to talk again. “I think Helen Wright was murdered and I’m going to find out who did it.”
That night, I was explaining my theory to Casey as we walked along the boardwalk near the water. He seemed to have the same doubts as Laila though he put them to me in a much more tactful manner.
“Darling,” he said, putting his arm around me as we walked. “I understand what you’re saying. But people do kill themselves at all sorts of times, without really thinking of anyone else. Isn’t it just possible that you want it to be a murder because you still feel responsible for her death? Not that you are, of course.”
I couldn’t help but smile to myself at how conscientious he was about my feelings. I gave his waist a squeeze and said, "I'm so happy you're back."
He stopped walking and turned to me. His hands were on my shoulders as he looked me in the eyes. “Rosie, do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
“I really do,” I said, lifting my face to him.
He leaned in and gave me an amazing kiss, but when he pulled back his brow was furrowed with worry.
“But Rosie, I do hope you’re not going to go around stirring things up again. You almost got yourself killed last time. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”
“Pfft. I won’t stir,” I assured him. “I’m just going to ask around a little. A very little. It won’t even be an investigation. I’ll be very discreet. No one will even know what I’m up to. Discreet is my middle name.”
“Discreet is most definitely not your middle name,” he said, giving me a look. “Discreet doesn’t even belong in the same sentence with your name.”
“You’ll see,” I said, happier than I’d felt in days. “I’ll be so surreptitious no one will even know I’m snooping.”
I decided to start my non-investigation at the bake shop. After all, what better way to worm your way into someone’s house than with a tray of hot-out-of-the-oven cupcakes?
After convincing Nana to let me take them, I put the huge tray in my car and drove over to the Wrights’ house. Then I checked my make-up in the mirror and walked up the steps to the mansion. I didn’t know what I was going to say so I decided to let the sweet delicious smell of the red velvet cupcakes do the talking for me.
The sound of melodic chimes echoed through the house and a few moments later, the front door was opened by a boy of about thirteen or fourteen. Though I hadn’t seen him very clearly at the funeral—only from the back, and then from the side as he was running out—I was pretty sure that this was Sammy Wright, Helen’s son who’d returned home from boarding school to find her dead body.
At the moment he was looking at me, saying nothing.
“Hi,” I said. “I’m Rosie Kale from the Cozy Cat Bakery. We dessert-catered your parents’ anniversary party and we were so saddened by the loss of your mother, we wanted to give these to your family.”
“Oh. Okay,” he said. He stepped aside, making way for me and my big tray to enter. He pointed through the entryway and past the living room to the kitchen beyond.
“The kitchen’s that way,” he mumbled.
I nodded and carried the tray past the beautiful, light-filled living room, only to see that there was no one around. I was happy to bring the family something at this difficult time, but feared that in terms of my investigation, this trip might wind up being a bust.
When I stepped inside the kitchen, however, I realized I wasn’t actually alone. There was an blonde-haired woman of about sixty, blowing her nose in a hanky. She looked up, startled at my entrance and quickly wiped her eyes.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Hi, yes. I’m Rosie from the Cozy Cat Bakery We wanted to bring these cupcakes for you all.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said, in an accented voice. “That’s very kind of you.” She pointed to an empty spot on the counter and I put the tray down. “I’m sure Dr. Wright would like to thank you himself,” she added. “But he’s not here now. He went to work. If you’ll leave your card I’m sure he’ll get back to you.”
“I didn’t actually bring a card,” I said. “But that’s okay, we really just wanted to do something for the family. We dessert-catered the party the night before and we were just so saddened to hear what happened.”
The woman nodded, her eyes tearing up again. “Ah, yes, I thought I recognized you. I must have seen you at the party.” She offered me her hand. “I’m the Wrights’ housekeeper. Mrs. Pond.”
As I looked at her more closely, I realized she did look familiar. “Right, I think I remember seeing you that night, talking to Mrs. Wright towards the end of the evening.”
“Yes, the party was the last time I saw Helen,” she said, her eyes tearing up. “Mrs. Wright gave me the weekend off, so I wasn’t here the next day. The morning that…,” her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Of all the weekends to not be here. If only I’d stayed, I would have been here that morning and maybe it wouldn’t have happened. I would have been the one to make her smoothie and…she would be alive.”
“No, you can’t blame yourself.” I reached out to give her plump, pale hand a squeeze. “If someone wants to do something like that, they find a way. No matter what. Mrs. Wright could have added those pills to her smoothie any time. Even if you had been here.”
Mrs. Pond nodded sadly and dabbed at her eyes again. “Yes. It’s true,” she said. “In fact, that’s just exactly what she did.”
I looked at her not understanding. “I’m sorry…but you mean Helen didn't make her own smoothie that morning?”
“No, I prepared the powder and all the ingredients before I left on Friday afternoon. I do a special mix of acai, bee pollen, spirulina, spinach, blueberries and banana. I left it in the fridge for her. All she had to do was add in the coconut water the next morning and blend it up.”
“Oh, I see,” I said. “So…she added her pills to a smoothie you’d already prepared…”
She nodded then looked down, wringing her handkerchief in her hands. “I just don’t know how she could have done it. She was so happy. So excited for the party that night. She was at the spa all day, getting ready. How could she have gone from that to…” she let her voice trail off.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. I’d asked myself the same question a thousand times. “Mrs. Wright did seem really happy at the party,” I nodded. “I even overheard her making plans to take her son to the air museum.”
“Yes! Yes! She bought the tickets! I wasn’t supposed to tell her that Sammy was coming home from boarding school. He wanted it to be a surprise for her, so he and I set it up together. But I knew she’d want to know. Of course I never told him that I mentioned it to her, though. How could he understand that she did it, knowing he’d be the one to find her? I can’t tell him. It would kill him.”
I nodded, finally understanding.
It all made sense now—the only one who knew that Helen was aware of Sammy’s return was Mrs. Pond. And after Helen died, Mrs. Pond still didn’t tell anyone because she was concerned about protecting Sammy's feelings.
I was just about to ask her another question—about Helen’s suspicions of her cheating husband, when Mrs. Pond looked up, startled.
“Oh no!” she said under her breath.
I turned to see what she was looking at. It was Sammy, peering into the kitchen from the doorway. He’d heard everything.
As Mrs. Pond ran out to talk to him, I grabbed my bag and turned to go, cursing myself under my breath.
Great. I can’t seem to stop causing misery for this family.
As I walked out, deep in thought, I looked back to see a woman of about twenty five with pale blue eyes and a purple streak in her hair, watching me from the living room. Her eyes caught mine and I nodded, but instead of giving me any kind of smile or acknowledgment, she just stared at me.
I could feel her cold eyes on my back as I walked out the front door.