Authors: Arlene Sachitano
"Does Mavis—or better yet, her sons—have anything to say about the funeral?” Harriet asked.
"Let's just say Mavis isn't in the mood to give Gerald anything, much less a funeral. None of the boys stepped up and volunteered, so she didn't want to push it. We all thought it would look better for her if he had a nice funeral, though."
"So, has anyone questioned Mavis yet?” Harriet asked.
"You mean besides the Threads?"
"Yeah, besides them. Have the police questioned her, or her sons?"
"Not yet. I saw Darcy at the coffee shop this morning and asked if she's heard anything, and after giving her usual criminalist disclaimers she said Gerald's cause of death is still listed as unknown. She says they won't come after Mavis until there's an official declaration of homicide, but she said everyone's working on the assumption that the status will be changed at any moment."
"It's unfortunate Mavis had to go babysit. Otherwise, she would have been in the booth before the final battle and there wouldn't be any question."
"It's more than unfortunate. After Mavis left last night, Connie pointed out that her sudden absence just makes her look even guiltier."
"The killer couldn't have planned it better,” Harriet said.
"Do you need help getting ready?"
"No, I'm allowed to take this contraption off to shower.” They agreed to meet in the kitchen in thirty minutes.
"Come on, Fred,” Beth said. “She's not going to do you much good when it comes to opening your food can."
Aunt Beth had made Harriet a breakfast burrito using some leftover eggs from the previous night by the time she came downstairs and into the kitchen. “Here, you can eat this on the way,” she said and handed it to her.
Beth picked up both of their purses and led the way to her car, holding Harriet's and then putting it by her niece's feet, once she was seated, before taking the driver's seat herself.
"We're hoping to keep this event low-key,” she said.
"Have the police said when they're releasing Gerald's body?"
"They were expecting to release him today, and I've got Lyon's Funeral Home on standby to pick him up."
"Sounds like you've got things under control,” Harriet said and busied herself adjusting the straps on her sling.
Aunt Beth drove down the hill and through the downtown area, and then turned toward the strait. The majority of Foggy Point churches were within a one-mile stretch along the top arch of the Foggy Point peninsula. When pirate Cornelius Fogg founded the town, he had decided that, in order to attract respectable people, he needed churches. He gave free land and the money to build a church on it to the first five people who agreed to establish a congregation in Foggy Point. In later years, as the peninsula became more settled, it had become tradition for new churches to build along the arch.
Aunt Beth drove past the Unitarian church and pulled into the Methodist parking lot. The building had a single spire that rose two stories above the roof and terminated in a large cross. A black Volvo station wagon was in the spot closest to the church office, located in a wing that had been added in recent years as Foggy Point's Methodist population had grown.
Aunt Beth parked one space over and helped Harriet out. The door into the reception area was propped open to let the cool breeze in.
Harriet entered and heard the muffled sound of voices coming from an inner office. She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet, making just enough noise to let the speakers know someone was within earshot of their conversation.
A door squeaked open, and Pastor Mike Hafer came out, closing his office door behind him.
"Beth,” he said, and clasped Aunt Beth's hand. “And Harriet.” With a nod in her direction. “We're glad you've come back to us.” He gestured toward a small conference room that opened off the reception area. “We have a bit of a situation. Here, come sit down so we can figure this out."
Harriet and Aunt Beth looked at each other then went into the room he indicated.
"Can I get you some water? Or lemonade?"
"What's going on, Mike?” Aunt Beth asked.
Mike Hafer stroked his dark, neatly trimmed beard. “As you know, this is a rather strange situation, what with Mr. Willis having apparently died nearly twenty years ago, only to return and die again two days ago."
So what? Is there a double jeopardy rule regarding funerals? Harriet wondered. Didn't presidents have multiple events?
Pastor Hafer picked up a pitcher of water from a credenza at the back of the room and poured water into three glasses. He set a glass in front of Harriet and Aunt Beth then took a long drink from his. It was pretty clear he was preparing them for something.
"There is a woman sitting in my office right now who says she is Gerald's wife. She came to me to make arrangements for a memorial service."
"How do you know she's his wife?” Harriet asked.
"I didn't ask to see her marriage certificate, if that's what you're asking,” Mike said. “But why would a stranger walk in off the street and want to put on a funeral for someone they weren't related to in some way? Think about it."
"I hadn't even thought about this possibility,” Aunt Beth said. “When I saw him lying there on the ground, I just assumed that since Mavis hadn't remarried Gerald hadn't either, but twenty years
is
a long time."
"We need to talk to her,” Harriet said.
"Do you want to think about it first?” Mike looked from her to Aunt Beth and back. “I think she's going to be surprised to learn Gerald had a family in Foggy Point."
"Not that her,” Harriet said. “Mavis. She needs to be here for this."
"Oh, honey, do you think?” Aunt Beth said.
"She's right,” Mike said. “She needs to hear this first hand, and it might help both parties to meet here.” He went into his office to sell the plan to Gerald's alleged wife while Beth went back to her car to get her cell phone and call Mavis.
"She'll be here in a few minutes,” she said when she rang off. “I didn't want her stressed out while she was driving, so I didn't tell her what was going on, just that a complication had developed and we needed her here."
"Should we call Connie?” Harriet asked.
"Not yet. Let's wait and see if we need her."
Aunt Beth took the opportunity to use the restroom, and Harriet went outside and paced in the parking lot. Mavis arrived in less than ten minutes.
"What's going on, honey?” she asked as she got out of her car, dropping her keys into her purse and hoisting the strap onto her shoulder in one fluid move.
"We've had a curious development, but Pastor Mike needs to tell you about it,” Harriet said, feeling guilty for not telling her friend the news before she walked in on the other woman.
"Mavis,” Mike said as he came out to meet her. “How are you doing?"
"I'd be better if you-all would tell me what's going on."
"Come in, I'd like to talk to you.” He opened the door and ushered her into the reception area. Harriet followed.
"Hi, Beth,” Mavis said. “I don't suppose you can tell me anything either."
Beth gave her friend a weak smile. She started to follow when Mike let Mavis into his assistant's office.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Mavis alone,” Mike said.
Harriet and Beth went back into their conference room but left the door open.
Aunt Beth only lasted five minutes before she got up again and went outside. Harriet looked out the open door and could see her aunt was talking on her cell phone. Probably updating the other Threads, she mused.
She was tearing small pieces off a napkin with her left hand and rolling them into tubes then attempting to make them into knots one-handed. She hadn't been successful yet when a slender blond woman who looked to be only slightly older than she was walked into the reception area.
"Excuse me,” the blonde said, and leaned into Harriet's room. “Do you know where the restrooms are?"
"Sure,” Harriet said. “I'll show you.” She led the woman down the short hallway that divided the office area. “I'm sorry for your loss,” she said.
"Thank you,” the woman said as tears welled in her eyes. She was older than Harriet had thought at first glance. She adjusted her guess upward to mid-fifties. “This is just such a shock."
Harriet kept silent and tried to give what she hoped was an encouraging look.
"I felt terrible following Gerard,” the woman continued. “I mean, I trust him. I really do."
Harriet listened intently. The woman had a slight accent she couldn't quite place. Scandinavian, maybe?
"It's just that this trip came up so suddenly. Right after he got a series of late-night phone calls. He had told me years ago about his estranged son, and I heard him call the person he was talking to ‘son,’ so I thought they were reconciling.” She looked at Harriet, who was working hard to keep her face neutral. “I'm sorry to dump this on you. I'm not usually like this.” She gestured toward her puffy, tearstained face.
"Oh, no problem,” Harriet said. “Sometimes it helps to talk about things."
"I shouldn't have followed him. I knew it was wrong when I booked my tickets. But if he was coming to meet his son, why didn't he say so?"
"Where did he say he was going?” Harriet prompted.
"He said he was meeting an old college friend to go fly fishing. But I knew that wasn't the truth. He didn't take his flies or his travel rod—he had a special rod he took on trips. It fit in a custom tube he could carry on the airplane. And he left his vest home. I mean, what kind of a fishing trip was this?"
Tears well up again, and Harriet handed her what was left of the napkin. She hadn't realized until then she still had it in her hand.
"I should have never come here,” the woman said again, and dabbed at her eyes.
They had arrived at the restroom, so Harriet had no choice but to leave her and return to the conference room.
"Where'd you go?” Aunt Beth asked when she returned.
Harriet explained her mission of mercy and the information she'd gathered.
"So, it sounds like maybe she didn't know anything about Foggy Point and Gerald's life here."
"That would be my guess,” Harriet said. “She seems way too shaken up, and she's feeling guilty about coming here to boot."
They heard a door open, followed by Mavis and Mike entering the reception area.
"I think we'll all be more comfortable in the conference room,” Mike said and ushered Mavis in. “I'll go get Mrs. VanAuken."
The blonde returned from the restroom, and Mike brought her into the room.
"Mrs. Willis would like to have her friends here with her for support,” he said, turned to Mrs. VanAuken. “Is that okay with you?"
"That's fine,” she said.
"A man has died, and each of you...” He looked first at Mavis then at Mrs. Van Auken. “...has expressed a desire to provide a celebration of his life and to give him a proper burial. I'd like you each to hold on to that fact as we try to understand how you both came to be in this unusual situation."
He proceeded with introductions, and they learned the blonde's name was Ilsa Van Auken, and she had been married to Gerard Van Auken, an American ex-patriot living in the Netherlands, for fifteen years.
Ilsa learned that her husband had not lost his wife of ten years and that their only son, being raised by his wife's sister, was largely fiction.
For the most part, Harriet and Beth kept their own council and let the two shocked women exchange information—tentatively at first and then like two survivors of a natural disaster. When they finally stopped talking, exhaustion clear on both faces, Pastor Mike stood up.
"You two will have a lot to talk about in the coming days, and when you're ready we can move forward with the funeral. Would you each take the hand of the person on either side of you,” he said in his gentle voice. “Let us say a prayer for our brother who is no longer with us."
They bowed their heads and let his soothing words flow over them.
"Where are you staying?” Mavis asked Ilsa when the prayer was over and everyone had gone outside.
"I've been staying in Port Angeles. That's where Gerard's reservation was.” She blushed and looked away for a moment. “I checked the history on his computer when he left and found his maps and reservations and then I followed him. Of course, I didn't stay at the same hotel, but I was nearby. I followed his rental car to Foggy Point the day I arrived, but I lost him. I came every day after that, but I didn't see him again until after he died."
"Can we help you find a place to stay in town?” Aunt Beth asked. “Our friend DeAnn has a couple of guest cottages she rents out. They're empty now that the re-enactment is over."
"That would be nice,” Ilsa said with a sniff.
The women exchanged information and agreed to meet for lunch the following day at the Sandwich Board.
"I called Jenny and told her to hold off on picking the flowers,” Aunt Beth said when they were underway again. “I also called Carla and told her we would stop by and see how she's doing with her new housekeeping plan. I hope that's not going to be too much for you."
"I'm not a shut-in, for crying out loud,” Harriet said as she fumbled with her seatbelt latch.
"Here, let me do that,” Aunt Beth said, and rammed it into its fitting with a satisfying click.
Carla had hot water ready when they arrived and showed them into the downstairs parlor. Randy ran into the room when she heard Harriet's voice and wove between her legs, making little yipping noises until Harriet bent down and scratched her odd little ears.
"How's your arm doing?” Carla asked. “Have they figured out what happened to you?"
"There is no ‘they.’ I didn't report it to the police."
Carla's eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't say anything.
"I told her she should call them, but no one listens to me,” Aunt Beth said.
"I've been through this a few times, you know,” Harriet said. “And frankly, telling the police when someone banged me on the head didn't do anything for me—twice."
"Gommy,” yelled a little voice as Wendy came running into the room, launching herself at Aunt Beth when she was close enough.