Trouble in Paradise (27 page)

I didn’t believe him. Elizabeth loved us. She never would’ve
excluded her family in this way, knowing how important it would be to us.

“I oversaw all of the arrangements myself. I’m sure you’ll
be satisfied. If you have any other questions you can call my assistant, Ann.”
He hung up the phone.

My aunt never once mentioned Tucker Davis to me or anyone
else in the family. Here he was, a stranger, handling her estate.

The next day, I called the lawyer back to tell him that
Elizabeth’s sister Madeline, her nephew Brad, and I, would attend. He refused
to take my phone call, and I was frustrated.

“This is Madison Westin. May I speak with Tucker Davis?”

“I’m Ann, Mr. Davis’s assistant. He’s not accepting calls at
this time. Can I help you with something?”

“I wanted to ask again if there was anything I could do in
preparation for Elizabeth Hart’s funeral? Surely, you can understand how her
family would want to be involved in any final decisions.”

“Mrs. Hart wanted Mr. Davis to make those arrangements, and
he has. She didn’t indicate that she wanted anyone else involved in the
planning. I can assure you he’s seen to all of the details. He worked directly
with Mr. Vanderbilt at the funeral home.”

“I’ll be arriving later today. Would you tell Mr. Davis I’m
available to help with anything that needs to be done? He can reach me at
Elizabeth’s house.”

“Does Mr. Davis know you plan to stay in Mrs. Hart’s house?”

“I don’t need Mr. Davis’ permission. I’ve never stayed
anywhere but the Cove Road house, and this trip won’t be any different. If Mr.
Davis has a problem with my staying there, he can call me,” I said.

“Any more messages?” Ann sniffed and, without waiting for a
response, hung up on me.

Tarpon Cove is an unsophisticated beach town situated at the
top of the Keys off the Overseas Highway, which begins just north of Key Largo
and ends in Key West. Tropical Slumber Funeral Home is located on the main
street that runs through town. In a previous life, the building had obviously
been a drive-thru fast food restaurant, the kind where you drove through the
center of the building to place your order for a hot dog and fries. The new
owners hadn’t even bothered to take down the concrete picnic tables that were
on the side of the building. But they had replaced the old metal umbrellas with
tropical thatched-style ones. A red carpet ran from the parking lot to the
front door and continued to the door of the hearse parked behind the building.

We’d taken our seats on the rock-hard old church pews. I
turned to look at my mother. “People are going to hear you laughing,” I
whispered. “What’s wrong with you?”

My mother, Madeline Westin, had aged well; she looked
younger than her sixty years, her short blonde hair framing her face. She wore
a colorful sundress that showed off her long tanned legs.

She put her head on my shoulder. “I think Elizabeth is
staring at me,” she whispered back.

Mother was right about one thing: it did appear as though
Elizabeth was staring at everyone. They’d propped her up in the casket, and
positioned her to sit straight up. She was dressed in a tent-style dress that
was bright yellow and flowery, with a wilted corsage pinned to the front; a
dress she never would’ve chosen for herself. Yellow was her least favorite
color, and here she was surrounded by all white and yellow daisies and
carnations, when she loved bold color and exotic blooms.

I tried to speak to Dickie about the arrangements when I
first arrived in town. He told me firmly that he only took instructions from
Tucker Davis and he wasn’t allowed to discuss any of the final details. I
wondered why the secrecy, but he was so nervous I didn’t ask any more
questions. He told me not to worry; he had worked hard to make everything
memorable.

I appealed to him, “Don’t family members usually participate
in the planning?”

But he was very clear; Tucker Davis’ approval was the most
important thing to him.

I took a deep breath. Later, our family would create a
lasting tribute to Elizabeth showing how much we had loved and respected her,
and how we would deeply miss her. But for now, this would have to do, I guess.

I glanced up and saw a man who looked to be in his 60’s
walking to the podium. He was well-worn, beer-gutted with dirty looking grey
hair, and dressed in jean shorts and a tropical shirt that looked as though
he’d worn them for several days.

“Hey, everyone,” he said into the microphone. “My name is…”
he paused, “well, all my friends call me Quattro.” He held up both of his hands
in a two-handed friendly wave.

He was missing his middle finger on his right hand and his
thumb on his left hand. Brad and I glanced at one another and laughed. I
mouthed “Quattro” at him and waved four fingers. He turned away, biting his
lip.

“I told Dickie I’d speak first because he worried no one
would come up and say anything and it wouldn’t look right. I told him don’t
worry so much.” Quattro slowly scanned the crowd. “I reassured him there were a
few people here who could think of something nice to say.” He ran his fingers
through his hair and scratched his scalp.

“Elizabeth was a great old broad. Too damn bad, she died so
young. She seemed young to me. Hell, I’m only a few years younger. You know she
checked out in her sleep, and in her own bed. How much better does it get than
that?”

I looked around. A few people were nodding their heads in
agreement.

“Now that she’s kicked the bucket…” He paused. “Well,
everyone knows there’s no bucket involved.” He laughed at his own humor. “Have
you ever wondered what the reward is?” He waited as though he expected an
answer. “Hmm, I’ve no idea either. Damn, it’s hot in here. You’d think a
funeral place would turn on the air conditioning.”

“Yeah, I’ve got sweat in my shorts,” I heard someone say. A
few others voiced their agreement.

“Keeps the smell down and all,” Quattro continued. “I know
when it was a drive-thru the air worked good and sometimes the place was
downright freezing.”

I saw a few people sniffing at the air. Were they sad? Or
were they disappointed they couldn’t smell hotdogs and fries?

Dickie Vanderbilt stood off to the side, staring at his
shoes, and picking at his rather large tie tack in the shape of a flamingo.

“But back to Elizabeth. I called her Betty once and, boy,
she got mad.”

Mother sobbed loudly, which I knew was actually laughter.
People turned to stare. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her
close. “Mother, please. This funeral is bad enough.”

Her body shook with laughter. I gripped her tightly. “Oww,”
she whispered.

“Behave yourself, or I’ll keep squeezing.” I shifted again
on the bench, having a hard time sitting still when my legs kept sticking to
the wood.

“Elizabeth was good to a lot of people,” Quattro continued.
“Too bad she won’t be around to do any of us any more favors.” He looked around
and rubbed the end of his nose.

I stared wide-eyed at him wondering if he was about to pick
his nose.

“The truth is, I’ve run out of stuff to say. I know she
wouldn’t have wanted to die so soon, but the problem is we all think we’re
going to live forever, and we don’t. So, ‘God Bless’.” He waved and walked away
from the podium.

Brad and I looked at one another. “Finally,” he mouthed,
even though he was enjoying the circus more than I was.

I didn’t have to wait long to see what would happen next. An
elderly woman who seemed very familiar approached the podium. Mr. Vanderbilt
walked over and helped her up the stairs. Now what?

Brad motioned to me, “Miss January,” he whispered.

“No,” I said, shocked at how drastically her appearance had
changed.

Miss January was a frail-looking woman, who appeared to be
in her eighties, of average height and no more than ninety pounds. In truth,
she was only in her forties. Twenty years ago, her husband had been shot to
death in front of her and, after that, she’d dedicated her life to a daily
bottle of vodka and chain-smoking. Two years ago, she was diagnosed with
terminal liver cancer for which she refused treatment. Her doctor told her she
would die any day, but she just laughed at him. Elizabeth cared about Miss
January because she wasn’t capable of caring about herself.

“I liked Elizabeth,” she started. She fiddled with the
microphone; she blew into it, thoroughly entertaining herself. “You know, I’m
drunk!” she yelled. “I drank more than usual this morning, toasting Elizabeth
over and over. What the hell! I drink every morning.”

I covered my face with my hands.

“Elizabeth wasn’t much of a drinker,” Miss January
continued. “I like vodka,” she giggled. “She was always,” she paused, “I mean
Elizabeth, would pull me out of the bushes and help me home. At least I think
it was her. Some of the time, anyway. That young hottie who lives next door to
me at The Cottages, sometimes he picks me up and carries me home. I like that a
lot.”

Someone let out a loud burp. Another person clapped. I sat
motionless, afraid to look around.

“You need a chair up here!” she yelled. “When the guy from
before said it’s hot in this place, he was right. Besides, who wants to stand,
anyway?” She swayed from side to side, then tried to grab onto the standing
flower arrangement next to her. She missed and fell slowly to the floor,
pulling a few long-stemmed gladiolas from the vase in a last-ditch effort to
recover.

Mr. Vanderbilt, Quattro, and another man raced up the
stairs, to the podium and Quattro picked her up. “Don’t worry folks!” Quattro
called. “She’ll be all right. She’s just drunk.” He carried her out.

Mr. Vanderbilt moved to the microphone. What was he doing?

“I’m the owner of this funeral home,” he said. “My name is
Dickie Vanderbilt, but I prefer Richard. I can honestly say I’ve never had such
a tremendous turn out. I want to thank all of you for coming. I’m sorry about
the air conditioning, and whichever one of you dies next I promise the unit
will be repaired by that time. Think of Tropical Slumber Funeral Home for all
your burial needs.”

“Enough of this,” I whispered to my mother and brother. I
flew out of my seat, raced to the podium before another person could walk up,
and I gave Mr. Vanderbilt a shove at the small of his back, pushing him from
the microphone.

“Hello. My name is Madison Westin. I want to thank all of
you for showing your love and support by coming out on such a hot day to say
good-bye to my aunt, Elizabeth Hart. She loved life, loved her family, and was
a generous friend. This concludes the service today. The graveside service will
be family only.”

The main entry door flew open. “We’re here!” shouted a young
boy who ran in with a blonde woman behind him who appeared to be his mother.

Everyone turned around, and I smiled. The young boy was
laughing and jumping up and down. He was wearing a shark tee shirt, and was
holding a cage with a lizard in it. So far, he looked to be the best part of
the day, even though I had no idea who he was.

“Well done, sis,” Brad said. “They’ve started to leave.”

“This is the most undignified funeral I’ve ever been to.
What would Elizabeth have thought?” I wrapped my arms around my brother for a
reassuring hug.

“Who’s the man headed our way?” Mother asked.

“I came over to introduce myself,” the man began. “I’m
Tucker Davis, Elizabeth’s attorney. I was one of her closest personal friends.”
He smiled, extending his hand. He looked to be in his fifties and then some,
tall and greying, with a slick air of self-satisfaction.

My mother and brother shook hands with him.

“I don’t shake hands,” I said to him. My mother looked
shocked, and Brad laughed. I ignored them. “Funny how you and Elizabeth were
such close personal friends and she never once mentioned your name.”

“Madison,” mother scolded. “Today has been a long day for
all of us, Mr. Davis, and this wasn’t quite the ceremony we expected.”

“Really?” Tucker said. “I thought everything went smoothly.”

It was clear to me he didn’t give a damn what Elizabeth’s
family thought. I felt awful for my mother who had just buried her only
sibling. This wasn’t the kind of funeral that brings closure.

“I need to set an appointment for the three of you to come
to my office for the reading of the will,” Tucker continued, “possibly in two
to three weeks. My assistant, Ann, will give you a call.”

“The three of us are here now,” Brad told him. “You can do
the reading as soon as we’re done here.”

“Today isn’t good for me,” Tucker said.

“My mother’s returning to South Carolina,” Brad told him,
“and I run a fishing business. It’s the middle of the season and I have to get
back to work. If you can’t make time today, then give us the will and we’ll
read the damn thing ourselves.”

“I agree with Brad,” I said. “Based on experience, you’ve
been hard to get hold of. We’re here now, so let’s get this over with.”

Anger flashed across Tucker’s face and disappeared just as
quickly. “Fine. Be at my office in two hours. And don’t be late since I’m being
so accommodating.” He turned and walked away.

“He’s definitely a man used to telling people what to do,” I
said. “Dealing with him won’t be easy.”

“What a tool,” Brad said. “Madison, you’re going to have to
keep an eye on him. When you’re around him I’d keep one eye over your shoulder,
if I were you.”

“Calm down you two,” mother said. “Everything will be fine.
Elizabeth wouldn’t leave her affairs in a mess. She was very organized. She
would’ve left her paperwork in order, and clearly spelled out.”

“I certainly hope so,” I said. “He acts like he has a
personal stake in the estate and doesn’t want to share. And I hate the evasive
way he answers my questions. Having to work with both him and his unfriendly
assistant will drive me crazy for sure.”