Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) (17 page)

Of course, the fact that the interview was conducted by Lieutenant Finn of the Massachusetts State Police, rather than my new girlfriend Detective Cynthia Sweet, made it easy for me to guard my tongue. Because the sight of him scared me to death.

I know. I have a problem with male authority figures.

And now I had to go home and tell my best and oldest friend that her husband – who was leaving her for another woman – was now a suspect – make that,
The Suspect
– in that same woman’s suspicious death.

Chapter 22

Every successful marriage is a series of compromises between the husband’s way of doing things and the right way.

We were a pretty glum group sitting around the Andrews family dinner table on Sunday evening. But, speaking for myself, I was so glad the police had allowed us to leave Nantucket on Sunday that I almost knelt down in my driveway and kissed the asphalt when we got back to Fairport.

I didn’t feel much like cooking – no surprise there – so we’d ordered a takeout meal from Seafood Sandy’s. I’m not embarrassed at all to admit that we have the restaurant phone number on our speed dial. Nor to tell you that the owner recognizes my voice whenever I call to place an order. Normally, the delicious aroma escaping from the foil containers makes my mouth water. Especially their coconut shrimp platter, my absolute favorite. Not tonight, though.

I noticed that even Jim was pushing the food around his plate, not devouring it like he usually does. A sure sign that he was upset. No matter what, he can always eat.

“I wish that I’d picked up Lucy and Ethel and brought them home this afternoon,” I said. “Being around them always cheers me up.”

“Why didn’t you, Mom?” asked my daughter, who up until now had been uncharacteristically quiet. “I sure could use some unconditional love right now. I think we all could.”

Mark grabbed Jenny’s hand and kissed it. “I may not be a cute dog,” he said, “but I hope you know how much I love you. Unconditionally. And I have since we were in grade school together.”

Jenny blushed. Then smiled lovingly at her fiancé.

And, just like that, the mood around the table lightened up. Like the sun coming out from behind a bank of dark clouds.

Good for you, Mark. You said exactly the right thing.

I stole a quick look at Jim to see if he was embarrassed by the overt show of affection. I was amazed to see him give me a quick wink.

The old softie.

“I told Mary Alice that we wouldn’t be back from Nantucket until Monday,” I said. “And I didn’t want to explain to her why we were back earlier. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Especially Nancy. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her what happened.”

Cue the dark clouds covering the sun again.

“She may already know, Carol,” Mark said. “And remember, Bob Green is being questioned as a material witness. He hasn’t been accused of anything.”

“That we know of,” I said.

“But it did look suspicious that the police found him at Nantucket Airport, trying to book a seat on the first flight off the island,” Jim added, not one to stay out of a conversation for very long.

“Well, let’s put Bob and Nancy aside for a while,” I suggested. “The most important question for you two,” I said, addressing the bridal couple, “is what to do about your wedding. Do you still want to be married on Nantucket, after all that’s happened? Do you think Cinderella Weddings could provide you with another wedding planner on such short notice?”

“Jenny and I talked about this a lot coming home,” Mark said. “Unfortunately, we didn’t come to any conclusions,” Jenny added. “All I know is, I want to be your wife. And the sooner, the better.

Maybe a destination wedding isn’t right for us.”

“You could be married right here at the house at Christmas,” Jim said, jumping in before I had a chance to say anything. I absolutely
hate
it when he does that.

Although, I do it all the time. Jump in, interrupt, whatever. But only when it’s absolutely necessary to voice my opinion. Which is always needed, but seldom appreciated. Unfortunately.

“You know,” I said, pausing to take a tiny sip of wine, “there’s another couple to consider before any decisions are made. What about Mike and Marlee? Do they know what’s happened?”

“I texted Mike this morning before we left Nantucket,” Jenny said. “He was shocked about Tiffani, of course. As a matter of fact,” she checked the iPhone she had placed next to her plate, “I got a text from him on the way back to Fairport. He asked if we could do another Skype call tonight at seven o’clock to figure out what to do about the wedding.” She jumped up from the table. “Let me get my laptop. I’ll be right back.”

My daughter, the techie. Although, to be fair, I knew that she had to be up with the latest in technology to keep up with her students at Fairport College. And I also knew that some of the courses the college currently offered were online.

What a change from the way it was when I was in school, when all you needed was a loose leaf binder for each subject and a pen that worked.

I cleared a place in the center of the kitchen table for Jenny’s computer, and we positioned our chairs on the same side of the table, facing the screen.

It was like going to the movies in my kitchen. With better seats and no popcorn.

I was glad to be able to see Mike after all the trauma of the past 24- or- so hours. He always made me feel better.

I was looking forward to seeing my daughter-in-law, too. Of course.

A few clicks on the keyboard and there they both were, Marlee’s chair carefully placed slightly behind Mike’s.

Before any of us in Fairport had a chance to say anything, Mike started talking.

“We’ve got to make this short, because the Cosmo’s is open and people are coming into the bar to watch a Dolphins game. It’s one of our busiest nights of the week.”

“Hello, Mike, and how are you?” I interrupted, not letting him get away with being curt. After all, I raised the boy with better manners than that!

I could tell I made him feel defensive by the way he lowered his face and shifted in his chair. He always did that as a child when he’d done something wrong and I’d caught him at it.

But he’s a man, now, Carol. You’d better start treating him like one.

Jenny jumped right into the conversation, saving me from the opportunity to put my foot in my mouth still again.

“Hi Mike. We’re all a little on edge here,” she said, shooting me a warning glance. “It’s been a terrible weekend, and we’ve been sitting around the kitchen table trying to figure out what to do about the wedding. I mean, our weddings.”

Her mouth quivered and I could tell she was about to cry.

“Hi Mike, Marlee,” Jim said, positioning his chair closer to the computer screen and edging me out of Mike’s line of vision. “Sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news. But now, with Tiffani’s…ah…death, we don’t know what to do about planning the wedding. We were talking about having it here at the house in December, combining it with the holidays. What do you think about that idea?”

I wanted to smack him. We hadn’t been
seriously
discussing that, had we? And wasn’t this up to Jenny and Mark to talk about first?

I looked at Jenny and Mark, to see their reaction to Jim’s idea. To my great surprise, my darling daughter was smiling.

“It could be the perfect solution, Dad,” said Jenny. “What do you think, Mark?”

“Whatever you want is fine with me,” my son-in-law-to-be said.

Part of me was pleased at Mark’s response. But another part of me wanted to hear what Mark really wanted to do. So far, Jenny had been calling all the shots. Not that I object to women running the show, understand. In fact, I’m always happiest when…well, never mind.

But I know when to stop and listen to Jim’s input. Even if I have to drag it out of him.

“What about you two?” Jenny said, addressing the computer screen. “Would being married here at home be ok?”

Mike stole a glance at his wife, then cleared his throat. Uh oh. “Marlee and I have been talking about this, too,” he said.

Well, I should hope so!

“We both think it’s best if the wedding is yours and Mark’s alone, Jenny. We already had our day, and we don’t want to upstage you.”

Huh?

“But Mike,” Jenny protested, clearly caught off-guard, “we already decided this among the four of us. You wouldn’t be upstaging us at all. It would be a way for Mom and Dad to be part of a wedding for you, too. You know how much this would mean to them.”

Marlee spoke up for the first time. “Mike and I have talked this over, and we both think this is the best thing for all of us. It’s your day, Jenny – yours and Mark’s. We just want to be there to wish you all the happiness Mike and I have found together.”

Wow. These were the most words I’d ever heard Marlee say. All at one time, I mean. So she must have felt very strongly about this.

“We’d still be your witnesses, of course,” Mike added. “That is, if you still want us to be.”

Jenny was clearly torn. She knew how much seeing both children married meant to us. Well, to me.

Time for Mom to weigh in.

“Whatever you decide is fine with Dad and me,” I said, hoping I sounded sincere enough to convince my daughter, who was able to read my mood better most other people. And knew when I was faking it.

“The important thing is that we’ll be together as a family for a very happy occasion. Right, Jim?”

He nodded his head.

“You’ll see that this is the right decision for everyone,” Mike said. “And having the wedding at home is a brilliant idea, Dad.”

“So take us off your wedding blog, Jenny,” Marlee said. “And revise your Facebook page so you only talk about your own wedding, ok? I’d really appreciate your taking care of that as soon as you can.”

“Sure thing,” Jenny said. “I’ll take care of it tonight.”

Was I the only person who noticed how relieved Marlee looked? And what the heck is a wedding blog, anyway?

Chapter 23

My kitchen is for display purposes only.

Monday morning dawned with bright blue skies and a crispness to the air that means autumn in New England to me. Which, unfortunately, is a precursor to winter in New England – a season which I dread, with its cold, snow, ice, short days, well – you get the picture.

I had slept very soundly Sunday night – no doubt due to the fact that I was at last in my own bed and away from the nightmare on Nantucket. At least, for the time being.

Without the dogs to demand early morning attention, I didn’t stir until I heard the sound of Jim moving around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors, unloading the dishwasher, and doing heaven knew what else. More often than not, the kitchen is too small for both of us to be in together. No matter how large it is, if you get my meaning.

I took my time with my morning routine, substituting a facial cleanser for my usual soap, per the suggestion of my dermatologist, who claimed it was kinder to aging skin. Splashing cool water on my face, I examined myself in the mirror, wondering who that old woman was looking back at me and when she had taken over my body.