Read Late Edition Online

Authors: Fern Michaels

Late Edition (26 page)

Chapter 39
U
pon arriving at Parker's Funeral Home, Mavis and Ida were a bit nervous, yet excited, too. They had more than five hours to prepare Mrs. Wilkinson for viewing.
Mavis picked out the peach dress for the elderly woman.
Upon seeing her, Mavis's eyes filled with unshed tears. “She was such a tiny woman. The family said she simply died in her sleep of old age. She was ninety-six. This is how it should be,” she said as she prepared to remove the plastic from under her body.
“She's so cold,” Ida said, a trace of fear in her voice.
“Yes, poor dear, she is. But that's where you come in. You're going to make her look like she's just gone to sleep.”
“Did the family leave a picture?” Ida asked.
They had learned in their class to ask the family, whenever possible, to provide a recent picture of their loved one. This would enable them to create as close to a natural appearance as possible.
“Yes, it's here somewhere,” Mavis said, searching the small room reserved for laying out the body. She spied it next to Mrs. Wilkinson's dentures. “Oh no! They've forgotten to put her teeth back in her mouth. Look at this!” Mavis exclaimed.
Ida stepped behind the casket, where Mavis held upper and lower denture plates in her hand. “Let me see the picture.” Mavis handed the five-by-seven color photo, something probably taken for the woman's church roster, to Ida. “This is awful. She doesn't look presentable without her teeth in place.”
“What do you think we should do? I don't know if there is enough time to call someone to fix her mouth. Mr. Parker said he would be gone for a few hours.”
Ida took a deep breath. “We'll have to do this ourselves. We don't have a choice. If the family sees this little woman's mouth looking like she's sucking on a lemon, they're not going to recommend our services. We have to make this first showing our best. Let me look at her,” Ida said, returning to stand at the head of the coffin. She put on a pair of latex gloves, and with her thumb and forefinger, she tried to open Mrs. Wilkinson's mouth. “She's not cooperating,” Ida said to lighten the mood.
“Don't you remember, Ida? At the demonstration in San Francisco, the mortician sewed up the mouth so that the corpse would not look slack-jawed. Here, take this pair of scissors, snip the thread, and insert the dentures. Then I'll resew what was snipped off.”
Mavis smiled but remained at her side while Ida snipped the thread and attempted to insert the poor dear's dentures in her mouth.
Carefully, Ida pried Mrs. Wilkinson's mouth open, then tried to place her bottom dentures in her mouth. “She must've had a large mouth before, because these aren't going in as easily as they should,” Ida said. A few adjustments later and she was able to force the bottom plate in Mrs. Wilkinson's mouth. “Okay, hand me the top dentures.”
Mavis, acting as Ida's new assistant, placed the upper dentures in her outstretched gloved hand. Mavis had a flashback to the time when Ida wore a latex glove as part of her attire. Hopefully, those days were long gone and would never return.
Holding the bottom denture, Ida tried to slide the upper denture in place. She wiggled it a few times and managed to force the upper dentures into her mouth.
“I'm glad I have all of my own teeth. Herbert had his teeth, too. He was such a stickler about flossing at night.”
“That's wonderful to know, Mavis,” Ida commented dryly. “I'm not sure I could live without that extra tidbit of knowledge.”
“Ida, for Pete's sake, I was just talking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf.”
Ida looked up at Mavis, snapping, “Do you want to do this?”
“Uh, no thank you. It was your idea.”
“Then be quiet,” Ida said.
“You don't have to be hateful, Ida. Are you sure you can do this?”
Ida removed her hand from Mrs. Wilkinson's chin. When she did, her mouth hung open like a dark hole leading to a cave. “Mavis, something is not right here. Look at this.”
Mavis stepped up to the head of the coffin again. She looked at Mrs. Wilkinson's mouth, and it did appear to be rather . . . well, stuffed.
“Unless her mouth was twice the size in life, I don't think we're going to be able to hide these extra-large teeth. They must belong to someone else. Possibly Mr. Parker switched them with another . . . client's?” Ida stated.
Mavis's eyes quadrupled in size. “It can't be! It says right here . . .” Mavis scurried around, searching for a paper from the funeral director; when she found it, she skimmed its contents. “It states right here that she specifically wanted to be buried with teeth.”
“Let me see that,” Ida said. She read through the instructions, then passed the paper back to Ida. “Yes, it does, but it doesn't say they have to be her dentures. We can't screw this up, Mavis. We'll be has-beens before we've even started. I think I can make this work.” Ida snapped off her latex gloves. Carefully, Ida maneuvered the dentures until Mrs. Wilkinson's mouth was closed. Then Mavis resewed the mouth so that it would not pop open.
Ida propped a pillow under Mrs. Wilkinson's neck. Hands shaking, Ida carefully outlined Mrs. Wilkinson's lips with Pulse-Less Peach lip liner. She stood back to view her work.
“There,” she said, feeling quite proud of herself. “Hand me that tube of lipstick.”
Again, Mavis did as instructed.
Using a lip brush, Ida carefully filled in Mrs. Wilkinson's lips with the peachy lipstick. She added a touch of clear gloss, then blotted her lips with a tissue. When she was finished, she stepped back to admire her work. “Well, what do you think?” she asked Mavis.
Mavis stood at the foot of the casket. “I think poor Mrs. Wilkinson looks like she's wearing someone else's dentures. Remember that show with the horse . . . Mister. Ed? I think she looks like that horse.”
Ida huffed, “If you can do any better, then I suggest you try. I've still got to do her eye makeup. Do you think you can paint her nails with the Pulse-Less Peach? It matches her dress perfectly,” Ida said, still admiring her handiwork.
“Of course.”
For the next two hours, Ida and Mavis tended to Mrs. Wilkinson. When they were finished, she looked a bit more colorful, and a bit more . . . lively. The only imperfection: the teeth were still two sizes too large. If they were lucky, the family would be so overcome with grief, they wouldn't notice.
They packed up their cosmetics, with enough time to visit the ladies' room so they could touch up their own makeup, though they didn't use anything from The Drop-Dead Gorgeous line. It was almost time to meet with the family and the mourners.
Mavis fussed with her lipstick, added a bit more blush to her ever-thinning face, then spritzed her wrists with Joy perfume. Ida reapplied her own lipstick, tucked her pageboy in place, and washed her hands. Twice. She saw Mavis watching her with a worried look on her face.
“Before you ask, no, I am not having a germ issue. My hands just felt extra yucky from touching those dentures. Who would've thought me, of all people, would touch a set of dentures, then cram them into someone's mouth?” Ida asked, looking quite pleased with herself.
She hadn't painted a pretty visual at all, Mavis thought. She was becoming like Sophie. That wasn't a bad thing. Well, not that bad.
“I'm so proud of you, dear. But there's something I've been meaning to say. Do you remember how you told us about that shrine room Nancy had and what Goebel heard her say? I've been thinking about it, and if she intended to kill you all along, then why did she end up waiting until more than a year had passed? We know that's what happened because of when she hired that detective to find you. I now think I have it figured out. It was your OCD that saved your life.”
“What are you talking about, Mavis? That's nuts.”
“No, listen to me. Suppose Nancy came to New York to poison you and found out how you were living, that you were always wearing protective clothing, et cetera. How was she supposed to get to you? You weren't seeing visitors. You didn't go out. You certainly didn't eat in restaurants. So, she went back to Chicago and hoped she would get another shot at you. But the next thing she knew, you had disappeared. Voilà. You may have that fake Dr. Sameer to thank for curing you of your OCD, but you probably have the OCD to thank for keeping you alive until Toots rescued all of us.”
Ida was still thinking over what Mavis had just said when they stepped out of the ladies' room and into the hush of the funeral parlor's main room. Murmurs of condolence could be heard throughout. As though they were in a formal receiving line, Ida and Mavis stood off to the side while the family members each took turns viewing poor Mrs. Wilkinson. Some dabbed at their eyes; some simply patted her thin hands. One woman commented on the color of her nail polish, saying she wished she knew where she could find such a color. Ida wanted to jump up and tell her, but manners dictated that now wasn't the time.
They spotted Sophie and Toots as they made their way toward the casket. Each wore one of Mavis's Good Mourning gray ensembles. As soon as the family members stepped away from the casket, Sophie and Toots came forward, not to say a final good-bye to a dear friend but to see Ida and Mavis's handiwork.
Ida and Mavis observed them as they inspected the body of the little old woman. Toots's smile seemed a bit forced, and Sophie's eyes bugged out of her head like those of a character in an old cartoon.
They joined them in the corner. As always, Sophie was the first to speak. “My God, Ida, Mavis, that poor woman looks like Marlon Brando in
The Godfather!
Did you stuff her jaws with socks, or was she just naturally homely?”
Ida cleared her throat several times to distract Sophie. When she finally caught her attention, Ida whispered to them, “See that elderly man with the walker heading our way? He's the husband. Be nice.”
It seemed like it took the old man an hour just to walk to their side of the room. Talking among themselves, they guessed his age to be in the midnineties.
“Poor old man,” Mavis said.
“Why do you think everyone is poor? The old coot could be loaded,” Sophie said.
Mavis wrinkled her nose. “I didn't mean it that way. It's just a term of endearment.”
“Sounds more like a financial conclusion if you ask me,” Sophie shot back.
“No one asked you, Sophie, so be quiet,” Toots admonished. “Here he comes. Act like you have manners.”
The four women waited patiently as the elderly man approached them. He was hanging on to his walker as if his life depended on it.
When he finally managed to drag himself and his walker within speaking distance, the old man, not much bigger than his dearly departed wife, dug into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
He leaned on his walker for support, took a deep breath, then gummed the words, “I gave you the wrong teeth.”
Ida and Mavis looked like they'd been kicked in the mouth; Toots was stunned; and of course, Sophie, being Sophie, cackled so loud the funeral director came to see if she was all right.
“Yes, I'm fine. I think my friends might have some explaining to do.”
Mavis looked at Ida, and Ida looked back as if to say she hadn't a clue.
“Yes, the family asked me if we forgot to remove some medical apparatus from her mouth,” Mr. Parker said.
“No, they didn't. They simply got the wrong set of dentures, that's all,” Sophie informed him.
The old man gummed a smile. “Well, isn't that something. Old Martha said that when she died, I was to make sure to bury her with teeth.”
Apparently she hadn't specified they had to be
her
teeth.
Epilogue
Six months later . . .
 
G
ushing with excitement, Sophie said, “Toots, you're not going to believe this, but Chris called again and said he's being flooded with requests for more private tarot readings. It seems that last tartlet I did a reading for told all her friends, and they told their friends, too.”
“That's fantastic. Now maybe you can open up your own shop. I think the neighbors suspect I'm running a house of ill repute, with all your nighttime clients popping in and out during the wee hours,” Toots said.
“I may have to consider doing just that,” Sophie said, tongue in cheek.
They were sitting on the beach in their two favorite beach chairs, only this time they had both wrapped themselves in one of those newfangled Snuggies that were all the rage. Late fall in California was chilly this year.
“I think this is going to be a thriving business for you. It's funny how we've all managed to branch out on our own these past eighteen months. First, Mavis and those damned mourning clothes. Ida and her Drop-Dead cosmetics. And now you, giving advice to the stars. Who woulda thunk it?”
“And you forgot to mention you're now half owner of Charleston's hottest new bakery. Don't forget that. And what about the number one tabloid in the nation? You can't forget that, either.”
“No, I can't. I would kill for one of those pralines right now, but with Mavis and her constant nagging, I don't think she will let me get away with eating too much junk. I saw her adding granola to my box of Froot Loops the other day. You do realize I created a monster when I decided to help her? In a nice way, of course.”
“And it was for your own good,” Mavis said, sneaking up behind them with two folding chairs. “I want you to be around for a long time. I certainly would hate it if I had to lay you out. Oh dear, I don't think I could stand to do that!”
“Keep putting granola in Toots's Froot Loops and she'll kill you. You won't have to worry about laying her out,” Sophie said, a puff of smoke coming from her mouth with each word.
Ida tromped down the steps leading to the beach, then sat in the chair next to Mavis. She'd brought a thermos of coffee; Mavis had the cups.
“I was just wishing for a cup of coffee,” Toots said. “You must be a mind reader.”
“That would be Sophie,” Ida said.
“You're all wrong. I'm not a mind reader. Just highly intuitive, that's all.”
A chill breeze blew in from the ocean, waves splashing back and forth, the scent of wood smoke wafting in the air while they each relaxed, enjoying the moment.
“I have a surprise for you all,” Mavis said. She retrieved a large paper bag that she'd managed to bring down to the beach without anyone noticing. She emptied its contents on her chair.
“Please don't ask me to model for one of your death brochures again.” Sophie grimaced. “I was the laughingstock of every funeral parlor across the country.”
And she had been, just not in the sense she was alluding to. Morticians and undertakers from across the country wanted to know exactly how Mavis had managed to make a dead woman look so beautiful, and so alive. Mavis had confessed that her model was very much alive. Once that became known, Mavis had started receiving e-mails from all over the world, asking her the name of her model. In response, she said that she would forward them to the model, which she did, allowing Sophie to do as she pleased. Sophie had eyes for one man only. Goebel. He'd been to California twice since they'd caught Nancy.
“I saw this at the grocery store this morning and thought it would be perfect for a night like tonight.” Mavis revealed a disposable charcoal grill. Next were the makings for s'mores.
“This is perfect. I can't remember the last time I had s'mores. Mavis, you're a good egg, you know that?” Toots said. “How did I ever get so lucky to find the three greatest friends, and godmothers for Abby?”
“You're really including Ida in the equation?” Sophie smarted off, though she was laughing when she said it. She wasn't quite the smart aleck of times past.
They all laughed.
“Yes, I am including Ida in the equation, and you, too,” Toots singsonged.
Mavis followed the directions on the mini-grill, and within minutes they had their own fire burning. Using forks, they all stuffed a giant marshmallow on the tines, each toasting her own. Toots passed out squares of chocolate, and Ida snapped graham crackers in half. When their forks held a mess of sugary goo, they pressed it between the chocolate and the cracker.
“Damn, this is to die for,” Toots said, biting into the delicious sweetness. “Not as good as Jamie's pralines, but good.”
Sophie nodded, munching with her mouth full. “I can't think of anything I've enjoyed as much today. Foodwise.”
“Are you implying there is something else you've enjoyed that we don't know about?” Ida asked, raising her perfectly manicured brow. “Surely you're not having thoughts of having a fling with Goebel. I thought you hated men.”
“I do, most of them. Not that it's any of your business, but Goebel and I are just friends. For now. I told him right up front that I did not want to get involved in a romantic relationship. Then I told him what happened with you and that phony doctor. He said he was perfectly fine to be friends. For now.”
A buzzing from Sophie's pocket put a halt to further conversation. She held up her hand, indicating she needed a minute.
“Yes, this is Sophie Manchester. Yes. Well, I did help Lana Lowery with her career, or rather my tarot reading led her to make the right career decision. Yes, I'll hold.” Sophie placed her hand over the cell phone's mouthpiece. She shrugged her shoulders, letting them know she didn't have a clue who she was speaking to. “Yes, I'm still here.” Sophie paused for several seconds. “Are you trying to yank my chain? If you are, I'll cast a . . . What? You're serious, aren't you? Yes, ma'am. Of course. I would be honored. I can leave and be there immediately. You'll do
what?
” Sophie turned ten shades of white. “Yes, ma'am. You can count on it. Uh . . . good-bye.” The cell phone fell out of Sophie's hand, landing in the wet sand.
“Sophie, you look like you're going to faint. Are you?” Toots asked, scooting to the edge of her chair. “If you are, let me know so I can get out of the way.”
“You're not going to believe who just called,” Sophie said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“You're probably right, but tell us, anyway,” Ida said.
“That was the governor's mansion in Sacramento. It seems that the first spouse of California has requested a reading from me. It seems like my fame has spread. Oh my God! The personal secretary said they'll send for me, and they would appreciate it if I would not blather. . . . That's what she actually had the nerve to say,
blather
about this to . . . the tabloids. Pinch me, girls!”
All four women were truly stunned. Several minutes passed before any of them could talk, and when they did, it was the most natural thing in the world for them to place their hands on top of one another's, lift them to the sky, and shout, “When you're good, you're good!”
 
 
 
Lady Baltimore Cake/Bernice's Death Cake
 
Ingredients
 
Cake:
½ cup butter
1 ½ cups sugar
1 cup water
3 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
4 egg whites, stiffly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Frosting and Filling:
1 ½ cups sugar
cup water
2 teaspoons light corn syrup
2 egg whites
teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
¼ cup chopped pecans
¼ cup chopped figs
¼ cup raisins
¼ cup candied cherries
¼ cup candied pineapple
Preparation
 
Cake:
 
In a mixing bowl with an electric mixer, cream butter and sugar. Add water gradually, and then add flour and baking powder. Fold in stiffly beaten egg whites and vanilla. Bake in three buttered and floured cake pans in a 375°F oven.
 
Frosting and Filling:
 
Combine sugar, water, and corn syrup in a saucepan. Cook, stirring, over low heat until sugar is dissolved. Bring to a boil and boil to 240°F. Meanwhile, when syrup reaches about 234°F, beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. Add salt. Remove syrup from the heat when 240°F is reached and immediately pour a very thin stream over stiffly beaten egg whites and salt, beating constantly. Add vanilla. Continue beating until frosting cools and is of spreading consistency, about ten minutes.
 
Add chopped fruits and nuts to about a third of the frosting mixture to use as a filling between the cake layers. Frost the sides and top.

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